BEGINNINGS
The next morning it poured.
"Of course," said Eleanor Watson impressively at breakfast. "It always
does the first day of college. They call it the freshman rain."
"Let's all go down to chapel together," suggested Rachel Morrison.
"You're going to order carriages, of course?" inquired Roberta Lewis
stiffly.
"Hurrah! Another joke for the grind-book," shrieked Mary Brooks. Then
she noticed Roberta's expression of abject terror. "Never mind, Miss
Lewis," she said kindly. "It's really an honor to be in the grind-book,
but I promise not to tell if you'd rather I wouldn't. Won't you show
that you forgive me by coming down to college under my umbrella?"
"She can't. She's coming with me," answered Nan promptly. "I demand the
right to first choice."
"Very well, I yield," said Mary, "because when you go my sovereignty
will be undisputed. You'll have to hurry, children."
So the little procession of rain-coats flapping out from under dripping
umbrellas started briskly off to join the longer procession that was
converging from every direction toward College Hall. Roberta and Nan
were ahead under one umbrella, chatting like old friends.
"I suppose she doesn't think we're worth talking to," said Rachel
Morrison, who came next with Betty.
"Probably she's one of the kind that's always been around with grown
people and isn't used to girls," suggested Betty.
"Perhaps," agreed Rachel. "Anyhow, I can't get a word out of her. She
just sits by her window and reads magazines and looks bored to death
when Katherine or I go in to speak to her. Isn't Katherine jolly? I'm so
glad I don't room alone."
"Are you?" asked Betty. "I can tell better after my roommate comes. Her
name sounds quite nice. It's Helen Chase Adams, and she lives somewhere
up in New Hampshire. Did you ever see so many girls?"
There seemed to be no end to them. They jostled one another
good-naturedly in the narrow halls, swarmed, chattering, up the stairs,
and filled the chapel to overflowing. It was very exciting to see the
whole college together. Even Roberta Lewis condescended to look
interested when Mary Brooks showed her the faculty rows, and pointed out
the college beauty, the captain of the sophomore basket-ball team, and
other local celebrities.
"That's evidently a freshman," declared Eleanor Watson, who was in the
row behind with Katherine and the Riches. "Doesn't she look lost and
unhappy?" And she pointed out a tall, near-sighted girl who was stalking
dejectedly down the middle aisle.
A vivacious little brunette was sitting next Eleanor. "Pardon me," she
said sweetly, "but did you mean the girl who's gone around to the side
and is now being received with open arms by most of the faculty? She's a
senior, the brightest girl in the class, we think, and she's sad because
she's lost her trunk and broken her glasses. You're a freshman, I
judge?"
"Thank you, yes," gasped Eleanor with as much dignity as she could
muster, and resolved to keep her guesses to herself in future.
The chapel service was short but very beautiful. The president's kindly
welcome to the entering class, "which bids fair to be the largest in the
history of the institution," completely upset the composure of some of
the aforesaid class, and a good many moist handkerchiefs grew moister,
and red eyes redder during the prayer. But on the whole the class of
190- conducted itself with commendable propriety and discretion on this
its first official appearance in the college world.
"I'm glad I don't have that French exam.," said Katherine, as she and
Betty picked out their umbrellas from a great, moist heap in the corner
of the hall. "Come down with me and have a soda."
Betty shook her head. "I can't. Nan asked me to go with her and Eth--I
mean Miss Hale, but I simply must study." And she hurried off to begin.
At the entrance to the campus Eleanor Watson overtook her. "Let's go
home and study together," she proposed. "I can't see why they left this
French till so late in the week, when everybody has it. What did you
come to college for?" she asked abruptly.
Betty thought a minute. "Why, for the fun of it, I guess," she said.
"So did I. I think we've stumbled into a pretty serious-minded crowd at
Mrs. Chapin's, don't you?"
"I like Miss Morrison awfully well," objected Betty, "and I shouldn't
call Katherine Kittredge of Kankakee serious-minded, but----"
"Oh, perhaps not," interrupted Eleanor. "Anyhow I know a lot of fine
girls outside, and you must meet them. It's very important to have a lot
of friends up here. If you want to amount to anything, you can't just
stick with the girls in your own house."
