"If not, I will," said Mary Rich.

"And we could use the money for a house spread," added Betty, "since we all help to earn it."

"And christen the chafing-dish," put in Katherine.

"Good. Then I'll tell them--Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays," said Rachel; and the dinner-table dissolved.

CHAPTER IV

WHOSE PHOTOGRAPH?

The dancing cla.s.s went briskly on; so did the Livy cla.s.s and the geometry, the English 1, the French required and the history elective.

The freshmen were getting acquainted with one another now, and seldom confused their cla.s.smates with seniors or youthful members of the faculty. They no longer attempted to go out of chapel ahead of the seniors, or invaded the president's house in their frantic search for Science Hall or the Art Gallery. For October was fast wearing away. The hills about Harding showed flaming patches of scarlet, and it was time for the soph.o.m.ore reception and Mountain Day. Betty was very much excited about the reception, but she felt also that a load would slip off her shoulders when it was over. She was anxious about the progress of the dancing pupils, who had increased to five, besides Helen and Adelaide, and for whom she felt a personal responsibility, because the Chapin house girls persisted in calling the cla.s.s hers. And what would father say if they didn't get their money's worth? Then there was Helen's dress for the reception, which she was sure was a fright, but couldn't get up the courage to inquire about. And last and worst of all was the mysterious grind-book and Dorothy King's warning about father's telegram to the registrar. She had never mentioned the incident to anybody, but from certain annoying remarks that Mary Brooks let fall she was sure that Mary knew all about it and that the soph.o.m.ores were planning to make telling use of it.

"How's your friend the registrar?" Mary would inquire solemnly every few days. And if Betty refused to answer she would say slyly, "Who met you at the station, did you tell me? Oh, only Dottie King?" until Betty almost decided to stop her by telling the whole story.

Two days before the reception she took Rachel and Katherine into her confidence about Helen's dress.

"You see if I could only look at it, maybe I could show her how to fix it up," she explained, "but I'm afraid to ask. I'm pretty sure she's sensitive about her looks and her clothes. I should want to be told if I was such a fright, but maybe she's happier without knowing."

"She can't help knowing if she stays here long," said Rachel.

"Why don't you get out your dress, and then perhaps she'll show hers,"

suggested Katherine.

"I could do that," a.s.sented Betty doubtfully. "I could find a place to mend, I guess. Chiffon tears so easily."

"Good idea," said Rachel heartily. "Try that, and then if she doesn't bite you'd better let things take their course. But it is too bad to have her go looking like a frump, after all the trouble we've taken with her dancing."

Betty went back to her room, sat down at her desk and began again at her Livy. "For I might as well finish this first," she thought; and it was half an hour before she shut the scarlet-covered book with a slam and announced somewhat ostentatiously that she had finished her Latin lesson.

"And now I must mend my dress for the reception," she went on consciously. "Mother is always cautioning me not to wait till the last minute to fix things."

"Did you look up all the constructions in the Livy?" asked Helen. Betty was so annoyingly quick about everything.

"No," returned Betty cheerfully from the closet, where she was rummaging for her dress. "I shall guess at those. Why don't you try it? Oh, dear!

This is dreadfully mussed," and she appeared in the closet door with a fluffy white skirt over her arm.

"How pretty!" exclaimed Helen, deserting her Livy to examine it. "Is it long?"

"Um-um," said Betty taking a pin out of her mouth and hunting frantically for a microscopic rip. "Yes, it's long, and it has a train.

My brother Will persuaded mother to let me have one. Wasn't he a brick?"

"Yes," said Helen shortly, going back to her desk and opening her book again. Presently she hitched her chair around to face Betty. "Mine's awfully short," she said.

"Is it?" asked Betty politely.

There was a pause. Then, "Would you care to see it?" asked Helen.

Betty winked at the green lizard. "Yes indeed," she said cordially. "Why don't you try it on to be sure it's all right? I'm going to put on mine in just a minute."

She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the dress. It was a simple white muslin. The sleeves were queer, the neck too high to be low and too low to be high, and the skirt ridiculously short. "But it might have been a lot worse," reflected Betty. "If she'll only fix it!"

"Wait a minute," she said after she had duly admired it. "I'll put mine on, and we'll see how we both look dressed up."

"You look like a regular princess out of a story-book," said Helen solemnly, when Betty turned to her for inspection.

