DANCING LESSONS AND A CLASS-MEETING
The next morning Helen had gone for a walk with Katherine, and Betty was
dressing for church, when Eleanor Watson knocked at the door. She looked
prettier than ever in her long silk kimono, with its ruffles of soft
lace and the great knot of pink ribbon at her throat.
"So you're going to church too," she said, dropping down among Betty's
pillows. "I was hoping you'd stay and talk to me. Did you enjoy your
frolic?"
"Yes, didn't you?" inquired Betty.
"I didn't go," returned Eleanor shortly.
"Oh, why not?" asked Betty so seriously that Eleanor laughed.
"Because the girl who asked me first was ill; and I wouldn't tag along
with the little Brooks and the Riches and your fascinating roommate. Now
don't say 'why not?' again, or I may hurt your feelings. Do you really
like Miss Brooks?"
Betty hesitated. As a matter of fact she liked Mary Brooks very much,
but she also admired Eleanor Watson and coveted her approval. "I like
her well enough," she said slowly, and disappeared into the closet to
get something she did not want and change the subject.
Eleanor laughed. "You're so polite," she said. "I wish I were. That is,
I wish I could make people think I was, without my taking the trouble.
Don't go to church."
"Helen and Katherine are coming back for me. You'd better go with us,"
urged Betty.
"Now that Kankakee person----" began Eleanor. The door opened suddenly
and Katherine and Helen came in. Katherine, who had heard Eleanor's last
remark, flushed but said nothing. Eleanor rose deliberately, smoothed
the pillows she had been lying on, and walked slowly off, remarking over
her shoulder, "In common politeness, knock before you come in."
"Or you may hear what I think of you," added Katherine wickedly, as
Eleanor shut the door.
Helen looked perplexed. "Should I, Betty?" she asked, "when it's my own
room."
"It's nicer," said Betty. "Nan and I do. How do you like our room,
Katherine?"
"It's a beaut," said Katherine, taking the hint promptly. "I don't see
how you ever fixed your desks and couches, and left so much space in the
middle. Our room is like the aisle in a Chicago theatre. That Japanese
screen is a peach and the water-color over your desk is another. Did you
buy back the chafing-dish?"
Betty laughed. She had amused the house by getting up before breakfast
on the day after Nan left, in her haste to buy a chafing-dish. In the
afternoon Rachel had suggested that a teakettle was really more
essential to a college establishment, and they had gone down together to
change it. But then had come Miss King's invitation to eat "plowed
field" after the frolic; and the chafing-dish, appearing once more the
be-all and end-all of existence, had finally replaced the teakettle.
"But we're going to have both," ventured Helen shyly.
"Oh yes," broke in Betty. "Isn't it fine of Helen to get it and make our
tea-table so complete?" As a matter of fact Betty much preferred that
the tea-table should be all her own; but Helen was so delighted with the
idea of having a part in it, and so sure that she wanted a teakettle
more than pillows for her couch, that Betty resolved not to mind the
bare-looking bed, which marred the cozy effect of the room, and above
all never to let Helen guess how she felt about the tea-table. "But next
year you better believe I'm hoping for a single room," she confided to
the little green lizard who sat on her inkstand and ogled her while she
worked.
When church was over Katherine proposed a stroll around the campus
before dinner. "I haven't found my bearings at all yet," she said. "Now
which building is which?"
Betty pointed out the Hilton House proudly. "That's all I know," she
said, "except these up here in front of course--the Main Building and
Chapel, and Science and Music Halls."
"We know the gymnasium," suggested Helen, "and the Belden House, where
we bought our screen, is one of the four in that row."
They found the Belden House, and picked out the Westcott by its
name-plate, which, being new and shiny, was easy to read from a
distance. Then Helen made a discovery. "Girls, there's water down
there," she cried. Sure enough, behind the back fence and across a road
was a pretty pond, with wooded banks and an island, which hid its
further side from view.
"That must be the place they call Paradise," said Betty. "I've heard Nan
speak of it. I thought it was this," and she pointed to a slimy pool
about four yards across, below them on the back campus. "That's the only
pond I'd noticed."
