They were beaten, of course, but they were proud of that team.
“The freshmen score one goal on fouls. Score, six to eight in favor of the purple,” announced Miss Andrews after a moment. “And I want to say—”
It was unpardonably rude, but they could not help interrupting to cheer.
“That I am proud of all the players. It was a splendid game,” she finished, when the thoughtful ones had hushed the rest.
Then they cheered again. The sophomore team were carrying their captain around the gym on their shoulders; the freshmen, gathered in a brave little group, were winking hard and cheering with the rest. The gallery was emptying itself with incredible rapidity on to the floor. The stage was watching, and wishing–some of it–that it could go down on the floor and shriek and sing and be young and foolish generally.
Betty and Helen ran down with the rest. “Helen,” whispered Betty on the way, “I don’t care what happens, I will, I will, I will make them sing to me some day. Oh Helen, don’t you love 19–, and aren’t you proud of it and of T. Reed?”
At the foot of the stairs they met the three B’s. “Come on, come on,” cried the three. “We’re going to sing to the sophomores,” and they seized upon Betty and bore her off to the corner where the freshmen were assembling. Left to herself Helen got into a nook by the door and watched. It was queer how much fun it was to watch, lately.
“Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them:”–she had read it in the library that morning and it kept running in her head. Was it selfish and conceited to want to be worth something to her college–to long to do something that would give her a place among the girls? A month ago Theresa had stood with her high up on the bank and watched the current sweep by. Now she was in the stream; even Betty Wales envied her; she had “achieved greatness.” Betty wanted to be sung to. Well, no doubt she would be, in spite of the “interruptions”; she was “born great.” Helen aspired only to write a song to be sung. That wasn’t very much, and she would try hard–Theresa said it was all trying and caring–for she must somehow prove herself worthy of the greatness that had been “thrust upon” her.
Betty was in the centre of an excited group of freshmen. Christy Mason was there too; probably they were planning for the serenade. “She won’t mind if I go,” thought Helen. She would have liked to speak to Theresa, but she had delayed too long; the teams had disappeared. So she slipped out alone. There would be a long, quiet evening for theme work–for Helen had elected Mary’s theme course at mid-years, though no one in the Chapin house knew it.
Betty did not get home till quarter of ten, and then she went straight off to find Katherine and Rachel. “I came to see if there’s anything left of Rachel,” she said.