Betty Wales Senior

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"And don't forget to remember the things for grinds," added Polly
Eastman lucidly. "That's what the party is for."

"If the freshmen find out that you had to get us to help you, you'll
never hear the last of it," jeered Babe.

"Now Babe, we're their natural allies," protested Babbie. "Of course we
always help them."

"Sh!" called a scout, sticking her head into the room. "Coast's clear.
Make a rush for it."

The last ghost had just gotten safely into the room, when two freshmen,
timid but much flattered by Polly's cordial invitation, knocked on the
door.

"Come in," called Polly in her natural voice, and once unsuspectingly
inside, they were pounced upon by the army of ghosts, and escorted to
seats as far as possible from the door. The other guests luckily arrived
in a body headed by Georgia Ames, who, having come into the house only
the day before, was already an important personage in the eyes of her
classmates. What girl wouldn't be who called Betty Wales by her first
name, and wasn't one bit afraid to "talk back" to the clever Miss Ayres?

Georgia's attitude of amused tolerance therefore set the tone for the
freshmen's behavior. "Don't you see that it's some sophomore joke?" she
demanded. "Might as well let the poor creatures get as much fun out of
us as they can, and then perhaps they'll give us something good to eat
by and by."

"We'll give you something right away," squeaked a ghost. "Georgia Ames
and Miss Ashton, stand forth. Now kneel down, shut your eyes and open
your mouths."

"Don't do it. It will be some horrid, peppery mess," advised a
sour-tempered freshman named Butts.

But Georgia and her companion stood bravely forth, to be rewarded by two
delicious mouthfuls of Madeline's French chocolate. After this pleasant
surprise, the freshmen, all but Miss Butts and one or two more, grew
more cheerful and began to enter into the spirit of the occasion.

"Josephine Boyd, you are elected to scramble like an egg," announced a
tall ghost.

Josephine's performance was so realistic that it evoked peals of
laughter from ghosts and freshmen alike.

"We'll recommend you for a part in the next menagerie that the house or
the college has," said the tall ghost, who seemed to be mistress of
ceremonies. "The Dutton twins are now commanded to push matches across
the floor with their noses. You'll find the matches on the table by the
window. Somebody tie their hands behind them. Now start at the door and
go straight across to Georgia Ames's chair. The one that wins the race
must send Polly some flowers," added the tall ghost maliciously as the
twins, blushing violently at this barefaced reference to their rivalry
for Polly's affections, took their matches, and at Georgia's signaled
"One, two, three, go!" began their race.

Pushing a match across a slippery floor with one's nose looked so easy
and proved so difficult that both ghosts and freshmen, as they cheered
on the eager contestants, longed to take part in the enticing sport. The
fluffy-haired twin kept well ahead of her straight-haired sister, until,
when her match was barely a foot from Georgia's chair it caught in a
crack and broke in two.

"Oh, dear!" sighed the fluffy-haired twin forlornly, trying to single
out her divinity from among the sheeted ghosts.

Her despair was too much for soft-hearted Polly. "Never mind," she said
kindly "The race is hereby called off."

"And we can both send you flowers, can't we?" demanded the
straight-haired twin, jumping up, flushed and panting from her
exertions.

Every one waited eagerly to hear what the next stunt would be.

"This is for you, Miss Butts," announced the tall ghost, after a
whispered colloquy with her companions, "and as you don't seem very
happy to-night we've made it easy. Tell the name of your most particular
crush. Now don't pretend you haven't any."

"I won't tell," muttered Miss Butts sullenly.

"Then you'll have to make up Lucile Merrifield's bed for two weeks as a
penalty for disobeying our decrees. Now all the rest of you may tell
your crushes' names. I will explain, as some of you look a little dazed
about it, that your crush is the person you most deeply adore."

Some of the freshmen meekly accepted the penalty rather than divulge
their secret affections, one declared that she hadn't a crush, one,
remembering the legend of Georgia Ames, made up a sophomore's name and
after she had been safely "passed" exulted over the simplicity of her
victims. A few, including Georgia, calmly confessed their divinities'
names and gloated over the effect their announcements had upon some of
the ghosts.

When this entertainment was exhausted, the ghosts held another
conference. "Carline Dodge, get under the bed and develop like a film,"
decreed the leader finally.

"Oh, not under mine," cried a tall, impressive-looking ghost
plaintively. "My botany and zooelogy specimens are under it. She'd be
sure to upset the jars."

