Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and un-italicized text by
=equal signs=.
SMITH COLLEGE STORIES
SMITH COLLEGE STORIES
TEN STORIES BY
JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
MCM
_Copyright, 1900, by Charles Scribner's Sons_
_D. B. Updike, The Merrymount Press, Boston_
_To my Mother, who sent me to college,
I offer these impressions of it._
_J. D. D._
PREFACE
If these simple tales serve to deepen in the slightest degree the
rapidly growing conviction that the college girl is very much like any
other girl--that this likeness is, indeed, one of her most striking
characteristics--the author will consider their existence abundantly
justified.
J. D. D.
CONTENTS
I
_The Emotions of a Sub-guard_ 1
II
_A Case of Interference_ 37
III
_Miss Biddle of Bryn Mawr_ 67
IV
_Biscuits ex Machina_ 85
V
_The Education of Elizabeth_ 123
VI
_A Family Affair_ 151
VII
_A Few Diversions_ 205
VIII
_The Evolution of Evangeline_ 247
IX
_At Commencement_ 279
X
_The End of It_ 321
THE FIRST STORY
_THE EMOTIONS OF A SUB-GUARD_
I
THE EMOTIONS OF A SUB-GUARD
Theodora pushed through the yellow and purple crowd, a sea of flags
and ribbons and great paper flowers, caught a glimpse of the red and
green river that flowed steadily in at the other door, and felt her
heart contract. What a lot of girls! And the freshmen were always
beaten--
"Excuse me, but I _can't_ move! You'll have to wait," said some one.
Theodora realized that she was crowding, and apologized. A tall girl
with a purple stick moved by the great line that stretched from the
gymnasium to the middle of the campus, and looked keenly at Theodora.
"How did you get here?" she asked. "You must go to the end--we're not
letting any one slip in at the front. The jam is bad enough as it is."
Theodora blushed. "I'm--I'm on the Sub-team," she murmured, "and I'm
late. I--"
"Oh!" said the junior. "Why did you come in here? You go in the other
door. Just pass right in here, though," and Theodora, quite crimson
with the consciousness of a hundred eyes, pulled her mackintosh about
her and slipped in ahead of them all.
Oh, _here's_ to Ninety-_yellow_,
And her _praise_ we'll ever _tell_--_oh_,
Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
_down_, _down_!
the line called after her, and her mouth trembled with excitement. She
could just hear the other line:
Oh, _here's_ to Ninety-_green_,
She's the _finest_ ever _seen_!
and then the door slammed and she was upstairs on the big empty floor.
A member of the decorating committee nodded at her from the gallery.
"Pretty, isn't it?" she called down.
"Beautiful!" said Theodora, earnestly. One half of the gallery--her
half--was all trimmed with yellow and purple. Great yellow
chrysanthemums flowered on every pillar, and enormous purple shields
with yellow numerals lined the wall. Crossed banners and flags filled
in the intervals, and from the middle beam depended a great purple
butterfly with yellow wings, flapping defiance at a red and green
insect of indistinguishable species that decorated the other side. A
bevy of ushers in white duck, with _boutonnières_ of English violets
or single American beauties, took their places and began to pin on
crêpe paper sunbonnets of yellow or green, chattering and watching
the clock. A tall senior, with a red silk waist and a green scarf
across her breast, was arranging a box near the centre of the
sophomore side and practising maintaining her balance on it while she
waved a red baton. She was the leader of the Glee Club, and she would
lead the sophomore songs. Theodora heard a confused scuffle on the
stairs, and in a few seconds the galleries were crowded with the
rivers of color that poured from the entrance doors. It seemed that
they were full now, but she knew that twice as many more would crowd
in. She walked quickly to the room at the end of the hall and opened
the door. Beneath and all around her was the hum and rumble of
countless feet and voices, but in the room all was still. The Subs
lounged in the window-seats and tried to act as if it wasn't likely to
be any affair of theirs: one little yellow-haired girl confided
flippantly to her neighbor that she'd "only accepted the position so
as to be able to sit on the platform and be sure of a good place." The
Team were sitting on the floor staring at their captain, who was
talking earnestly in a low voice--giving directions apparently. The
juniors who coached them opened the door and grinned cheerfully. They
attached great purple streamers to their shirt-waists, and addressed
themselves to the freshmen generally.
"Your songs are great! That 'Alabama Coon' one was awfully good! You
make twice the noise that they do!"
The Team brightened up. "I think they're pretty good," the captain
said, with an attempt at a conversational tone. "Er--when do we
begin?"
"The Subs can go out now," said one of the coaches, opening the door
importantly. "Now, girls, remember not to wear yourselves out with
kicking and screaming. You're right under the President, and he'll
have a fit if you kick against the platform. Miss Kassan says that
this _must_ be a quiet game! She _will not_ have that howling! It's
her particular request, she says. Now, go on. And if anything happens
to Grace, Julia Wilson takes her place, _and look out for Alison
Greer_--she pounds awfully. Keep as still as you can!"
They trotted out and ranged themselves on the platform, and when
Theodora got to the point of lifting her eyes from the floor to gaze
down at the sophomore Subs across the hall in front of another
audience, the freshmen were off in another song. To her excited eyes
there were thousands of them, brilliant in purple and yellow, and
shouting to be heard of her parents in Pennsylvania. A junior in
yellow led them with a great purple stick, and they chanted, to a
splendid march tune that made even the members of the Faculty keep
time on the platform, their hymn to victory.
