“I say, Betty,” cried Bob eagerly, “did you know that Christy had gone home? I mean did you know she hasn’t come back? She went just for senior week and now her mother is too ill to leave and she’s got to stay.”
“Poor Chris!” said Betty, suddenly remembering Christy’s note which, in the excitement over the Blunderbuss she had forgotten to open. “How lucky that she gave up Antonio.”
“Isn’t it?” agreed Bob. “She’s coming back for Tuesday of course to run the supper and get her precious little sheepskin. Her mother isn’t dangerously sick, I guess, but there are lots of children and Christy seems to think she’s the only one who can manage them.”
“Think of her missing the play!” said Madeline.
“Perhaps she’ll get back by Saturday night,” suggested Eleanor, hopefully.
“I think she’s a lot more likely not to come back at all,” declared Babe, “but it’s no use to worry about that yet. Who’s going to meet Mary Brooks?”
“Everybody who isn’t a ‘star,’ or hasn’t got to be made up early must go,” commanded Madeline. “She comes at four-ten, remember. Babbie and Roberta, go in out of this damp.”
Up in her room again Betty closed the window against the invading June-bug and hunted high and low for Christy’s note. She hardly expected to find it after so long a time, but it finally turned up hidden in the folds of a crumpled handkerchief which she had stuffed carelessly into her top drawer. And luckily it was not too late to do Christy’s commission. She merely told of her hasty departure and wanted Betty to be sure that the supper cards, with the menu and toasts on them, were ready in time. The printer was about as dependable as Billy Henderson, Christy wrote; he needed reminding every morning and watching between times.
Betty dashed off a hasty note of sympathy and apology, promising to make the printer’s life a burden until he produced the supper-cards, and went to bed.
Next day commencement began in earnest. Gay young alumnæ carrying suit-cases, older alumnæ escorting be-ribboned class-babies and their anxious nurses, thronged the streets; inconsiderate families began to arrive a whole day before there was anything in particular for them to do. All the afternoon the “mob” people and the other “sups” besieged the stage door of the theatre waiting their turns to be made up, and then, donning heavy veils hurried back up the hill. It was tiresome being made up so early and having to stay indoors all the hot afternoon, but it couldn’t be helped, for there was only one make-up man and he must save plenty of time for the principal actors.