Betty Wales, Senior

by Harriet Pyne Grove

  CHAPTER XVII

  BITS OF COMMENCEMENT

  But Betty Wales couldn't forget it yet. It stood out in the midst of thehappy leisure and anticipation of senior week like a skeleton at thefeast,--a gaunt reminder that even the sheltered little world of collegemust now and then take its share of the strange and sorrowful problemsthat loom so much larger in the big world outside. But even so, it hadits alleviating circumstances. One was Miss Ferris's hearty approval ofthe way in which Betty and Eleanor had managed their discovery, andanother was Jean Eastman's unexpected attitude of helpfulness. Sheassumed her full share of responsibility, discouraging gossip andspeculation about the thefts as earnestly and tactfully as Bettyherself, and taking her turn of watching the Blunderbuss at the timeswhen Miss Ferris couldn't follow her without causing too much comment.Betty and Eleanor tried to accept her help as if they had expectednothing else from her, and Jean for her part made no reference to thatphase of the matter except to say once to Betty, "If Eleanor Watson canstand by her I guess I can. Besides you stood by me, and I didn'tdeserve it any more than this poor thing does. Please subtract it fromall the times I've bothered you."

  Betty was very generous with the subtraction. She was in a generousmood, wanting to give everybody the benefit of the doubt that, with agood deal of a struggle, she had managed to give Georgia. Of course thevindicating of the little freshman was quite the happiest result of thewhole affair. It didn't take Betty long to identify the amethyst pendantas the one article which the Blunderbuss had said she couldn't return;and she was at once relieved and disappointed, on going over the stolenjewelry with Miss Ferris, to find that Nita's pin was certainly missing.Of course that left room for the possibility that the Blunderbuss hadnot taken it, and the next thing to do was to consult Georgia and makesure. Betty waited until after dinner that evening for a chance to seeher alone and then, unable to stand the suspense any longer, brokeabruptly away from her own friends and detached Georgia from a group oftired and disconsolate freshmen sympathizing over examinations.

  "Let's go for a walk all by ourselves," she said.

  "No fair, running off to talk secrets," Madeline called after the pair.

  "Curiosity killed a cat," Betty chanted gaily back at her, leading theway to the back campus.

  "It's awfully nice of you to ask me to come, when so many people wantyou," said Georgia shyly.

  "Oh, no, it's not," protested Betty. "I shall have a whole week with theothers after you've gone. Besides, there's something I especially wantto talk to you about. Let's go and sit on the bank below theobservatory."

  They found comfortable seats among the gnarled roots of an old elm,where they could look across at Paradise and down on a bed of gorgeousrhododendrons, over which great moths, more marvelously colored thanthe flowers, flitted lazily in the twilight. Then Betty plunged intothe thick of things.

  "You remember the pendant that you wore on your chain the night of theGlee Club concert. You said it was a present. Would you mind telling mewho gave it to you? I have good reason for asking."

  Georgia flushed a little and made the answer that Betty had hoped for."The senior Miss Harrison gave it to me last Christmas. I know you andMadeline don't like her, and I don't like her a bit better. But what canyou do, Betty, when some one takes a fancy to you? You can't snub herjust because she happens to be stupid and unpopular--not if you're a'Merry Heart,' anyway."

  "No," said Betty, "you can't. But if you don't like her you won't feelso bad about what I've got to tell you."

  Georgia listened to the story aghast. "But I'm not so dreadfullysurprised," she said. "It explains so many things. She started to takeCaroline's class-pin one day in our room. I supposed she had picked itup without thinking, so when she went away I asked her for it and sheacted so funny when she gave it back. And then the way she happened togive me this pin. I went to call on her once last fall, after she hadasked me to dinner, and I noticed it shining under the edge of thecarpet. When I called her attention to it she didn't seem to understand,so I picked it up myself. She acted queer then too, and when I admiredit and said what a pretty pendant it would make she fairly insisted onmy taking it. Of course I wouldn't, but she had it fixed to go on achain and sent it to me for Christmas." Georgia interrupted herselfsuddenly. "It was ages after the Glee Club concert before you found outabout Miss Harrison. What did you think of me all that time?"

  "Why just at first I couldn't understand it," said Betty truthfully,"but after I'd thought it over I was sure you weren't to blame and I'vebeen getting surer and surer all the time. But I am awfully glad to knowhow it all happened."

