A TRIUMPH FOR DEMOCRACY
By Wednesday Betty was well enough to go to classes, though she felt
very conspicuous with her scratched face and her wrist in a sling. And
so when early Wednesday afternoon Eleanor pounced on her and Katherine
and demanded why they were not starting to class-meeting, she replied
that she at least was not going.
"Nor I," said Katherine decidedly. "It's sure to be stupid."
"I'm sorry," said Eleanor. "We may need you badly; every one is so busy
this week. Perhaps you'll change your minds before two-thirty, and if
you do, please bring all the other girls that you can along. You know
the notice was marked important."
"Evidently all arranged beforehand," sniffed Katherine, as Eleanor
departed, explaining that she had promised to be on hand early, ready to
drum up a quorum if necessary.
Betty looked out at the clear winter sunshine. "I wanted a little walk,"
she said. "Let's go. If it's long and stupid we can leave; and we ought
to be loyal to our class."
"All right," agreed Katherine. "I'll go if you will. I should rather
like to see what they have on hand this time."
"They" meant the Hill-School contingent, who from the initial meeting
had continued to run the affairs of the class of 19--. Some of the girls
were indignant, and a few openly rebellious, but the majority were
either indifferent or satisfied that the Hill clique was as good as any
other that might get control in its stead. So the active opposition had
been able to accomplish nothing, and Hill's machine, as a cynical
sophomore had dubbed it, had elected its candidates for three class
officers and the freshman representative on the Students' Commission,
while the various class committees were largely made up of Jean
Eastman's intimate friends.
"I hope that some of the crowd have nicer manners than our dear Eleanor
and are better students," Mary Brooks had said to Betty. "Otherwise I'm
afraid your ship of state will run into a snag of faculty prejudices
some fine day."
Betty belonged to the indifferent faction of the class. She was greatly
interested in all its activities, and prepared to be proud of its
achievements, but she possessed none of the instincts of a wire-puller.
So long as the class offices were creditably filled she cared not who
held them, and comparing her ignorance of parliamentary procedure with
the glib self-confidence of Jean, Eleanor and their friends, she even
felt grateful to them for rescuing the class from the pitfalls that
beset inexperience.
Katherine, on the other hand, was a bitter opponent of what she called
"ring rule," and Adelaide Rich, who was the only recruit that they could
succeed in adding to their party, had never forgotten the depths of
iniquity which her pessimistic acquaintance had revealed in the
seemingly innocent and well conducted first meeting, and was prepared to
distrust everything, down to the reading of the minutes.
The three were vigorously applauded when they appeared in the door of
No. 19, the biggest recitation room in the main building and so the one
invariably appropriated to freshman assemblies. Katherine whispered to
Mary that she had not known Betty was quite so popular as all that; but
a girl on the row behind the one in which they found seats explained
matters by whispering that three had been the exact number needed to
make up a quorum.
The secretary's report was hastily read and accepted, and then Miss
Eastman stated that the business of the meeting was to elect a class
representative for the Washington's Birthday debate.
"Some of you know," she continued, "that the Students' Commission has
decided to make a humorous debate the main feature of the morning rally.
We and the juniors are to take one side, and the senior and sophomore
representatives the other. Now I suppose the first thing to decide is
how our representative shall be chosen."
A buzz of talk spread over the room. "Why didn't they let us know
beforehand--give us time to think who we'd have?" inquired the talkative
girl on the row behind.
The president rapped for order as Kate Denise, her roommate, rose to
make a motion.
"Madame president, I move that the freshman representative aforesaid be
chosen by the chair. Of course," she went on less formally, turning to
the girls, "that is by far the quickest way, and Jean knows the girls as
a whole so well--much better than any of us, I'm sure. I think that a
lot depends on choosing just the right person for our debater, and we
ought not to trust to a haphazard election."
"Haphazard is good," muttered the loquacious freshman, in tones plainly
audible at the front of the room.
"Of course that means a great responsibility for me," murmured the
president modestly.
"Put it to vote," commanded a voice from the front row, which was always
occupied by the ruling faction. "And remember, all of you, that if we
ballot for representative we don't get out of here till four o'clock."
