“Why didn’t you wait to see whether you made the team?” inquired Jerry with gentle sarcasm.
“A-h-h-h!” was Muriel’s reply, expressive of her feelings.
“We couldn’t make that team in a century.” Marjorie was smiling a whimsical little smile which contained no bitterness.
“I guess not. You might as well have played for twenty minutes with a bunch of nine-pins. Anyway, you were dead before you ever set foot on the floor. That Miss Elster has the coach, Miss Reid and several others right on her side. This is the Sans inning, n’est ce pas? Uh-huh! No mistake about it.” Jerry bowed and smirked as she carried on this bit of conversation with herself.
“Cast an eye upon the Sans just now,” Leila said scornfully. “Are they not pleased with themselves? Do you think they would have let you or Muriel make that team? Not so long as they could influence those in charge. The seniors are not to blame. They kept the date of the try-out to themselves until the last to prevent the Sans from fixing things for their freshman friends. It did small good.” Leila shrugged her shoulders.
“They shouldn’t be allowed to run things,” Jerry asserted stoutly. “The trouble is everyone stands back and allows them to take the lead. Their cast-iron nerve is what helps them out. Besides they are an unscrupulous lot. They boast that they are the daughters of millionaires. Well, the rest of us are not paupers. Only we are above trading upon our folks’ money as a means of influence. That is ignoble and should be stamped out of Hamilton.”
“It never will be unless we all work together for a new spirit of democracy,” broke in Ronny’s resolute tones. “We must establish it in our class regardless of these unfair sophomores and their false notions, so detrimental to nobility of character.”
“Unfair indeed.” Leila smiled wryly. “Vera and I know. You should have seen us last year. We had a disagreeable freshman cruise, thanks to the Sans. They thought for a short time that we were perhaps poor. We found it out and let them think so to their hearts’ content. You should have seen their scorn of us. At Thanksgiving we had our cars sent on to us. Then they were in a quandary! We were not poor, so it seemed, but how wealthy were we? They never found out. They tried so hard.”
A blast of the manager’s whistle signalled attention. The names of the successful contestants were about to be read out by the coach. Lola Elster had been awarded center. Two of her particular friends had won right and left guard. Robin Page had achieved right forward. At this, none watching wondered. She had played in the first squads and done good work. Left forward fell to a Miss Burton, a freshman Dulcie Vale had been rushing and whom she had escorted to the frolic.
“I am glad it is over. I am not sorry I tried for a place on the team,” soliloquized Marjorie aloud. “Neither Muriel nor I had a fair chance. I was hurt and disappointed for a minute or so after I saw the way things were going. I am not now. I shall wait until next year,” she announced, in a calm, determined voice, “then I shall make the team. That means we will all have to work together to bring about a happier state of affairs at Hamilton. None of us can be free or happy with this shadow hanging over us. There can be no true class spirit unless we base it on the traditions which Mr. Brooke Hamilton wished observed by the students of Hamilton College.”