  "And I am awfully glad that it was you who saw it," said Georgiafervently. "I never wore it but that once. I couldn't make her take itback, so I decided to send it to her after college was over--I knewmother wouldn't want me to take such a valuable present from a girl Iknew so slightly, and I thought Miss Harrison would be glad to have itback then. You see," Georgia explained, "I think she did things for mein the hope that I would manage to get her in more with the girls Iknew. She has been awfully lonely here, I guess. Well, I felt ashamed ofhaving the pin and ashamed of knowing her, and the things Madeline saidabout her worried me dreadfully, but I couldn't seem to shake her off.Why, I've done everything I could, Betty, that wouldn't hurt herfeelings. I've fairly lived in other people's rooms, so that she'd neverfind me at home, and that hurt my poor little roommate's feelings, sothe other day I had to tell her what the matter was. I've never told anyone else--I hate people who talk about that sort of thing--but I've beenjust miserable over it,--indeed I have! And now it seems worse thanever." Georgia's big brown eyes filled with tears.

  But she smiled again when Betty assured her that she thought it was muchbetter to be bothered and to have things come out all wrong than to bealways thinking just of yourself.

  "You see," Georgia confessed, "the first time I met her she seemed niceenough and I accepted her first invitations without thinking, so whenshe wanted to be intimate I felt as if I had been partly to blame forletting her begin it."

  "Yes, you do have to be careful about not being too friendly at first,"said Betty soberly, "but I think there are a lot of mistakes worse thanthat. I'm sorry though, if this has spoiled your first year here."

  "Oh, it hasn't," said Georgia, eagerly; "it has just spotted it alittle. It was a lucky thing, I guess, that I had something to botherme, or I should have been spoiled with all the good times you've givenme. I did try to be a good 'Merry Heart,' Betty. Perhaps I shall havebetter luck next time."

  "I'm sure you will," said Betty, heartily, and after they had arrangedfor the returning of Nita's pin in such a way as not to involve MissHarrison, they started back to the Belden, Georgia to begin her packingand Betty to join the rest of the "Merry Hearts," who were spending theevening on the piazza.

  But after all Betty slipped past them and went on up-stairs. She was ina very serious mood. She realized to-night as she never had before thather college days were over. The talk with Georgia had somehow put aperiod to a great many things and she wanted to be alone and think themover. Her little room was stiflingly hot and she threw the window wideopen and sat down before it in the dark, leaning her elbows on the sill.The piazza was just below; she could hear the laughter and merriment,and occasionally a broken sentence or two drifted up to her.

  "There's nothing left to do now but commence," declared Bob Parker,loudly.

  "And when we have commenced we shall be finished," added Babe, andlaughed uproariously at her bad joke.

  That was just Betty's trouble,--"nothing left to do but commence," whichwas quite enough if you happened to be a member of the play committee.But before you "began to commence" all the tangled threads of the fourhappy years ought to be laid straight, and they weren't, or at least onewasn't. Betty had always felt sure that before Eleanor graduated shewould get back her standing with the class. But if she had, there wasnothing to prove it; the feeling of her classmates toward her hadcertainly changed but nothing had happ
ened that would take away thesting of the Blunderbuss's insult last fall and of Jean's taunts at thetime of the Toy Shop entertainment. Eleanor would go away feeling thaton the whole she had failed. Well, it was too late to do anything now.Betty lit her gas long enough to hunt up a scarf that would furnish atleast a lame apology for her delay, and went down to the gay group onthe piazza. When thoughts will only go round in a circle, the best thingto do is to stop thinking them.

  "I say, Betty," cried Bob eagerly, "did you know that Christy had gonehome? I mean did you know she hasn't come back? She went just for seniorweek and now her mother is too ill to leave and she's got to stay."

  "Poor Chris!" said Betty, suddenly remembering Christy's note which, inthe excitement over the Blunderbuss she had forgotten to open. "Howlucky that she gave up Antonio."

  "Isn't it?" agreed Bob. "She's coming back for Tuesday of course to runthe supper and get her precious little sheepskin. Her mother isn'tdangerously sick, I guess, but there are lots of children and Christyseems to think she's the only one who can manage them."

  "Think of her missing the play!" said Madeline.

  "Perhaps she'll get back by Saturday night," suggested Eleanor,hopefully.

  "I think she's a lot more likely not to come back at all," declaredBabe, "but it's no use to worry about that yet. Who's going to meet MaryBrooks?"

  "Everybody who isn't a 'star,' or hasn't got to be made up early mustgo," commanded Madeline. "She comes at four-ten, remember. Babbie andRoberta, go in out of this damp."

