CLASS DAY
At the breakfast-table Class Day morning, Martine found an envelope
addressed in Elinor's neat handwriting.
"You just must come with us," she read, as she broke the seal; "I had
only half as good a time as I might have had last night, thinking of
you. There must have been crowds of people you knew there. Kate's
brother brought us four tickets for everything--even for Sanders Theatre
this morning. So please be ready at ten. Telephone. Hastily, Elinor."
Martine, glancing at the clock, made a rapid calculation. In no way
could she double the hours between eight o'clock and one, and she had a
morning's work to do before she could rightfully set out on a
pleasure-trip.
"Angelina," she called, "please go to the telephone. Call up Miss
Naylor, and say that I cannot go with her this morning. Tell her,
please, that I will meet her as we agreed in the afternoon."
For a moment Angelina did not move. Telephoning was one of her delights,
and Martine wondered why she stood rooted to the spot.
Angelina, however, quickly explained herself.
"Oh, Miss Martine," she cried, "I hate to give a message like that. You
just ought to go off and have a good time. It isn't right for you to
slave and slave, and you younger than me."
Martine smiled at Angelina's lugubrious expression. She did not wish the
latter to see that she was a little downcast at the thought of the quiet
morning at home.
"Go, Angelina," she cried, "run quickly; it's a hot day, and I'm
thankful enough that I can stay home until noon. Don't wait for an
answer. Simply leave the message for Miss Elinor."
Martine's tone was so positive that Angelina had no choice but to obey,
and when she returned, Martine was on her knees packing one of her
mother's trunks.
"Angelina," she explained, "we have only this morning and to-morrow for
the rest of our packing, for I have promised to spend Sunday with the
Strothers' in Brookline, where mamma is. You are to go to Shiloh late
Saturday afternoon, and on Monday morning you and I must be here
promptly at nine, to send off the trunks and boxes. Mamma will stop here
with Mrs. Strothers on her way to the station to see that everything is
left in perfect condition. So even if we work with all our might this
morning we shall barely get through in time."
"There's another helper coming," murmured Angelina.
"Oh, yes, a scrub-woman, who couldn't do the least little thing to help
pack the trunks. But hurry with the dishes, Angelina, for you can be a
lot of use."
Though she spoke briskly, Martine felt a little depressed--for Martine.
As she lifted trunk-trays, and folded skirts, and packed things in
little boxes, she could not help thinking how much pleasanter it would
be to spend the morning in Sander's Theatre, listening to witty
speeches, or later walking about the college grounds, with Elinor and
Kate and half a dozen attendant undergraduates.
"If only mother hadn't been sick--"
Then she suppressed the thought, ashamed of her own selfishness.
At twelve o'clock she glanced around the room with undisguised
satisfaction.
"There, Angelina, we can easily finish to-morrow. Only two trunks and
one box left, and some little odds and ends to do at the last moment.
Oh, dear, I must get away quickly--the rooms look so bare."
The fatigue that Martine had hardly before admitted to herself, almost
overcame her while she was dressing. Bending, climbing, wielding a
hammer, undoubtedly strengthen the muscles in the long run. Yet the
process of muscle-building is often accompanied by sensations that an
amateur athlete might pardonably call "weariness."
Consequently, Martine must not be blamed if for a moment her spirit
weakened as she looked at the white gown that Angelina had spread out
for her on the divan.
"I can't go," she said; "I am too tired. I ought to have waited for
Lucian's Class Day, and if he is never to have a Class Day--why, then I
am never to have any fun. If we are so poor that he cannot finish
college, then I shall be too poor to go to parties--or--or anything."
There is nothing worse for a girl's spirits than self-pity. As Martine
bent over the dress on the divan, a big tear splashed on one end of the
silk sash. This was followed by a second tear, and then the absurdity of
the situation produced the rainbow. The rainbow in this case was the
smile that flashed amid the tears, the smile that made the tears seem
absolutely absurd as Martine caught sight of herself in the glass.
