The leader of the Glee Club frowns at her mates and leans forward: the class sings "Fair Smith," with a great deal of contralto. The Ivy Orator steps back and upward instinctively, with an idea of escaping from the heads and shoulders that are packed like herring about her, realizes that the audience is entirely out of her reach, steps down to meet them, becomes lost to view, and with a despairing consciousness that nothing can better the most futile position she has ever occupied, steps back to her first place and shrieks out her opening phrases.
Two mothers sitting on a bench just behind the enclosure, looking over the campus.
First Mother. So you didn't get a seat?
Second Mother. Well, I didn't try, to tell the truth. I'm interested in the speech, but my daughter tells me that I can see it in the Monthly next fall, and as I got here so late, I couldn't possibly hear it from the back.
First Mother. I was sorry to leave, for Kate wanted me to hear Bessie so much; but after Miss Jackson's speech I had to go—the heat made me rather faint. And as you say, one can read it.
Second Mother. That's what every one seems to think—see them all walking up and down here. One of the old graduates—a friend of my daughter's—told me that this was the chance for them to talk with the professors!
First Mother. Well, I suppose if they will have it outdoors, very many people can't expect to hear. It's very hard to speak in the open air.
Second Mother. Yes, indeed. What a fine-looking girl that Miss Ackley is—the dark one—did you notice her?
First Mother. That is my daughter, so I've noticed her quite a little!
Second Mother. Oh, indeed! I'm sure I didn't know—