“I have been somewhat delayed in returning to my headquarters in Knoxville but expect to return soon.
“I shall be glad to pay you a visit at the college whenever an opportunity is afforded.
“With many good wishes for you, I beg to subscribe myself,
“Your friend,
“Paul Waffington.”
She read it twice over, replaced it in the little trunk and let down the lid. Five months had now elapsed since the note was written, yet he had not come. The college year was ended and commencement was now in progress, still never a word. But Gena Filson had no time to worry over such matters. She was happy in her new world, her new work; then, too, she had plenty of friends to claim her time now—friends among the young men the same as among the young ladies. Therefore, drawing on the other glove, she went quickly out and shut the door.
Gena Filson had never been told the full extent of the persistent efforts that Paul Waffington had made with the college president in her behalf. She knew nothing of the frequent letters that had passed between the college president and Paul Waffington solely in her interest. Then the flippant and less studious ones of the college had told her, that “a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush,” hence it was beginning to lead her into the disposition of dismissing uncertainties from her mind.
“Dismiss uncertainties—for the commencement at least—and enjoy the present time while you may,” one had said to her.
In the gathering shadows of evening a carriage rolled up and stopped before the college gate. Paul Waffington alighted in the face of one who seemed to be the center of attraction with a group of young men. It was a young man—this center of attraction—a “Mr. Texas,” as he heard one of the party address him. His great square jaws and protruding black eyes loomed up under a large derby hat. His suit was of the flaring variety, with an extremely tight fitting waist. But, above all, his hose with their white polka dots each the size of a twenty-five-cent piece could not fail to attract attention, and he carried a cane. Paul Waffington gave him a fair look as he went by and passed on into the president’s office.
When finally emerging from the president’s office, he met a merry and happy throng that was making its way to the college chapel. He had meant to send up his card and have at least a few minutes with Gena Filson before the exercises. But a delayed train had made great inroads upon his limited time, hence his failure to do so. Notwithstanding the failure of his intentions in that direction, still with an air of some satisfaction he climbed the steps that led to the college chapel and was ushered to a seat near the center of the hall.
Everybody was happy tonight! Laughter and fun; the swish of soft skirts; the smell of roses—all told a tale of happiness.