Part 3 (2/2)
”Yes,” said Betty, ”it does, and I think it's a splendid thing. I went to a literary club meeting with Nan last Christmas and one of the papers was copied straight out of a book I'd just been reading, almost word for word. I told Nan and she laughed and said it was a very common way of doing. I think Harding girls will do a good deal if they help put a stop to that kind of thing. But that won't be much comfort to Eleanor.”
When Helen had gone, Betty curled up on her couch to consider the day.
”Mixed,” she told the little green lizard, ”part very nice and part perfectly horrid, like most days in this world, I suppose, even in your best beloved senior year. I wonder if Prexy will like the scholars.h.i.+p idea. I straightened out one snarl, and then I helped make a worse one.
And I shall be in another if I don't set to work this very minute,”
ended Betty, reaching for her Stout's Psychology.
CHAPTER III
THE BELDEN HOUSE ”INITIATION PARTY”
Lucile Merrifield, Betty's stately soph.o.m.ore cousin, and Polly Eastman, Lucile's roommate and dearest friend, sat on Madeline Ayres's bed and munched Madeline's sweet chocolate complacently.
”Wish I had cousins in Paris that would send me 'eats' as good as this,”
sighed Polly.
”Isn't it just too delicious!” agreed Lucile. ”I say, Madeline, I'm on the soph.o.m.ore reception committee and there aren't half enough soph.o.m.ores to go round among the freshmen. Won't you take somebody?”
”I? Hardly.” Madeline shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. ”Don't you know, child, that I detest girl-dances--any dances for that matter. Ask me to do something amusing.”
”You ought to want to do something useful,” said Polly reproachfully.
”Think of all those poor little friendless freshmen!”
”What kind of a cla.s.s is it this year?” inquired Madeline, lazily, breaking up more chocolate. ”Any fun?”
”The chief thing I've noticed about them,” said Lucile, ”is that they're so horribly numerous.”
”Fresh?” asked Madeline.
”Yes, indeed,” declared Polly emphatically, ”dreadfully fresh. But somehow,--I'm on the grind committee, you know,--and they don't do anything funny. They just do quant.i.ties and quant.i.ties of stupid, commonplace things, like mistaking the young faculty for freshmen and expecting Miss Raymond to help them look up their English references. I just wish they'd think of something original,” ended Polly dolefully.
”Why don't you make up something?” asked Madeline.
Polly stared. ”Oh, I don't think that would do at all. The grinds are supposed to be true, aren't they? They'd be sure to find out and then they'd always dislike us.” Polly smiled luminously. ”I've got a good many freshmen friends,” she explained.
”Which means violet-bestowing crushes, I suppose,” said Madeline severely. ”You shouldn't encourage that sort of thing, Polly. You're too young.”
”I'm not a bit younger than Lucile,” Polly defended herself, ”and they all wors.h.i.+p her.” Polly giggled. ”Only instead of violets, they send her Gibson girls, with touching notes about her looking like one.”
”Come now,” said Lucile calmly. ”That's quite enough. Let Madeline tell us how to get some good grinds.”
Madeline considered, frowning. ”Why if you won't make up,” she said at last, ”the only thing to do is to lay traps for them. Or no--I'll tell you what--let's give an initiation party.”
”A what?” chorused her guests.
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