The motion was summarily put to vote, and the ayes had it at once, as
the ayes are likely to do unless a matter has been thoroughly discussed.
"I name Eleanor Watson, then," said Miss Eastman with suspicious
promptness. "Will somebody move to adjourn?"
"Well, of all ridiculous appointments!" exclaimed the loquacious girl
under cover of the applause and the noise of moving chairs.
"Right you are!" responded Katherine, laughing at Adelaide Rich's
disgusted expression.
But Betty was smiling happily with her eyes on the merry group around
Eleanor. "Aren't you glad, girls?" she said. "Won't she do well, and
won't the house be proud of her?"
"I for one never noticed that she was a single bit humorous," began Mary
indignantly.
Katherine pinched her arm vigorously. "Don't! What's the use?" she
whispered.
"Nor I, but I suppose Miss Eastman knows that she can be funny,"
answered Betty confidently, as she hurried off to congratulate Eleanor.
She was invited to the supper to be given at Cuyler's that night in
Eleanor's honor, and went home blissfully unconscious that half the
class was talking itself hoarse over Jean Eastman's bad taste in
appointing a notorious "cutter" and "flunker" to represent them on so
important an occasion, just because she happened to be the best dressed
and prettiest girl in the Hill crowd.
The next afternoon most of the girls were at gym or the library, and
Betty, who was still necessarily excused from her daily exercise, was
working away on her Latin, when some one knocked imperatively on her
door. It was Jean Eastman.
"Good-afternoon, Miss Wales," she said hurriedly. "Will you lend me a
pencil and paper? Eleanor has such a habit of keeping her desk locked,
and I want to leave her a note."
She scribbled rapidly for a moment, frowned as she read through what she
had written, and looked doubtfully from it to Betty. Then she rose to
go. "Will you call her attention to this, please?" she said. "It's very
important. And, Miss Wales,--if she should consult you, do advise her to
resign quietly and leave it to me to smooth things over."
"Resign?" repeated Betty vaguely.
"Yes," said Jean. "You see--well, I might as well tell you now, that
I've said so much. The faculty object to her taking the debate. Perhaps
you know that she's very much in their black books but I didn't. And I
never dreamed that they would think it any of their business who was our
debater, but I assure you they do. At least half a dozen of them have
spoken to me about her poor work and her cutting. They say that she is
just as much ineligible for this as she would be for the musical clubs
or the basket-ball team. Now what I want is for Eleanor to write a sweet
little note of resignation to-night, so that I can appoint some one else
bright and early in the morning."
Betty's eyes grew big with anxiety. "But won't the girls guess the
reason?" she cried. "Think how proud Eleanor is, Miss Eastman. It would
hurt her terribly if any one found out that she had been conditioned.
You shouldn't have told me--indeed you shouldn't!"
Jean laughed carelessly. "Well, you know now, and there's no use crying
over spilt milk. I used that argument about the publicity of the affair
to the faculty, but it was no go. So the only thing for you to do is to
help Eleanor write a nice, convincing note of resignation that I can
read at the next meeting, when I announce my second appointment."
"But Eleanor won't ask my help," said Betty decidedly, "and, besides,
what can she say, after accepting all the congratulations, and having
the supper?"
Jean laughed again. "I'm afraid you're not a bit ingenious, Miss Wales,"
she said rising to go, "but fortunately Eleanor is. Good-bye."
When Betty handed Eleanor the note she read it through unconcernedly,
unconcernedly tore it into bits as she talked, and spent the entire
evening, apparently, in perfect contentment and utter idleness,
strumming softly on her guitar.
The next morning Betty met Jean on the campus. "Did she tell you?" asked
Jean.
Betty shook her head.
"I thought likely she hadn't. Well, what do you suppose? She won't
resign. She says that there's no real reason she can give, and that
she's now making it a rule to tell the truth; that I'm in a box, not
she, and I may climb out of it as best as I can."
"Did she really say that?" demanded Betty, a note of pleasure in her
voice.
"Yes," snapped Jean, "and since you're so extremely cheerful over it,
perhaps you can tell me what to do next."
