“Why, have you forgotten,” Mrs. Roseveldt asked, much surprised, “your old friend Stacey Fitz Simmons is a cadet?”
Milly tossed her head disdainfully. She could not tell the story of the intrusion of the two boys whom we believed to be cadets, for we had promised Madame not to bruit it abroad; but her reason for not wearing the cadet colours was her indignation on account of this act. She believed, or affected to believe, that one of these boys was Stacey, and she had determined to punish him for the outrage. “Girls,” she had said, before leaving, “after the insult which our school has received from the cadets, I do not see how any of you can wear their colours.”
“We do not know certainly that those interlopers were cadets,” Adelaide replied; “and, even if they were, my brother is still a member of the school. He rides in the bicycle race and he expects to see me wear his colours.”
I sympathized with Adelaide and made myself a badge to encourage little Jim.
“Stacey is a friend of mine,” Mr. Van Silver asserted. “I expect to see him carry off several events to-day, and I have come out prepared to wave and cheer and bawl myself hoarse in his honour.”
What a charming drive it was through the park, where many of the trees and shrubs were in blossom. We passed many a merry party bound in the same direction, and several great stages laden with boys, who carried flags, tooted horns, and shook immense rattles. Arrived at Morris Heights the sight was even still more inspiring, for every train emptied several carloads of passengers, who hastened to the grounds to be in time for the opening. As we drove in we could see that the grand stand and the long rows of seats on either side were well filled. There were at least four thousand spectators gathered to witness this athletic contest between the champions of the principal schools of the city. Some of the contestants were grouped on the verandas of the Pavilion waiting for their turn to take part. Others were already on the field, practising the long jumps, or pacing about with “sweaters,” or knit woollen blouses, over their scanty running costumes.
On the grand stand and the “bleaching boards” the adherents of the different schools had collected in groups, which displayed the school colours as prominently as possible. These groups were now engaged in making as hideous an instrumental and vocal din as possible. Each orchestra, if it might be called so, was led by a sort of master of discord, who called at intervals upon his constituency for cheers for the different school favorites, as, “Now, boys, a loud one for Harrison. One, two, three, ’rah! ’rah! ’rah! C-u-t-l-e-r, Cutler!—Harrison!” While the Columbia grammar boys would reply, “C-o-l-u-m-b-i-a—Burke!” and the Berkeleys would yell forth the name of Allen, who has so long covered the school with glory.
Buttertub was conspicuous as leader of the chorus for the cadets. He wore an immense cockade, made of sash ribbon, pinned to the front of his coat, while his hat and a great cane with a knobby handle, too large for insertion even in his wide mouth, also flaunted the school colours. Our coach had hardly taken its position before Stacey and Jim spied it and came toward us. Stacey was in running costume—“undress uniform,” he called it—but he had knotted a rose-coloured Russian bath gown about him to keep him from taking cold.
“Doesn’t he look exactly like a girl?” Milly remarked as he approached, and then she gave him a curt little bow and turned with great empressement to Professor Waite, who had come out on horseback, and who now rode up, hoping for a word with Adelaide. But Jim had clambered up on the wheel on the other side of the coach, and Adelaide was glad of this excuse to turn her back squarely on Professor Waite, who felt the avoidance and would have turned instantly away had not Milly insisted on introducing him to her mother. Meantime Stacey stood quite neglected. I longed to speak to him, but as I had never been introduced, did not dare to do so. Just as a hot flush was sweeping up toward his forehead, Mr. Van Silver, whose attention had been taken up with his horses, noticed him. “Hello, Stacey,” he cried, “make that little chap get down off that wheel, will you? These horses are pretty nervous, even with the grooms at their heads. They are not used to all this racket. See how they are pawing up the driveway.”
Stacey laughed. “Jim is a splendid wheel-man,” he said. “You needn’t be afraid for him. But aren’t you going to get down? You can see ever so much better from the grand stand. Did the girls get the tickets that Jim and I sent?”