_Hurrah!_ _hurrah!_ the _yellow_ is on _top_!
_Hurrah!_ _hurrah!_ the _purple_ cannot _drop_!
_We_ are Ninety-_yellow_ and our _fame_ shall never _stop_,
_'Rah_, _'rah_, _'rah_, for the _freshmen_!
They sang so well and so loud and strong, shouting out the words so
plainly and keeping such splendid time, that as the verse and chorus
died away audience and sophomores alike clapped them vigorously, much
to their delight and pride. Theodora looked up for the first time and
saw as in a dream individual faces and clothes. They were packed in
the running-gallery till the smallest of babies would have been sorely
tried to find a crevice to rest in. A fringe of skirts and boots hung
from the edge, where the wearers sat pressed against the bars with
their feet hanging over. They blotted out the windows and sat out on
the great beams, dangling their banners into space. She could not see
the Faculty behind her, but she knew they were adorned with rosettes,
and that the favored ones carried flowers--the air where she sat was
sweet with violets. A group of ushers escorted a small and nervous
lady to the platform: on the way she threw back her cape and the
sophomores caught sight of the green bow at her throat.
Oh, _here's_ to Susan _Beane_,
She is _wearing_ of the _green_,
Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
_down_, _down_!
they sang cheerfully.
Just behind her a tall, commanding woman stalked somewhat consciously,
decked with yellow streamers and daffodils. The junior leader
consulted a list in her hand, frantically whispered some words to the
allies around her box, and the freshmen started up their tribute.
Oh, _here's_ to Kath'rine _Storrs_,
Aught but _yellow_ she _abhors_,
Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
_down_, _down_!
Miss Storrs endeavored to convey with her glance, dignity, amusement,
toleration of harmless sport, and a repudiation of the personality
involved in the song; but it is to be doubted if even she was
satisfied with the result. Theodora wished she had seen the President
come in. She had been told how he walked solemnly across the hall,
mounted the platform, unbuttoned his overcoat, and displayed two
gorgeous rosettes of the conflicting colors--his official and
exclusive privilege. And she had heard from the Team's retreat the
thunder of applause that greeted this traditional rite. She wondered
whether he cared who won: whether he realized what it was to play
against a team that had beaten in its freshman year.
A burst of applause and laughter interrupted her meditations. She felt
herself blushing--was it the Team? No: the sophomore Subs were
escorting to the middle of the floor a child of five or six dressed in
brightest emerald green: a child with a mane of the most remarkable
brick-red hair in the world. She wore it in the fashion of Alice in
Wonderland, and it grew redder and redder the longer one looked at it.
She held a red ribbon of precisely the same shade in her hand, and at
the middle of the floor the sophomores suddenly burst away from her
and ran quickly to their seats, revealing at the end of the ribbon an
enormous and lifelike green frog. The child stood for a moment
twisting her little green legs undecidedly, and then, overcome with
embarrassment at the appreciation she had evoked, shook her flaming
locks over her face, and dragging the frog with her, sometimes on its
side, sometimes on its head, fled to the sophomores, who bore her off
in triumph.
"They got her in Williamsburgh," said somebody; "they've been hunting
for weeks for a red-haired child, and that frog was from the drug
store--oh, my dear, how _perfectly_ darling!"
Alone and unabashed the freshman mascot took the floor. He was perhaps
four years old and the color of a cake of chocolate. His costume was
canary yellow--a perfect little jockey suit, with a purple band on his
arm adorned with Ninety-yellow's class numerals. He dragged by a
twisted cord of purple and yellow a most startling plum-colored
terrier, of a shade that never was on land or sea, with a tendency to
trip his master up at every step. In the exact middle of the floor the
mascot paused, rolled his eyes till they seemed in danger of leaving
their sockets, and then at a shrill whistle from the balcony pulled
his yellow cap from his woolly head and made a deep and courtly bow
to his patrons. But the storm of applause was more than he had been
prepared for, and with a wild look about the hall and a frantic tug at
the cord he dragged the purple and protesting animal to a corner of
the room, where a grinning elder sister was stationed for his comfort.
Theodora's heart beat high: theirs was the best! Everybody was
laughing and exclaiming and questioning; the very sophomores were
shrieking at the efforts of the terrier to drag the little darkey out
again; one member of the Faculty had laughed himself into something
very like hysteria and giggled weakly at every twitch of the idiotic
purple legs.
"It was Diamond Dyes," Theodora heard a freshman just above call out
excitedly, "and Esther Armstrong thought of it. They dyed him every
day for a week--"
The mascot and the dog had trotted up again, and as they ran back and
the animal gave a more than ordinarily vicious dart, the poor little
boy, yielding suddenly, sat down with exquisite precision on his
companion, and with distended eyes wailed aloud for his relative, who
disentangled him with difficulty and bore him away, his cap over his
ear and his little chocolate hands clutching her neck. In the
comparative silence that followed the gale of laughter some bustle and
conference was noticed on the sophomore side, and suddenly the leader
rose, lifting her green and red stick, and the front line of
sophomores and seniors intoned with great distinctness this thrilling
doggerel:
I never saw a purple pup:
I never hoped to see one:
But now my mind is quite made up--
I'd rather see than be one!