"There!" said Georgia Ames complacently. "That makes six of you that we
know. Polly Eastman and now Lucile have given themselves away. Babbie
Hildreth crumpled all up when Carline Dodge called out her crush's name.
If she's here, the other two that they call the B's are, and Madeline
Ayres is directing the job. It's easy enough to guess who the rest of
you are, so why not take off those hot things and be sociable?"

"Go on, Carline Dodge," ordered the tall ghost imperturbably.

"But I don't get the idea of the action," objected the serious-faced
freshman, and looked amazed that everybody should laugh so uproariously.

"That's so funny that we'll let you off," said Madeline, when the mirth
had subsided. "I foresee that you've invented a very useful phrase."

And sure enough Carline's reply was speedily incorporated into Harding's
special vocabulary, and its author found herself unwittingly famous.

"Now," said Madeline cheerfully, "you may all chase smiles around the
room for a while, and when I say 'wipe,' you are to wipe them off on a
crack in the floor. Then we'll have a speech from one of you and you
will be dismissed."

Most of the freshmen entered gaily into the "action" of chasing smiles,
and caught a great many on their own and each other's faces. That frolic
ended, Madeline called upon a quiet little girl who had hardly been seen
to open her mouth since she reached Harding, to make a speech. To every
one's surprise she rose demurely, without a word of objection or the
least appearance of embarrassment, and delivered an original monologue
supposed to be spoken by a freshman newly arrived and airing her
impressions of the college. It hit everybody with its absurd humor,
which no one enjoyed better, apparently, than the quiet little freshman
herself.

"Encore! Encore! Give us another!" shouted the freshmen when she had
finished; but their quiet little classmate only shook her head, and
assuming once more the mincing, confidential tone she had been using in
the monologue, remarked: "Do you know, there are some girls in our class
that will forget their heads before long. Why, when they're being hazed,
they forget it and think they're at a real party."

Everybody laughed again, and the tall ghost made the little freshman
blush violently by saying, "You'll get a part in the house play, my
child, and if you can write that monologue down I'll send an 'Argus'
editor around after it."

The little freshman, whose name was Ruth Howard, pinched herself softly,
when no one was looking, to make sure that she was awake. Like Mother
Hubbard she felt a little doubtful of her identity, as she noticed the
admiring glances cast upon her by even the haughtiest of the freshmen.
She had been rather lonely during these first weeks, and it was very
pleasant now to find that the things she could do were going to make a
place for her in this big, busy college world.

"A hazing party isn't a half-bad idea, is it?" said Georgia Ames,
reflectively. "It's got us all acquainted a lot faster than anything
else would, I guess,--even if there wasn't any food."

"Considering that we've done everything else, you children might find
the food----" began one of the ghosts, but a bell in the corridor
interrupted her.

"Is that the twenty-minutes-to or the ten o'clock?" asked another ghost
anxiously.

"Ten," said a freshman. "The other rang while we were chasing smiles."

"Then we're locked out," cried a small ghost tragically, and three
sheeted figures rushed down the hall, tripping over their flowing robes
and struggling with their masks as they ran.

"My light is on. Will they report it?" asked little Ruth Howard shyly
of Georgia Ames.

"Mine will be reported all right before I've done with it," declared a
ghost gloomily. "I've got to study for a physics review. I oughtn't to
have come near this festive function."

"Same here."

"Come on, Carline. Don't you know the action of going home?"

"Jolly fun though, wasn't it?"

The initiation party dissolved noisily down the dusky corridors.

Next day the college rang with the report that hazing was now practiced
at Harding. Strange accounts of the Belden House party were passed from
group to group of excited freshmen who declared that they were "just
scared to death" of the sophomores and wouldn't for the world be out
alone after dark, and of amused upper-classmen who allowed for
exaggerations and considered the whole episode in the light of a good
joke. But a particularly susceptible Burton House freshman, who sat at
Miss Stuart's table and burned to make a favorable impression upon that
august lady, repeated the story to her at luncheon. Miss Stuart received
it in silence, wondered what the truth of it was, and asked some of her
friends about it that afternoon at a faculty meeting. Of course some of
the wrong people heard about it and took it up officially, as a matter
calculated to ruin the spirit of the college. The result was that Miss
Ferris and Dr. Hinsdale were furnished with the names of some of the
offenders and requested to interview them on the subject of their
misdemeanors. Miss Ferris unerringly selected Madeline Ayres as the
ring-leader of the affair and Betty Wales as the best person to make an
appeal to, if any appeal was needed, and set an hour for them to come
and see her.

