Part 29 (1/2)

A HOOP-ROLLING AND A TRAGEDY

19-- was having its hoop-rolling. This is the way a senior hoop-rolling is managed: custom decrees that it may take place on any afternoon of senior week, which is the week before commencement when the seniors'

work is over though the rest of the cla.s.ses are still toiling over their June exams. Some morning a senior who feels particularly young and frolicsome suggests to her friends at chapel that, as the time-honored official notice puts it,

”The day has come, the seniors said, To have our little fling.

Let's buy our hoops and roll them round, And laugh and dance and sing.”

If her friends also feel frolicsome they pa.s.s the word along, and unless some last year's girls have bequeathed them hoops, they hurry down-town to buy them of the Harding dealer who always keeps a stock on hand for these annual emergencies. The seniors dress for luncheon in ”little girl” fas.h.i.+on, skirts up and hair down, and the minute the meal is over they rush out into the suns.h.i.+ne to roll hoop, skip rope, swing in the long-suffering hammocks under the apple trees, and romp to their hearts'

content. Freshmen hurrying by to their Livy exam, turn green with envy, and soph.o.m.ores and juniors ”cramming” history and logic indoors lean out of their windows to laugh and applaud, finally come down to watch the fun for ”just a minute,” and forget to go back at all.

19-- had its hoop-rolling the very first day of senior week. As Madeline Ayres said when she proposed it, you couldn't tell what might turn up, in the way of either fun or weather, for the other days, so it was best to lose no time. And such a gay and festive hoop-rolling as it was!

First they had a hoop-rolling parade through the campus, and then some hoop-rolling contests for which the prizes were bunches of daisies, ”presented with acknowledgments to Miss Raymond,” Emily Davis explained.

When they were tired of hoops they ran races. When they were out of breath with running they played ”drop the handkerchief” and ”London Bridge.” After that they serenaded a few of their favorite faculty. Then they had a reformed spelling-match, to prove how antiquated their recently finished education had already become.

Finally they sat down in a big circle on the gra.s.s and had ”stunts.”

Babbie recited ”Mary had a little lamb,” for possibly the thousandth time since she had learned to do it early in her junior year. Emily Davis delivered her famous temperance lecture. Madeline sang her French songs, Jane Drew did her ever-popular ”hen-act,” and Nancy Simmons gave ”Home, Sweet Home,” as sung into a phonograph by Madame Patti on her tenth farewell tour.

Most of these accomplishments dated back as far as 19-- itself, and half the girls who heard them knew them by heart, but they listened to each one in breathless silence and greeted its conclusion with prolonged and vigorous applause. It was queer, Alice Waite said, but some way you never, never got tired of seeing the same old stunts.

When the long list of 19--'s favorites was finally exhausted and Emily Davis had positively refused to give the temperance lecture for a third time, the big circle broke up into a mult.i.tude of little ones. Bob Parker and a few other indefatigable spirits went back to skipping rope; the hammocks filled with exclusive twos and threes; larger coteries sat on the gra.s.s or locked arms and strolled slowly up and down the broad path that skirted the apple-orchard.

Betty, Helen and Madeline were among the strollers.

”One more of the famous last things over,” said Madeline with a regretful little sigh. ”I'm glad we had it before the alums, and the families begin to arrive and muddle everything up.”

”Did I tell you that Dorothy King is coming after all?” asked Betty, who, in a short white sailor suit, with her curls flying and her hoop clutched affectionately in one hand, looked at least eight years too young to be a senior, and supremely happy.

”Has she told you, Helen?” repeated Madeline dramatically. ”She tells me over again every time I see her. When is Mary Brooks scheduled to arrive?”

”Thursday,” answered Betty, ”so that she can see the play all three times.”

”Not to mention seeing Dr. Hinsdale between the acts,” suggested Madeline. ”What do you two say to a picnic to-morrow?”

Helen said, ”How perfectly lovely!” and Betty decided that if Helen and Madeline would come to the gym in the morning and help with the last batch of costumes for the mob, she could get off by three o'clock in the afternoon.

”That reminds me,” she added, ”that I promised Nerissa to ask Eleanor if she has any shoes to match her blue dress. The ones we ordered aren't right at all by gas-light.”

”There's Eleanor just going over to the Hilton,” said Helen.

”Find out if she can go to the picnic,” called Madeline, as Betty hurried off, shouting and waving her hoop. ”We'll be asking the others.”

”El-ea-nor!” cried Betty shrilly, making frantic gestures with her hoop.

But though Eleanor turned and looked back at the gay pageant under the trees, she couldn't single out any one figure among so many, and after an instant's hesitation she went on up the Hilton House steps.

So Betty stepped across the campus alone, and being quite out of breath by the time she got indoors went slowly up-stairs and down the long hall to Eleanor's room. The house was very still--evidently its inmates were all out watching the hoop-rolling. Betty found herself walking softly, in sympathy with the almost oppressive silence. Eleanor's door was ajar, so that Betty's knock pushed it further open.

”May I come in?” she asked, hearing Eleanor, as she supposed, moving about inside. Without waiting for an answer she walked straight in and came face to face with--not Eleanor, but Miss Harrison, champion Blunderbuss of 19--.