"What a baby I am! Here I am going to join two of my best friends who
have promised me a splendid time, and just because I am a little tired,
I feel as if the world were falling to pieces."
A cool bath--an hour of leisurely dressing--a few compliments from
Angelina--and Martine was herself again.
She knew that her mother would not altogether approve of her going alone
to Cambridge, and she regretted that she had not allowed Amy to send
some one for her, as at first she had suggested.
Just as she was wondering whether, if she could afford a carriage, her
mother would approve of her driving to Cambridge alone, she heard
Angelina's--
"Walk in, please. Yes, ma'am, she hasn't gone yet," and then she
recognized the pleasant voice of Mrs. Redmond, saying,--
"Tell her she need not hurry. I can wait."
"But I can't wait--not a single minute," and Martine, rushing from the
little bedroom, almost flung herself into Mrs. Redmond's arms.
"There, there, my dear child--it's a warm day, and our clothes--"
"Will not stand crushing. I know it, and how sweet you look in that soft
gray. But I thought you were at Cambridge."
"Oh, no, I was not invited to the feast of reason this morning. I am
going out merely for the frivolities of the afternoon. I forgot to write
you that I had promised your mother I would call for you. I realized my
oversight only as I started. Perhaps you have made other plans?"
"I have been too busy for plans. Mamma forgot to tell me you were
coming. An hour ago I thought I was too busy to go to Cambridge, but
now--it just delights me to think of going with you."
The ride in an open car over the long bridge soothed Martine. She almost
forgot that she had been tired. When Mrs. Redmond drew from her the
story of her recent responsibilities, the young girl made light of the
difficulties that had beset her. She was always happy with Mrs. Redmond,
and the latter's quick understanding of her present trials lessened the
trials themselves.
When they reached Harvard Square, Martine's spirits rose.
"There's no doubt I love a crowd," she said. "This makes me think of a
country fair, only the people are better dressed, and there are no
fakirs."
"My dear child--a country fair!"
"I mean the atmosphere is somewhat the same--oh, there are Amy and
Fritz."
Somewhere from the crowd pouring out from one of the smaller college
gates, Amy and Fritz were approaching the spot on the sidewalk where
Martine and Mrs. Redmond were standing.
"I am delighted to see you, children," said Mrs. Redmond. "I was
secretly wondering where we should go next--to Fritz' rooms or to the
Pudding."
"Oh, to the Pudding at once," responded Fritz; "you are none too early.
As for Amy--"
"I shall never dare look a strawberry in the face again. Early as it is,
I have already eaten so many, and, oh, mamma, it is all so delightful.
Fritz and I have already been at the Pudding, and now we'll go back with
you."
At this point Mrs. Redmond interfered. She assured Fritz that she and
Martine were quite able to take care of themselves.
"It is the Senior's day," she said; "and Martine and I are here only
incidentally. One of us is too old, and the other too young--almost too
young--to be exacting about Class Day. Martine's best time will come
when Lucian graduates."
"Run, Amy," exclaimed Martine. "It's delightful to see you and Mr.
Tomkins getting on so well. You usually try to send him away somewhere;
but now you are ready to go where he goes, and so your mother and I
won't detain you for even a minute."
"Let us hurry, then," said Amy, turning to Fritz. "If Martine is in one
of her mischievous moods, we cannot tell when she will stop teasing."
"At my rooms at four," cried Fritz, as he and Amy left the others at the
entrance to the Pudding spread.
From this moment for the rest of the day, Martine not only forgot that
she was tired, but her recent troubles seemed altogether of the past. In
spite of the great crowd, a number of her Chicago friends found Martine
in the corner where Mrs. Redmond made her sit. It is true that she had
not even a word with Hazen Andrews, her special host, who, like most
Seniors, was thoroughly occupied looking after relatives and the girls
of the older set, to which Martine did not belong.
She had not many friends among the Seniors, though two or three in their
flowing gowns, mortar-boards in their hands, came up to speak to her or
Mrs. Redmond.