"Oh, no," said Betty meekly, awed by the display of worldly wisdom. "It
will be lovely to meet your friends. Let's study on the piazza. I'll get
my books."
"Wait a minute," said Eleanor quickly. "I want to tell you something. I
have at least two conditions already, and if I don't pass this French I
don't suppose I can possibly stay."
"But you don't act frightened a bit," protested Betty in awestruck
tones.
"I am," returned Eleanor in a queer, husky voice. "I could never show my
face again if I failed." She brushed the tears out of her eyes. "Now go
and get your books," she said calmly, "and don't ever mention the
subject again. I had to tell somebody."
Betty was back in a moment, looking as if she had seen a ghost. "She's
come," she gasped, "and she's crying like everything."
"Who?" inquired Eleanor coolly.
"My roommate--Helen Chase Adams."
"What did you do?"
"I didn't say a word--just grabbed up my books and ran. Let's study till
Nan comes and then she'll settle it."
It was almost one o'clock before Nan appeared. She tossed a box of candy
to the weary students, and gave a lively account of her morning, which
had included a second breakfast, three strawberry-ices, a walk to the
bridge, half a dozen calls on the campus, and a plunge in the
swimming-tank.
"I didn't dream I knew so many people here," she said. "But now I've
seen them all and they've promised to call on you, Betty, and I must go
to-night."
"Not unless she stops crying," said Betty firmly, and told her story.
"Go up and ask her to come down-town with us and have a lunch at
Holmes's," suggested Nan.
"Oh you come too," begged Betty, and Nan, amused at the distress of her
usually self-reliant sister, obediently led the way up-stairs.
"Come in," called a tremulous voice.
Helen Chase Adams had stopped crying, at least temporarily, and was
sitting in a pale and forlorn heap on one of the beds. She jumped up
when she saw her visitors. "I thought it was the man with my trunk," she
said. "Is one of you my roommate? Which one?"
"What a nice speech, Miss Adams!" said Nan heartily. "I've been hoping
ever since I came that somebody would take me for a freshman. But this
is Betty, who's to room with you. Now will you come down-town to lunch
with us?"
Betty was very quiet on the way down-town. Her roommate was a bitter
disappointment. She had imagined a pretty girl like Eleanor Watson, or a
jolly one like Katherine and Rachel; and here was this homely little
thing with an awkward walk, a piping voice, and short skirts. "She'll
just spoil everything," thought Betty resentfully, "and it's a mean,
hateful shame." Over the creamed chicken, which Nan ordered because it
was Holmes's "specialty," just as strawberry-ice was Cuyler's, the
situation began to look a little more cheerful. Helen Chase Adams would
certainly be an obliging roommate.
"Oh, I wouldn't think of touching the room till you get back from your
French," she said eagerly. "Won't it be fun to fix it? Have you a lot of
pretty things? I haven't much, I'm afraid. Oh, no, I don't care a bit
which bed I have." Her shy, appealing manner and her evident desire to
please would have disarmed a far more critical person than Betty, who,
in spite of her love of "fine feathers" and a sort of superficial
snobbishness, was at heart absolutely unworldly, and who took a naive
interest in all badly dressed people because it was such fun to "plan
them over." She applied this process immediately to her roommate.
"Her hat's on crooked," she reflected, "and her pug's in just the wrong
place. Her shirt-waist needs pulling down in front and she sticks her
head out when she talks. Otherwise she'd be rather cute. I hope she's
the kind that will take suggestions without getting mad." And she
hurried off to her French in a very amiable frame of mind.
Helen Chase Adams thanked Nan shyly for the luncheon, escaped from the
terrors of a tete-a-tete with an unfamiliar grown-up on the plea of
having to unpack, and curled up on the couch that Betty had not chosen,
to think it over. The day had been full of surprises, but Betty was the
culmination. Why had she come to college? She was distinctly pretty, she
dressed well, and evidently liked what pretty girls call "a good time."
In Helen Chase Adams's limited experience all pretty girls were stupid.
The idea of seeing crowds of them in the college chapel, much less of
rooming with one, had never entered her head. A college was a place for
students. Would Miss Wales pass her examination? Would she learn her
lessons? What would it be like to live with her day in and day out?
