CHAPTER XXCLIMAXES
“Ma’scoming, all right!” Montana Marie told Betty gleefully, a week or so after the elopement that didn’t come off. “I told her it might be her last chance at a Harding commencement, and she thinks that means that I’m to be in gay Paree with her again next winter, so she’s in a very good humor. I hope it’s ripping hot weather for commencement. Hot weather wilts Ma right down, and makes her easier to manage.”
A few days later Marie had another announcement to make. “Pa is coming East too. Georgia addressed her invitation to Mr. and Mrs. James J., just out of politeness. Now she is wild on the question of tickets for things. If Pa really comes here, her sister Constance will have to go on standing room to the senior play and the Ivy concert. For my part I’m crazy to see Pa, but I don’t imagine he’ll care much about these commencementdoings. His real reason for coming East is to hire an architect in New York—I don’t know what he’s going to build, but I wrote right back and told him about your friend Mr. Watson.” Marie giggled amiably. “That address that Mrs. Hinsdale gave me is forever coming in handy.”
Betty wished, quite unreasonably, that Marie’s memory for addresses was shorter, or her interest in Jim’s career less personal. Whatever Mr. O’Toole meant to build, it would probably be built in Montana; and Montana is a very, very long way from Harding. It was much nicer having Jim in New York.
Meanwhile Betty was far too busy to spend much thought on the O’Toole family’s affairs; when Mrs. O’Toole actually appeared on the scene, it would be time enough for bothering with her. 19—’s third year reunion was equally imminent and much more interesting. Of course the members who lived in Harding were depended upon to attend to all such details as boarding places and class supper, to plan for informal “stunt-meetings,” and to arrange a reunion costume that should go farahead of that worn by any other returning class. Besides all this, the B. C. A.’s had decided to give a party for 19—. Madeline had glibly agreed to plan it, and had got as far as confiding to all her friends that this time she had really thought of something extra-specially lovely, when the Coach and Six took her to New York, and Agatha Dwight’s interest in the fairy play kept her there. At first the B. C. A.’s waited hopefully for her return. Then they held a solemn conclave to discuss their dilemma. But the only plans they could evolve seemed so prosaically commonplace beside Madeline’s most casual inspirations that they continued to wait, this time with the calmness born of despair. For the B. C. A. invitations had been sent out broadcast to all 19—ers, and though 19— could have an absurdly good time over “just any old thing,” it wasn’t “just any old thing” that they would expect of the B. C. A.’s. Finally Betty wrote to Roberta Lewis, who would be passing through New York on her way up to Harding. “Capture Madeline,” she ordered summarily. “Bring her up here if you can, but anyway make her tell youabout the B. C. A. party. Don’t come away without her plans for it, on penalty of being put out of the Merry Hearts—almost.”
Luckily for Roberta, Madeline was easily captured. She was sulking in solitary state in her studio apartment, because, though Agatha Dwight liked the fairy play tremendously, no manager could be found to put it on.
“They say, ‘Stick to your old line,’” grumbled Madeline. “As if the one play I’ve written—about a modern woman—was a line. They say, ‘New York doesn’t care for fairies.’ As if every sensible person wasn’t born caring for fairies—the really-truly mystic sprites like mine. Oh, I suppose the thing’s not good enough! Anyway I won’t grumble about it any more. I’ll plan a B. C. A. party that will make dear old 19— laugh itself sick. Not a fairy party—a—a germ party, Roberta. You shall be the Ph. D. Germ—in an Oxford gown with a stunning scarlet hood. I shouldn’t wonder if Miss Ferris will lend you hers. Then there’ll be the Love Germ, and the Wedding Bells Germ, the Club Germ, the Society Germ, and the Germ of a Career. And little Betty Wales shall be the college girl that theyall viciously attack. It shall be a play with a moral,—one of nice old Mary’s nice little morals. And the moral shall be: ‘It isn’t the Germ you like that gets you; it’s the Germ you can’t live without.’ Could you imagine life without a Ph.D., Roberta? If you could, then the modern microbes are still fighting their hardest for you, and the Love Germ will get you yet if you don’t watch out. But Betty is the ideal object for the attack of the modern microbes, because she’s a little of everything, except possibly clubs. Whereas, the Society microbe wouldn’t look at you, Roberta. It would run away at your approach.”
