Marjorie Dean, College Freshman

A group of Silverton Hall girls, headed by Portia Graham and Robin Page, gathered to offer their warm congratulations. Entirely against her will, Marjorie Dean, Hamilton College freshman, had been accorded an honor which she had neither expected nor desired.

CHAPTER XX. – LIVING UP TO TRADITION

To be ignored on one’s arrival at Hamilton and in less than six weeks to be acclaimed the college beauty seemed the very irony of fate to Marjorie. The week following the freshman frolic was a hard one for her. Used to going unostentatiously about with her chums, she now found herself continually in the limelight. Whenever she appeared on the campus she had the uncomfortable feeling that every movement of hers was being watched.

“You may thank your stars that you are at college where the newspapers aren’t allowed to trespass,” Ronny had laughingly assured her when she complained. Nevertheless she was far from pleased when a prominent illustrator wrote her a polite note asking permission to make sketches of her. Worse still, she received later a letter from a New York theatrical manager offering her an engagement in a musical comedy he was about to launch. How either man had come into knowledge of her name she could not imagine.

While she had been deeply annoyed at the artist’s note, she grew angry at the temerity of the theatrical manager and promptly tore the letter into shreds. How she wished that she had never allowed herself to be dragged into that foolish beauty contest. Afterward Leila had candidly owned to Marjorie her part in the affair. While Marjorie had been obliged to laugh at the Irish girl’s clever move against the Sans, she had wondered whether she really liked Leila. Instead of being pleased over her triumph, she was distinctly put out about it.

“I never saw you so near to being really downright cross as you’ve been since that old beauty contest,” observed Jerry one afternoon in late October, as Marjorie entered the room, a frown between her brows, a tired droop to her pretty mouth.

“I feel like being downright cross,” emphasized Marjorie, accompanying the last three words with three energetic slams of her book on chemistry on the table. “I wish this popularity business were in Kamchatka. I thought I would like to take a walk around the campus today, all by myself, and think about what I would write this evening. I have to write a theme for poetics to be handed in tomorrow morning. I wasn’t allowed a minute to myself. There are some awfully nice girls here, but I wasn’t anxious for company today. I haven’t the least idea what I shall write and I wanted to save time by choosing my subject this afternoon.”

“Go and ask Ronny for a subject,” calmly advised Jerry. “She loves poems, poets and poetics in general. She is in her room writing to her father. She fired me out, but you may have better luck. She may have finished writing. It seems a long while since she inhospitably requested me to make myself scarce. My, but you are sympathetic!” Marjorie was already half way through the door, regardless of Jerry’s plaint.

“Come in,” called Ronny, in response to Marjorie’s two measured raps. “Oh, Marjorie, I was just coming to see you. I have a piece of news for you.”

“Come along,” invited Marjorie, “but first give me a subject for a theme for poetics. I need one in a hurry. Jerry said you were authority on the subject.”

“I am amazed at her charity,” chuckled Ronny, “after the way I shooed her away from my door.”

“She mentioned it,” returned Marjorie significantly, whereupon both girls laughed.

“Let me see,” pondered Ronny. “Why don’t you write on the genius Poe as above that of any other American poet? Illustrate by quoting from other poets and then comparing the excerpts with his work. Read his essay on poetry tonight before you begin to write. It will give you inspiration. I brought a five volume set of Poe from home. Here’s the volume containing the essay you need.”

Ronny took from a near-by book-case the desired volume and handed it to Marjorie.

“Thank you.” Marjorie accepted it gratefully. “I believe I can write a fairly good theme on that subject. I have always admired Poe’s work.”

“I adore his memory,” asserted Veronica solemnly. “I have read every scrap I could find concerning him. He ranked next to Shakespeare in genius. I know he was an earnest worker and a good man. I am sure that he was not a drunkard, but a terribly maligned genius. He was purposely kept down through jealousy and had to sell the products of his genius for a copper. He suffered terribly, but I imagine he had the inner happiness of knowing that not one brilliant emanation of his master mind could be snatched from him by the unworthy.”

