The laborious part of the decorating, however, they took good care to portion out to the sophomores outside their own intimate circle. Joan Myers, as president of the sophomore class, had called a special meeting and appointed a special committee on decorations for the dance. This committee comprised Leila Harper, Helen Trent, Nella Sherman, Vera Mason, Hortense Barlow, Martha Merrick and Selma Sanbourne. The Sans Soucians were generous in the extreme in contributing luxurious effects, but they were niggardly in offering to help with the hard work attending the disposal of them. They lounged about the gymnasium and criticized freely, but they did very little actual labor.
The odd part was to see the stolidity of the hard-working committee, as assisted by the willing element among the sophomores, they toiled on, paying scarcely more attention to their indolent classmates than if they had been a few ubiquitous flies. On the first afternoon of the three preceding the hop, the committee hired a light wagon and went to the Hamilton Forest, a piece of woods situated about two miles south of the college. They returned at dusk laden with the fragrant spoils of the woods. On the second afternoon and evening the work of transforming the gymnasium into an autumn bower was skilfully performed. A creditable number of juniors and seniors did diligent service on this hard detail. On the third afternoon they arranged the cushions, draperies, chairs and like effects. Fortunately for them the Sans were absent. They were bending their valuable energies toward beautifying themselves for the evening.
The Sans Soucians numbered eighteen sophomores, but their sympathizers numbered as many more. In a class of ninety-two, at least twenty took small interest in class matters. This left a trifle less than half of the class to uphold democracy. As freshmen, the nobler element of girls had made some effort to stem the rising tide of snobbishness in their class. Utterly disgusted, they had at length, quietly withdrawn from association with an unworthy enemy. Now at the beginning of their sophomore year, indications marked no change for the better.
“Well, sophies, the job is done, and be-utifully done!” sang out Leila Harper. Unfastening the voluminous blue bungalow apron she had worn while at work, she whipped it off and stood surveying her scratched and dusty hands.
“The whole thing is a positive dream!” admired Vera Mason, clasping her small hands. “I can’t help saying the gym looks much finer than last year.”
“You may say it. Don’t let the junies hear you.” Leila’s voice carried the peculiar inflection that marks the Celt the world over. “It remains to be seen who will claim the credit,” she added with a touch of satire. “Never mind, wait until the evening is over. There will be a grand surprise for some folks.” She laughed softly, in anticipatory enjoyment of the surprise she was predicting. “I must hurry along. Remember, I am to escort Beauty to the hop.”
“Do try to be on time, Leila,” counseled Selma Sanbourne. “You’re always late, you know.”
“That I am, Swede,” retorted Leila, in good-humored agreement.
While Vera Mason rejoiced in the nickname “Midget,” Selma, being a Scandinavian, had received that of “Swede.” She occasionally retaliated by calling Leila “Ireland,” the latter having been the one to apply the two aforesaid nicknames to her chums.
“Don’t be disappointed if I’m not the first one here,” warned Leila. Rolling up the apron and tucking it under one arm, she prepared to depart.