THE RETURN OF GEORGIA AND SOME OTHER MATTERS
Ethel was not going to live at Harding. On the afternoon after the
announcement supper Betty flew up to inquire, and found to her
disappointment that Dr. Eaton's first year at Harding was also to be
his last.
"You see, he's a wealthy man, little sister," Ethel explained, "and
he only taught this year to please me--because I accused him once of
being very idle, and said I didn't want to marry a drone, no matter how
clever he was or how many learned degrees he had taken. He's written a
book this winter, too. I'm so proud of him! Next year we're going to
live in New York, so he can be near his publishers, and some day early
in the fall you must come down and let me see whether being a senior
makes you look one bit older."
Betty promised joyously and hurried back to the campus. Last days are
strenuous for junior ushers, especially when they are making their own
dresses and have in addition a particular friend in the senior class to
do all the last pleasant things for.
Mary Brooks had never seemed so dear and amusing as she did now that
they were going to lose her. Marion Lawrence was going too, and to her
utter consternation Madeline Ayres discovered at the last moment that
she also could graduate, if she chose to.
"Gracious, but I was scared," she explained inelegantly, coming into
Betty's room one night just after ten. "When Miss Stuart said 'You
have credits enough to take your degree, Miss Ayres; I thought you
understood that your junior rank was merely nominal, due to your
irregular preparation,' I gasped out, 'But I don't have to take it
now, do I, Miss Stuart?' She looked at me as if she thought I must be
suddenly stricken with idiocy, and said she supposed not, but that she
had never before had any one object to graduating too soon. I told
her I thought plenty of people objected fast enough, but that I was
the first one who had had a good excuse for telling her so. Then she
laughed and we got quite chummy over the joys of being a Harding girl
as long as possible."
"And they won't make you go?" asked Betty anxiously.
Madeline shook her head. "Of course I could have come back anyway for
graduate work, but I didn't want to do that. I want to be in 19--
forever."
"Isn't it funny how much that counts?" said Betty, turning on her
light. "I don't care if the night-watchman does see it," she explained.
"I can't stand it not to show you my dress. I finished it this morning
and it's all pressed and ready to put on."
Madeline inspected the dress critically. "It's lovely, Betty. Does it
win the contest?"
Betty laughed. "We couldn't settle that," she said. "Babbie's is a lot
prettier, but it cost seven cents over the seven dollars, so we refuse
to get her the candy. Mine is next, but Babbie won't pay up because we
admit that hers is prettier. And now Lotta Gardner's mother is sick and
she can't stay to commencement. So I don't know as it was much use
making Babbie give up that dream of a dress."
"Of course it was," declared Madeline positively. "You know very well
that Lotta wasn't the only girl who was going to be made uncomfortable.
Besides, the principle is right, and that's what really counts. The
girls are stirred up about lessening other expenses and it will make a
lot of difference next year."
"Well, I hope so. I hope they don't think it was a big fuss over
nothing," said Betty, stifling a yawn. "Oh, Madeline, I'm so happy to
think that my last examination is over and there's only fun ahead.
Don't you wish now that you were an usher?"
Madeline shook her head. "Only so that I could be in on the right
side of the dress reform movement," she said. "The Farmers' Almanac
predicts sizzling weather for next week, and I foresee that you'll all
be overcome by heat and weariness, whereas I shall sit in peace in the
gymnasium basement and other cool and shady nooks and only venture out
into the open after sunset."
* * * * *
The Farmers' Almanac and Madeline were both right. Never in the
history of Harding College had there been a hotter commencement, and
it was a weary little group of junior ushers who gathered in the
gymnasium gallery on the last day of all, "to watch the animals feed,"
as Katherine Kittredge put it, "and by and by to pick up a few crumbs
ourselves."
Everybody but the seniors and the junior ushers had gone home, and all
the cooks and waitresses from the campus houses were helping to serve
the annual collation to the seniors, faculty and visiting alumnæ. "So
it's wait for crumbs here or starve," Katherine added sorrowfully.
"I'm sure we'd better have gone down-town," sighed Babbie Hildreth.
"Perhaps we'd better go now."
"But I can't afford to," objected Betty. "I've had to borrow fifteen
cents to get my trunk to the station to-morrow, as it is."
"Well, your trunk won't do you any good if you die of hunger," retorted
Babbie.