Madeline, who never looked at bulletin-boards, did not get her note of
summons, and Betty, who had taken hers as a friendly invitation to have
tea with her friend, went over to the Hilton House alone and in the
highest spirits. But Miss Ferris was not serving tea, and Dr. Hinsdale
showed no intention of leaving them in peace to indulge in one of those
long and delightful talks that Betty had so anticipated. Indeed it was
he, with his coldest expression and his dryest tone, who introduced the
subject of the initiation party and demanded to know why Madeline Ayres
had neglected Miss Ferris's summons. Betty had no trouble in explaining
that to everybody's satisfaction, but she longed desperately for
Madeline's support, as she listened to Dr. Hinsdale's stern arraignment
of the innocent little gathering.

"It's not lady-like," he asserted. "It's aping the men. Hazing is a
discredited practice anyhow. All decent colleges are dropping it. We
certainly don't want it here, where the aim of the faculty has always
been to encourage the friendliest relations between classes. The members
of the entering class always find the college life difficult at first.
It's quite unnecessary to add to their troubles."

Betty listened with growing horror. What dreadful thing had she
unwittingly been a party to? And yet, after all, could it have been so
very dreadful? If Dr. Hinsdale had been there, would he have felt this
way about it? A smile wavered on Betty's lips at this thought. She
looked at Miss Ferris, who smiled back at her.

"Say it, Betty," encouraged Miss Ferris, and Betty began, explaining how
Madeline had happened to think of the hazing, relating the absurdities
that she and the rest had devised, dwelling on Ruth Howard's clever
impersonation and Josephine Boyd's effective egg-scrambling. Gradually
Dr. Hinsdale's expression softened, and when she repeated Carline
Dodge's absurd retort, he laughed like a boy.

"Do you think it was so very dreadful?" Betty inquired anxiously,
whereupon her judges exchanged glances and laughed again.

"There's another thing," Betty began timidly after a moment. "I don't
know as I should ever have thought of it myself, but it did certainly
work that way." And Betty explained Georgia Ames's idea of the
hazing-party as a promoter of good-fellowship. "It's awfully hard to get
acquainted with freshmen, you see," she went on. "We have our own
friends and we are all busy with our own affairs. But since that night
we've been just as friendly. That one evening took the place of lots of
calls and formal parties. We know now what the different ones can do. Of
course," Betty admitted truthfully, "it didn't help Miss Butts any,
unless it showed her that at Harding you've got to do your part, if you
want a good time. She's certainly been a little more agreeable since.
But Ruth Howard now--why it would have been ages--oh, I mean months,"
amended Betty blushingly, "before we should have known about her, unless
Madeline had called for that speech."

Again the judges exchanged amused glances, and Dr. Hinsdale cleared his
throat. "Well, Miss Wales," he said, "you've made your point, I think.
You've found the legitimate purpose for a legitimate and distinctly
feminine kind of hazing. And now, if Miss Ferris will excuse me, I have
an engagement at my rooms."

So Betty had her talk and her tea, after all, and went away loving Miss
Ferris harder than ever. For Miss Ferris, by the mysterious process that
brought all college news to her ken, had heard about Eleanor Watson and
the Champion Blunderbuss, and she was looking out for Eleanor, who, she
was sure from a number of little things she had noticed and pieced
together, was now quite capable of looking out for herself. This
confirmation of her own theory encouraged Betty vastly, and she was able
to feel a little more charitable toward the Champion, who, as Miss
Ferris had pointed out, was really the one most to be pitied.

CHAPTER IV

AN ADVENTUROUS MOUNTAIN DAY

"The 19-- scholarships, providing aid to the approximate sum of one
hundred dollars for each of four students, preferably members of an
upper class"--thus the announcement was to appear formally in the
college catalogue. The president and the donor had both heartily
approved of Betty's scheme, and the scholarships were an accomplished
fact. It had been the donor's pleasant suggestion that 19-- should keep
in perpetual touch with its gift to the college by appointing a
committee to act with one from the faculty in disposing of the
scholarships. Betty Wales was chairman, of course. 19-- did not intend
that she should forget her connection with those scholarships. Betty
took her duties very seriously. She watched the girls at chapel, in the
recitation halls, on the campus, noted those with shabby clothes and
worried faces, found out their names and their boarding-places, and set
tactful investigations on foot about their needs. The enormous number of
her "speaking acquaintances" became a college joke.