This was received favorably, and the gallery congratulated the
_improvisatrice_, while Theodora wondered if that detracted at all
from the glory of the freshmen! The chattering began again, and she
drummed nervously with her heels against the platform, while the
Centre, sitting next her, prophesied gloomily that Grace Farwell felt
awfully blue, and that Miss Kassan had said they were really almost
too slight as a team--the sophomores were so tall and big. Harriet
Foster had said that she was perfectly certain she 'd sprain her
ankle--then who would guard Martha Sutton? It was all very well for
Caroline Wilde to say not to worry about that--_she_ hadn't been able
to guard her last year! She was just like a machine. Her arm went up
and the ball went in; that was all there was to it. And Kate was as
bad. They might just as well make up their minds--
"Oh, hush!" cried Theodora, her eyes full of nervous tears; "if you
can't talk any other way, just keep still!"
"Very well," said the Centre, huffily, and then the chattering died
away as Miss Kassan made mysterious marks on the floor, and the
coaches took their places with halves of lemon and glasses of water in
their hands. A door opened, and in a dead hush the sophomore team
trotted in, two and two, the Suttons leading, bouncing the big ball
before them. There was such a silence that the thudding feet seemed to
echo and ring through the hall, and only when Martha suddenly tossed
it behind her at nothing and Kate from some corner walked over and
caught it did the red and green burst forth in a long-drawn single
shout: "Ninety-gre-e-e-e-e-n!"
Miss Kassan looked apprehensive, but no _'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!_ followed;
only,--
Here's to _Sutton M._ and _K._
And they'll _surely_ win the _day_,
Drink 'em _down_, drink 'em _down_, drink 'em _down_,
_down_, _down_!
Theodora set her teeth. "Humph! Will they?" she muttered savagely.
"Here they come!" cried the Centre, and they ran in, the big yellow
numerals gleaming effectively against their dark suits, their braids
bobbing behind them. Grace Farwell was quite pale, with one little
spot of red in each cheek, but Harriet Foster was crimson with
excitement, and the thick braids of auburn hair that fell over her
breast bumped up and down as she breathed. The thunder of recognition
died away, and they tossed the ball about nervously, with an eye on
Miss Kassan, who handed a ball to her assistant and took her place on
the line to watch fouls.
"All ready!" said the assistant. There was a shuffling about, a
confusion in the centre, a concentration of eyes. Harriet Foster took
her place by Martha Sutton and sucked in her under lip; Grace lined up
with Kate in the centre, clasping and unclasping her hands. Near her
stood a tall slim girl with green numerals on her sleeve. Her soft
dark hair was coiled lightly into a Greek knot--it seemed that the
slightest hasty movement must shake it over her sloping shoulders. It
grew into a clean-cut widow's peak low on her smooth white forehead;
below straight, fine brows two great, sad, gray eyes, wide apart,
wondered at life; her oval face was absolutely colorless and threw out
the little scarlet mouth that drooped softly at the corners. Her hands
lightly folded before her, she swayed a little and looked dreamily
over the heads of the others; she seemed as incongruous as a Madonna
at a bull-fight.
"Who is that lovely girl in the middle?" said some one behind
Theodora.
"That is a Miss Greer," was the reply. "She is one of the best--"
"Play!" called the assistant, and the big ball flew out of her hands
into Kate Sutton's. Kate gave an indescribable twist of her shoulder,
the ball rose in the air, passed over an utterly irrelevant scuffle in
the centre, and landed in Martha's hands. Martha balanced it a moment
and threw it into the exact middle of the basket, while the sophomores
howled and pounded and the freshmen looked blankly at one another.
They had not been accustomed to such simple and efficacious methods.
"One to nothing!" said the assistant, quietly. "Play!"
Theodora caught her breath. She dared not look at Grace, but she
stared hard at Harriet. What was Harriet thinking? Not that she could
have done anything--Martha was two inches taller and had the ball
tight in her hands two seconds after the assistant had tossed it--Ah,
what was that?
The ball had reached the floor and Grace had somehow gotten it. She
threw it to Virginia Wheeler, whose hands were just grazing it when
something shot like a flash of lightning upon her. She fell back and
some one slapped the ball from between her very finger-nails up, up
into the air, where Kate caught it, and a few short, sharp,
instantaneous passes got it into Martha's relentless hands. When it
dropped into the basket Alison Greer was looking beyond the tumult,
across the gallery, into the sky--white and unruffled. Theodora winked
and tried to think that some one else had swooped down from her place
six seconds before.
The sophomores were shouting yet. Some one said: "That's as pretty a
piece of team work as you'll often see, isn't it? Those twins have
eyes in the backs of their heads."
"Two to nothing--play!" said the assistant.
Theodora did not see the next goal won. Through a mist she stared into
the gallery. Her eye caught a face she knew, and she wondered angrily
how Miss Carew could smile so nonchalantly--it was her own class!
From the plume in her exquisite toque to the tip of her patent leather
toe she looked the visiting lady of leisure. The little lace
handkerchief dangling from her hand had a green silk monogram in the
corner--how dared she wear green? She nodded at a senior, across the
game, and fanned herself. The freshmen broke into a roar of delight
that ended in a long-drawn _A-a-a-a-h!_ There was a scuffle, a little
cry, a flash from Alison Greer's corner, and the assistant's "Three to
nothing--play!" was drowned in the sophomore shouts.
"You see the freshmen have no chance, really," said some one behind,
calmly, and as if it made little matter at best. "They are terribly
scared, of course, and they've never had the training of a big game.