"I don't believe we're going to do that," laughed Rachel Morrison. "I
saw Mary Brooks talking to Belden-House-Annie, and yes--here she comes
this minute."
"Miss Brooks tole me ye were starvin' up here," said the grinning Irish
maid, whose gay good-nature had made her a favorite with generations of
Harding girls. "You take this 'ere salad and san'wiches, and I'll be
afther findin' yez some cake an' cream."
"Annie, you're an angel," said Betty, solemnly. "You've saved our
lives."
"Then it's glad I am of that," said Annie, rushing off with her empty
tray, while the girls carried their heaped-up plates to the stairs and
sat down to rest and feast.
"Well, we've 'ushed' our last 'ush,'" said Katherine, "and the seniors
are alums and we're seniors. And if I do say it as shouldn't, I think
we're a fine class. Do you know, our dress reform has made quite a
little sensation? All the anxious alums who are sure every time they
came back that the college is getting fashionable and haughty and
good-for-nothing are patting us on the back."
"They were pretty, too," said Babbie, looking complacently at a grass
stain on the front-breadth of hers. "But do you really think people
noticed the difference?"
"Indeed they did," said Rachel earnestly, "and I think----" she lifted
a warning finger. "Why is it so still out there all of a sudden?"
"Prexy must be making a speech," said Babbie, who was an authority
on commencements, since she had stayed to all three to see the last
of some adored senior. "I remember he did last year, when he thought
they'd eaten enough. I was waiting for Marie Nelson, and I was so much
obliged to him for ending things off."
"Oh, I know," said Rachel, setting down her plate and scrambling to her
feet. "He announces the legacies to the college at collation. Let's go
in and hear how much money Harding has got this year."
"I wouldn't stir for a million dollars," sighed Babbie wearily. "I'll
wait for you here."
The other three reached the gallery just in time to hear a burst of
half-hearted applause.
"That couldn't have been a very big one," whispered Katherine. "I
suppose he begins with the smallest."
Next came a gift for the library, which had suffered a good deal at the
time of the fire, then a new European fellowship, and finally a ten
thousand dollar legacy from the father of a prominent alumna.
"I'm going home to pack," whispered Katherine. "This isn't exciting
enough."
"Wait a minute and we'll all go," returned Rachel.
The president gave a significant little cough and glanced around the
gym.
"The last gift is a complete surprise to me," he went on. "As I was on
my way here, I met the donor. In fact he was waiting outside the door
to intercept me, which isn't"--the president's gray eyes twinkled--"the
way all gifts come to colleges. He has been spending the commencement
season with us and during his brief stay he seems to have found out a
good deal about Harding. He likes some things about our college very
much, he says; and other things he would prefer to see changed. But he
wants it made quite clear to you all that the reason why he just now
handed me a check for fifty thousand dollars is because of the stand
the junior class has taken in regard to the dresses they wore to usher
in at the various commencement festivities. He liked those dresses as
much as a great many other people have liked them"--the president's
eyes twinkled again--"and he liked the principle behind them. He wishes
the junior class, when it reassembles next fall as the senior class, to
vote ten of the fifty thousand dollars to any department of our work it
chooses, and he hopes the spirit of Harding College may always be the
spirit which this class has manifested, not on this occasion alone but
on many others, in which wish I heartily join him."
A great wave of applause swept over the crowd, as the president paused.
"I don't know that I am authorized to do so," he went on when he could
be heard, "but I think I may safely say that 19-- will accept the
trust----"
"The junior president is in the gallery," called some one in the back
of the hall, and the next minute every one was looking up at Rachel
Morrison, who was too busy shaking hands with Betty and Katherine to
notice what was happening down below.
"Speech!" shouted a boisterous young alumna, quite forgetting the
dignity of the occasion, and the august president of the college tossed
back his head and laughed with the rest.
"Speech, Miss Morrison," he repeated gaily, and Rachel came forward to
the balcony railing.
"19-- is very proud," she began bravely, "to be the means of securing
such a splendid gift for the college. But I think the proper person to
make acknowledgment is the one who originated the idea of having the
ushers dress as they did. She is right here----"
Rachel turned just in time to see Betty Wales disappearing hastily
through the nearest exit.
"She was here a moment ago," Rachel corrected herself, "but I--I thank
you--the class thanks the donor--and promises to----"
That was all that Betty Wales heard, except the deafening thunder of
applause. "I should die if I had to make a speech," she thought,
rushing past Babbie with an incoherent murmur about being in a hurry.
