“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.