  Up in her room again Betty closed the window against the invadingJune-bug and hunted high and low for Christy's note. She hardly expectedto find it after so long a time, but it finally turned up hidden in thefolds of a crumpled handkerchief which she had stuffed carelessly intoher top drawer. And luckily it was not too late to do Christy'scommission. She merely told of her hasty departure and wanted Betty tobe sure that the supper cards, with the menu and toasts on them, wereready in time. The printer was about as dependable as Billy Henderson,Christy wrote; he needed reminding every morning and watching betweentimes.

  Betty dashed off a hasty note of sympathy and apology, promising to makethe printer's life a burden until he produced the supper-cards, and wentto bed.

  Next day commencement began in earnest. Gay young alumnae carryingsuit-cases, older alumnae escorting be-ribboned class-babies and theiranxious nurses, thronged the streets; inconsiderate families began toarrive a whole day before there was anything in particular for them todo. All the afternoon the "mob" people and the other "sups" besieged thestage door of the theatre waiting their turns to be made up, and then,donning heavy veils hurried back up the hill. It was tiresome being madeup so early and having to stay indoors all the hot afternoon, but itcouldn't be helped, for there was only one make-up man and he must saveplenty of time for the principal actors.

  So the campus dinner-tables were patronized by young persons withheavily penciled eyebrows and brightly rouged cheeks, who ate cautiouslyto avoid smearing their paint and powder, and than ran up-stairs to jeerat the masculine contingent whose beards and moustaches had condemnedthem to privacy and scanty fare.

  "I shall die of starvation," wailed Bob Parker, when she reached thetheatre, confiding her sad story to Betty. "I said I didn't mind being aJew and having my toes stepped on when the Christians hustle me out ofcourt. But how can any one eat dinner with a thing like this," and sheheld up her flowing beard disdainfully.

  "I'm sure I don't know," said Betty absently, consulting a messymemorandum as if she expected to find directions for eating with a beardamong its items. "Bob, where is Roberta Lewis? The make-up man wants herthis minute. It takes ages to fix on her nose."

  "Portia is afraid she is going to be hoarse," announced another "supe"importantly.

  "Then find the doctor," commanded Barbara Gordon swiftly, as Bettydisappeared in search of Roberta. "Be careful, men. Look out for thatgondola when you move the flies. Rachel, please keep the maskers off thestage."

  "Why don't we begin?"

  "Did you ever see such a mess?"

  "Oh, it's going to be a horrible fizzle. I told you the scenery was tooelaborate."

  But two minutes later the "street in Venice" scene was ready andAntonio and "the Sals," as the class irreverently styled his friends,were chatting composedly together in front of it.

  The house was packed of course and there was almost as much excitementin front as there was behind the scenes. Of course the under class girlsand alumnae were delighted, but there was a distinguished critic from NewYork in the fifth row, and when Shylock appeared he was as enthusiasticas Mary Brooks herself. Even the cynical Richard Blake was pleased. Hehad come up to see the play and also, so he explained, to be a familyto the bereft Madeline; but as Madeline was behind the scenes EleanorWatson was obligingly looking after him. Her father and mother weren'tcoming until Saturday, and Jim could only make a flying trip between twoexaminations to spend Monday in Harding, so Eleanor had plenty of sparetime with which to help out her busier friends.

  "I'm going to make out a schedule of my hours," she told Mr. Blakelaughingly, "for it would be dreadful if I should forget an engagementand promise to entertain two or three uncongenial people at the sametime."

  "Indeed it would," agreed Mr. Blake soberly. "To-night, for instance, itwould have been fatal. I say, Miss Watson, keep an hour or two openMonday evening. If Madeline should urge me, I believe I'd run up againfor that outdoor concert. It must be no end pretty. Ah, the carnivalscene. I never saw that put on more effectively, Miss Watson."

  The next night the fathers and mothers and cousins and aunts went intoecstasies over "that lovely Portia" and "sweet little Jessica," laughedat young Gobbo's every motion, and declared that Shylock was "just toowonderful for anything." A funny little old lady who sat next toRoberta's father even went so far as to ask him timidly if he didn'tagree with her that Shylock was a man. "I've been telling my sister thatno college girl could act like that. I guess I know an old man when Isee one," she said, and blushed scarlet when he answered in his courtlyway, "Pardon me, madam, but Shylock is my daughter. She will appreciateyour unstudied compliment."