Once safely outside the gym. she paused, wishing the others would come
out quickly. They had planned to go for a long trolley-ride late in the
afternoon and take supper together at a little country inn, and the
time and place of meeting were yet to be decided upon. Before she had
decided what to do, Madeline Ayres, who had persuaded the Belden House
matron to let her stay as long as the ushers did, and Bob Parker bore
down upon her.
"Guess what we've found," called Madeline.
"I don't know," said Betty, faintly, wondering if they could possibly
have been deputed to return her to the gym.
"You look as if you'd seen a ghost," said Bob. "Haven't you had any
lunch?"
Betty nodded. "Oh, yes, plenty, thank you. I've--I've been hurrying."
"I can't imagine why," said Madeline, "when your trunk is packed and
Mary Brooks's last relative went this noon. Listen, Betty. We've found
Georgia Ames."
Betty stared in amazement.
"Yes," insisted Bob, "got her in flesh and blood this time. She's a
freshman, or at least she's taking her entrance exams, and hoping to be
one."
"How did you find out about her?" demanded Betty.
"Miss Stuart told us," Madeline explained. "She thought it was a lovely
joke. And we stood at the door of the room where Miss Stuart said she
was taking her English exam, and stopped each girl who came out until
we got the right one."
"Does she look like her picture?" demanded Betty.
"No," laughed Madeline. "She's dark and rather stout and she wears her
hair in a braid. She's not pretty, but she's jolly-looking."
"And she thinks she's flunked her English," chuckled Bob. "Fancy
Georgia's flunking in English."
"Her father's name is Edward," contributed Madeline.
"And her mother is dead," added Bob, softly.
"Where is she? Can't I see her?" asked Betty, eagerly.
"Of course. She's going off with us to-night," said Madeline. "We
thought it was no more than decent to take her--considering that she's
a 'Merry Heart' and that we've got to make up to her for all the
jollying she'll get next year."
Just then Rachel, Katherine and Babbie appeared and fell upon Betty and
there were explanations from both parties and a joyous interchange of
congratulations.
"Won't the others be sorry they went home this noon," declared
Katherine, "just in time to miss all these fine doings."
"And won't Mary Brooks be wild to think she can't go with us to-night
to help amuse Georgia," said Bob.
"Here comes Mary now," said Rachel.
"Oh, Betty Wales, I am so proud of you," cried Mary, breathlessly,
dropping her diploma to hug Betty more effectively.
"It wasn't I, Mary," protested Betty. "Rachel was too bad. Oh, please
don't act so, girls, and come away before any one else gets here. Mary,
Georgia has come."
Mary's bewilderment and then her chagrin were delightful to behold.
"If there is anything in the world that I'd cut my own class-supper
for," she declared, "it would be to see Georgia Ames. But I can't
even wait now to meet her. I have a toast to write. 'Be funny, Mary,'
the toast mistress said. As if anybody could be funny at her own
class-supper! Don't be back too late to serenade us."
The girls promised and then everybody hurried off to pack or to rest
and cool off before it was time to start on the evening jaunt.
As Betty took off her "usher dress" and laid it carefully into her
least crowded trunk-tray, she gave a rapturous little sigh.
"Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money to come from such a little
thing," she told the green lizard. "I'm not going to worry any more
about little things not counting. Everything counts here. Why even
doubles that you make up come to life on your hands, and match-making
comes out the way you wanted it to and thought it couldn't. It's just
the loveliest place! I'm so glad I have another year of it."
There was a sudden burst of song under her window. "They're singing to
somebody," thought Betty. "I wonder who. Why--it's--it's to me!"
"Here's to Betty Wales, drink her down!
Here's to Betty Wales, drink her down!
Here's to Betty Wales,
She money gets in pails!
Drink her down, drink her down,
Drink her down, down, down!"
Betty went to the window and leaned out to wave her hand to the group
of juniors who were laughing up at her.
"I didn't do anything but just suggest," she insisted. "It was 19--
that carried it through. Let's sing to 19--."
So they sang to 19-- and to Harding College, and then the crowd
dispersed merrily.
"I wish they wouldn't," said Betty, turning away from the window. Then
she laughed. "But I'm glad they did. I hope they'll do it again some
day--when I'm a senior."
THE END
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
Words that were typeset in italics in the original of this book have
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Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetter's errors
and to regularize hyphenation; variant spellings have been retained.