When they finally joined in the dancing, which both had been longing to do, they were soon besieged with invitations. It was such a complete surprise to both, which they refused mentally to stop and think about it, preferring to drift comfortably along on the tide of youthful enjoyment. It was an hour after their arrival before they had an opportunity to talk with Jerry, Lucy and Muriel. All three had been enjoying themselves hugely. Lucy had had an interesting, though short, talk with Professor Wenderblatt, the director of the biology department, whose daughter, Lillian, was a freshman. She had met them both through Katherine. The latter and herself were now rejoicing in an invitation to dinner at the Wenderblatts on the following Sunday.
Jerry, according to her own enthusiastic version, was simply falling all over herself with happiness. Helen was the “Prince of Hamilton” when it came to playing escort. Muriel was no less pleased. She gigglingly confided to her chums that Moretense was considerably less tense when she danced than she had expected to find her.
The delightful evening had winged its way toward eleven o’clock when, after a spirited fox trot, the bell in the gymnasium clanged out the five strokes which stood for “attention” at Hamilton. Instant with the last stroke, a breathless silence fell. It was broken by a high-pitched call from one side of the gymnasium. From an ante room a figure in a page’s costume of hunter’s green darted out and ran to the center of the floor. Trumpet to her lips, the sophomore page played a lively little rondelay. It was answered from the ante room on the oppo-side and another page, similarly clad, joined the first. Another fanfare of trumpets and three figures in dark brown robes with immense snow-white wigs appeared from the left-hand ante-room.
“Hear ye! Hear ye! Comes now a friende to Beautye brighte. An ye are fair, O, maid, the Beautye crowne shall win ye! Mayhap, mayhap! An ye are fair!”
The voice of the central be-wigged figure echoed through the room. The owner was a senior who sang bass in the Idlehour Glee Club, hence the robust tones.
“What is it to be? I don’t understand,” was whispered about the room.
CHAPTER XIX.—THE GIFTE OF BEAUTYE.
“Oh, I know what this is going to be,” Helen Trent informed Jerry under her breath. “It’s an old Celtic beauty contest. Away back in the history of the Celts, they set aside one day in the year for games and contests. Just at sunset came the beauty contest. The Brown Judges, there are always three, who were in charge of all ethical matters, for the Celts had their own ideas about ethics, came down from their writing in the court tower and made this proclamation. All the pretty girls and women in the village would enter it. The judges would take their places on the fiddler’s platform and the beauty line had to pass them three times in slow succession. As they knew everyone in their village, I suppose it wasn’t very hard for them to pick the winner! She was accorded thereupon,” Helen quoted from memory, “‘the acclamation of her people, and, added to the joy of knowledge of Beauty, a silver purse, containing three heavy gold pieces, together with a solemn adjuration to do well, breed no vanity of the mind and say a prayer of thankfulness at even for the gift of Beauty, by the grace of God.’”
“How pretty,” Jerry said softly. “Well, if this is a beauty contest, I hope the judges won’t be partial. I know whom I think ought to win it.”
“You mean Marjorie?” Helen asked guardedly. “I think so too. Now listen to this charge to the contestants. I know it pretty well. Leila Harper let me take a book on the Celts. She brought it with her from Ireland. She was born in Dublin and came to this country when she was twelve. She is at the bottom of this and I know why. The clever maneuverer that she is!” Helen laughed, then her face suddenly sobered. She glanced anxiously at Marjorie, who stood not far away, her brown eyes riveted on the three judges. The conditions of the contest were about to be laid down by one of them.