“Will you come up to Harding to-morrow?” asked Roberta anxiously, ignoring the aspersion upon her ability to be a society butterfly.
“This afternoon if you like,” Madeline returned, as calmly as if she hadn’t been implored by every mail for two weeks past to come up and help with the reunion arrangements.
The B.C.A. party turned out a Merry Hearts’ party. Roberta Lewis made a beautifulPh. D. microbe, with her hair “scrunched back” under a mortar board, big spectacles, and a manner copied from an astronomy instructor who was universally known in Harding circles as Miss Prunes and Prisms. Roberta hadn’t acted since the senior play, she said, but she was in splendid form nevertheless. So was K., who, as the Pedagogic Microbe, delivered a speech founded on her personal experiences that brought down the house.
“You must each make up her own part,” Madeline told the cast, when they met for the first (and only) rehearsal. “I haven’t had time to write out the speeches. Babbie, you ought to know how to lobby for the society act. You liked it pretty well that first winter you were out of college. Eleanor, you’re in love; well, explain the sensation. Babe, you don’t act as if marriage was a failure; speak up for it. Nita, you’re not a really energetic club-woman, I’m happy to say, so here are some few ideas to help you out. I shall speak of a career from bitter experience. Betty, all you have to do is to look thoughtful while we talk, and scared while we fight for you. At the end, when we decide to give you yourchoice, you are to explain that, since the world is too full of a number of things,—namely modern microbes,—the thing to do is to shut your eyes and decide which one you can’t live without. And until you’ve decided, you propose to enjoy life all around. See? I’ll write out your speech, if I can get time, because it ought to be exactly right, to get the best effect. Fire away now, Roberta.”
The rehearsal proceeded amid wild confusion. Madeline coolly advised the cast to improve their lines, reminded them encouragingly that the costumes would help out wonderfully, and departed, to compose a new ploshkin song, while the supper committee, to whom she had promised it weeks before, waited patiently on her door-steps to seize and carry it to the printer.
The B. C. A. party was sandwiched in between a thunder-shower and the Glee Club’s commencement concert. The stage was an elm-shaded bank, the audience room as much of the adjacent back-campus as would hold 19—, and a few stray specimens of its fiancés, its husbands, and its babies. The “show” was cheered to the echo, and the “eats” whichfollowed, carefully selected from the Tally-ho’s latest and most popular specialties, were voted as good as the show.
“Of course,” the supper committee chanted, besieging Madeline while she ate, “of course we want it repeated with the class supper stunts.”
Madeline waved them away with a spoonful of strawberry ice.
“Talk to the cast. This is one piece of idiocy that I’m not responsible for. Oh, I helped plan it, and I wrote the moral. That’s positively all I did. Congratulate K. and Roberta, not me. And have it again for class supper if you really want it. Couldn’t we run in the class animals for a sort of chorus—‘Beware the Love Germ, 19—ers,’ and so on. Ploshkins and Red Lions, and Jabberwocks and Ritherums would make a lovely Moralizing Chorus. Yes, I’ll write it, but I won’t make wings for any more animals. I’ve decided that I’m too old and too distinguished to make any more animals’ wings.”
19—’s class supper was at the Tally-ho—of course. T. Reed had brought little T. to the reunion, and little T. had brought his big ploshkin mascot to the supper. The undistinguishedMary Jones and her plain, frizzle-haired little girl were there with the class loving-cup. All the old cliques and crowds were there, sitting as they used to sit, but fused, by the esprit de corps that no class had quite so strongly as 19—, into a big, splendid, happy whole. Eleanor was toast-mistress again. It was once toast-mistress, toast-mistress forever, with 19—. Jean Eastman had a speech called “Over the Wide, Wide World,” all about wintering in Egypt and buying rugs in Persia and yachting in the strange South Seas. T. Reed had one on “Such is Life,” all about raising babies and mushrooms and woolly lambs on a ranch in Arizona. Nita’s was called, on the menu-card, “Keep your eye on the Ball,” and it was a funny muddle of all the finest things that 19—ers had done by everlasting keeping at it. Roberta’s degree was one of the fine things, and Christy’s fellowship; and Madeline’s play was the grand climax, only Madeline spoiled the rhetorical effect by calling out, “Nita, you know I always do things by not keeping at them. I hereby refuse to point your moral and adorn your tale.”
