Elizabeth Hobart at Exeter Hall Part 26

"To the war I must go--"

"Don't bother about returning--"

Nancy laughed aloud. The curtain fell. The program for the evening was finished.

CHAPTER XIV.

RETALIATION.

The Seniors accepted the Middlers' fun in good part. Even Mary forgave Elizabeth the wearing of her new gown.

"Oh, well," Mary had exclaimed after the affair was over, and a group of girls had gathered in her room, "'Every dog has his day.' We had ours last year; and next year you will pay the fiddler for a new set of Middlers."

"If they don't pay before that," said Landis, sententiously.

"It's a long lane that has no turning," said Min.

"But we will leave before the turn comes," laughed Elizabeth.

"What will you do?"

"Jump the fence and take to the fields," was Elizabeth's reply.

"If I wear my orange gown to-night will I look like Nancy?" asked Nora O'Day.

"I hope not," said Nancy, while a chorus of strong negatives arose from the other girls.

"Then I'll wear it," said Nora.

The excellent spirit with which the Seniors took their imprisonment was quite enough to awaken suspicion in the minds of Middlers had they been in a cautious mood. But they were too uplifted with their recent success to think of aught else. Beside, there was little time now for planning and executing vengeance. Dr. Morgan gave a tea to the Seniors and their friends late that afternoon. Thursday evening was the date for the ball and banquet. Friday the general exodus would begin.

"What have you on hand for this morning?" asked Mary, as she and Elizabeth were dressing for breakfast.

"There's plenty. I'm undecided what to do. One party is going boating; another plans to take a tally-ho ride, and have lunch under the trees which mark the place of the Wyoming ma.s.sacre. The Freshmen are having a small "feed" down in room B. Everyone in this hall is invited. It's a mild affair. Just drop in, eat a sandwich and salad, exchange addresses, and bow yourself out. I think I'll go out boating first and then attend the Freshmen's 'drop-in.' And you?"

Mary sighed. "I must rest a little for Dr. Morgan's 'at home.' I haven't had enough sleep for a week. I know I look like Medusa. I'll start my packing, sort of get my personal belongings into shape. If I have time, I may walk down to the boat-house. But don't wait for me. Any one of a score of trifles may delay me."

This conversation took place about eight o'clock. That was the last the two girls saw of each other until Mary, decked out in her new gown, came down the hall on the way to Dr. Morgan's apartments. Elizabeth, dusty and tired, had that moment returned from the day's outing.

"You've been out in the sun, with only that brimless cap on your head,"

was Mary's greeting. "I should have warned you how sunny that boat ride is. I see two new freckles on the bridge of your nose now."

"Well, if there's only two, I shan't mind. When will you be back?"

"In half an hour or so. Put on your cream colored dress for dinner.

There's to be doings afterward, and you'll be ready. Were any of our girls with you?"

"No; I haven't seen one to-day; neither at the boat-house nor on our ride."

During commencement week, the regular order of meals was infringed upon.

Dinner began earlier and lasted later than usual. The students took second place, giving precedence to the guests and Seniors. So it came about that the Middlers and Freshmen had scarcely finished before time for the beginning of the evening festivities.

"Every one is to go to chapel after dinner," someone started the order. It was pa.s.sed on and on until all the girls of the first and second cla.s.ses received the word.

The dresses which they had worn to dinner answered for such an informal affair as this must be, to judge from the manner of issuing the invitations.

As they quitted the dining-hall, Elizabeth looked about for Mary, but could not find her. Nora, Landis, Min and Anna Cresswell also were among the missing. Then she hurried to join Nancy and Mame.

"Mary is not to be found. Perhaps she has already gone to chapel."

The audience hall was almost filled when they entered. Bright fans on the wing looked like a swarm of gay b.u.t.terflies. The subdued hush of conversation came from all parts of the room. Elizabeth looked about but could not see her roommate.

"How perfectly awful the stage looks!" whispered Mame, who possessed the artistic temperament. "I think I could have decorated it better than that.

I feel mournful at the mere looking at it."

The stage had been robbed of its furniture. A high-backed chair and reading-desk of black walnut were the only pieces in sight. White roses were there in profusion but not one bit of color.

While conversation buzzed, and fans fluttered, Azzie, dressed as somberly as the rostrum looked, walked slowly down the main aisle. Her gown was of some thin black stuff. She suited her walk and expression to match the color of her dress. She wore no flowers. A big roll of music was in her hand.

"She's going to play." Each one straightened her shoulders and leaned eagerly forward, fairly holding her breath in antic.i.p.ation, for Azzie's fame as a pianist was far-reaching.

Moving slowly to the front of the rostrum, she seated herself at the piano. So she sat for a few moments without touching the keys.

Slowly following her came Anna Cresswell, in gown but no cap. Her linen collar and cuffs showed white against the dead black of her student's robe. With glances neither to right nor left, she slowly advanced, mounted the rostrum, and solemnly seated herself in the high-backed chair of polished walnut. Then Azzie touched the keys and gave expression to the most melancholy dirge one could conceive. So sympathetic was her music that a hush fell over the chattering audience.

"What has possessed the girl?" whispered Mame Welch, almost in tears but determined to keep a brave front. "I feel as though I was about to attend my own funeral. This is so unlike Azzie. Her music is generally brilliant."

Still the wail of sorrow sobbed itself out from beneath Azzie's fingers.

In a moment more, the audience would have been in tears. She sat for a moment silent. When she touched the keys again, it was to give expression to a march, measured, heavy, solemn. At this, emerging from the rear of the chapel came the Seniors, in caps and gowns, two by two, with heads bowed, and "faces as long as the moral law," whispered Mame to Elizabeth.

The first six carried between them a long narrow box, over which the Middler cla.s.s colors, green and white, had been draped, and on which rested a stiff wreath of white artificial flowers tied with streamers of vivid green. Advancing to the front, the six bearers deposited their burden before the rostrum, then took their places with the other robed figures upon the front seats. All the while Azzie played her solemn dead march.

At the conclusion, Miss Cresswell arose to announce they would begin the services by singing the popular ballad "Go tell Aunt Nancy." At this, the mournful singers, with Azzie accompanying them, sang in wailing, heart-broken voices:

"Go, tell Doc Morgan, Go, tell Doc Morgan, Go, tell Doc Morgan, Her Middler Cla.s.s is dead.

"They're unreliable, They're unreliable, They're unreliable, Is what she's often said.

"Their heads ill.u.s.trate, Their heads ill.u.s.trate, Their heads ill.u.s.trate, What a perfect vacuum is.

"Ofttimes she said this, Ofttimes she said this, Ofttimes she said this, Teaching the Seniors 'phis.'

"Go, tell the doctor, Go, tell the doctor, Go, tell the doctor, Wherefore the cla.s.s is dead.