But if the rhyme went haltingly and was not quite true either, as Betty pointed out, since Adelaide and Alice had contributed to the fund, and the whole house had bought absurd quantities of valentines because it was such a “worthy object” (“just as if I wasn’t a worthy object!” sighed Mary), there was nothing the matter with the “little gift,” which consisted of three crisp ten dollar bills.
“Oh, if they should feel hurt!” thought Betty anxiously, and dodged Emily Davis so successfully that until the day of the rally they did not meet.
That week was a tremendously exciting one. To begin with, on the twentieth the members of both the freshman basket-ball teams were announced. Rachel was a “home” on the regular team, and Katherine a guard on the “sub,” so the Chapin house fairly bubbled over with pride and pleasure in its double honors. Then on the morning of the twenty-second came the rally with its tumultuous display of class and college loyalty, its songs written especially for the occasion, its shrieks of triumph or derision (which no intrusive reporter should make bold to interpret or describe as “class yells,” since such masculine modes of expression are unknown at Harding), and its mock-heroic debate on the vital issue, “Did or did not George Washington cut down that cherry-tree?”
Every speaker was clever and amusing, but Emily Davis easily scored the hit of the morning. For whereas most freshmen are frightened and appear to disadvantage on such an occasion, she was perfectly calm and self-possessed, and made her points with exactly the same irresistible gaucherie and daring infusion of local color that had distinguished her performance at the class meeting. Besides, she was a “dark horse”; she did not belong to the leading set in her class, nor to any other set, for that matter, and this fact, together with the novel method of her election made her interesting to her essentially democratic audience. So when the judges–five popular members of the faculty–announced their decision in favor of the negative, otherwise the junior-freshman side of the debate, 19–’s enthusiasm knew no bounds, and led by the delighted B’s they carried their speaker twice round the gym on their shoulders–which is an honor likely to be remembered by its recipient for more reasons than one.
As the clans were scattering, it suddenly occurred to Betty that, if Emily did not guess anything, it would please her to be congratulated on the excellence of her debate; and if, as was more likely, she had guessed, there was little to be gained by postponing the dreaded interview. She chose a moment when Emily was standing by herself in one corner of the gymnasium. Emily did not wait for her to begin her speech of congratulation.
“Oh, Miss Wales,” she cried, “I’ve been to see you six times, and you are never there. It was lovely of you–lovely–but ought we to take it?”
“Yes, indeed. It belongs to you; honestly it does. Don’t ask me how, for it’s too long a story. Just take my word for it.”
“Well, but—” began Emily doubtfully.
At that moment some one called, “Hurrah for 19–!” Betty caught up the cry and seizing Emily’s hand rushed her down the hall, toward a group of freshmen.
“Make a line and march,” cried somebody else, and presently a long line of 19– girls was winding in noisy lock-step down the hall, threading in and out between groups of upper-class girls and cheering and gaining recruits as it went.