CHAPTER IV
THE STOLEN MEETING
The spirit of rivalry, which had temporarily given way to one of courtesy for the night of the sophomore-freshmen reception, returned again with full force as soon as the party was over. Although no regular hazing was permitted, the sophomores usually enjoyed the privilege of ordering the younger girls to obey their commands.
The struggle between the classes lasted only six weeks, and might be ended before that time if the freshmen succeeded in holding a class meeting within that period, and electing a president with due formality. All the conditions regarding the conduct of the meeting were printed in large type and hung on the principal Bulletin Boards.
Ruth, who had always been a ring-leader in affairs of this nature, took particular interest in the event. She had discussed it many times with Evelyn and Mae, but neither she, nor in fact any other members of her class, had decided upon any definite action.
About a week after the sophomore reception, she paused on her way to Marjorie’s room to read the notice again. She almost knew it by heart; nevertheless, she read it over again carefully to see that she had missed nothing. It said:
“FRESHMEN PLEASE NOTE:
“The following rules concerning the election of a class president must be observed:
“1. The meeting must be held on the school grounds within six weeks’ time after the opening of the fall term.
“2. There must be at least two-thirds of the members of the class present to make the meeting valid.
“3. A president must be elected by a majority vote; at least two candidates must be nominated.
“4. The sophomores may do all in their power to prevent or break up such a meeting.
“5. If the freshman class fails to hold said meeting within the alloted time, a committee of three must be sent to the sophomore president to beg on bended knees for permission to hold their meeting.”
Ruth closed her lips tightly, resolving to do something—and to do it immediately. She hurried to Marjorie’s room.
“I tell you our class is as slow as molasses!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to do something about our class-meeting.”
Marjorie fingered her hockey-stick, and looked questioningly at her visitor. Her mind was still on forward passes, and she did not quite take in what she was saying.