Betty stared at her blankly. "I forgot," she said. "The girls mustn't
know. We must cover it up somehow."
"Exactly," agreed Jean crossly, "but what I want to know is--how."
"Why not ask the class to choose its speaker? All the other classes
did."
Jean looked doubtful. "I know they did. That would make it very awkward
for me, but I suppose I might say there had been dissatisfaction--that's
true enough,--and we could have it all arranged----Well, when I call a
meeting, be sure to come and help us out."
The meeting was posted for Saturday, and all the Chapin house girls,
except Helen, who never had time for such things, and Eleanor, attended
it. Eleanor was expecting a caller, she said. Besides, as she hadn't
been to classes in the morning there was no sense in emphasizing the
fact by parading through the campus in the afternoon.
At the last minute she called Betty back. "Paul may not get over
to-day," she said. "Won't you come home right off to tell me about it?
I--well, you'll see later why I want to know--if you haven't guessed
already."
The class of 19-- had an inkling that something unusual was in the wind
and had turned out in full force. There was no need of waiting for a
quorum this time. After the usual preliminaries Jean Eastman rose and
began a halting, nervous little speech.
"I have heard," she began, "that is--a great many people in and out of
the class have spoken to me about the matter of the Washington's
Birthday debate. I mean, about the way in which our debater was
appointed. I understand there is a great deal of dissatisfaction--that
some of the class say they did not understand which way they were
voting, and so on. So I thought you might like to reconsider your vote.
I certainly, considering position in the matter, want you to have the
chance to do so. Now, can we have this point thoroughly discussed?"
Then, as no one rose, "Miss Wales, won't you tell us what you think?"
Betty stared helplessly at Jean for a moment and then, assisted by
vigorous pushes from Katherine and Rachel, who sat on either side of
her, rose hesitatingly to her feet. "Miss Eastman,--I mean, madame
president," she began. She stopped for an instant to look at her
audience. Apparently the class of 19-- was merely astonished and puzzled
by Jean's suggestion; there was no indication that any one--except
possibly a few of the Hill girls--had any idea of her motive. "Madame
president," repeated Betty, forcing back the lump that had risen in her
throat when she realized that the keeping of Eleanor's secret lay
largely with her, "Miss Watson is my friend, and I was very much pleased
to have her for our representative. But I do feel, and I believe the
other girls do, as they come to think it over, that it would have been
better to elect our representative. Then we should every one of us have
had a direct interest in the result of the debate. Besides, all the
other classes elected theirs, and so I think, if Miss Watson is
willing----"
"Miss Watson is perfectly willing," broke in Jean. "A positive
engagement unfortunately prevents her being here to say so, but she
authorized me to state that she preferred the elective choice herself,
and to tell you to do just as you think best in the matter. She----Go
on, Miss Wales."
"Oh, that was all," said Betty hastily slipping back into her seat.
A group of girls in the farthest corner of the room clapped vigorously.
"Nothing cut-and-dried about that," whispered Katherine to Adelaide
Rich.
"Are there any more remarks?" inquired the president. No one seemed
anxious to speak, and she went on rather aimlessly. "Miss Wales has
really covered the ground, I think. The other classes all elected their
debaters, and I fancy they want us to do the same. As for the
faculty--well, I may as well say that they almost insist upon a change."
"Good crawl," whispered Katherine, who was quick to put two and two
together, to Adelaide Rich, who never got the point of any but the most
obvious remarks, and who now looked much perplexed.
Meanwhile Betty had been holding whispered consultations with some of
the girls around her, and now she rose again. Her "madame president" was
so obviously prior to Kate Denise's that when Kate was recognized there
was an ominous murmur of discontent and Jean apologized and promptly
reversed her decision.
"Perhaps I oughtn't to speak twice," said Betty blushing at the
commotion she had caused, "but if we are to change our vote, some of us
think it would be fun to hold a preliminary debate now, and choose our
speaker on her merits. We did that once at school----"
"Good stunt," called some one.
"I move that Miss Wales as chairman select a committee of arrangements,
and that we have a five minute recess while the committee meets."
