“I shall be much relieved, for my part,” declared Madeline. “An object with yellow curls——”
“And a dimple,” put in Mary.
“Isn’t likely to be very much of a bore,” Madeline finished, and turned her attention to tea-grounds again, discovering so many suitors, European trips, and splendid presents, that Christy, who was house teacher at the Westcott, disgraced herself by being late to dinner. As for Mary Brooks Hinsdale, in the excitement of recounting it all to her husband, she utterly forgot that she had promised to chaperon the Westcott House dance and had to be sent for by an irate and anxious committee, who, however, forgave her everything when she arrived in her most becoming pink evening gown, declaring fervently that she should be heart-broken if she couldn’t dance every single number.
CHAPTER IV
THE GRASSHOPPER WAGER
The two weeks after college opened were the most confused, crowded, delightful, and difficult ones that Betty Wales had ever lived through. There seemed to be twice as many freshmen as there had ever been in Harding before. The town swarmed with them and with their proud and anxious fathers and mothers and sisters and aunts. They fell upon the Tally-ho Tea-Shop with such ardor that Emily was in despair—or would have been if Betty hadn’t assumed charge of the dinner hour herself and adroitly impressed Madeline with the literary value of seeing life from the cashier’s desk at lunch time.
Miss Dick’s school opened a fortnight after Harding, and then there was Dorothy to meet—the Bensons had brought her east with them on their way to New York—and the little girl was to be established this time in the boarding department, to the arrangements of which she immediately took a perverse dislike. Considering that she was the youngest boarder and the pet and darling of the whole school, this seemed quite unreasonable, particularly as all the year before she had teased to be a “boarder.” But Eugenia Ford took most of this worry off Betty’s hands, getting up early every morning to go over for a before-breakfast story, told while she combed out the Smallest Sister’s tangled curls, and never forgetting to appear in the evening at the exactly right minute to deliver a good-night kiss.
“Don’t thank me, please,” she begged Betty imploringly. “Feeling as if I had to do it makes her seem a little more like my very own. Just think!” Eugenia’s eyes filled, but she went on bravely. “I might be doing it for my very own little sister, if a dreadful French ‘bonne’ hadn’t been careless about a cold she took. How can mothers ever care more about having dinner parties and dances and going to the opera, Miss Wales, than about playing with their babies and seeing that they’re all right? My mother is like Peter Pan, I think. She will never grow up. And she never liked dolls when she was little, so naturally she didn’t care to play with us.” Eugenia flushed, suddenly realizing that she was indulging in rather strange confidences. “My mother is a great beauty, Miss Wales, and awfully bright and entertaining. I’m very, very proud of her. And if Dorothy is the least bit sick or tired or unhappy on a day when you don’t see her, I’ll be sure to notice and tell you, so you can feel perfectly safe.”
Of course the greatest problem, and one that nobody but Betty could do much to cope with, was the launching of the secretaryship. The secretary had been provided with a cozy little office, very businesslike with its roller-topped desk, a big filing cabinet, and a typewriter stand, tucked away in a corner of the Main Building; but beyond that the trustful directors apparently expected her to shift for herself. Betty promptly interviewed the two faculty members of the board, who smiled at her eagerness and anxiety to please, and advised her not to be in a hurry, but to begin with the obvious routine work—that meant interviewing and investigating the needs and the deserts of the girls who had applied for loans from the Student’s Aid—and to branch out gradually later, as opportunity offered.
“But I can’t do just that,” Betty told the second B. C. A. tea-drinking, “because it’s no more than they did themselves before they had a secretary. It would be like stealing to take their money for just that.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” advised Madeline lazily. “If they want to make it a snap course, isn’t that entirely their affair?”