When we said that both teachers and pupils regarded Katherine as too good to be true, we should have made one exception. That exception was Miss Snively, the Senior Oratory teacher. Most of the teachers were liked by some scholars and disliked by some, according to disposition or circumstance; but all pupils agreed heartily that they did not like Miss Snively. She was neither old nor bad looking; in fact, she was rather handsome when you saw her for the first time, but she was so bitingly sarcastic that her classes stood in fear and trembling of being singled out for some poisoned shaft. Sarcasm and ridicule are the most deadly weapons to use against boys and girls of the high school age. They are not old enough to know how to come back, and can only nurse the smart and writhe impotently. And of all classes to have a sarcastic teacher, Senior Oratory is the worst. It is bad enough to stand up and make a speech with appropriate gestures before a sympathetic teacher who corrects diplomatically and never, never laughs, but to have one who eyes you coldly all the while and then gets up and does it the way you did, only ten times worse—more buckets of tears had been shed over Senior Oratory than all other subjects put together.
When Katherine entered the class Miss Snively took immediate exception to her voice. Miss Snively’s particular hobby was Woman’s Voice. Hers was high and artificially sweet—it fairly oozed syrup—and she did her level best to make her girl pupils imitate it. So when Katherine began reading in her husky nasal drawl, Miss Snively promptly read the piece after her, imitating her voice as best she could, and then looked around the room for the laughter of the pupils which would complete Katherine’s mortification. But nobody laughed. They all sympathized with Katherine. They had been in her shoes themselves. The blood mounted to Katherine’s temples when she realized that Miss Snively was deliberately making fun of her, and a hurt look came into her eyes. She was sensitive about her voice, even if she did get endless fun out of it. When Miss Snively handed her the book again and bade her in sarcastic tones to read further for the edification of the class, Katherine sat silent. To her horror she found there was a lump in her throat and she would most likely break down utterly if she tried to say a word. She did not mean to be stubborn—she was only waiting for control of her voice, for she was too proud to let Miss Snively see how badly she felt. So she sat silent, miserably twisting her handkerchief in her hands.
“Go back to your session room,” said Miss Snively sharply, who boasted of her summary measures with her scholars. So Katherine left the room in disgrace. From that time on there was a marked antagonism between those two. Miss Snively lost no chance to make Katherine ridiculous in class, and, while Katherine had too much respect for teachers to openly defy her, she “took off” her affected manners to delighted audiences outside of class, and Miss Snively knew it and was powerless to stop it. But, outside of her skirmishes with Miss Snively, Katherine’s progress through school was a triumphal march.
In every school, and Washington High was no exception, there will be found various elements—some good and some bad. Color rushes, which had given an annual vent to the mysterious feeling of hostility which always exists between junior and senior classes, had been abolished. But the feeling still existed, and manifested itself in various skirmishes. The year before, when the juniors gave their annual dance, the seniors carried away the refreshments. On the night of the senior dance the lights refused to work, and, of course, the juniors were at the bottom of the mystery. The principal, thinking rightly that pranks of this kind reflected little credit on his school, wrathfully declared that if any of the seniors attempted to spoil the juniors’ party this year there would be trouble. But there were certain lawless spirits in the senior class who still thought pranks of that nature funny, and it was not long before plans were hatching as merrily as before. It was all very vague, what was going to be done and who was going to do it, but it was in the air, and everybody who was up on school affairs knew there was a storm brewing.
The first definite news came to the Winnebagos through Katherine. “I’ve been asked to a select party,” she announced one night up in the Open Door Lodge, spreading her bony hands out before the blazing log on the hearth. “It’s something like the Boston Tea Party,” she went on.
“Must be going to be quite an affair,” said Gladys, who was stirring fudge over the fire. “May we inquire where?”
“Oh, girls,” said Katherine, with a serious face, “do you know what’s in the wind? The Seniors are to put a lot of live mice through the windows in the middle of the Junior dance.”
“The Seniors?” exclaimed Hinpoha and Gladys in one breath. “What Seniors?”
“Oh, Charlie Hughes and Eddie Myers and that bunch. You know the half dozen that go around together and call themselves the Clan? Well, those. They were mixed up in the business last year.” Although Katherine was a newcomer in the school she was already well versed in its history.
“How did you find it out?” asked Hinpoha.