AT HILARY’S SPREAD
Smiling faces and figures with the grace and freedom of youth made the
small room seem very cosy and full of good cheer. It was remarkable how,
in spite of the disappearance of food, conversation never flagged. In
fact, it often occurred that several were talking at once.
“Mother wrote,” said Hilary, “that our good friend, uncle Andy
Short,—everybody calls him ‘Uncle’—brought in the chickens all ready,
dressed and wouldn’t take a cent. He said ‘I don’t suppose those girls
ever get a good square meal there.’ He just adores Father and heard in
some way about the birthday box.”
“How grand to be a minister’s daughter!”
“Dear Uncle Andy!”
“No joking,—he is just fine. They haven’t any children, so they’re nice
to other people’s. It’s great out on their big farm, five hundred acres,
Father says.”
“What cannibals we are!” Lilian remarked. “I’m going to stop chicken and
begin on some of the other things if I can. Look at my plate, Hilary,—I
accepted everything that was passed!”
“May we have dessert tomorrow, Hilary?” asked Grace, looking in mock
despair from her plate to the beautiful birthday cake just brought in.
“How many girls are out for basketball, Pauline?” asked Eloise.
“About fifteen, I think.”
“That is pretty good, isn’t it?” asked Lilian. “There are only
twenty-four Juniors altogether.”
“How many are chosen?” Cathalina had never seen a game, but was
beginning to be interested.
“Six,” replied Juliet. “Girls have two centers,—so it will be easier for
them. Boys have only one. The floor is divided differently, too. You
will see.”
“Come down, Cathalina, and watch us some day,” said Pauline, “before the
games come off. You will understand it better. And that makes me
think—how many of you here are playing now?—You, Di, and Hilary and
Grace,—”
“I haven’t any chance for the team,” said Grace, “but I like to play for
the fun of it.”
“That is the way with me,” said Lilian, “but I don’t see how Di and
Hilary can help being on it, and Polly and Juliet, of course. They
played last year, Cathalina.”
“But you have a vote just the same, and I wanted to tell you that the
silly ‘Fudge Club’ want to get Florence Day elected captain. We all know
that Hilary ought to be elected Captain.”
“O, Pauline would be better, girls!” cried Hilary promptly and
sincerely.
“Thanks, Hilary,” said Pauline. “I do think I understand the game, but I
am not as good a leader. Hilary has the head for emergencies.”
“Don’t quarrel, children!” Betty pretended to part Pauline and Hilary,
who sat close together on the cedar chest. “Polly told me some time ago
that Hilary was a big surprise to the girls in basketball and that she
ought to be elected Captain. Florence is a good player, but she isn’t
equal to Hilary. She goes all to pieces sometimes, and isn’t always fair
besides. Everybody can count on Hilary all the time, they say.”
“Hear, hear!” applauded the girls.
“Is this politics?” inquired Isabel.
“No, indeed,” replied Pauline. “I just wanted to warn you about some. If
Hilary were my own sister and not the best one I would not vote for her.
The point is to win!”
“Who elects the Captain?” asked Cathalina again.
“The whole crowd of girls out for the team. Then the captain goes to
work to train them all and later the coach chooses the best players for
the team.”
“I see,” said Cathalina looking wise.
“Well, what happens at Greycliff after that?” Avalon continued the
questioning, and Juliet replied this time.
“The class games come on first, in the Academy and in the Collegiate
classes, too. We fight hard in our class games and most of our interest
is in them, because we hardly ever beat the big girls. If we did we’d
have a chance at games with another school. Don’t I wish it would be the
Juniors this time!”
“Rah, rah, Juniors, Greycliff!”—and Pauline waved a wishbone.
Juliet went on: “We usually play against the Highland Seminary
girls,—only twenty miles away. Lots of us go over to root for our team,
or they come here.”
“They call themselves the Highlanders,” added Helen, “and wear Scotch
colors. The last time they came here they got hold of an old Scotchman
who could play the bagpipe and brought him along. It was something awful
to hear and actually fussed our girls. They beat us, too. Wasn’t it
awful, Pauline?” Helen shook her head at the sad memory.
“I should think so! Miss Randolph did not like the bagpipes any too
well, either. The Highlanders had a young chaperone and had the
Scotchman join them here. Miss Randolph did not know that, of course,
till afterwards, so put up with it.”
“They are our deadliest rivals, Cathalina,” explained Eloise.
“Do they usually beat?” Cathalina inquired innocently.
“I should say not! I’m sure that we are at least two games ahead!” cried
Pauline, in some excitement.