"Isn't it fun?" cried Martine to the latter. "It's like taking a journey
somewhere, and running upon all kinds of people that one hasn't seen for
a long time--only one seldom sees so many persons one knows on a single
journey."
Promptly at four o'clock Mrs. Redmond and Martine met Amy and a number
of her friends at Fritz' rooms, and together they all went over to the
Memorial delta where the statue exercises were held.
"It's dazzling!" cried Martine, looking about at the tiers and tiers of
gayly dressed girls and women; "only more beautiful than a flower
garden, because it's more alive, this garden of people. I wish we could
see Elinor here."
"My dear little girl, this is a great pleasure," said a voice at
Martine's elbow, and turning to the left, to her great surprise, Martine
found her neighbor to be a Chicago friend of her father.
"Didn't know I was an old Harvard man! Well, the West does take the
starch of culture out of us. I'm going down there among the graduates
after a while. I'm holding these seats for my niece and a friend, who
thought they could never find it unless I was here as a landmark. They
failed to meet me, as people always fail on Class Day. Let me see,
Lucian doesn't graduate this year?"
"No, he isn't in Cambridge; he has gone to join father."
"Yes, yes, of course; this has been a hard year for your father."
The tears came to Martine's eyes.
"Bless my soul, child, don't cry. It's coming out all right. Everyone
must have some business cares, and up to the present your father has
been remarkably successful. But money isn't everything!"
"That's just it," responded Martine. "The money doesn't matter at
all--to me. But we are afraid that father is breaking down--that's why
Lucian has gone to South America; and we can't hear for some time just
how things are."
"Well, well! I didn't realize that things were going so badly--at least
you must think they are going badly, or you wouldn't look downcast. A
bright girl like you should always look on the bright side of things.
But so far as your father's business is concerned, I may tell you that
it is likely to take a turn for the better--at present I am not at
liberty to say more. It's this news about his health that troubles me.
Let me know what you hear from Lucian."
Mr. Gamut's words were more cheering than anything Martine had heard for
weeks, and in the few minutes that intervened before the arrival of his
niece, he told her a number of interesting stories about earlier Class
Days.
"This is a larger gathering, this crowd around the statue, than we used
to see at the tree. But give me the tree, and the wreath, and the wild
scramble, and the torn flowers that the boys were almost ready to stake
their lives for! Sometimes I am afraid we are making everything too
refined; a little rough and tumble is good even for the most cultivated
students. This confetti!--no, I don't care for it."
Mr. Gamut, on the arrival of his niece, departed to his place among the
graduates. The niece was a girl whom Martine had known slightly at home.
She had recently come from Chicago, and in consequence, was able to tell
Martine various bits of news, which, if not important, at least had some
interest for one away from home.
After the mass of students had marched into the enclosure, and had given
all the regulation Harvard cheers, Martine felt herself thoroughly
imbued with the spirit of the day. She listened intently to the cheers,
hummed the air of "Johnny Harvard" while the students sang it. When her
own stock of confetti was exhausted, she helped Mrs. Redmond throw hers
in the direction of Fritz.
"It's the prettiest sight I ever saw," she cried. "This wonderful
shimmering network of ribbons--it's as if we had been caught in a
rainbow--and if we were only a little farther away from people, they
would seem like real fairies. Oh, I am glad I came!"
"I am glad that you are cheerful again," whispered Mrs. Redmond. "For a
moment to-day, I feared that you were going to be blue."
"Well, it was only for a moment. Now I feel happy--almost as happy as
Amy. Come, Amy dear, Fritz will never find you in this crowd. Let us
return to his rooms as quickly as we can. The sooner we are there, the
sooner we shall go on to the spread."
How Priscilla would have shuddered at the teasing tone that Martine used
in addressing Amy. Even though she now understood Martine so much better
than formerly, and, indeed, really loved her, Priscilla could not
accustom herself to Martine's frivolity of speech and manner toward Amy.