In the midst of Nita’s speech Betty Wales disappeared. The few girls who saw her go thought that she was modestly trying to escape hearing her praises sounded by Nita, as one of the people 19— was proudest of. Helen Adams, who had noticed Nora come in and speak to Betty, thought that some domestic crisis demanded her attention, and hoped she wouldn’t have to stay in the kitchen very long. For Helen had a speech herself by and by, and she had planned to get through it by looking right into Betty’s intent, encouraging little face. But Betty didn’t get back in time for Helen’s toast nor for the two that came after it. The stunt-doers were gathering in Flying Hoof’s stall to put on their costumes, and the rest of the girls were pushing back their chairs to face the platform that Thomas the door-boy had built in front of the fireplace, when Betty Wales got back. She looked as if the domestic crisis had been of a strenuous sort, but at last happily terminated. Her face was flushed, and her hair curled in little damp rings on her forehead. But her expression was as serene as possible, her eyes sparkled with fun,and her dimples just wouldn’t stay in, though she tried to be duly serious over having lost half the toasts—and half the supper too.
“But the stunts haven’t begun, have they? Does ours come first? Did any engaged girls run around the table that we don’t know about already? Little Alice Waite! Oh, how nice! Don’t begin our stunt just yet. I want to speak to Madeline a minute. Oh, well, never mind, if they’re all waiting.”
So the “College Girl and the Modern Microbes, with a Moralizing Chorus of Class Beasts,” went at once on the boards. Betty Wales was no actress; not even her warmest admirers had ever imagined that she possessed histrionic ability, and it was only to satisfy a whim of Madeline’s that she had taken what she laughingly dubbed “a regular stick part” in the Germ play. But at the class supper performance she surprised everybody by her vivacity. She informed the Ph. D. Germ that she’d better take a course in doing her hair becomingly. She mocked the Pedagogic Germ with the hated epithet “Schoolma’am! schoolma’am!” She caught the Love Germ by an insecure white wing, and assured itthat nobody fell in love with girls who were just pinned together. All through the contest of the Germs for her she kept interjecting remarks in a disconcertingly unexpected fashion. And at last the time came for the moral. Betty hesitated just a minute, and then began her one regular speech. She began it just as usual, and she went on just as usual until she came almost to the end: “So the thing to do is to shut your eyes and decide which one you can’t do without.” At this point she shut her eyes for an impressive moment. Then she opened them, and, with a half-frightened, half-merry look at Madeline, she walked up to the Love Germ and the Wedding Bells Germ, and dragged them, one on each side of her, to the front of the platform.
I’VE SHUT MY EYES AND I’VE CHOSEN“I’VE SHUT MY EYES AND I’VE CHOSEN”
“I’VE SHUT MY EYES AND I’VE CHOSEN”
“I’VE SHUT MY EYES AND I’VE CHOSEN”
“And so I’ve shut my eyes and I’ve chosen, and—please everybody congratulate me quick! Eleanor Watson first, please, Eleanor dear.”
Betty Wales ran down from the platform, still dragging the winning Germs after her, and followed by a riotous mob of other Germs and Class Animals, which was speedily joined by another mob of all the finest class of 19—.
There were no more stunts that night. When the supper committee stopped trying to get a chance to congratulate Betty and hear how it all happened, why, by that time it was much too late for stunts. It was time—and long past time—for the class march to the other suppers, to return serenades and congratulations, and then to visit “Every Loved Spot on the Whole Blessed Campus,” as the new ploshkin song put it, and to sing the ploshkin song and the other reunion favorites until everybody was hoarse enough and tired enough to be ready to stop reunioning—and that meant extra-specially hoarse and extra-specially tired; and time in plenty was needed for its accomplishment.
