Even the pleasant anticipation of the Senior Prom could not drive from Gale’s mind the necessity for passing her mid-term examinations. Her whole future, so she had privately decided, rested on her passing and going on with her friends to Briarhurst. If she couldn’t go with the others she would not want to go at all. It was unthinkable that she should be left behind!
Slowly but surely Gale pulled her marks up. The lapse of time when she had fallen so far behind was forgotten. She regained her old honor roll standing in every subject but one.
Gale had always had trouble with English. Poetry, literature and written composition all combined to give her the most trouble of all her subjects. She could read poetry, memorize it and recite it beautifully, but she had not the faintest appreciation of it. The passages of the greater composers with their clarity and beautifully penned expressions awoke no interest in her whatever. Literature stirred her even less. Her compositions were fair, but not good enough to counter-balance her deterrent marks in the other subjects.
Disheartened and it seemed all for naught, Gale studied literature and poetry. English was a major and she must pass! It meant the necessary points for her graduation! She learned the words in her books and could repeat them like an automaton but they meant absolutely nothing to her.
Miss Relso was not so very much older than Gale. She could remember her own school days when she, too, had struggled with difficult subjects. She wanted to help Gale but the girl must first learn an appreciation of Shakespeare and Browning and all the other masters. Once she had the foundation of a liking for the finer writings it would not be difficult to master all she had to for her class.
The teacher, in a vain attempt to force interest into Gale, kept her after school for conferences, paid particular attention to all Gale’s classwork. But it seemed hopeless. Gale either couldn’t or wouldn’t learn to like poetry.
“Gale, take this book home and read the story of Elaine and Lancelot tonight,” the teacher said one afternoon. “When you’ve finished it, no matter what time it is, come around to my house and we’ll talk about it.”
Gale accepted the book “Idylls of The King” reluctantly and left the classroom. She had a wild desire to pitch the volume into the first handy wastepaper basket. Never had she liked Tennyson. She had not liked any of the poets, but Tennyson in particular. However, the blue book remained in her possession as she wandered homeward. It even remained with her when she met the other Adventure Girls at the Kopper Kettle.
“Hello,” she said as she sank down in her chair. “Where’s Phyllis?”
“In the gym practicing for basketball,” Janet said and pulled her chair in closer. “Now here is my plan.”