“I wish you had,” Marjorie said with smiling regret. “Miss Page is full of funny, original ideas. I’ll speak to Miss Harper tonight. Why not come over to the Hall tomorrow evening? We can talk it over. Leila will have thought of some good stunt by then.”
“Oh, fine, lovely, great work!” went up from her pleased listeners. “What time shall we come?” asked the little girl who reminded Marjorie of Susan Atwell, one of her Sanford schoolmates.
“Any time after seven, Miss Vernon,” Marjorie said cordially.
The little girl showed pleased dimples at being thus remembered. The smiles of her companions were equally jubilant at the success of their plea. “Thank you, Miss Dean. We’ll surely come,” was Miss Vernon’s grateful acceptance as the sextette took themselves off across the campus after a united murmur of thanks.
“The old calls are beginning to rise again,” Marjorie reflected happily as she neared the Hall. She was reminded of the phrasing of the “Jungle Books,” which she had adored as a child. “It’s good hunting again on the campus. Good hunting all,” she repeated half aloud, “good hunting all who keep the jungle laws.”
CHAPTER XXII.—A “BOOSTER” PARADE
The “booster” parade for Augusta Forbes, candidate for sophomore presidency of at least half the sophomore class, was as ridiculous as its gleeful originators had intended it should be. Two evenings before the sophomore election the paraders issued from the gymnasium at dark, in amazing and flamboyant procession. A stolid drum major, Anna Perry was a triumph. She wore a scarlet cotton flannel uniform, recklessly trimmed in blue, and a high fur hat, contrived from an old squirrel muff. She led the van with a truly wonderful flourish of baton.
The presidential candidate came next in a two-wheeled push cart draped in red, white and blue bunting. Gussie, in an old black frock coat and trousers and a white plug hat which Leila had unearthed from among the Travelers stage properties was a figure of dignity in spite of the occasional sprawling lurch forward she gave in the cart. The cart was energetically motivated by four stalwart servitors. Their very energy made Gussie cling desperately to the rug-covered soap box on which she sat with one hand while she waved an acknowledgment with the other to the uproarious populace.
The vice president had also been selected for push cart honors. This dignitary’s vehicle, however, while draped with equal gorgeousness was smaller and required only two lackeys. Richly attired in a pleated white shirt, fawn knickers, a blue plush smoking jacket and a black silk hat with a dent in one side of it, he sat flat in the bottom of the cart, recklessly distributing smiles and bows.
The treasurer and secretary came next in white flannel tennis trousers, white shoes and white silk blouses. They wore white sports hats wreathed in blue and scarlet, the sophomore colors. Unfortunately for them they had to be content with express wagons. As both candidates were tall they had to sit in their wagons, backs to the willing soph horses, a generous length of limb trailing over the rear end of their conveyances. It was either this, or a certain possibility of kicking their hard-working steeds. The rosy-faced manager of the Forbes’ party rode in a child’s dark blue automobile which she sturdily propelled with both feet, dressed in a plaided knicker suit, sneakers, a boy’s striped sweater and a red and green monkey cap she looked not more than ten years old. Nor could a boy of that age have made more noise.