Fortunately for her own feelings, Priscilla was safely at Plymouth at
this particular moment, and Amy, whom Martine never offended, only
smiled indulgently at the younger girl.
They had not long to wait at Fritz' pleasant rooms before he appeared,
flushed and triumphant, accompanied by two or three friends.
"Wasn't it fine? We managed to bring you a few sprays of flowers. The
bevy of beauty on the seats above almost blinded us. But for that we
might have done better, although I can tell you, no one else got more;
and we fairly had to fight our way out. Now we are ready to share our
trophies. This for you, Amy, and Barton--yours, I believe, are for Miss
Martine; but I forget, you have never met. Mr. Barton, Miss Stratford--I
always forget that the men I know do not always know the girls I know.
But now, Barton, you will escort Mrs. Redmond and Miss Martine to our
humble spread--and Helmer--ah, here they are--Miss Naylor, Miss
Starkweather--let me present Barton and Helmer, and Jack Underwood. Now
we can start--I thought your aunt was coming--ah! lost?"
"Of course she isn't lost, Kate," interposed the practical Elinor. "I am
sure that I hear her on the stairs." And to prove that Elinor was right,
a moment later the elder Miss Starkweather came panting into the room.
"You should have waited for me, girls; I had such a fright--I was sure
you were lost!"
"Not lost--only gone before," interrupted Fritz. "I am sorry I shocked
you, Amy," he whispered, catching her look of reproof. "Let us hurry on,
ahead of the others."
Martine, walking with Fritz' friend, Barton, across the college yard,
felt quite in her element. The young man was by no means bashful, and in
a few moments the two were deep in a lively conversation. Martine's
fatigue had passed away. Family trials were forgotten.
Fritz Tomkins had united with four or five of his friends in giving a
large spread in one of the modern halls outside the yard.
Secretly Martine thought the affair conventional, "like any afternoon
tea, with flowers on the table, and candelabra, and all the fashionable
bonbons."
"But you wouldn't see so many men at a mere tea, truly I think it's
great fun," said the staid Elinor, snuggling into a corner beside
Martine. "At the next game I shall hardly know what side I am on. I like
Harvard so well, and your hat, Martine, the one I am wearing, you can't
imagine how many compliments it has had. You were altogether too good to
let me have it. Do you suppose I shall _ever_ find that trunk?"
Before Martine could reply, some one came to carry Elinor off for a
walk. Martine, left to herself, eagerly watched everything around her.
"I wonder why Fritz pays more attention to Amy than to anyone else. He
sees so much of her always that I should think to-day he'd look after
other people. Now, I'm sure Amy isn't sentimental."
But just at this moment, Martine caught an expression on Fritz' face as
he turned toward Amy that set her thinking. Rising to her feet, she
hurried toward Mrs. Redmond.
"Tell me, please, how late you mean to stay. It's dark now, and the
lanterns in the yard must be lit. I'd like to see the illumination, and
hear the Glee Club sing, but I ought to be home by nine, please. I have
a busy day before me."
"Just as you wish, my dear. I will speak to Amy."
A moment later, Amy, Fritz, and Elinor surrounded Martine, protesting
against her departure, urging her to go with them to Memorial, to return
with them to Fritz' rooms, to watch the illuminations; in short, to do
anything but go home.
Martine, however, was firm, and when she started off for the yard with
Mrs. Redmond, Mr. Barton went with them.
"It is a glimpse of fairyland," said Martine, as they strolled about
through the crowd. "Why do these lines of lanterns make the yard look
ten times its usual size? Why do these red lights make every one seem
beautiful? Why--"
"Let me continue," interrupted Emmons Barton. "_Why_ won't you come over
to Memorial? _Why_ must you hurry home?"
"Because I am Cinderella," responded Martine gayly. "Because I should
hate to lose my glass slipper. Come, Mrs. Redmond, I am sure our car is
waiting, if Mr. Barton will only find it for us."