Helen could not imagine--but she did not feel in the least like crying.
Just as the dinner-bell rang, Betty appeared, looking rather tired and
pale. "Nan's gone," she announced. "She found she couldn't make
connections except by leaving at half past five, so she met me down at
the college. And just at the last minute she gave me the money to buy a
chafing-dish. Wasn't that lovely? I know I should have cried and made a
goose of myself, but after tha--I beg your pardon--I haven't any sense."
She stopped in confusion.
But Helen only laughed. "Go on," she said. "I don't mind now. I don't
believe I'm going to be homesick any more, and if I am I'll do my best
not to cry."
How the rest of that first week flew! Next day the freshman class list
was read, and fortunately it included all the girls at Mrs. Chapin's.
Then there were electives to choose, complicated schedules to see
through, first recitations to find, books to buy or rent, rooms to
arrange, and all sorts of bewildering odds and ends to attend to.
Saturday came before any one was ready for it, bringing in its wake the
freshman frolic, a jolly, informal dance in the gymnasium, at which the
whole college appears, tagged with its name, and tries to get accustomed
to the size of the entering class, preparatory to becoming acquainted
with parts of it later on. To Betty's great delight Dorothy King met her
in the hall of the Administration Building the day before and asked
permission to take her to the frolic. At the gymnasium Miss King turned
her over to a bewildering succession of partners, who asked her the
stereotyped questions about liking college, having a pleasant
boarding-place, and so on, tried more or less effectively to lead her
through the crowd to the rather erratic music of one piano, and assured
her that the freshman frolic was not at all like the other college
dances. They all seemed very pleasant, but Betty felt sure she should
never know them again. Nevertheless she enjoyed it all immensely and was
almost sorry when the frolic was over and they adjourned to Dorothy's
pretty single room in the Hilton House, where a few other upper-class
girls had been invited to bring their freshmen for refreshments.
"Wasn't it fun?" said Betty to a fluffy-haired, dainty little girl who
sat next her on Dorothy's couch.
"I don't think I should call it exactly fun," said the girl critically.
"Oh, I like meeting new people, and getting into a crowd of girls, and
trying to dance with them," explained Betty.
"Yes, I liked it too," said the girl. She had an odd trick of lingering
over the word she wished to distinguish. "I liked it because it was so
queer. Everything's queer here, particularly roommates. Do you have
one?"
Betty nodded. "Well, mine never made up her bed in her life before, and
first she thought she couldn't, but her mother told her to take hold and
see what a Madison could do with a bed--they're awfully proud of their
old family--so she did; but it looks dreadfully messy yet, and it makes
her late for chapel every single morning. Is yours anything like that?"
Betty laughed. "Oh, no," she said. "She's very orderly. Won't you come
and see us?"
The little freshman promised. By that time the "plowed field" was
ready--an obliging friend had stayed at home from the frolic to give it
an early start--and they ate the creamy brown squares of candy with a
marshmallow stuffed into each, and praised the cook and her wares until
a bell rang and everybody jumped up and began saying good-bye at once
except Betty, who had to be enlightened by the campus girls as to the
dire meaning of the twenty-minutes-to-ten bell.
"Don't you keep the ten o'clock rule?" asked the fluffy-haired freshman
curiously.
"Oh, yes," said Betty. "Why, we couldn't come to college if we didn't,
could we?" And she wondered why some of the girls laughed.
"I've had a beautiful time," she said, when Miss King, who had come part
way home with her, explained that she must turn back. "I hope that when
I'm a junior I can do half as much for some little freshman as you have
for me."
"That's a nice way to put it, Miss Wales," said Dorothy. "But don't wait
till you're a junior to begin."
As Betty ran home, she reflected that she had not seen Helen dancing
that evening. "Oh, Helen," she called, as she dashed into the room,
"wasn't it fun? How many minutes before our light goes out? Do you know
how to dance?"
Helen hesitated. "I--well--I know how, but I can't do it in a crowd.
It's ten minutes of ten."
"Teach you before the sophomore reception," said Betty laconically,
throwing a slipper into the closet with one hand and pulling out
hairpins with the other. "What a pity that to-morrow's Sunday. We shall
have to wait a whole day to begin."