  When the curtain finally went down on the last performance of the playthe committee were almost too tired to realize that they were through,and Katherine Kittredge, alias Gratiano, sank down on the nearest grassyknoll (made of green cambric) and expressed the universal sentiments ofthe cast.

  "Not for all the ducats in Belmont will I call Portia a learned judgeagain."

  "You needn't, K., but please hop up," said Barbara Gordon wearily."They're singing to us. Get into the centre, Roberta. We've got to letthem see us again; they won't stop clapping till we do."

  And then you should have heard the noise!

  "Three cheers for good old Shylock," called somebody, and they weregiven with a will. Then they sang to her.

  "Here's to you, Roberta Lewis, Here's to you, our warmest friend!"

  Then they sang to Barbara and to Kate Denise, and to both the Gobbos.

  "I say, ain't you folks goin' home till mornin'?" shouted a jovialstage-hand, thrusting his head out from the wings.

  The crowd laughed and cheered him, then cheered everybody and went home,singing to Roberta all the way up the hill.

  "But you can't blame them," said Betty Wales. "They don't realize howtired we are, and it's something pretty exciting to have given the playthat Miss Ferris and Mr. Masters both say is the best yet."

  "And to have had a perfectly marvelous Shylock," added Kate Denisewarmly.

  "And a splendid Portia," put in Roberta.

  "Oh, wise young judges, please don't forget to mention Gratiano," saidKatherine Kittredge, and set them all to laughing.

  "It's been splendid fun," said Barbara. "Don't you wish we could give itall over again?"

  Then they sat down on the green knolls and the gondolas and Portia'sbest carved chairs, and talked and talked, until, as Babbie said, theyall felt so proud of themselves and each oth
er and 19-- that the stagewouldn't hold them. Whereupon they remembered that to-morrow wasBaccalaureate Sunday and that most of their families had inconsideratelyinvited them out to breakfast,--two facts which made it desirable to gohome and to bed as speedily as possible.

  It always rains in the morning of Baccalaureate Sunday, but it generallyclears up in time for the service, which is in the afternoon; and evenif it doesn't the graduating class and its friends are willing to makethe best of a bad matter because it would have been so much worse if therain had waited for Ivy Day. 19--'s Baccalaureate was showery in anaccommodating fashion that permitted the class to sleep late in themorning because their families wouldn't want them to go out in therain, and cleared off just before and just after the service, so thatthey didn't need the carriages that they couldn't possibly have gotten,no matter how it poured.

  And it cleared off for Ivy Day. Helen Adams was up at five o'clockanxiously inspecting the watery sunshine to see if it would last.

  "For they can't plant the ivy in the rain," she thought, "and if theydon't plant it how can they sing the song?"

  But the sunshine lasted, Marie planted the ivy,--and the collegegardener carefully replanted it later, "'cause them gals will be thatdisapp'inted if it don't live,"--the class sang Helen's song, and theodes, orations and addresses were all duly delivered.

  Then, as Bob flippantly remarked, the fun began. For Mr. Wales hadchartered three big touring cars and invited the "Merry Hearts" to goout to Smugglers' Notch for luncheon, with Mrs. Adams, who had neverbeen in an auto before, for chaperon and himself, Will, and Jim Watsonas escorts and chauffeurs.

  By the time they got back the campus was festooned with Japaneselanterns, little tables ready for bowls of lemonade stood under all thebiggest trees, and a tarpaulin dotted with camp chairs covered aroped-off enclosure near the back steps of College Hall.

  "You've got tickets, father," Betty explained, "so you can sit down inthere and listen to the music. Will, you're to call for me."

  "For Miss Ayres," Will amended calmly. "Watson is going to take you."

  Judge and Mrs. Watson had seats too, so Eleanor and Mr. Blake, Betty andJim, and Madeline and Will wandered off together, two and two, enjoyingsnatches of the concert, exploring the campus, and engaging in a mostexciting "Tournament"--Madeline's idea of course--to see who could drinkthe most lemonade. Will was ahead, with Madeline a close second, when amysterious whistle sounded from the second floor of the Hilton.

  "Oh, good-bye, Dick," said Madeline briskly, holding out her hand. "It'stime for you to go. Shall I see you to-morrow or not till I get to NewYork?"

  "Have we really got to go so soon?" asked Will sadly.

  Betty nodded. "Or at least we've got to go and put on old dresses, so asto be ready to join in our class march."

  "Why can't we march too?" demanded Mr. Blake.

  "Because you're not Harding, 19--," said Madeline with finality.