When it was all over, nobody knew anything about Betty’s engagement, except that it was to Jim Watson.
“I was out of the room when they ran around the table,” she had explained over and over. “So I just spoiled Madeline’s lovely moral to tell you. But she says she doesn’t mind, and I wanted you all to know, while we’re here together, how blissfully happy I am.”
“After the rest are out of the way the Merry Hearts will meet in the Peter Pan Annex, top story.” So the word went round, when 19— was finally ready to disperse. “The fifteeners went to bed ages ago, so it’s empty. We don’t want to go to bed.”
“I should say not,” each Merry Heart acknowledged the news of the rendezvous. “We want to hear all about Betty Wales.”
“Yes, Jim came up to-night unexpectedly. Where is he now? In bed, I certainly hope,” said Betty Wales. “Ye-es, he’d asked me before, but he never asked me—hard enough. And then Madeline’s rule—whether or not you can live without a person—or a thing—is ever so much easier to apply when you’re maybe going to lose the person for a long, long time.”
“And were you going to lose Jimmie for a long time?” inquired Eleanor, who didn’t know any more than the rest how the great desire of her heart—second only to her plans for her own and Dick’s happiness—had suddenly become a reality.
Betty nodded proudly. “He’s got a splendid big commission. It’s to build a town—awhole nice little new town—factories, schools, houses, everything, at a mine and a water power that Mr. O’Toole owns. First he’s got to go to Germany to work up some plans for it. It will all take several years. And I saw that I couldn’t get along without——”
“Stop! That’s a very dangerous moral,” cut in Madeline hastily. “Don’t keep repeating it around here, or somebody else may be infected with the Love Germ.”
“Very well,” agreed Betty gaily, “then I won’t say over the dangerous moral. But—the town he has to build is thirty miles from a railroad that hasn’t been built. I mean—the town isn’t there yet either. And it will be on a railroad by and by, but it isn’t now. Wouldn’t it be losing Jim pretty hard to have him away off there without me?”
“How about the Coach and Six?” demanded Madeline severely.
Betty went on smiling her happy little smile. “I’ll have to start it off somehow before I go. Mr. Morton will understand. He likes Jim. Oh, and when I’m gone there will be a place for Straight. So the twins are settled, and that’s one thing off my mind.”
“Who’ll undertake Montana Marie O’Toole?” demanded Madeline inexorably. “She isn’t a thing that you can start off and then leave to go on by herself in proper style.”
Betty laughed. “I don’t know about that. It’s Mr. O’Toole who has commissioned Jim, on Marie’s recommendation, to build the town. So she’s really responsible about Jim and me. I’m going to tell her to-morrow that, since she can plan things so well for other people, it’s time she managed her own affairs better. That is, of course I shall speak to her mother for her, because I promised to. Oh, dear, we can’t discuss that, because no one is supposed to know about it yet. But my freshman is all right, anyway.”
“I suppose you think the Tally-ho and Morton Hall and the Student’s Aid and small Dorothy can get along without you,” continued Madeline, who was going to miss Betty dreadfully, and was teasing her to avoid showing her real feelings.
“Of course!” Nothing could daunt Betty Wales to-night. “Anything can get along without anybody—except—Jim and me. Besides,I shall have time to see to all those things before I’m—married. I don’t know when Jim is going to Germany. I only saw him for a little minute——”
“Oh!” cried her friends, remembering how many toasts she had missed.
“Well, we didn’t get to anything practical like time,” Betty defended herself. “But if he has to go too soon, why, we can’t be married till he gets home. It takes ages to get ready to be married, doesn’t it?” She looked from one to another of the prospective brides, each of whom nodded solemnly. Betty sighed. “I never thought of that. Jim just said that the trip to Germany would be a nice honeymoon. I wonder how soon he has to start. Girls, I really must go to bed. I want to be up early to-morrow morning to talk it all over.”
“With us?” demanded Madeline.
“No, human question-point,” Betty told her severely. “With Jim.”