Slips of paper were passed around and, with a feeling of deep importance, each freshman wrote the name of the girl she wanted for her president.
With much rustling the slips were collected in hats by freshmen appointed by the pretty Junior who presided.
Then with more rustling they were counted, while the freshmen’s eyes popped out of their heads in eagerness to learn how good a showing their favorite was making.
The silence was most respectful when the pretty Junior took up the counts the freshmen had made and read in her sweet, serious voice, “Myra Whitewell 200, Gloria Hazeltine 101, Florence Thomas 99, Corinne Adams 50.”
The ignorant freshmen remained breathless, waiting to be told whether any one was yet their president or not.
“It is necessary, according to the by-laws, to have a two-thirds majority for a candidate before she can receive office,” the presiding Junior informed them in those dainty and precise tones of hers. “Therefore another vote will be cast, in the hope of bringing about more unanimity.”
With joy the freshmen wrote again on slips of paper. But the vote came in again identically the same! The pretty Junior, whose name was Alta Perry, raised her eye-brows in surprise. Tirelessly the appointed freshmen passed out new voting slips.
“When a candidate has too few votes to be really in the running,” protested the Junior mildly, “the voting would get on faster to give those votes elsewhere. The idea is not to show your loyalty to any one girl, but to elect a president for the freshman class.”
Peggy took council with her henchman, Katherine.
“If those Adams votes go to Florence Thomas, I suppose Gloria will be sacrificed sooner or later,” she said. “If they go to Myra Whitewell—I think she’s the haughty little thing yonder wearing the Mrs. Castle head-ache band,—why, then Gloria’s out, too. The only thing to do is to get them for Gloria.”