"Oh, no," declared Katherine. "I've heard my scientific roommate speak
of that. It's called the Frog Pond and 'of it more anon,' as my already
beloved Latin teacher occasionally remarks. To speak plainly, she has
promised to let me help her catch her first frog."
They walked home through the apple orchard that occupied one corner of
the back campus.
"It's not a very big campus, and not a bit dignified or imposing, but I
like it," said Betty, as they came out on to the main drive again, and
started toward the gateway.
"Nice and cozy to live with every day," added Katherine. Helen was too
busy comparing the red-brick, homely reality with the shaded marble
cloisters of her dreams, to say what she thought.
Betty's dancing class was a great success. With characteristic energy
she organized it Monday morning. It appeared that while all the Chapin
house girls could dance except Helen and Adelaide Rich, none of them
could "lead" but Eleanor.
"And Miss King's friends said we freshmen ought to learn before the
sophomore reception, particularly the tall ones; and most of us are
tall," explained Betty.
"That's all right," interposed Eleanor, "but take my advice and don't
learn. If you can't lead, the other girl always will; and the men say it
ruins a girl's dancing."
"Who cares?" demanded Katherine boldly. "Imagine Betty or Miss Brooks
trying to see over me and pull me around! I want to learn, for one--men
or no men."
"So do I," said Rachel and Mary Rich together. "And I," drawled Roberta
languidly.
"Oh well, if you're all set upon it, I'll play for you," said Eleanor
graciously. She was secretly ashamed of the speech that Katherine had
overheard the day before and bitterly regretted having antagonized the
girls in the house, when she had meant only to keep them--all but
Betty--at a respectful distance. She liked most of them personally, but
she wished her friends to be of another type--girls from large schools
like her own, who would have influence and a following from the first;
girls with the qualities of leadership, who could control votes in
class-meetings and push their little set to first place in all the
organized activities of the college. Eleanor had said that she came to
college for "fun," but "fun" to her meant power and prominence. She was
a born politician, with a keen love of manoeuvring and considerable
tact and insight when she chose to exercise it. But inexperience and the
ease with which she had "run" boarding-school affairs had made her
over-confident. She saw now that she had indulged her fondness for
sarcasm too far, and was ready to do a good deal to win back the
admiration which she was sure the Chapin house girls had felt for her at
first. She was particularly anxious to do this, as the freshman
class-meeting was only a week off, and she wanted the votes of the house
for the Hill School candidate for class-president.
So three evenings that week, in spite of her distaste for minor parts
and bad pianos, she meekly drummed out waltzes and two-steps on Mrs.
Chapin's rickety instrument for a long half hour after dinner, while
Betty and Roberta--who danced beautifully and showed an unexpected
aptitude in imparting her accomplishment--acted as head-masters, and the
rest of the girls furnished the novices with the necessary variety of
partners, practiced "leading," and incidentally got better acquainted.
On Friday evening, as they sat in the parlor resting and discussing the
progress of their pupils and the appalling length of the Livy lesson for
the next day, Eleanor broached the subject of the class-meeting.
"You know it's to-morrow at two," she said. "Aren't you excited?"
"It will be fun to see our class together," said Rachel. Nobody else
seemed to take much interest in the subject.
"Well, of course," pursued Eleanor, "I'm particularly anxious about it
because a dear friend of mine is going to be proposed for class
president--Jean Eastman--you know her, Betty."
"Oh yes," cried Betty, enthusiastically. "She's that tall, dark girl who
was with you yesterday at Cuyler's. She seemed lovely."
Eleanor nodded and got up from the piano stool. "I must go to work," she
said, smiling cordially round the little group. "Tell them what a good
president Jean will make, Betty. And don't one of you forget to come."
"She can be very nice when she wants to," said Katherine bluntly when
Eleanor was well out of hearing.
"I think she's trying to make up for Sunday," said Betty. "Let's all
vote for her friend."
The first class-meeting of 190- passed off with unwonted smoothness. The
class before had forgotten that it is considered necessary for a
corporate body to have a constitution; and the class before that had
made itself famous by suggesting the addition of the "Woman's Home
Monthly" to the magazines in the college reading-room. 190- avoided
these and other absurdities. A constitution mysteriously appeared, drawn
up in good and regular form, and was read and promptly adopted. Then
Eleanor Watson nominated Jean Eastman for president. After she and the
other nominees had stood in a blushing row on the platform to be
inspected by their class, the voting began. Miss Eastman was declared
elected on the first ballot, with exactly four votes more than the
number necessary for a choice.