“Nice old Polly! Polly want a cracker?” said Betty soothingly, offering
a piece of cake.
“I wish that Miss Randolph would let us go around to more places,”
sighed Juliet, stretching forward red slippers and smothering a yawn.
“It is such fun.”
“Indeed, Juliet, you ought to be thankful you can ever go! It was a long
time before Miss Randolph would have _any_ games away from home. So they
say; and Patricia West told somebody that Miss Randolph thinks
‘competitive games’ bad for the girls. But I guess she just had to give
in for fear ev’rybody would go to the other schools.”
“I shouldn’t think anybody would want to go anywhere else that ever
_saw_ Greycliff,” said Cathalina, forgetting her own early indifference,
though a bit surprised at her own feeling. “But somehow I hate to think
that Miss Randolph would give in to anything she didn’t think right. I
can’t believe it!”
“Good for you, Cathalina,—you are a loyal Greycliffer already! And I
guess all of us feel that way about Miss Randolph, too.” Thus spoke
Lilian. “But you know Miss Randolph does not own the school, even if her
uncle did give so much money. She can’t help some things,—and of course
we’re all glad about this.”
“Let’s talk about the Hallowe’en doin’s,” suggested Avalon. “I can’t
think of a thing for a costume!”
“Why, Avalon, do forgive me for not telling you. We’ve changed our plans
and it won’t be a masquerade,—costumes of a sort, though. I forgot you
were having sore throat.”
“And I forgot, too, to tell her,” said Isabel guiltily.
“What’s the new plan, then, Cathalina? Yes, I was over at the pest house
two days.”
“We’re going to have a circus. Wait till I drink the rest of my cocoa
and I’ll get a list that I have. Everybody has to report to the
committee what she’s going to be or do. You can get some ideas of what
you would like to be.”
“You ought to see Di as the performing bear,” said Helen.
“What are you?”
“O, I’m the man that leads him around and makes him dance and lets the
bear hug him and everything.”
“I’m going to run a side show,” said Lilian. “How would you like to take
tickets?”
“Nothing so tame for me. I’d rather be an animal or a spangled lady.”
“Put your wits to work, all of you, and help out the committee with your
brilliant ideas. We only have a few days.”
“Where are you going to have it?” asked Isabel.
“In the Gym. We’re going to charge from one cent up for the different
shows and things. It’s for the Y. W., you know. So get your money
changed up and you can have pink lemonade and peanuts, beside seeing the
Greatest Wonders in the World! Wait till we get out our posters
tomorrow. All our artists are working on the hand bills!” Cathalina’s
eyes sparkled as she thought of the funny things that were being made
ready, and the girls all laughed at her professional air. “And we don’t
want the Collegiate girls to beat us being funny. Some of the little
graders are going to be too dear!”
“What will you do if everybody wants to be an animal?”
“No danger of that. The costumes are too hard to make.”
“I think so!” exclaimed Diane. “Helen and I have worked all week; catch
us trying it again! Me for a tightrope performance or something easy!”
Two sleepy girls were left in the suite after the guests had gathered up
their kimonos and departed, with promises to come in the next day for a
second lunch on the remains. Hilary threw herself into a chair and
looked at the table with a comical expression. “That’s the mischief!
eleven o’clock and all this mess to clear up!” But Cathalina was already
gathering up the bones and crumbs, shaking them into one big paper, and
putting the good things into the various pasteboard boxes.
“Never mind, Hilary. It’s your birthday and you supplied all these
lovely eats, so I’ll clean up. Go to bed, Hilary. If my mother could
only see how I’ve reformed, she would be proud of her little Cathalina.”
Hilary sprang up protesting, and in a twinkle the table was cleared, the
embroidered runner and books put back and the soiled china and silver
piled in the big cocoa kettle “till tomorrow”.
“I’m glad we can’t wash the dishes tonight.”
“Yes, the fudge room is locked by this time.”
“And we’d wake everybody up there or anywhere we were prowling.”
“Set the alarm for six, please, Hilary. Isn’t it awful? I have to copy a
theme before first hour class!”
Twelve restless heads tossed on twelve rumpled pillows. Hilary dreamed
that she was playing basketball with a Scotch Highlander eight or ten
feet tall, who always managed to get the ball and just reach over to
drop it through the basket! Cathalina’s dreams took the form of strange
animals in cages, clowns and swinging elephants; and once a reproachful
looking chicken, as large as an ostrich, stretched his neck between the
bars of a gloomy cage and pulled out by the roots a braid of Cathalina’s
long hair!