Veronica’s gray eyes flashed in sympathy for the misunderstood man whose transcendental genius made him an outlander among the writers of his period.

“Again I thank you. This time for your lecture.” Marjorie bobbed up and down twice in quick succession. “I’ll try to put some of it into my theme. Now for my room, and the news.”

Jerry pretended not to see Ronny until she was well inside the room. She then rose up, and, in a purposely gruff voice, ordered her out. Needless to say, Ronny was not to be intimidated.

“No, Jeremiah, I shall not budge an inch. Here you sit doing nothing. Why shouldn’t I come in and sit on Marjorie’s side of the room? I have news to impart – n-e-w-s,” spelled Ronny.

At this Jerry pricked up her ears and became suddenly affable.

“I heard today,” began Ronny impressively, “that there will be a basket ball try-out next Friday afternoon in the gym, at four-thirty.”

“That’s cheering news!” Marjorie’s sober features lightened. “Where did you hear it, Ronny?”

“Miss Page told me. The notices will appear in a day or two. She played on a team all the time she was at Wildreth, a prep school she was graduated from. Naturally she is anxious to make the team this year.”

“I’d like to play,” Marjorie said wistfully. “I suppose I won’t stand much chance among so many, though.”

“Well, you won the Beauty contest,” cited Jerry wickedly. “That was a case of one in a multitude.”

Marjorie rose and going over to where Jerry sat, waved her book menacingly over her room-mate’s head. “Dare to say another word about that hateful old contest and I’ll disown you,” she threatened. “I want to forget all about it, if I can. Basket ball is different, thank goodness. If I make the freshman team, I have actually achieved something.”

“I hope you make it.” Jerry spoke with a sudden sincerity arising from her devotion to Marjorie. “Muriel will try for it. Moretense is too tense to make a startling player. Shall you try for it, Ronny?”

“No, indeed,” Ronny answered. “You and Lucy and I will be fans. I am not very partial to basket ball unless the game happens to move fast. Then I grow interested. Miss Page says the seniors are managing the sports. They usually do. A senior told her of the try-out.”

“Did Miss Page say anything else about it?” quizzed Jerry.

“No; she heard only that. She said she thought the sports committee were purposely keeping back the information. The senior who told her overheard the two of the committee talking to Miss Reid, the physical instructor. She happened to be in the gymnasium at the time. She was not asked to keep it secret, so she felt at liberty to mention it to me.”

Jerry regarded Ronny in silence for a moment. “This college makes me weary,” she burst out in an impatient voice. “There are too many undercurrents here. Why should the sports committee keep back information about basket ball? To suit their own pleasure, of course. Very likely they are banded into a clique like those silly Sans Soucians. If it happens to be the same kind of clique, then look out for trouble at the try-out.”

“Perhaps they have a good reason for not giving out the information until a certain time,” argued Ronny. “Maybe they don’t approve of the Sans. As seniors, they should be on the heights, so far as college ethics are concerned.”

“I trust they are,” Jerry returned, in a prim voice, rolling her eyes at Ronny. “Just the same, I doubt it. I’ll tell you more about ’em after the try-out. They’ll have to show me.”

It was on Monday that Ronny heard of the try-out. Not until Thursday afternoon did the notices of it appear on the various bulletin boards. Their advent led to a certain amount of jubilation on the part of those freshmen who were fond of the game. When, at four-thirty, the next afternoon, the committee appeared in company with Miss Reid, they found at least thirty-five of the freshman class as aspirants to the team. A part of the unaspiring members had come to look on. There was also a large percentage of sophomores on the scene. Outside the committee there was only a sprinkling of juniors and seniors.

Marjorie and Muriel had put on their gymnasium suits at the Hall and had arrived at the gymnasium shortly after four o’clock. Jerry, Ronny and Lucy did not appear until almost half-past four. They were accompanied by Vera Mason, Nella Sherman and Leila Harper. In the meantime Marjorie and Muriel had been watching, with some longing, a number of freshmen who were out on the floor practicing with the ball. Prominent among them was Lola Elster, who seemed to know the game, or thought she did, better than her companion player. She was quite in her element, and was issuing frequent orders, in a rather shrill voice, as she darted about in pursuit of the ball. The “pick-up” squad with whom she was playing appeared to be completely under her domination.

