Part 7 (1/2)

”Will you vote for Myra Whitewell?” some friend was imploring.

”No,” said Peggy, suddenly, ”let me alone. Every one is after me so hard to vote for other people that I haven't had any time to work for my own candidate.”

And she forced her way through the throng, shouting into each bewildered and crimson ear, ”Vote for Gloria Hazeltine! She's a _dandy_ girl.”

”Peggy, _Peggy_, listen a moment,” said Katherine's agonized voice.

”What do you think the Andrews girls are doing? Going back on us at the last minute. They say they will put up Florence Thomas for president if neither of us will run, and that you and I are traitors to try to elect some one not from our own prep school.”

”Well,” said Peggy, gritting her teeth, ”we can elect Gloria without Andrews.”

”Oh, but, Peggy, we will be voting against our own school! If they insist on putting her up this way, won't we have to vote for Florence?”

Peggy shook her head and went on through the thick crowds of freshmen.

”She's a _dandy_ girl,” Katherine heard in Peggy's clear tones.

Here in this giant recitation room was a.s.sembled a cla.s.s in the process of being welded together into an organization having one heart and one mind. It was a conglomeration of more or less uncertain and dazed girls now. Some were actively working up sentiment, but for the most part they stood in groups, each group a stranger to the others, four hundred and fifty girls, many of whom had never seen each other before this day, trying to realize that they were of one college flesh and that out of this roomful must be made the dearest friends.h.i.+ps of a lifetime.

There was nothing coherent about them as yet. They held aloof from each other, partly in timidity and partly in pride, and their interests were in conflict rather than in unison.

Once pledged to a name for president, they clung to it desperately as if that particular girl had been their best and oldest friend. And they hated all the other girls who had been put up.

Slips of paper were pa.s.sed around and, with a feeling of deep importance, each freshman wrote the name of the girl she wanted for her president.

With much rustling the slips were collected in hats by freshmen appointed by the pretty Junior who presided.

Then with more rustling they were counted, while the freshmen's eyes popped out of their heads in eagerness to learn how good a showing their favorite was making.

The silence was most respectful when the pretty Junior took up the counts the freshmen had made and read in her sweet, serious voice, ”Myra Whitewell 200, Gloria Hazeltine 101, Florence Thomas 99, Corinne Adams 50.”

The ignorant freshmen remained breathless, waiting to be told whether any one was yet their president or not.

”It is necessary, according to the by-laws, to have a two-thirds majority for a candidate before she can receive office,” the presiding Junior informed them in those dainty and precise tones of hers.

”Therefore another vote will be cast, in the hope of bringing about more unanimity.”

With joy the freshmen wrote again on slips of paper. But the vote came in again identically the same! The pretty Junior, whose name was Alta Perry, raised her eye-brows in surprise. Tirelessly the appointed freshmen pa.s.sed out new voting slips.

”When a candidate has too few votes to be really in the running,”

protested the Junior mildly, ”the voting would get on faster to give those votes elsewhere. The idea is not to show your loyalty to any one girl, but to elect a president for the freshman cla.s.s.”

Peggy took council with her henchman, Katherine.

”If those Adams votes go to Florence Thomas, I suppose Gloria will be sacrificed sooner or later,” she said. ”If they go to Myra Whitewell-I think she's the haughty little thing yonder wearing the Mrs. Castle head-ache band,-why, then Gloria's out, too. The only thing to do is to get them for Gloria.”

She sped away to the Andrews group, where Florence Thomas, who had always taken life pleasantly and coolly, was the flushed and eager center of ninety-nine supporters, both those from her own school and the others who had rallied to her cause.

”Girls,” said Peggy, ”we're two ahead of you. Please be reasonable--”

But she saw the curious star-like quality of Florence's eyes. And she hadn't the heart to go on.

The plain, kindly, everyday, comfy Florence to light up and s.h.i.+ne like that! Well, if she had known in time how honors could bring that girl out, perhaps Peggy would have considered her a perfectly suitable president from the beginning.