"I move that there be two committees, one for nominating speakers and
the other for choosing a subject."
"I move that we reconsider our other vote first."
The motions were coming in helter-skelter from all quarters, instead of
decorously from the front row as usual. The president was trying vainly
to restore order and to remember whose motion should have precedence,
and to make way somehow for the prearranged nomination, which so far had
been entirely crowded out, when three girls in one corner of the room
began thumping on their seat-arms and chanting in rhythmic, insistent
chorus, "We--want--Emily--Davis. We--want--Emily--Davis.
We--want--Emily--Davis."
Hardly any one in the room had ever heard of Emily Davis, but the three
girls constituted an original and very popular little coterie known
individually as Babe, Babbie, and Bob, or collectively as "the three
B's." They roomed on the top floor of the Westcott House and were famous
in the house for being at the same time prime favorites of the matron
and the ringleaders in every plot against her peace of mind, and outside
for their unique and diverting methods of recreation. It was they who
had successfully gulled Mary Brooks with a rumor as absurd as her own;
and accounts of the "spread" they had handed out to the night-watchman
in a tin pail, and dangled just out of his reach, in the hope of
extracting a promise from that incorruptible worthy not to report their
lights, until the string incontinently broke and the ice cream and
lobster salad descended as a flood, were reported to have made even the
august president of the college laugh. Ergo, if they "wanted" Emily
Davis, she must be worth "wanting." So their friends took up the cry,
and it quickly spread and gathered volume, until nearly everybody in the
room was shouting the same thing. Finally the president stepped forward
and made one determined demand for order.
"Is Miss Emily Davis present?" she called, when the tumult had slightly
subsided.
"Yes," shouted the Three and the few others who knew Miss Davis by
sight.
"Then will she please--why, exactly what is it that you want of her?"
questioned the president, a trifle haughtily.
"Speech!" chorused the Three.
"Will Miss Davis please speak to us?" asked the president.
At that a very tall girl who was ineffectually attempting to hide behind
little Alice Waite was pulled and pushed to her feet, and amid a sudden
silence began the funniest speech that most of the class of 19-- had
ever listened to; but it was not so much what she said as her inimitable
drawling delivery and her lunging, awkward gestures that brought down
the house. When she took her seat again, resolutely ignoring persistent
cries of "More!" the class applauded her to the echo and elected her
freshman debater by acclamation.
It was wonderful what a change those twenty riotous minutes had made in
the spirit of the class of 19--. For the first time in its history it
was an enthusiastic, single-hearted unit, and to the credit of the Hill
girls be it said that no one was more enthusiastic or joined in the
applause with greater vigor than they. They had not meant to be
autocratic--except three of them; they had simply acted according to
their lights, or rather, their leaders' lights. Now they understood how
affairs could be conducted at Harding, and during the rest of the course
they never entirely forgot or ignored the new method.
To Betty's utter astonishment and consternation the lion's share of
credit for the sudden triumph of democracy was laid at her door. The
group around her after the meeting was almost as large and quite as
noisy as the one that was struggling to shake hands with Miss Davis.
"Don't! You mustn't. Why, it was the B's who got her, not I," protested
Betty vigorously.
"No, you began it," said Babe.
"You bet you did," declared Bob.
"Yes, indeed. We were too scared to speak of her until you proposed
something like it," added Babbie in her sweet, lilting treble.
"You can't get out of it. You are the real founder of this democracy,"
ended Christy Mason decidedly. Betty was proud of Christy's approval. It
was fun, too, to have the Hill girls crowding around and saying pleasant
things to her.
"I almost think I'm somebody at last. Won't Nan be pleased!" she
reflected as she hurried home to keep her promise to Eleanor. Then she
laughed merrily all to herself. "Those silly girls! I really didn't do a
thing," she thought. And then she sighed. "I never get a chance to be a
bit vain. I wish I could--one little wee bit. I wonder if Mr. West
came."
It did not occur to Betty as at all significant that Jean Eastman and
Kate Denise had not spoken to her after the meeting, until, when she
knocked on Eleanor's door, Eleanor came formally to open it. "Jean and
Kate are here," she said coldly, "so unless you care to stop----"
Jean and Kate nodded silently from the couch where they were eating
candy.
