Jim, who was ahead, had the door open for the others when Mr. Morton commanded a halt.
“Might as well be systematic,” he ordered, “and take things as they come,—or as we come, rather. Now, Miss B. A., shall there or shan’t there be a ploshkin put up over this front door?”
“A ploshkin over the front door?” Betty repeated helplessly.
“Exactly,” snapped Mr. Morton, who disliked repetition as much as he disliked other kinds of delay. “What could be more appropriate than a large ploshkin, cut in marble, of course, by a first-class sculptor? Stands for you, stands for earning a living when you have to, therefore stands for me and my methods, stands for our coöperation in putting through a good thing, whether it’s a silly plaster flub-dub that half-witted people will run to buy, or a building like this with a big idea back of it. But Mr. President here seems to think I’m wrong in some way, and young Watson says a ploshkin won’t harmonize with the general style of the architecture. Now what do you say, Miss B. A.?”
Betty suppressed a wild desire to laugh, as she looked from one to another of her three Giants’ faces. “Please don’t be disappointed, Mr. Morton,” she began at last timidly, “but I’m afraid I think you’re wrong too. A ploshkin—why, a ploshkin’s just nonsense! It would look ridiculous to stick one up there.” She laughed in spite of herself at the idea. “It’s 19—’s class animal, you know. The Belden might as well have a purple cow, and the Westcott a yellow chick, and some other house a raging lion to commemorate the other class animals. Oh, Mr. Morton, you are just too comical about some things!”
Mr. Morton frowned fiercely, and then sighed resignedly. “Very well, Miss B. A. It’s your ploshkin. If you say no, that settles it. Mr. President, you and young Watson can decide between that Greek goddess of wisdom you mentioned and any other outlandish notion you’ve thought of since. It’s all one to me. Now let’s be systematic. The next unsettled row that we have on hand is about the reception-room doors.”
This time, fortunately, Betty could agree with Mr. Morton, and the others yielded gracefully, being much relieved at her first decision. Then, quite unexpectedly, she had an idea of her own.
“Laundry bills cost a lot, and the Harding wash-women tear your thin things dreadfully. It would be just splendid if there could be a place in the basement where the Morton Hall girls could go to wash and iron, and press their skirts, and smooth out their thin dresses.”
Everybody agreed to this; the Giants forgot their differences and grew quite friendly discussing it. And up-stairs Betty thought of something else.
“Typewriters and sewing-machines are dreadfully noisy. That’s one reason why the cheap off-campus houses are so uncomfortable, where most of the girls use one or the other or both. I remember Emily Davis used to say that sometimes it seemed as if her head would burst with the click and the clatter. If there could only be a room for typewriters and a sewing-room, with sound-proof walls——”