  And so, half an hour later, another procession assembled on the spotwhere the Ivy Day march had started that morning. But this time 19-- waswearing its oldest clothes and heaviest shoes and didn't care whether itrained or not. Four and five abreast they marched, round the campus, upMain Street and back, round and round the campus again. "Just as if wehadn't torn around all day until we're ready to drop," Eleanor Watsonsaid laughingly. It is a perfectly senseless performance, this "classmarch," which is perhaps the reason why every class revels in it.

  But the procession was moving more slowly and singing with rather lessenthusiasm, when a small A.D.T. approached the leaders. "Is Miss MarieHoward in this bunch?" he demanded. "She orter be at the Burton, butshe ain't."

  "Yes, here I am," called Marie quickly, and the small boy lit asputtering match, so that she could sign his book and read her telegram.It was from Christy: "Awfully sorry can't come for supper. Writing."

  "How perfectly dreadful," cried Marie, repeating the message to Bob, whowas standing beside her. Bob passed on the bad news, and the processionbroke up into little groups to discuss it.

  "Why don't you appoint some one to take her place right now?" suggestedBob. "Then she can sit up all night and get her remarks ready. She won'thave much time to-morrow."

  Marie looked hastily around her and caught sight of Betty Wales standingunder a Japanese lantern that was still burning dimly.

  "Betty!" she called, and Betty hurried over to her.

  "I think we ought to fill Christy's place now," whispered Marie. "ShallI appoint Eleanor Watson or have her elected?"

  "Have her elected," said Betty, as promptly as if she had thought itall out beforehand.

  "Then will you propose her?"

  Betty shook her head. "That wouldn't do. Eleanor knows how I feel towardher. It must come from the people who haven't wanted her. They're allhere, I think." Betty peered uncertainly through the gloom to make surethat Jean and her friends and the Blunderbuss were still out. "If thewhole class wants her badly enough, they'll think of her."

  Marie stepped out into the light of the one lantern and called the classto order. "It's a queer time to have a class-meeting," she said, "andI'm not sure that it's constitutional, but who cares about that? You allknow about Christy and as Bob Parker says the new toastmistress ought tohave all the time there is left. So please make nominations."

  "Why don't you appoint some one, Marie?" called Alice Waite sleepily.

  "Because the toastmistress who presides over our supper ought to be thechoice of her class," said Marie firmly.

  "Madam president,"--Jean Eastman's clear, sharp voice broke thesilence. "It's a good deal to ask of any one, to step in at the lastminute like this. Very few of us are capable of doing it,--of making asuccess of it, I mean. In fact I only know of one person that I shouldbe absolutely sure of. Fortunately no one deserves such an appointmentmore truly. I nominate Eleanor Watson."

  A little thrill swept over the "queer" class-meeting. Everybody hadknown more or less about the bitter feud between Jean and Eleanor, andvery few people had had the least suspicion that it had ended. Indeedeven Betty and Eleanor had not been sure how far Jean's friendlinesscould be counted upon. Betty, standing back in the shadows where Mariehad left her, gave a little gasp of amazement and clutched Bob's arm sohard that Bob protested.

  "I second that motion, Miss President." It was the Blunderbuss, and herstolid face grew hot and red in the darkness, as she wondered if any onewho knew that she didn't belong to 19-- now would question her right totake part in the meeting. "But I was bound to do it," she reflected. "Iguess she isn't the kind of girl I thought she was. Anyhow I didn'tmean to hurt her feelings before, and this will sort of make up."

  "Any other nominations?" inquired Marie briskly.

  There was silence and then somebody began to clap. In a minute the wholemeeting was clapping as hard as it could.

  "I guess we don't need ballots," said Marie, when she could be heard."All in favor say aye."

  There was a regular burst of ayes.

  "Those opposed?"

  Silence again.

  "There's a unanimous vote for you," cried Bob Parker eagerly. "Speechfrom the candidate! Betty, you're killing my arm!"

  "Speech!" The class took up Bob's cry.

  "Where are you, Eleanor?" called Marie, and Eleanor, coming out frombehind a big bush said, "I'll try to do my best--and--thank you." Itwasn't a brilliant speech to come from the girl who has often beencalled Harding's most brilliant graduate, but it satisfied everybody,even Betty.

  "I did it just to show you that I've got the idea," Jean Eastmanmuttered sulkily, jostling Betty in the crowd; and that was satisfactorytoo. Indeed when Betty went to bed that night she confided to the greenlizard that she hadn't a single thing left to bother about at Harding.