"Bow, Betty," Katherine would whisper, whenever on their long country
walks, they met a group of girls who looked as if they might belong to
the college. And then, "Is it possible I've found somebody you don't
know? Better look them up right away."

"It's splendid training for your memory," Betty declared, and it was,
and splendid training besides in helpfulness and social service, though
Betty did not put it so grandly. To her it was just trying to take
Dorothy King's place, and not succeeding very well either.

In looking up strangers, Betty did not forget her friends. Nobody could
be more deserving of help than Rachel Morrison. Her hard summer's work
had worn on her and made the busy round of tutoring and study seem
particularly irksome. But Rachel, while she was pleased to think that
she had been the joint committee's first choice, refused the money.

"I could only take it as a loan," she said, "and I don't want to have a
debt hanging over my head next year. I'm not so tired now as I was when
I first got back, and I can rest all next summer. Did I tell you that
Babbie Hildreth's uncle has offered me a position in his school for next
fall?"

Emily Davis, on the other hand, was very glad to accept a
scholarship,--"As a loan of course," she stipulated. She had practically
supported herself for the whole four years at Harding, and the strain
and worry had begun to tell on her. A little easier time this year would
mean better fitness for the necessarily hard year of teaching that was
to follow, without the interval of rest that Rachel counted upon.
Emily's mother was dead now, and her father made no effort to help his
ambitious daughter. She might have had a place in the woolen mills,
where he worked years before, he argued; since she had not taken it, she
must look out for herself.

But with the serious side of life was mixed, for Betty and the rest,
plenty of gaiety. 19-- might not be greatly missed after they had gone
out into the wide, wide world, but while they stayed at Harding
everybody seemed bent on treating them royally.

"You know this is the last fall you'll have here," Polly Eastman would
say, pleading with Betty to come for a drive. "There's no such beautiful
autumn foliage near Cleveland."

Or, "You must come to our house dance," Babbie Hildreth would declare.
"Just think how few Harding dances there are left for us to go to!"

Even the most commonplace events, such as reading aloud in the parlors
after dinner, going down to Cuyler's for an ice, or canoeing in Paradise
at sunset took on a new interest. Seniors who had felt themselves
superior to the material joys of fudge-parties and scorned the crudities
of amateur plays and "girl-dances," eagerly accepted invitations to
either sort of festivity.

"And the moral of that, as our dear departed Mary Brooks would say,"
declared Katherine, "is: Blessings brighten as diplomas come on apace.
Between trying not to miss any fun and doing my best to distinguish
myself in the scholarly pursuits that my soul loves, I am well nigh
distraught. Don't mind my Shakespearean English, please. I'm on the
senior play committee, and I recite Shakespeare in my sleep."

Dearest of all festivities to the Harding girl is Mountain Day, and
there were all sorts of schemes afoot among 19--'s members for making
their last Mountain Day the best of the four they had enjoyed so much.
Horseback riding was the prevailing fad at Harding that fall, and every
girl who could sit in a saddle was making frantic efforts to get a horse
for an all-day ride among the hills. Betty was a beginner, but she had
been persuaded to join a large party that included Eleanor, Christy,
Madeline, Nita, and the B's. They were going to take a man to look after
the horses, and they had planned their ride so that the less experienced
equestrians could have a long rest after luncheon, and taking a
cross-cut through the woods, could join the others, who would leave the
picnic-place earlier and make a long detour, so as to have their gallop
out in peace.

It was a sunny, sultry Indian summer day,--a perfect day to ride, drive
or walk, or just to sit outdoors in the sunshine, as Roberta Lewis
announced her intention of doing. She helped the horseback riders to
adjust their little packages of luncheon, and looked longingly after
them, as they went cantering down the street, waving noisy farewells to
their friends.

"I wish I weren't such a coward," she confided to Helen Adams, who was
starting to join Rachel and Katherine for a long walk. "I love horses,
but I should die of fright if I tried to ride one."

"Oh, they have a man with them," said Helen easily, "and it's a perfect
day for a ride."

Roberta, who almost lived outdoors, and was weatherwise in consequence,
looked critically at the western horizon. "I shouldn't be a bit
surprised if it rained before night," she said. "You'd better decide to
laze around in Paradise with me."