Betty laughed. "Oh, wait till to-morrow night," she said. "My hair's all mussed now. I wonder how you'd look with your hair low, Helen."

Helen flushed and bit her lip. "I shan't look anyhow in this horrid short dress," she said.

"Then why don't you make it longer, and lower in the neck?" inquired Betty impatiently. Helen was as conscientiously slow about making up her mind as she was about learning her Livy. "It's hemmed, isn't it? Anyhow you could piece it under the ruffle."

"Do you suppose mamma would care?" said Helen dubiously. "Anyway I don't believe I have time--only till to-morrow night."

"Oh I'll show you how," Betty broke in eagerly. "And if your mother should object you could put it back, you know. You begin ripping out the hem, and then we'll hang it."

Helen Chase Adams proved to be a pains-taking and extremely slow sewer.

Besides, she insisted on taking time off to learn her history and geometry, instead of "risking" them as Betty did and urged her to do.

The result was that Betty had to refuse Mary Brooks's invitation to "come down to the gym and dance the wax into that blooming floor" the next afternoon, and was tired and cross by the time she had done Helen's hair low, hooked her into the transformed dress, and finished her own toilette. She had never thought to ask the name of Helen's junior, and was surprised and pleased when Dorothy King appeared at their door.

Dorothy's amazement was undisguised.

"You'll have to be costumer for our house plays next year, Miss Wales,"

she said, while Betty blushed and contradicted all Helen's explanations.

"You're coming on the campus, of course."

"So virtue isn't its only reward after all," said Eleanor Watson, who had come in just in time to hear Miss King's remark. "Helen Chase Adams isn't exactly a vision of loveliness yet. She won't be mistaken for the college beauty, but she's vastly improved. I only wish anybody cared to take as much trouble for me."

"Oh, Eleanor!" said Betty reproachfully. "As if any one could improve you!"

Eleanor's evening dress was a pale yellow satin that brought out the brown lights in her hair and eyes and the gleaming whiteness of her shoulders. There were violets in her hair, which was piled high on her head, and more violets at her waist; and as she stood full in the light, smiling at Betty's earnestness, Betty was sure she had never seen any one half so lovely.

"But I wish you wouldn't be so sarcastic over Helen," she went on stoutly. "She can't help being such a freak."

Eleanor yawned. "I was born sarcastic," she said. "I wish Lil Day would hurry. Did you happen to notice that I cut three cla.s.ses straight this morning?"

"No," said Betty aghast. "Oh, Eleanor, how dare you when--" She stopped suddenly, remembering that Eleanor had asked her not to speak of the entrance conditions.

"When I have so much to make up already, you mean," Eleanor went on complacently. "Oh, I shall manage somehow. Here they come."

A few moments later the freshman and soph.o.m.ore cla.s.ses, with a sprinkling of juniors to make the numbers even, were gathered _en ma.s.se_ in the big gymnasium. All the afternoon loyal soph.o.m.ores had toiled thither from the various campus houses, lugging palms, screens, portieres and pillows. Inside another contingent had arranged these contributions, festooned the running-track with red and green bunting, risked their lives to fasten j.a.panese lanterns to the cross-beams, and disguised the apparatus against the walls with great branches of spruce and cedar, which still other merry, wind-blown damsels, driving a long-suffering horse, had deposited at intervals near the back door. By five o'clock it was finished and everybody, having a.s.sured everybody else that the gym never looked so well before, had gone home to dress for the evening. Now the lights softened what Mary Brooks called the "hidjous" greens of the freshman bunting, a band played sweet music behind the palms, and pretty girls in pretty gowns sat in couples on the divans that lined the walls, or waited in line to speak to the receiving party. This consisted of Jean Eastman and the soph.o.m.ore president, who stood in front of the fireplace, where a line of ropes intended to be used in gym practice had been looped back and made the best sort of foundation for a green canopy over their heads. Ten of the prettiest soph.o.m.ores acted as ushers, and four popular and much envied seniors presided at the frappe bowls in the four corners of the room.

"There's not much excitement about a manless dance, but it's a fascinating thing to watch," said Eleanor to her partner, as they stood in the running-track looking down at the dancers.

"I'm afraid you're blase, Miss Watson," returned the soph.o.m.ore. "Only seniors are allowed to dislike girl dances."