“It isn’t against any rules, is it, for mascots to keep popping out?” asked a cautious girl—she had made herself a leading spirit by saving her class from many of the indiscretions common to impulsive freshman bodies.
Connie, upon being appealed to, could not think of any rule covering the popping out of extra mascots after the great game had begun. “Of course,” she said, “Miss Andrews always asks the galleries to sit still and not scream; and near the baskets you can’t have your feet over the edge. Those are the only rules I ever heard of.”
“Well, we can get around those all right,” the freshman president declared easily. “The mascots can pop as silently as ghosts. But if the sophs don’t giggle or shriek or make some silly disturbance just as the Invincible home is trying to make a basket, or the center is diving after a new ball—why, then we shan’t have the bother of carrying you around the gym. on our shoulders, Miss Marie O’Toole.”
“The bother of what?” demanded Marie blandly.
The freshman president explained, and Marie thanked her effusively for her trouble. “It’s terrible not knowing any of these American college customs,” she sighed. “But I’m learning pretty fast. I won’t eat very much between now and the game, so in case you do have to carry me——”
“Before we plan on that,” put in the practical freshman, “we’d better go and get the mascots engaged and their clothes fixed up. It’s going to be some work, I can tell you.”
Whereat the deputation departed hastily in search of black Mandy and little Jim, of purple streamers, metal dish-cloths to serve as chain armor for the champion mascot, and canton flannel for the manufacture of a whole family of white rabbits—the white rabbit being the freshman class animal.
After that, rumors grew wilder and flew faster than ever, but none of them could be verified. The deputation, being composed of the most canny members of a large and brilliant class, shrouded all its proceedings in the deepest mystery; and Montana Marie’s ideas about the scheme she was supposed to have devised were much too vague for expression. Having been ridiculed for her ignorance of college customs early in the fall term, Marie had speedily discovered that silence kept one from being laughed at. That it also gave one a reputation for diplomacy, for expert bluffing, and for wonderful eleventh hour inspirations, was a matter of small concern to Montana Marie, who had none of Straight Dutton’s analytical interest in the queer crooks and turns of human nature.
The day of the great game found Harding in a state of unparalleled excitement. There was the regular great-game-excitement and the special mystery-excitement. Could the freshmen possibly win? And how would they try to do it? The line in front of the gym. doors was of record length. Even Mariana Ellison, blasé C. P., who had never before let a mere game interfere with the unfolding of her literary emotions, was to be found in the ranks. Montana Marie was an usher. In a ravishing white gown, with a huge purple bow on her lovely hair and a purple wand in her hand, she helped to direct the surging freshman mob to its proper place in the purple-draped balcony. Arrangements in the freshman gallery seemed to be complicated. Ushers ran wildly to and fro. The song leader moved her box three times in response to their whispered instructions. Everybody else moved countless times. Choice seats were abandoned cheerfully for no obvious reason. An overdose of purple drapery obstructed the view at the center of the gallery, but nobody touched a single fold of the offending decoration.
“The quiet, well-mannered little dears!” jeered Fluffy Dutton from the riotous sophomore gallery. “I wonder if they’ll wake up and take notice when their famous trick-play comes on the scene—and doesn’t work!”