The sophomores have been all through this before--they don't mind the
crowd. And then, they beat last year, and that gives them a tremendous
confidence. They're so much bigger, too--"
Theodora turned and stared at her. She was very pretty; she had a
bunch of violets as big as her head pinned to her dress, and her hands
were full of daffodils. That was like the Faculty! To take their
flowers and talk that way! "Horrid thing! _Horrid_ thing!" she
muttered, and the Centre, looking angrily at Miss Greer, assented.
"She's a perfect tiger! Look at her eyes! She knocked Virginia right
over--you couldn't stop her with a steam-engine--Oh! Oh! _Oh!_
_Ninety-yellow!_ _Rah, rah-a-a-a-ah!_"
Right out of their hands it had slipped, and the two girls slid across
the floor, fell, reached out, missed it, and gritted their teeth as
the Centres, with a long-practised manoeuvre, passed it rapidly from
hand to hand to Martha, whose long arm slid it imperturbably into the
basket.
"That Guard doesn't accomplish much," said somebody.
"Good heavens, how can she? Look at the girl! She lays it in
like--like that," was the answer, as the assistant called, "Five to
nothing--play!"
Theodora looked up at the purple and yellow gallery. The freshmen
stared as if hypnotized at their steady misfortune, their faces
flushed, their mouths tremulous: when the players ran to suck the
half-lemon or kneeled to tighten their shoes, their class-mates held
breath till they returned; when Grace got the ball or Virginia pushed
it aside, they started a cheer that faded into a sigh as Alison Greer
drove everything before her or Kate sent that terrible Sutton throw
to her sister. Theodora suddenly started. Just before the ball left
Kate, she threw up her left hand with the palm slightly spread, and
some instinct moved Theodora to glance at Martha. Her left hand went
up instantly as if to throw back a braid, but it waved toward the
right, and while Harriet braced herself for a jump the ball flew into
the air far off to the right and the instinctive motion toward Martha
left the way clear for one of Alison Greer's rushes and sudden,
birdlike throws. In a moment Martha had it, and as Harriet bent
forward to guard, and the ball toppled unsteadily on the edge of the
basket and fell off, in the midst of the hubbub and scuffle some one
pushed heavily on Harriet, four hands grasped the ball firmly,
somebody called, "Foul, foul!" and as five panting girls hurled
themselves against the wall and the assistant tossed up where it fell,
to make sure of fair play, Harriet dropped with her foot beneath her
and did not get up. Martha put the ball in from an amazing distance,
and in the storm of applause no one noticed the freshman Guard, till
the cry of, "Six to nothing--play!" found her still sitting there.
The ball was dropped, and they ran up to her. Two doctors hurried out;
she half rose, fell back and bit her lip. The freshmen craned out
over the gallery, the sophomores shook their heads; "Too bad, too
bad!" they murmured. Two freshmen made a chair, lifted Harriet quickly
and ran out with her, the doctors followed, and in the dead hush they
heard her voice as the door closed.
"I'm so sorry, girls--go right on--don't wait--"
"Plucky girl," said a man's voice. "It's a shame!"
The freshmen looked very blue; the team stood about in groups; the
sophomores waited politely at one side. Martha went over to Grace and
held her hand out: "I'm terribly sorry," she said earnestly, "it's too
bad. They say your Subs are very good, though."
Grace nodded, and ran over to the coaches, who walked aside with her
for a moment, talking earnestly. Presently they came over to the
platform and the Centre nudged Theodora enviously. "Go on!" she
whispered. "Grace wants you!"
Theodora gasped. "Not me--not me!" she objected feebly.
"Me--guard--Martha Sutton!"
"Go on!" said somebody, and they pushed her out.
"Come on, Theodora--hurry up, now!"
The people seemed to swim before her; for one dreadful moment she
longed for her home as she had never longed before. Her knees shook
and the clapping of the class sounded faraway. With her eyes on the
floor she moved out; halfway to the centre Virginia Wheeler stepped to
meet her and put her arm over Theodora's shoulder.
"Don't be scared, Theo," she said, "don't be scared, but help us
out--heaven knows we need it!"
"Watch Martha--don't take your eyes off her!" whispered the coach as
she handed the lemon to the new Guard.
As in a dream Theodora passed to the lower basket. Martha patted her
on the shoulder. "Hello!" she said in a bluff, friendly way, and then
the assistant called, "Six to nothing, play!" and threw the ball. It
dropped in the middle, and there was a terrible scrimmage for at least
four minutes, while the people swayed and sighed and clapped and
screamed, for the freshmen were getting terribly excited and rapidly
losing their self-control, as it became evident that their team was
struggling desperately and making one of the longest fights on record
for the ball they were determined to have. It was almost in the
basket, it tottered on the edge, it fell, and Kate Sutton caught
it--how, no one knew, for it was nowhere near her. The freshmen were
shrieking with rage, the sophomores clapping with triumph. Every eye
in the hall was fixed on Kate Sutton--every eye but Theodora's.
She watched Martha, and saw above her head that long brown hand wave
ever so slightly to the left as she tossed her hair back. She braced
herself, and just as Martha made a dash to the right, Theodora let her
go and flew to the left. She went too far, but even as Martha dashed
up behind her and put up her hands, Theodora jumped, caught the ball
with her left hand and with her right hit it a ringing blow that sent
it straight over to the other basket. It hit Alison Greer's head as
she rushed toward it, and while she was raising her hand Grace Farwell
snatched it from her shoulder, glanced desperately at the Home, who
had lost them two balls, and bounded across, throwing the ball before
her. The roar of delight from the freshmen was literally deafening,
and as Grace put it into the basket it seemed to Theodora that the
roof would surely drop.