"Oh, no," said Betty in quick astonishment. "I'll come some other time."
"You needn't bother," answered Eleanor rudely. "They've told me all
about it," and she shut the door, leaving Betty standing alone in the
hall.
Betty winked hard to keep back the tears as she hurried to her own room.
What could it all mean? She had done her best for Eleanor, and nobody
had guessed--they had been too busy laughing at that ridiculous Emily
Davis--and now Eleanor treated her like this. And Jean Eastman, too,
when she had done exactly what Jean wanted of her. Jean's curtness was
even less explainable than Eleanor's, though it mattered less. It was
all--queer. Betty smiled faintly as she applied Alice Waite's favorite
adjective. Well, there was nothing more to be done until she could see
Eleanor after dinner. So she wiped her eyes, smoothed her hair, and went
resolutely off to find Roberta, whose heavy shoes--another of Roberta's
countless fads--had just clumped past her door.
"I'm writing my definitions for to-morrow's English," announced Roberta.
"For the one we could choose ourselves I'm going to invent a word and
then make up a meaning for it. Isn't that a nice idea?"
"Very," said Betty listlessly.
Roberta looked at her keenly. "I believe you're homesick," she said.
"How funny after such a jubilant afternoon."
Betty smiled wearily. "Perhaps I am. Anyway, I wish I were at home."
Meanwhile in Eleanor's room an acrimonious discussion was in progress.
"The more I think of it," Kate Denise was saying emphatically, "the
surer I am that she didn't do a thing against us this afternoon. She
isn't to blame for having started a landslide by accident, Jean. Did you
see her face when Eleanor turned her down just now? She looked
absolutely nonplussed."
"Most people do when the lady Eleanor turns and rends them," returned
Jean, with a reminiscent smile.
"Just the same," continued Kate Denise, "I say you have a lot to thank
her for this afternoon, Jean Eastman. She got you out of a tight hole in
splendid shape. None of us could have done it without stamping the whole
thing a put-up job, and most of the outsiders who could have helped you
out, wouldn't have cared to oblige you. It was irritating to see her
rallying the multitudes, I'll admit; but I insist that it wasn't her
fault. We ought to have managed better."
"Say I ought to have managed better and be done with it," muttered Jean
crossly.
"You certainly ought," retorted Eleanor. "You've made me the
laughing-stock of the whole college."
"No, Eleanor," broke in Kate Denise pacifically. "Truly, your dignity is
intact, thanks to Miss Wales and those absurd B's who followed her
lead."
"Never mind them. I'm talking about Betty Wales. She was a friend of
mine--she was at the supper the other night. Why couldn't she leave it
to some one else to object to your appointing me?"
"Oh, if that's all you care about," said Jean irritably, "don't blame
Miss Wales. The thing had to be done you know. I didn't see that it
mattered who did it, and so I--well, I practically asked her. What I'm
talking about is her way of going at it--her having pushed herself
forward so, and really thrown us out of power by using what I--" Jean
caught herself suddenly, remembering that Eleanor did not know about
Betty's having been let into the secret.
"By using what you told her," finished Kate innocently. "Well, why did
you tell her all about it, if you didn't expect--"
Eleanor stood up suddenly, her face white with anger. "How dared you,"
she challenged. "As if it wasn't insulting enough to get me into a
scrape like this, and give any one with two eyes a chance to see through
your flimsy little excuses, but you have to go round telling people----"
"Eleanor, stop," begged Jean. "She was the only one I told. I let it out
quite by accident the day I came up here to see you. Not another soul
knows it but Kate, and you told her yourself. You'd have told Betty
Wales, too,--you know you would--if we hadn't seen you first this
afternoon."
"Suppose I should," Eleanor retorted hotly. "What I do is my own affair.
Please go home."
Jean stalked out in silence, but Kate, hesitating between Scylla and
Charybdis, lingered to say consolingly, "Cheer up, Eleanor. When you
come to think it over, it won't seem so----"
"Please go home," repeated Eleanor, and Kate hurried after her roommate.