Brenda's cousin at Radcliffe

by Helen Leah Reed

“There,” said Julia, smiling, “as my part is to be so small, I need not have hesitated about undertaking it. You are arranging for the words and the speakers, and the music is only—”

“Now, Julia, of course the music’s the thing, the chief thing, but there’s a certain type of song that’s taking, and we have to think what will best suit our prima donnas, when once we have secured them. You have no idea how shy they are. I shouldn’t care to be the business manager of this affair,” and Polly flung herself on the couch, while the others laughed at her affected melancholy.

Yet in spite of this badinage, the girls of Julia’s group, as well as some others with special literary or dramatic talent, began to work for the success of the operetta. The music was left entirely to Julia; but the libretto, or “book” as they all preferred to call it, was to be a composite production. The sentimental lyrics were nearly all assigned to Ruth; the comic words for the most part grew. Girls are more considerate than boys. Their jokes are seldom “grinds” on the professors, and they are even fairly tender toward the various branches of a college curriculum. The gibes, therefore, of Radcliffe plays were more apt to be directed toward local faults, such as muddy sidewalks and dusty streets.

Yet after all, the operetta was entirely secondary to regular college work. Hardly a girl in Julia’s class sought the name of “grind,” and few deserved it. The absence of the dormitory system, the very fact that many Radcliffe students reside with their parents while attending college, makes for a normal life in which home interests and society have their place as well as study. This is as it should be, and is not to be criticised unless a girl assumes too many social duties in addition to her college obligations.

The autumn calendar was marked by several events of special significance to the Sophomores. Not the least of these was the class election, in which Julia and Ruth took more part than in that of the preceding year. There happened to be in their class about twenty girls from a large preparatory school,—a public High School,—and these girls had been a power at the Freshman elections. Indeed, so certain was their ticket to be elected that the rest of the class had put up few candidates. By this second autumn, however, the situation had changed somewhat. Girls like Julia and Ruth, who had entered with none of the advantages of a backing of comrades, were now pretty well known. The Freshman Class President proved unpopular, and had shown so little special ability that not even her personal friends favored her re-election. Several were anxious to have Clarissa a candidate, and the friends of Annabel Harmon intended to put her up. Somewhat to Julia’s surprise she found Ruth favoring Annabel. The latter had been a Special, until late in the year she had become a Freshman. Annabel was a pleasing girl, able to talk eloquently on any subject,—so eloquently that those who looked beneath the surface sometimes doubted her knowledge of the things she talked the most about. Julia, reproaching herself for unfairness, disliked having Ruth so intimate with Annabel.

Julia championed Clarissa as a candidate, because she saw that the Western girl was a born leader, and because she admired her frank, open nature.

“I object to Clarissa,” Ruth had said, “because she makes so many foolish jokes. She doesn’t seem to me to represent the class properly. Now, Annabel is always dignified, and college girls are so criticised that one who is conspicuous ought to be conventional.”

Julia perceived that Ruth was already under Annabel’s influence. She was a year or two older than the average Freshman. This was not due to lack of ability, but to her having decided rather late on a college course. She had entered at the beginning of February—just after the mid-years in the winter before Ruth and Julia entered Radcliffe. She was rather proud of having become a regular Sophomore: and indeed for a girl of Annabel’s rather indolent disposition, this was something to be proud of. Only a girl of her egotism would have aspired so early in her career to become Class President. Julia felt almost positive that Annabel could not succeed, but Annabel herself knew better. She had begun to work for the office the preceding year. What had been the meaning of the little luncheons that she had given from time to time, to which she had bidden not only her intimates, but those girls most likely to be of use to her? As she was not a Freshman then, they may not have suspected her motives; but the little luncheons, and the lending of valuable books, and the flattering letters written at just the right time, and, above all, a manner which said to each one to whom she was talking, “You really are the cleverest girl in the class, and I wish that other people had the good sense to find it out,”—all these things had done their work; and when the ballots were counted, Miss Harmon was President, and Clarissa Herter had no office. Ruth had been the only candidate for Secretary, and the office of Vice-President had gone to a Latin School girl. It couldn’t be said that there was much feeling over the election, or anything approaching dissension. Yet two or three who, like Julia, were dissatisfied felt that Annabel did not deserve so marked an honor. The sharper-sighted had seen too much of her wire pulling. Nevertheless, a little later when the Sophomores had their class luncheon, even those who did not especially like her had to admit that Annabel made a charming presiding officer, and as toast mistress (though the toasts were drunk only in cold water) she was, as the newspapers might have said, “particularly felicitous.”

Soon after the class luncheon the Sophomores gave the Freshmen a dance in the Auditorium. Although girls danced with girls and no masculine person was present (except the youth who assisted in moving the furniture), all said that they had enjoyed it as much as if it had been a co-educational affair (this was Clarissa’s general term for the occasional affairs in which Harvard and Radcliffe students mingled). Even Pamela was seen in some of the square dances, with a pretty little Freshman. The principles of the little Freshman as well as her ignorance of waltzing prevented her dancing anything but the lancers and Portland fancy. So while the others were whirling in the waltz, or leaping through some of the more modern dances, Pamela and the Freshman, in Clarissa’s words, “carried on a desperate flirtation.”

Prosperity had agreed with Pamela; she looked stronger, and her cheeks had more color than formerly. Although she still lived at Miss Batson’s, and although the loud colors of the furniture and the loud manners of the boarders still grated on her nerves, she found the work that she had to do less burdensome than in her Freshman year. The money earned by her summer of tutoring sufficed to pay more than half the tuition fee of her Sophomore year; and to keep her young pupil up to the mark, she had been engaged to go to him twice a week during the school year. Thus all her tuition fees were more than provided for. Although she had not secured the scholarship on account of the number of competitors, an allowance had been made her by the Students’ Aid Society. She could thus see that she could make both ends meet for the year, and as to the future, she felt sure that she could provide for that when the time came. Pamela, though always independent and persevering, since coming to Cambridge had acquired a hopefulness formerly unknown. To this extent, if in no other way, she had felt the broadening influence of Radcliffe,—or shall we say of the great University under whose shadow lies the woman’s college?