Jean heard, understood, and flashed back an acrimonious retort about Miss Ferris’s partiality for Bob’s work.
The newly elected president, whose tact had been extolled by Emily Davis, found it speedily put to the test. “Don’t you think,” she began, “that we ought to hear from the girl who had most to do with our getting this money? Before we act upon the motion to refer the matter to a committee who shall interview the president and the faculty and find out how the rest of the money is to be spent and where ours seems to be most needed, I want to ask Miss Betty Wales for an expression of her opinion.”
Betty gave a little gasp. Parliamentary law was Hebrew to her, and speech-making a fearful and wonderful art, which she never essayed except in an emergency. But she recognized Marie’s distress, and rose hesitatingly, to pour oil on the troubled waters if possible.
“I certainly think there ought to be a committee,” she began slowly. “And I’m sure I know less than any one who has spoken about the needs of the different courses. I’m—well, I’m not a star in anything, you see. I agree with Jean that we ought not to make this a personal matter, and yet I am sure that the head of whatever department we give the money to will be pleased, and I don’t see why we shouldn’t consider that and choose somebody who has done a lot for 19—. But there are so many who have done a lot for us.” Betty frowned a perplexed little frown. “I wish too,” she went on very earnestly, “that we could do something that is like us. You know what I mean. We stand for fair play and a good time for everybody—that was why we had the dresses simple, you know.” The frown vanished suddenly and Betty’s fascinating little smile came into view instead. “I wonder—of course Prexy is always saying the college is poor, and the faculty are always talking about not having books enough, but I haven’t noticed but that they find enough to keep us busy looking up references.” (“Hear, hear!” chanted the B’s.) “It seems to me that Harding College is good enough as it is,” went on Betty, looking reproachfully at the disturbers. “The thing is to let as many girls as possible come here and enjoy it. Do you suppose the man who gave the money would be willing that we should use our share of it for scholarships? Four one hundred dollar scholarships would help four girls along splendidly. Of course that isn’t a department exactly,—and perhaps it’s a silly suggestion.” Betty slipped into her seat beside Madeline, blushing furiously, and looking blankly amazed when her speech brought forth a round of vigorous applause, and, as soon as parliamentary order would permit, a motion that 19— should, with the consent of the unknown benefactor of the college, establish four annual scholarships.
“I name Miss Wales as chairman of the committee to interview the president,” said Marie, beaming delightedly on her once more harmonious constituents. “The other two members of the committee I will appoint later. The next and last business of this meeting is to elect a toastmistress for our class-supper. She is always chosen early, you know, so that she can be thinking of toasts and getting material for them out of all the events of the year. Nominations are now in order.”
“I nominate Eleanor Watson,” said Madeline promptly, reluctantly closing her magazine and getting to her feet. “I needn’t tell any of you how clever she is nor how well she speaks. Next to one or two persons whose duties at commencement time are obvious and likely to be arduous”—Madeline grinned at Emily Davis, who was sure to be class-orator, and Babe leaned forward to pat Marion Lustig, who was equally sure to be class-poet, on the shoulder—“next to these one or two geniuses, Eleanor is our wittiest member. Of course our class-supper will be the finest ever,—it can’t help being—but with Eleanor Watson at the head of the table, it will eclipse itself. To quote the great Dr. Hinsdale, do you get my point?”
Kate Denise seconded the nomination with a heartiness that made Eleanor flush with pleasure. Betty watched her happily, half afraid she would refuse the nomination, as she had refused the Dramatic Club’s election; but she only sat quite still, her great eyes shining like stars. She was thinking, though Betty could not know that, of little Helen Adams and her “one big day” when she was elected to the “Argus” board.
“I know just how she felt,” Eleanor considered swiftly. “It’s after you’ve been left out and snubbed and not wanted that things like this really count. Oh, I’m so glad they want me now.”
“Are there any other nominations?” asked Marie. There was a little silence, broken by a voice saying: “Let’s make it unanimous. Ballots take so long, and everybody wants her.”
Then a girl got up from the back row,—a girl to whom Katherine Kittredge had once given the title of “Harding’s champion blunderbuss.” She could no more help doing the wrong thing than she could help breathing. She had begun her freshman year by opening the door into Dr. Hinsdale’s recitation-room, while a popular senior course was in session. “I beg your pardon, but are you Miss Stuart?” she had asked, looking full at the amazed professor, and upon receiving a gasping denial she had withdrawn, famous, to reappear now and then during her course always in similar rôles. It happened that she had never heard of Eleanor Watson’s stolen story until a week before the class-meeting, when some one had told her the unvarnished facts, with no palliation and no reference to Eleanor’s subsequent change of heart or renunciation of one honor after another. Virtuous indignation and pained surprise struggled for expression upon her pasty, immobile face.