"Six to one and the first half's up," said somebody, and Theodora was
pushed along with the Team--_her_ team--into the sanctum of their
rest. But as they neared the door, the applause became a song, and
before she quite understood what the verse was, it rang out above her
head:
Here's to _Theo_dora _Root_,
She's our _dandy_ substi_toot_,
Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
_down_, _down_!
Any one who has never been a subject of song to some hundreds of young
women cannot perhaps understand why the mention of one's name in
flattering doggerel should be so distinctly and immediately affecting.
But any one who has had that experience knows the little contraction
of the heart, the sudden hot tightening of the eyelids, the confused,
excited desire to be worthy of all that trust and admiration. It is to
be doubted if Theodora ever again felt so ideally, impersonally
devoted to any cause, so pathetically eager to "make them proud of
her."
In the little room the Team dropped on the floor and panted. The
coaches bustled in with water, shook the hand of the new Guard and
told her to lie flat and not talk. A strong odor of spirits filled the
room, and Theodora, turning her head languidly--for she felt very
tired all at once--saw that one of the juniors was rubbing somebody
with whiskey. Grace was nursing an elbow and excitedly asking
everybody to sit on Alison Greer: "She works her elbow right _into_
you! She runs you right down--"
"There, there!" said one of the juniors, "never mind, never mind,
Gracie! She's a slugger, if you like, but you've got to beat her!
Don't be afraid of her."
"It's no good," said the Home that had missed two balls, "we're too--"
"That's enough of that," interrupted the coach who was fanning
Virginia Wheeler. "You're playing finely, girls. Now all you've got to
do is to make up your five goals. Don't you see how low you've kept it
down? You did some fine centre work. Last year it was eight to
something the first half. You tried to put it in standing right under
the basket, Mary--stand off and take your time."
They trotted out to the music of the sophomore prize song. It was a
legacy from the seniors, who had themselves inherited it. It leaped
out at them--a mocking, dancing, derisive little tune to which
everybody kept time.
It was repeated indefinitely, and at every repetition it went faster
and more furious, and strangers who had not heard it laughed louder
and louder.
Grace smiled grimly. The Team remembered her words just before the
door opened.
"Girls, it isn't likely that we'll win, _but we can give 'em something
to beat_!"
And as the ball went back and forth and could not get free of the
centre, the sophomores realized that they had "something to beat." The
freshmen had somehow lost their fear; they smiled up at their friends
and grinned cheerfully at their losses, which is far better than to
try to look unconscious. A little bow-legged girl with a large nose
and red knuckles accomplished wonders in the centre, and won them
their second basket by stooping abruptly and rolling the ball straight
between Kate Sutton's feet to Grace, who sat upon it and threw it so
hard at Alison Greer that it bounded out of her hands and was promptly
caught by Virginia Wheeler and put into the basket. This feat of
Grace's was due entirely to her having quite lost her head, but it
passed as the most daring of manoeuvres, and received such wild
applause that Miss Kassan very nearly stopped the game.
"What _shall_ I do? This is terrible. I never _heard_ such noise as
the freshmen are making!" she mourned, with an apprehensive glance at
the platform. At that moment the ball soared high, fell, was sent up
again, and caught by a phenomenal leap on the part of the little
bow-legged girl, who got it into the basket before the Home knew what
was happening. The war broke out again, and Miss Kassan beheld two
members of the Faculty pounding with their canes on the platform.
"Did you see her jump? George! That was a good one! Did you see that,
Robbins?"
But Robbins was standing up in his interest and cheering under his
breath as Martha Sutton snatched a ball clearly intended for some one
else, quietly put it in the basket, and smiled politely at her
enthusiastic friends.
"Lord! What a Fullback she'd make!" he muttered, as Alison charged
down into the centre. The lavender shadows under her eyes were deep
violet now; her mouth was pressed to a scarlet line; her eyes were
fixed on the ball like gray stars. People seemed to melt away before
her: she never turned to right or left.
Theodora saw nothing, heard nothing but the slap of hands on the ball,
the quick breaths that slipped past her cheek. She knew that the
score was nine to five now; a little later it was nine to six. She
caught the eye of the girl in the toque: she was standing now, her
cheeks very red, and the little lace handkerchief was torn to shreds
in her hands.
"Does she really care?" thought Theodora, as she jumped and twisted
and doubled. Back on the senior side sat Susan Jackson, her eyes wide,
her lips parted; Cornelia Burt was breathing on her hands and chafing
them softly. "Nine to seven--play!" called the assistant.
Harriet sat near the fireplace, her bandaged foot on a bench before
her, her hands twisting and untwisting in her lap.
_Here's_ to Harriet _Foster_,
And we're _sorry_ that we _lost_ her,
Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
_down_, _down_!
sang the freshmen. Would Harriet have done better? Would she have--Ah!
"Ten to seven--play!"
And they were so near, too! They _were_ playing well--Grace and
Virginia were great--they could have done something if that stupid
Home--Oh!
Theodora leaped, missed the ball, but danced up in front of Martha
and warded off the girl who slipped in to help her. Martha uttered an
impatient exclamation and scowled. The freshmen howled and kicked
against the gallery, and as the freshman Home woke out of an apparent
lethargy and put the ball in neatly Theodora clapped and cheered with
the rest.
"Ten to eight--play!"