“I don’t care to make a team that Miss Elster is on,” Muriel confided to Marjorie in a disgusted tone. “She is altogether too fond of her own playing. Besides, she is inclined to be tricky and I wouldn’t trust her. She’d elbow her best friend out of the way if they were both after the ball.”

“Those girls seem to like her,” commented Marjorie. “I should say none of them were very good players. It is conceited, perhaps, to say that we know the game better than they, but if that is a sample of their work, we are stars compared with them. They couldn’t make more than a scrub team at Sanford High.”

“I know it,” agreed Muriel. “They aren’t quick enough. That’s their greatest trouble.” Glancing from the players to the audience, who stood in groups about the room, she exclaimed: “There are the girls! Let’s go over and see them.”

“Only for a minute,” Marjorie stipulated. “This affair is going to begin soon.”

They had no more than exchanged a few words with their chums when the bell rang for a clear floor. Incidental with it the senior manager of basket ball interests stepped forward to make the usual announcements for the try-out and lay down the conditions which the players must observe. Those wishing to try for a place on the regular freshman team were then requested to come forward on the floor. About thirty-five girls responded and enough of them to make two squads were selected. These were ordered to the floor for a twenty-minutes’ test. Their work was carefully noted by Miss Reid, three seniors, including the manager, and a Mr. Fulton, a professional coach.

Altogether, four sets of players were tried out. Several of the freshmen who had worked on the first squads did duty again. Among these was Lola Elster. It was among the third round of players that Marjorie and Muriel appeared, and only half-heartedly at that. Both felt the utter futility of trying for the team, after they had looked on for a little. They did not like the methods of either the coach or Miss Reid. Neither were expert in proper knowledge of the game. Worse, their sympathies were plainly with Miss Elster, who, when not on the floor, stood between them, talking animatedly, now indicating one or another of the players, or expressing an opinion to which both agreed by nodding affably.

Both Lookouts made a conscientious effort to play their best, but their team-mates were fit only for scrub players. The result was the slowest twenty-minutes’ work that either ever remembered. Try as they might, they could not overcome the disadvantage under which they were laboring. Hardest of all was the knowledge that they could make a good showing if they but had the opportunity.

When their time was up both gladly hurried from the floor to where their group of friends awaited them. The expressions of the five girls varied only in the degree of contempt each registered for what they had just witnessed.

“Why didn’t you wait to see whether you made the team?” inquired Jerry with gentle sarcasm.

“A-h-h-h!” was Muriel’s reply, expressive of her feelings.

“We couldn’t make that team in a century.” Marjorie was smiling a whimsical little smile which contained no bitterness.

“I guess not. You might as well have played for twenty minutes with a bunch of nine-pins. Anyway, you were dead before you ever set foot on the floor. That Miss Elster has the coach, Miss Reid and several others right on her side. This is the Sans inning, n’est ce pas? Uh-huh! No mistake about it.” Jerry bowed and smirked as she carried on this bit of conversation with herself.

“Cast an eye upon the Sans just now,” Leila said scornfully. “Are they not pleased with themselves? Do you think they would have let you or Muriel make that team? Not so long as they could influence those in charge. The seniors are not to blame. They kept the date of the try-out to themselves until the last to prevent the Sans from fixing things for their freshman friends. It did small good.” Leila shrugged her shoulders.

“They shouldn’t be allowed to run things,” Jerry asserted stoutly. “The trouble is everyone stands back and allows them to take the lead. Their cast-iron nerve is what helps them out. Besides they are an unscrupulous lot. They boast that they are the daughters of millionaires. Well, the rest of us are not paupers. Only we are above trading upon our folks’ money as a means of influence. That is ignoble and should be stamped out of Hamilton.”