"I hope she'll remember that we did that," Katherine Kittredge leaned
forward to say to Betty, who sat in the row ahead of her with the
fluffy-haired freshman from the Hilton and her "queer" roommate.
That night there was a supper in Jean's honor at Holmes's, so Eleanor
did not appear at Mrs. Chapin's dinner-table to be duly impressed with a
sense of her obligations. "How did you like the class-meeting?" inquired
Rachel, who had been for a long walk with a girl from her home town, and
so had not seen the others.
"I thought it was all right myself," said Adelaide Rich, "but I walked
home with a girl named Alford who was dreadfully disgusted. She said it
was all cut and dried, and wanted to know who asked Eleanor Watson to
write us a constitution. She said she hoped that hereafter we wouldn't
sit around tamely and be run by any clique."
"Well, somebody must run us," said Betty consolingly. "Those girls know
one another and the rest of us don't know any one well. I think it will
all work around in time. They will have their turns first, that's all."
"Perhaps," admitted Adelaide doubtfully. Her pessimistic acquaintance
had obtained a strong hold on her.
"And the next thing is the sophomore reception," said Rachel.
"And Mountain Day right after that," added Betty.
"What?" asked Helen and Roberta together.
"Is it possible that you don't know about Mountain Day, children?" asked
Mary Brooks soberly. "Well, you've heard about the physical tests for
the army and navy, haven't you? This is like those. If you pass your
entrance examinations you are allowed a few weeks to recuperate, and
then if you can climb the required mountain you can stay on in college."
"How very interesting!" drawled Roberta, who had some idea now how to
take Mary's jibes. "Now, Betty, please tell us about it."
Betty explained that the day after the sophomore reception was a
holiday, and that most of the girls seized the opportunity to take an
all-day walk or drive into the country around Harding.
"Let's all ask our junior and senior friends about the nicest places to
go," said Rachel, emphasizing "junior and senior" and looking at Mary.
"Then we can make our plans, and engage a carriage if we want one. I
should think there might be quite a rush."
"You should, should you?" jeered Mary. "My dear, every horse that can
stand alone and every respectable vehicle was engaged weeks ago."
"No one has engaged our lower appendages," returned Katherine. "So if
worse comes to worst, we are quite independent of liveries. Which of us
are you going to take to the sophomore reception?"
"Roberta, of course," said Mary. "Didn't you know that Roberta and I
have a crush on each other? A crush, my dears, in case you are wanting
to know, is a warm and adoring friendship. Sorry, but I'm going out this
evening."
"Has she really asked you, Roberta?" asked Betty.
"Yes," said Roberta.
"How nice! I'm going with a sophomore whose sister is a friend of
Nan's."
"And Hester Gulick is going to take me--she's my friend from home,"
volunteered Rachel.
"I was asked to-day," added Helen. "After the class-meeting an awfully
nice girl, a junior, came up here. She said there were so many of us
that some of the juniors were going to help take us. Isn't it nice of
them?"
Nobody spoke for a moment; then Katherine went on gaily. "And we other
three have not yet been called and chosen, but I happen to know that
it's because so many people want us, and nobody will give up. So don't
the rest of you indulge in any crowing."
"By the way, Betty," said Rachel Morrison, "will you take some more
dancing pupils? I was telling two girls who board down the street about
our class and they said they wanted to learn before the reception and
would much rather come here than go to that big class that two seniors
have in the gym. But as they don't know you, they would insist on
paying, just as they would at the other class."
Betty looked doubtfully at Roberta. "Shall we?" she said.
"I don't mind," answered Roberta, "if only you all promise not to tell
my father. He wouldn't understand. Do you suppose Miss Watson would
play?"
"If not, I will," said Mary Rich.
"And we could use the money for a house spread," added Betty, "since we
all help to earn it."
"And christen the chafing-dish," put in Katherine.
"Good. Then I'll tell them--Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays," said Rachel;
and the dinner-table dissolved.