There was a scuffle, a fall, and a hot discussion. Two girls grasped
the ball, and the captains hesitated. Miss Kassan ran up, and in the
little lull Theodora heard from the platform:
"Oh, give it to the freshmen! They deserve it!"
"No, Miss Greer had it!"
"She knocked the girl off it, if that's what--" A rebellious howl from
the yellow gallery as Miss Greer bore off the ball, and a man's voice:
"Oh, nonsense! If you don't want 'em to howl, don't let 'em play! The
idea--to get 'em all worked up and then say: 'No, young ladies,
control yourselves!' How idiotic! I don't blame 'em--I'd howl
myself--Jiminy crickets! _Look_ at that girl! Good work! _Good
work!_"
"Eleven to eight--play!"
"Good old Suttie! Good girl! Ninety-gre-e-e-en!"
Theodora's mouth was dry, and she ran to the coach for a lemon. The
junior's hand shook, and her voice was husky from shouting.
"It's grand--it's grand!" she said quickly. "Martha's mad as a hatter!
See her braid!"
Martha had twisted her pale brown pigtail tightly round her neck, and
was calling with little indistinct noises to her sister. Adah Levy was
talking to herself steadily and whispering, "_Hurry now, hurry now,
hurry now!_" as she doubled and bent and worried the freshman Home out
of her senses. Grace Farwell was everywhere at once, and was still
only when she fell backwards with a bang that sickened the visiting
mothers, and brought the freshmen's hearts into their mouths. A great
gasp travelled up the gallery, and the doctor left her seat, but
before she reached the players Grace was up, tossed her head, blinked
rapidly, and with an unsteady little smile took her place by Alison
Greer. And then the applause that had gone before was mild in
comparison with the thunder from both galleries, and Miss Kassan
looked at her watch uneasily and moved forward.
Now everybody was standing up, and the men were pushing forward, and
only the gasps and bursts of applause and little cries of
disappointment disturbed the stillness--the steady roar had stopped.
Theodora knew nothing, saw nothing: she only played. Her back ached,
and her throat was dry; Martha's elbow moved like the piston of a
steam-engine; her arm, when Theodora pressed against it, was like a
stiff bar; she towered above her Guard. It was only a question of a
few, few minutes--_could_ they make it "eleven to nine"?
She must have asked the question, for Martha gasped, "No, you won't!"
at her, and her heart sank as Miss Kassan moved closer. The ball
neared their basket; the little bow-legged girl ducked under Alison's
nose and emerged with it from a chaos of swaying Centres, tossed it to
Grace, who dashed to the basket--
"_Time's up!_"
The freshmen shrieked, the Team yelled to its captain: "Put it in! put
it in!" The sophomore Guards had not heard Miss Kassan, and Grace
poised the ball. A yell from the freshmen--and she deliberately
dropped it.
"Time's up," she said, with a little break in her voice, and as Miss
Kassan hurried forward to stop the play she gave her the ball. Through
the tumult a bass voice was heard: "I say, you know, that was pretty
decent! I'm not sure I'd have done that myself!"
And as the assistant and Miss Kassan retired to compare fouls, and the
noise grew louder and louder, the freshman team, withdrawn near the
platform, heard a young professor, not so many years distant from his
own alma mater, enthusiastically assuring any one who cared to hear,
that "That girl was a dead game sport, now!"
For a moment the feeling against Grace had been bitter--the basket was
so near! But as the sophomores were openly commending her, and as Miss
Kassan was heard to say that the Team had played in splendid form and
had given a fine example of "the self-control that the game was
supposed to teach," they thought better of their captain with every
minute.
"Eleven to eight, in favor of Ninety-green--fouls even!" said Miss
Kassan, and the storm broke from the gallery. But before it reached
the floor, almost, Martha was energetically beating time, and above
the miscellaneous babble rose the strong, steady cheer of the
sophomores:
'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!
'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!
'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!--Ninety-ye-e-e-e-llow!
"Quick, girls! quick!" cried Grace, for Miss Kassan was running toward
them with determination in her eye.
'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!
'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!
'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!--Ninety-gre-e-e-e-n!
Then it was all a wild, confused tumult. Theodora had no distinct
impressions; people kissed her and shook her hand, and Kathie Sewall
carried Grace off to a swarm of girls who devoured her, but not before
Martha, breathless from a rapid ride around the floor on the unsteady
shoulders of her loyal team, had solemnly extended her hot brown hand
to the freshman captain and said, with sincere respect, "That was as
good a freshman game as ever was played, Miss Farwell--we're mighty
proud of ourselves! Your centre work was simply great! And--and of
course we know that that last goal was--was practically yours!"
Theodora had expected to feel so ashamed and sad--and somehow she was
so proud and happy! The sophomores last year had locked themselves in
for one hour and--expressed their feelings; but the freshmen could
only realize that theirs was the closest score known for years, and
that they had made it against the best team the college had ever seen;
that Martha had said that in fifteen minutes more, at the rate they
were playing, nobody knew what might have happened; that Miss Kassan
had said that except in the matter of noise she had been very proud of
them; and that Professor Robbins had called their captain a Dead Game
Sport!
It would not have been etiquette to carry Grace about the hall, but
they managed to convey to her their feelings, which were far from
perfunctory, and in their enthusiasm they went so far as to obey the
Council's earnest request that the decorations should remain
untouched. They cheered Theodora and Virginia and Harriet and the
bow-legged girl till you would have supposed them victorious; and when
Harriet told Grace, with a little gulp, that it was all up with her,
for her mother had said that a second sprained ankle meant no more
basket-ball, the little sympathetic crowd brightened, and all eyes
turned to Theodora, who breathed hard and tried to seem not to
notice. Could it be? Would she ever run out bouncing the ball in that
waiting hush?...
