“Exactly,” agreed Jean crossly, “but what I want to know is–how.”
“Why not ask the class to choose its speaker? All the other classes did.”
Jean looked doubtful. “I know they did. That would make it very awkward for me, but I suppose I might say there had been dissatisfaction–that’s true enough,–and we could have it all arranged—Well, when I call a meeting, be sure to come and help us out.”
The meeting was posted for Saturday, and all the Chapin house girls, except Helen, who never had time for such things, and Eleanor, attended it. Eleanor was expecting a caller, she said. Besides, as she hadn’t been to classes in the morning there was no sense in emphasizing the fact by parading through the campus in the afternoon.
At the last minute she called Betty back. “Paul may not get over to-day,” she said. “Won’t you come home right off to tell me about it? I–well, you’ll see later why I want to know–if you haven’t guessed already.”
The class of 19– had an inkling that something unusual was in the wind and had turned out in full force. There was no need of waiting for a quorum this time. After the usual preliminaries Jean Eastman rose and began a halting, nervous little speech.
“I have heard,” she began, “that is–a great many people in and out of the class have spoken to me about the matter of the Washington’s Birthday debate. I mean, about the way in which our debater was appointed. I understand there is a great deal of dissatisfaction–that some of the class say they did not understand which way they were voting, and so on. So I thought you might like to reconsider your vote. I certainly, considering position in the matter, want you to have the chance to do so. Now, can we have this point thoroughly discussed?” Then, as no one rose, “Miss Wales, won’t you tell us what you think?”
Betty stared helplessly at Jean for a moment and then, assisted by vigorous pushes from Katherine and Rachel, who sat on either side of her, rose hesitatingly to her feet. “Miss Eastman,–I mean, madame president,” she began. She stopped for an instant to look at her audience. Apparently the class of 19– was merely astonished and puzzled by Jean’s suggestion; there was no indication that any one–except possibly a few of the Hill girls–had any idea of her motive. “Madame president,” repeated Betty, forcing back the lump that had risen in her throat when she realized that the keeping of Eleanor’s secret lay largely with her, “Miss Watson is my friend, and I was very much pleased to have her for our representative. But I do feel, and I believe the other girls do, as they come to think it over, that it would have been better to elect our representative. Then we should every one of us have had a direct interest in the result of the debate. Besides, all the other classes elected theirs, and so I think, if Miss Watson is willing—”
“Miss Watson is perfectly willing,” broke in Jean. “A positive engagement unfortunately prevents her being here to say so, but she authorized me to state that she preferred the elective choice herself, and to tell you to do just as you think best in the matter. She—Go on, Miss Wales.”
“Oh, that was all,” said Betty hastily slipping back into her seat.