Part 18 (2/2)
”Only a few silly doggerels. One of my aunt's favorite games is capping verses, and we used sometimes to play it on winter evenings.”
Just then more girls arrived, and in a few moments Miss Lothrop rang her bell, and school began.
”Well, Marjorie, what do you think of the idea of the club?” Elsie inquired of her cousin, as the two were walking home from school together that day.
”I think it will be splendid,” declared Marjorie, heartily. ”Lulu must be a clever girl to have thought of such a plan, especially of the initiation. I am sure the poems will be great fun.”
”They won't amount to anything,” said Elsie, with her superior smile.
”n.o.body will write a decent poem, and I do hate poetry that isn't really good. Papa would never allow me to learn anything but the cla.s.sics.”
”Lulu says we mustn't read our poems to any one until the night of the initiation,” said Marjorie. ”I know yours will be splendid, Elsie; you are so clever.”
Elsie smiled, well pleased by the compliment, and added rather irrelevantly:
”I asked Lulu why she didn't invite Beverly Randolph to join the club.
He hasn't many friends in New York and might enjoy it. She says he is older than any of the other boys, but she would be glad to have him if he cares to join, so I am to ask him and let her know to-morrow. The boys are not to be initiated, because they are only the amus.e.m.e.nt committee, but they are all to come to the first meeting, and vote on the poems.”
Nothing more was said on the subject just then, but Elsie was careful to deliver the message to Beverly that evening, and the invitation was readily accepted.
”The girl who writes the best poem is to be president, you know,” Elsie explained, with her sweetest smile. ”You must be sure to come to the first meeting and vote for the one you like best.”
”I am afraid I'm not very well up on poetry,” said Beverly, laughing.
”It's a lucky thing the boys aren't expected to write poems as well as the girls; I am sure I should disgrace myself hopelessly if I were to attempt anything original.”
”Oh, no, you wouldn't,” Elsie protested. ”You have no idea how easy it really is. Of course some of the poems will be dreadfully silly, but you don't have to vote for them.”
It was Thanksgiving week, so school closed on Wednesday, not to open again till the following Monday. Elsie had several invitations for the holidays, but Marjorie, whose New York acquaintances were still limited to the girls at Miss Lothrop's, had only the first meeting of the Club on Friday evening to which to look forward. She wrote her poem on Wednesday evening, while Elsie was at a theater party, and although far from satisfied with it, decided that it would have to do, as she had several hard lessons to prepare for Monday, and there was no more time for writing poetry.
”Of course it won't be nearly as good as Elsie's,” she told herself cheerfully. ”She is sure to be voted president.”
She had asked her cousin that evening if she had written her poem, and Elsie had replied carelessly that there was plenty of time, and she would probably do it to-morrow.
”It really isn't worth bothering about,” she had added, with some scorn; ”it won't take me half an hour.”
The next day was Thanksgiving, and the Carletons and their niece were invited to a family dinner at Mrs. Lamont's. Elsie spent a long time in her room that afternoon, and came out looking rather cross. Marjorie, going into her cousin's room for something later in the day, noticed that the waste-paper basket was full of torn papers.
”I wonder if she can be having trouble with her poem,” Marjorie thought innocently, but when she questioned Elsie on the subject, that young lady colored angrily, and replied that of course she wasn't, and she did wish people would stop talking about that silly Club; she was sick of the subject and had a great mind not to join at all.
The dinner at the Lamonts was very pleasant, and Marjorie could not help being conscious of the fact that she looked unusually well in her new dress. Every one was kind to the little Western girl, and she liked Mrs.
Lamont and her daughter better than ever. The Ward family were also of the party, and Marjorie was introduced to the Yale boy, Percy, whom she found most agreeable, though not, as she wrote her mother afterward, quite so nice as Beverly Randolph.
”Why didn't you tell me what a jolly girl Marjorie Graham was?” Percy demanded of Elsie, when the cousins were alone together for a moment after dinner.
Elsie flushed.
”I didn't know you'd like her,” she said, evasively. ”She's dreadfully young for her age, and not a bit like the New York girls.”
<script>