But Helen only laughed at Roberta's caution and went on, whereat Roberta
Lewis was very nearly the only Harding girl who was not drenched to the
skin before Mountain Day was over.

The riding-party galloped through the town and stopped at the edge of
the meadows for consultation.

"Let's go by the bridge and come back by the ferry," suggested Madeline.
"Then we shall have the prettiest part of the ride saved for sunset."

"And you'll have a better road both ways, miss," put in the groom
practically.

So the party crossed the long toll-bridge, the horses stepping
hesitatingly and curveting a little at the swish of the noisy water,
climbed the sunny hills beyond, and dipped down to a level stretch of
wood, in the heart of which they chose a picnic-ground by the side of a
merry little brook.

"We must have a fire," announced Bob, who had fallen behind the
procession, and now came up at the trot, just as the others were
dismounting.

"But we haven't anything to cook," objected Eleanor.

"Coffee," grinned Bob jubilantly. "I've got folding cups stuffed around
under my sweater, and I stopped at that farmhouse back by the fork in
the road to get a pail."

"And there are marshmallows to toast," added Babe. "That's what I've
got in my sweater."

"I thought you two young ladies had grown awful stout on a sudden,"
chuckled the groom, beginning to pile up twigs under an overhanging
ledge of rock.

"And here are some perfectly elegant mushrooms," declared Madeline, who
had been poking about among the fallen leaves. "We can use the pail for
those first, and have the coffee with dessert."

All the girls had brought sandwiches, stuffed eggs, cakes, and fruit, so
that, with the extras, the picnic was "truly elegant," as Babe put it.
They sang songs while they waited for the coffee to boil, and toasted
Babe's marshmallows, two at a time, on forked sticks, voting Babe a
trump to have thought of them.

Then they lay on the green turf by the brook, talking softly to the
babbling accompaniment of its music.

Finally Eleanor shivered and sat up. "Where is the sun?" she asked.
"Oughtn't we to be starting?"

[Illustration: "HERE ARE SOME PERFECTLY ELEGANT MUSHROOMS"]

The sky was not dark or threatening, only a bit gray and dull. The groom
was to stay with the novices--Christy, Babe and Betty--who, as soon as
the rest had mounted, raced down the road to get warm and also to return
the pail that Bob had borrowed, to its owner. By the time they got back,
after making a short call on the farmer's wife, the sun was struggling
out again, but the next minute big drops began to patter down through
the leaves.

The groom considered the situation. "I guess you'll jest have to wait
and git wet. Miss Hildreth's horse is skittish on ferries. I wouldn't
wanter go on with you an' leave her to cross alone."

So they waited, keeping as dry as possible under a pine tree, until the
time appointed for starting to the rendezvous. It was raining steadily
now. Babe's horse objected to getting wet, and pulled on the reins
sullenly. The sky was fairly black. Altogether it was an uncomfortable
situation.

The road to the river was damp and slippery, and most of it was a steep
down-grade. There was nothing to do but walk the horses, Babe's dancing
sidewise in a fashion most upsetting to Betty's nerves. By the time they
had reached the ferry, darkness seemed to have settled, and there were
low growlings of thunder. Babe's horse reared, and she dismounted and
stood at his head while they waited for the ferry to cross to them.

"I guess there's goin' to be a bad shower," volunteered the groom. "I
guess we'd better wait over in that barn till it's over. Animals don't
like lightning."

The ferry seemed to crawl across the river, but it arrived at last, and
each girl led her horse on board. They were all frightened, but nobody
showed the "white feather." Babe's cheeks were pale, though, as she
patted her restive mount, and laughed bravely at Madeline's futile
efforts to feed sugar to her tall "Black Beauty," who jerked his nose
impatiently out of her reach each time she tried.

"Beauty must be awfully upset if he doesn't want sugar," said Babbie,
who was standing next the groom. "He's the greed----" The next minute
Betty found herself holding her own and the groom's horse, while he
plunged after Babbie's, who was snorting and kicking right into the
midst of everything. It had lightened, and between the lightning and
the water Babbie's high-spirited mare was frantic, and was fast
communicating her excitement to the others.

A minute later there was a tremendous jolt which set all the horses to
jumping.

"I swan," said the apathetic ferryman who had paid no attention to the
previous confusion. "We're aground."

The girls looked at one another through the gathering shadows.

"How are we going to get off?" asked the groom desperately.

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