They were out of the Gym now, and only the ushers' bonnets, the green
and yellow flowers that the Council had _not_ controlled, the
crumpled, printed sheets of basket-ball songs, and the little mascots
posing for their pictures on the campus made the day different from
any other.
"Come and lie down," said somebody, regarding Theodora with a marked
respect. "You'll want to get rested before the dinner, you know."
And as Theodora stared at her and half turned to run after Grace, whom
Kathie Sewall was quietly leading off, the girl--she was in the house
with her--held her back.
"I'd let Grace alone, if I were you," she said. "She's pretty well
used up; she hurt her elbow quite badly, but she wouldn't say
anything, and Dr. Leach says she'll have to keep perfectly quiet if
she wants to be at the dinner--wants to! the idea! But she said _of
course_ you were to come. They say they're going to take some of the
Gym decorations down.--What! Why, the idea! _Of course_ you'll go!
You're sure to make the Team, anyhow, for that matter! I tell you,
Theodora, we're proud of you! It wasn't any joke to step in there and
guard Martha Sutton with a score of six to nothing!"
Theodora paused at the steps, her mackintosh half off, her hair
tangled about her crimson cheeks, her sleeve dusty from that last mad
slide.
"No," she said, with a wave of reminiscence of that sick shaking of
her knees, that shrinking from a million critical eyes. "No, it wasn't
any joke--not in the least!"
And she climbed up the stairs to a burst of applause from the freshmen
in the house and the shrill cry of her room-mate:
"Come on, Theo! I've got a bath-tub for you!"
THE SECOND STORY
_A CASE OF INTERFERENCE_
II
A CASE OF INTERFERENCE
"What I want to know," said the chairman of the committee, wearily,
"is just this. Are we going to give the _Lady of Lyons_, or are we
not? I have a music lesson at four and a tea at five, and while your
sprightly and interesting conversation is ever pleasing to me--"
"Oh, Neal, don't! Think of something for us! Don't you want us to give
it?"
"I think it's too love-making. And no one up here makes love. The
girls will howl at that garden scene. You must get something where
they can be funny."
"But, Neal, dear, _you_ can make beautiful love!"
"Certainly I can, but I can't make it alone, can I? And Margaret Ellis
is a stick--a perfect stick. But then, have it! I see you're bent on
it. Only I tell you one thing--it will take more rehearsing than the
girls will want to give. And I shan't do one word of it publicly till
I think that we have rehearsed enough together. So that's all I've got
to say till Wednesday, and I _must_ go!"
The door opened--shut; and before the committee had time for comment
or criticism, their chairman had departed.
"Neal's a trifle cross," suggested Patsy, mildly. "Something's the
matter with her," said Julia Leslie. "She got a note from Miss
Henderson this afternoon, and I think she's going to see her now. Oh,
I haven't the vaguest idea--What? No, I know it's not about her work.
Neal's all straight with that department. Well, I think I'll go over
to the Gym and hunt out a suit. Who has the key to the property box
now?"
The little group dissolved rapidly and No. 18 resumed its wonted
quiet. "There's nothing like having a society girl for a room-mate, is
there, Patsy?" said the resident Sutton twin, opening the door. She
and her sister were distinguishable by their room-mates alone, and
they had been separated with a view to preventing embarrassing
confusion, as they were incredibly alike. "Couldn't I make the Alpha
on the strength of having vacated this hearth and home eighteen times
by actual count for its old committees?"
"I've put you up five times, Kate, love, but they think your hair's
too straight. Couldn't you curl it?"
Kate sniffed scornfully. "I've always known that the literary
societies had some such system of selection," she said to the bureau.
"Now, in an idle moment of relaxation, the secret is out! Patsy, I
_scorn_ the Alpha, and the Phi Kappa likewise."
"I scorn the Phi Kappa myself, theoretically," said Patsy.
"Do you think they'll take in that queer junior, you know, that looks
so tall till you get close to her, and then it's the way she walks?"
"Dear child, your vivid description somehow fails to bring her to my
mind."
"Why don't you want her in Alpha? But be careful you don't wait too
long! You're both leaving me till late in the year, you know, and
then, ten to one, the other one gets me!"
"A little violet beside a mossy stone is a poor comparison, Katharine,
but at the moment I think of no other. I am glad you grasp the
situation so clearly, though."
"But, truly, I wonder why they don't take that girl--isn't her name
Hastings?--into Phi Kappa? She writes awfully well, they say, and I
guess she recites well enough."
The other Sutton twin sauntered in, and appearing as usual to grasp
the entire conversation from the beginning, rolled her sister off the
couch, filled her vacant place, and entered the discussion.
"But, my dear child, you know she won't make either society! She's too
indifferent--she doesn't care enough. And she's off the campus, and
she doesn't go out anywhere, and she is always alone, and that speaks
for itself--"
"Oh, I'm tired of talking about her! Stop it, Kate, and get some
crackers, that's a dear! Or I'll get them myself," and Patsy was in
the hall.
Kate shook her head wisely at the bureau. "Something's in the air,"
she said softly. "Patsy is bothered. So is Neal. And there are plenty
of crackers on the window-seat!"
