The girls promised and then everybody hurried off to pack or to rest and cool off before it was time to start on the evening jaunt.
As Betty took off her “usher dress” and laid it carefully into her least crowded trunk-tray, she gave a rapturous little sigh.
“Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money to come from such a little thing,” she told the green lizard. “I’m not going to worry any more about little things not counting. Everything counts here. Why even doubles that you make up come to life on your hands, and match-making comes out the way you wanted it to and thought it couldn’t. It’s just the loveliest place! I’m so glad I have another year of it.”
There was a sudden burst of song under her window. “They’re singing to somebody,” thought Betty. “I wonder who. Why—it’s—it’s to me!”
“Here’s to Betty Wales, drink her down!
Here’s to Betty Wales, drink her down!
Here’s to Betty Wales,
She money gets in pails!
Drink her down, drink her down,
Drink her down, down, down!”
Betty went to the window and leaned out to wave her hand to the group of juniors who were laughing up at her.
“I didn’t do anything but just suggest,“ she insisted. “It was 19— that carried it through. Let’s sing to 19—.”
So they sang to 19— and to Harding College, and then the crowd dispersed merrily.
“I wish they wouldn’t,” said Betty, turning away from the window. Then she laughed. “But I’m glad they did. I hope they’ll do it again some day—when I’m a senior.”