“And do you know what Ted called Kitten when
she came down from presenting the flowers?”
teased Bobbie.
“What?” asked Jane merrily.
“King Pin of the Freshies!” replied Bobbie.
“Doesn’t that sound like a class yell?”
“I hope it will be some day,” said Jane.
But Sally’s blue eyes were proclaiming something—something
far removed from the honor and glory promised by her
junior sponsor.
And even Bobbie’s insistent joking could not
dispel that strange foreboding.
“Sally!” charged Jane, noting her sudden
preoccupating, “are you seeing things?”
“Why?” A flush suffused the face just
showing the tell-tale lines of fatigue.
“I sometimes think you two girls are base deceivers,”
Jane joked. “You change your cast of countenance
as quickly as—”
“Now Janie, you leave our little star alone,”
ordered Judith. “Seems to me any girl would
be flustered after a first night of this kind.”
“Of course,” dimpled Jane. “Here,
children, please take these things. I will be
held responsible for them and there’s no telling
who might take a notion to cover her couch with that
lovely silk scarf.”
They gathered up the precious trophies, flags and
scarfs. Then the lights were out at last.
The day after the big night.
The flush of success invaded old Wellington.
As a whole the place seemed suffused with a pardonable
pride, and as individuals each girl seemed justly
proud of the small part she played in making up that
grand total. Even the big city papers sent out
reporters to get a “good story” of the
mid-year dance, and more than one scribe waylaid the
popular girls, pleading for pictures.
Judith Stearns, as sub-editor of the Blare, the college
paper, had a part in giving out this general publicity,
and what a joy it was to describe the gowns of Jane,
Bobbie, Doze and lists of others!
Jane was busy dismantling the dance room—the
big assembly room in Warburton—and no classes
were to be called for any work during the morning,
so that conditions and students might just slide back
into orderliness and thence to the serious work of
finishing the last semester.
Party dresses were packed away by reluctant hands,
boxes tied up and labelled hopefully for the next
dance, while heads that had been curled for the big
occasion bore testimony to the skill of many willing
fingers (not a few of the fingers bearing blisters
to still further testify to such achievements), and
altogether the atmosphere was distinctly and decidedly
that of the small day after the big night before.
Sally was ruefully tieing up her finery in rather
compressed packages and Bobbie was begging her not
to spoil the stuff outright.
“Don’t act so suicidal, Kitten. Be
brave today for tomorrow we fly!” she misquoted.