Miss Margaret Sewall Pattison sauntered slowly down the stairs. For
one whose heart was set on crackers she seemed strangely indifferent
to the hungry girls standing about the pantry with fountain pens and
lecture books and racquets and hammocks under their arms. She walked
by them and out of the door, stood a moment irresolutely on the porch,
and then, as she caught sight of Cornelia Burt coming out of the
dormitory just beyond, she hurried out to meet her.
"Busy this hour, Neal?" she said.
"No," said Cornelia, briefly. "Where shall we go?"
"We can go to the property box and get some clothes," said Patsy, "and
talk it over there."
In the cellar of the gymnasium it was cool and dim. The beams rose
high above their heads, and a musty smell of tarlatan and muslin and
cheese-cloth filled the air. Patsy sat on an old flower-stand, and
pushed Cornelia down on a Greek altar that lay on its side with a
faded smilax wreath still clinging to it.
"What did she say to you, Neal?" she asked.
Neal looked at the floor. "She was lovely, but I didn't half
appreciate it. I was so bothered and--vexed. Pat, I didn't know the
Faculty ever did this sort of thing, did you?"
"I don't believe they often do," said Patsy. "Did she read that thing
to you, too?"
"Yes. Patsy, that's a remarkable thing. Do you know, when I went there
I thought she was going to call me down for taking off the Faculty in
that last Open Alpha. The girls say she hates that sort of thing. You
know she always says just what she thinks. And she said, 'I want to
read you a little story, Miss Burt, that happened to come into my
hands, and that has haunted me since.'"
"How do you suppose _she_ got hold of it?" queried Patsy.
"I don't know, I'm sure. I certainly shouldn't pick her out to exhibit
_my_ themes to!--I never saw them together."
"I think I saw them walking once--well, go on!"
"'For the _Monthly_?' said I.
"'No,' said she. 'I think the author would not consent to its
publication.' And then she read it to me. Pat, if that girl has
suffered as much as that, I don't see how she stays here."
"She's too proud to do anything else," said Patsy. "Go on."
"Then Miss Henderson said: 'I needn't tell you the value of this thing
from a literary point of view, Miss Burt.'
"'No,' said I, 'you needn't.'
"'Very well,' said she; 'then I'll tell you something else. Every word
of it is true.'
"'I'm sorry,' said I."
"Oh, Neal! I cried when she read it to me! I blubbered like a baby.
And she was so nice about it. But I hated her, almost, for disturbing
me so."
"Precisely. So I said: 'And what have you read this to me for, Miss
Henderson?' And then she told me that the girl in the story was
Winifred Hastings. She has always lived with older people and been a
great pet and sort of prodigy, you know, and was expected to do great
things here, and found herself lonely, and was proud and didn't make
friends, and got farther away from the college instead of nearer to
it, and all that. And I said, 'I suppose she's not the only one, Miss
Henderson.' And she looked at me so queerly. 'Mephistopheles said
that,' said she."
"Oh! Neal! How could you? I--why are you so cold and--"
"Unsympathetic? I don't know. We all have the defects of our
qualities, I suppose. Miss Henderson was quite still for a moment,
looking at me. I felt like a fly on a pin. 'Why do you try so hard to
be cruel, Miss Burt?' said she, finally. 'I think you have an immense
capacity for suffering and for sympathy. Is it because you are afraid
to give way to it?' And I said, 'Exactly so, Miss Henderson. I never
go to the door when the tramps come.'
"'Neither did I, once,' said she, 'but I found it was a singularly
useless plan. You've got to, some time, Miss Burt.'
"'That's what I've always been afraid of, but I'm putting it off as
long as I can,' said I.
"And then she told me that this was the first time that she had done
anything of this kind for a long while. 'I don't believe in helping
people to their places, as a rule,' she said. 'They usually get what
they deserve, I fancy. But this is a peculiar case. You suppose she is
not the only one, Miss Burt? I hope there are very few like her. I
have never known of a girl of her ability to lose everything that she
has lost. There are girls who are queer and erratic and somewhat
solitary and perhaps discontented, but they get into a prominence of
their own and you call it a "divine discontent," and make them
geniuses, and they get a good deal out of it, after all. There are
girls who are queer and quick-tempered, but good students, and devoted
to a few warm friends, and their general unpopularity doesn't trouble
them particularly. There are the social leaders, who don't
particularly suffer if they don't get into a society, who are popular
everywhere, and get the good time they came for. But Winifred Hastings
has somehow missed all these. She got started wrong, and she's gone
from bad to worse. She is not solitary by nature, and yet she is more
alone than the girls who like solitude, even. She is not naturally
reserved, and yet she is considered more so than almost any girl in
college. I believe her to have great executive ability. I consider
her one of the distinctly literary girls in her class,--and if there
is anything in essentially "bad luck," I do honestly believe that she
is the victim of it. Her characteristics are so balanced and opposed
to each other that she can't help herself, and she does things that
make her seem what she is not. Her real self is in this story. You can
see the pathos of that!'"
Neal drew a long breath. "Did she say that to you?" she concluded.
"No, not exactly. She told me that she was speaking to me as one of
the social influences of the college. I felt like a cross between
Madame de Staël and Ward McAllister, you know. And then she spoke of
the power we have, the girls like me, and how a little help--oh, Neal!
it _does_ mean a good deal, though! I can't make people take this girl
up, all alone! The girls aren't--"
"They are! They're the merest sheep! If you do it, they'll all follow
you. That is, if she's really worth anything. Of course, they aren't
fools."