“Mary Brooks did hers in two hours,” announced Katherine, “and I guess I’m as bright as little Mary about most things, so I’m not worrying.”
“Isn’t it time to start for class-meeting?” asked Betty, coming out on the piazza with Roberta.
“See them walk off together arm in arm,” chuckled Bob softly, “just as if they knew they were going to be elected our alumnæ president and secretary respectfully.”
“Don’t you mean respectively, Bob?” asked Helen Adams.
“Of course I do,” retorted Bob, “but I’m not obliged to say what I mean now. I’m an alum. I can use as bad diction as I please and the long arm of the English department can’t reach out and spatter my mistakes with red ink.”
The election of officers didn’t take long. It had all been cut and dried the night before, and the nominating committee named Betty for president and Shylock for secretary without even going through the formality of retiring to deliberate. Then Katherine moved that the surplus in the treasury be turned over to “our pet philanthropy, the Students’ Aid,” and Carlotta Young inquired anxiously whether the first reunion was to be in one or two years.
“In one,” shouted the assembly to a woman, and the meeting adjourned tumultuously. But nobody went home, in spite of the packing that clamored for attention.
“Good-bye, you dear old thing!”
“See you next June for sure. I’m coming back then, if I do live away out in Seattle.”
“You’re going to study art in New York, you say? Oh, I’m there very often. Here, let me copy that address.”