Betty Wales, Freshman. Dunton Edith Kellogg

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СКАЧАТЬ on the day after Nan left, in her haste to buy a chafing-dish. In the afternoon Rachel had suggested that a teakettle was really more essential to a college establishment, and they had gone down together to change it. But then had come Miss King’s invitation to eat “plowed field” after the frolic; and the chafing-dish, appearing once more the be-all and end-all of existence, had finally replaced the teakettle.

      “But we’re going to have both,” ventured Helen shyly.

      “Oh yes,” broke in Betty. “Isn’t it fine of Helen to get it and make our tea-table so complete?” As a matter of fact Betty much preferred that the tea-table should be all her own; but Helen was so delighted with the idea of having a part in it, and so sure that she wanted a teakettle more than pillows for her couch, that Betty resolved not to mind the bare-looking bed, which marred the cozy effect of the room, and above all never to let Helen guess how she felt about the tea-table. “But next year you better believe I’m hoping for a single room,” she confided to the little green lizard who sat on her inkstand and ogled her while she worked.

      When church was over Katherine proposed a stroll around the campus before dinner. “I haven’t found my bearings at all yet,” she said. “Now which building is which?”

      Betty pointed out the Hilton House proudly. “That’s all I know,” she said, “except these up here in front of course–the Main Building and Chapel, and Science and Music Halls.”

      “We know the gymnasium,” suggested Helen, “and the Belden House, where we bought our screen, is one of the four in that row.”

      They found the Belden House, and picked out the Westcott by its name-plate, which, being new and shiny, was easy to read from a distance. Then Helen made a discovery. “Girls, there’s water down there,” she cried. Sure enough, behind the back fence and across a road was a pretty pond, with wooded banks and an island, which hid its further side from view.

      “That must be the place they call Paradise,” said Betty. “I’ve heard Nan speak of it. I thought it was this,” and she pointed to a slimy pool about four yards across, below them on the back campus. “That’s the only pond I’d noticed.”

      “Oh, no,” declared Katherine. “I’ve heard my scientific roommate speak of that. It’s called the Frog Pond and ‘of it more anon,’ as my already beloved Latin teacher occasionally remarks. To speak plainly, she has promised to let me help her catch her first frog.”

      They walked home through the apple orchard that occupied one corner of the back campus.

      “It’s not a very big campus, and not a bit dignified or imposing, but I like it,” said Betty, as they came out on to the main drive again, and started toward the gateway.

      “Nice and cozy to live with every day,” added Katherine. Helen was too busy comparing the red-brick, homely reality with the shaded marble cloisters of her dreams, to say what she thought.

      Betty’s dancing class was a great success. With characteristic energy she organized it Monday morning. It appeared that while all the Chapin house girls could dance except Helen and Adelaide Rich, none of them could “lead” but Eleanor.

      “And Miss King’s friends said we freshmen ought to learn before the sophomore reception, particularly the tall ones; and most of us are tall,” explained Betty.

      “That’s all right,” interposed Eleanor, “but take my advice and don’t learn. If you can’t lead, the other girl always will; and the men say it ruins a girl’s dancing.”

      “Who cares?” demanded Katherine boldly. “Imagine Betty or Miss Brooks trying to see over me and pull me around! I want to learn, for one–men or no men.”

      “So do I,” said Rachel and Mary Rich together. “And I,” drawled Roberta languidly.

      “Oh well, if you’re all set upon it, I’ll play for you,” said Eleanor graciously. She was secretly ashamed of the speech that Katherine had overheard the day before and bitterly regretted having antagonized the girls in the house, when she had meant only to keep them–all but Betty–at a respectful distance. She liked most of them personally, but she wished her friends to be of another type–girls from large schools like her own, who would have influence and a following from the first; girls with the qualities of leadership, who could control votes in class-meetings and push their little set to first place in all the organized activities of the college. Eleanor had said that she came to college for “fun,” but “fun” to her meant power and prominence. She was a born politician, with a keen love of manœuvring and considerable tact and insight when she chose to exercise it. But inexperience and the ease with which she had “run” boarding-school affairs had made her over-confident. She saw now that she had indulged her fondness for sarcasm too far, and was ready to do a good deal to win back the admiration which she was sure the Chapin house girls had felt for her at first. She was particularly anxious to do this, as the freshman class-meeting was only a week off, and she wanted the votes of the house for the Hill School candidate for class-president.

      So three evenings that week, in spite of her distaste for minor parts and bad pianos, she meekly drummed out waltzes and two-steps on Mrs. Chapin’s rickety instrument for a long half hour after dinner, while Betty and Roberta–who danced beautifully and showed an unexpected aptitude in imparting her accomplishment–acted as head-masters, and the rest of the girls furnished the novices with the necessary variety of partners, practiced “leading,” and incidentally got better acquainted. On Friday evening, as they sat in the parlor resting and discussing the progress of their pupils and the appalling length of the Livy lesson for the next day, Eleanor broached the subject of the class-meeting.

      “You know it’s to-morrow at two,” she said. “Aren’t you excited?”

      “It will be fun to see our class together,” said Rachel. Nobody else seemed to take much interest in the subject.

      “Well, of course,” pursued Eleanor, “I’m particularly anxious about it because a dear friend of mine is going to be proposed for class president–Jean Eastman–you know her, Betty.”

      “Oh yes,” cried Betty, enthusiastically. “She’s that tall, dark girl who was with you yesterday at Cuyler’s. She seemed lovely.”

      Eleanor nodded and got up from the piano stool. “I must go to work,” she said, smiling cordially round the little group. “Tell them what a good president Jean will make, Betty. And don’t one of you forget to come.”

      “She can be very nice when she wants to,” said Katherine bluntly when Eleanor was well out of hearing.

      “I think she’s trying to make up for Sunday,” said Betty. “Let’s all vote for her friend.”

      The first class-meeting of 190- passed off with unwonted smoothness. The class before had forgotten that it is considered necessary for a corporate body to have a constitution; and the class before that had made itself famous by suggesting the addition of the “Woman’s Home Monthly” to the magazines in the college reading-room. 190- avoided these and other absurdities. A constitution mysteriously appeared, drawn up in good and regular form, and was read and promptly adopted. Then Eleanor Watson nominated Jean Eastman for president. After she and the other nominees had stood in a blushing row on the platform to be inspected by their class, the voting began. Miss Eastman was declared elected on the first ballot, with exactly four votes more than the number necessary for a choice.

      “I hope she’ll remember that we did that,” Katherine Kittredge leaned forward to say to Betty, who sat in the row ahead of her with the fluffy-haired freshman from the Hilton and her “queer” roommate.

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