“Yes, Betsy,” she said pleasantly. “What is it?”
Betsy’s face was still suffused with crimson. She walked slowly and her throat was so dry that she could hardly speak.
“Miss Erickson asked me to give you this note.”
“Miss Erickson wrote me a note?” Miss Bangeter sounded puzzled. Obviously she could not understand why Betsy was so perturbed.
“She didn’t write it,” Betsy said. “I did. I wrote it to Tacy or rather…” she paused. “Miss Erickson asked me to tell you the full circumstances, so I’ll have to go a little farther back. I asked to speak to Tacy during class and Miss Erickson wouldn’t let me.”
“Was it about a personal matter?” Miss Bangeter asked judicially.
“Yes,” said Betsy. “I couldn’t speak to Tacy so I wrote her a note, and Miss Erickson saw me passing it and asked me to bring it to the front and read it out loud. So I did.” Betsy gulped. “She told me to bring it to you.”
Miss Bangeter accepted the folded paper and laid it aside. She leaned forward, crossing her arms on the desk, looking into Betsy’s face with keen, grave eyes. She spoke in a tone of dignified intimacy.
“Just what do you think of all this, Betsy?”
“I think I acted very foolishly, but I think, too—” Betsy’s tone grew resentful, and she paused.
“I know,” said Miss Bangeter, “you think that Miss Erickson shouldn’t have read your note. But you must take into consideration that she is a young, inexperienced teacher. She’s just out of college, you know.
“Before you judge Miss Erickson, I suggest that you judge yourself. Wasn’t it impudent to write a note after you had been refused permission to speak? Shouldn’t you have accepted Miss Erickson’s ruling not to discuss this matter with Tacy during class? Couldn’t it have waited anyway? Was it really important?”
Betsy felt tears come into her eyes. She cried easily, disgustingly so, she always thought. She was resolved not to cry now so she dared not speak. She clamped her jaws so firmly that she looked like a squirrel stuffed with nuts. Reaching out she opened the note and spread it in front of Miss Bangeter.
Miss Bangeter read it. A lightning flicker of amusement was gone so quickly that Betsy was not positive she had seen it, although she thought she had and it cheered her up a little.
“What do you think you ought to do?” Miss Bangeter asked.
“Go back and apologize, I suppose,” muttered Betsy.
“Right,” returned the principal crisply. “And I should say that it ought to be in front of the class. Don’t you think so? Since the whole class heard the note?”
Betsy nodded. She got up. “Thank you, Miss Bangeter,” she said and slipped miserably out the door.
Back in the cloakroom she looked into the mirror, with purpose this time. She ran her back comb through her hair, rubbed a chamois skin over her nose. She returned to the drinking fountain and took another drink. She reached the door of Miss Erickson’s room, but she stood so long without opening it that it seemed to her she had been standing there for years and would be there forever. At last, with false briskness, she turned the knob.
Silence fell as she entered. Cicero’s finest oratorical flights could not compete with this.
“Miss Erickson,” said Betsy. But she looked at Tacy who was staring down, suffering. She turned determinedly and faced Miss Erickson. “I’m very sorry that I was impudent,” she said in a firm voice.
“Did Miss Bangeter tell you to apologize to me?”
“No, ma’am,” said Betsy. “But I told her I was going to.”
“Very well,” said Miss Erickson. “Your apology is accepted. But I will not let you be tempted to write more notes. You may move down to this front seat. Hazel will change with you. She can be trusted in the back row.”
Hazel Smith was a friendly, freckle-faced girl whom Betsy liked. She looked sheepish as she carried her books back to Betsy’s old seat. Betsy took her own load of books and moved to the front seat, another common indignity which she now received for the first time in her life.
It was a minor sensation around school, Betsy Ray calling Miss Erickson a pill, being sent to the principal, being moved to a front seat. Betsy acted jaunty about it, especially with the girls after school.
“After all,” she said, “I was just living up to Okto Delta. You know that fatal D!”
She told the story at the supper table, and Mrs. Ray was indignant with Miss Erickson.
“I never heard of such a thing,” she said. “You learn in kindergarten that you don’t read other people’s mail.”
“It’s kindergarten stuff,” said Mr. Ray, “that school isn’t for writing notes, passing notes, receiving notes, reading notes, or anything else of that nature.”
“You’re right,” Betsy admitted glumly. She felt extremely foolish. Okto Delta had started out wrong. It was different than she had thought it would be. It didn’t seem to tie up with those plans she had made for the winter.
Those fine lofty plans came to vivid life a few days later when the family drove out to Murmuring Lake. Mr. and Mrs. Ray had been married there, at Pleasant Park across the lake from the Inn, and weather permitting they made this romantic pilgrimage every October fifteenth.
This year the day was red-gold and crisp. The Inn was festive under scarlet vines but a big stove crackled in the almost empty dining room. Mrs. Van Blarcum hurried in and out, and Mr. Van Blarcum, with plenty of time to spare as usual, chatted with them while they ate the traditionally magnificent dinner.
Afterwards, while Mr. Ray smoked his cigar, Betsy ran down to say hello to Pete. She couldn’t find him, but standing on the dock she looked across the cool, twinkling water to Babcock’s Bay and thought about the day she had sat in a rowboat there and mapped out her winter.
She had resolved, first of all, to try to take Julia’s place. She hadn’t, she admitted, done very well at that. She was almost never at home, and she remembered, with a twinge, rebuffing Margaret on the day she and Tacy and Tib planned Okto Delta.
She had resolved to excel in school, to become a leader, and instead she had had a quarrel with Miss Erickson. Joe Willard had dropped out of her plans, too, but that wasn’t her fault.
“Anyhow, what’s Joe Willard to me? I’m getting plenty of attention from boys this year,” Betsy said aloud. She went on in her thoughts, “The only thing I’ve stuck to is my music. And I don’t think I have a shred of talent for it. Of course—I invented Okto Delta….”
That hadn’t helped so far, though. It had even hindered.
She frowned at the distant blur of yellow cottonwood trees rimming Babcock’s Bay and with intense concentration re-established in her mind the pattern she had set for her winter: thoughtfulness at home, good work at school, piano lessons….
“And now,” she added, “making something out of Okto Delta…something good.”
She held Margaret’s hand cozily during the afternoon ramble around Pleasant Park. As usual, with her father smiling in calm content and her mother vivaciously explaining, they visited the oak tree under which the two had become engaged. They stood in the bay window where the marriage had taken place, and had tea with the wife of the farmer who now owned the house.
Although they all missed Julia, they had a happy, satisfying time. And driving home Betsy told Margaret stories. At last, lulled by the beat of Old Mag’s hoofs and the rhythmic creaking of the wheels, they sank into drowsy silence.
Betsy’s thoughts went back to her plans for the winter. If a sorority was going to be any help, it must be a little more serious. Epsilon Iota, which Julia hoped so much to join, sounded very serious. But Okto Delta hadn’t turned out that way.
“I must, I must, bring out the serious side,” thought Betsy, rolling through the dark.
11
“Hence, Loathed Melancholy!”
MAKING OKTO DELTA SERIOUS was certainly uphill work.
The juniors in the sorority, who were studying Foundations of English
Literature under Miss Fowler, had made the acquaintance of Milton’s poems, “U Allegro” and “II Penseroso.” Winona stalked into every Okto Delta meeting flinging up a long arm and crying, “Hence, loathed Melancholy!” And the Sistren would chant in uproarious sing-song:
“Haste-thee-nymph-and-bring-with-thee-
Jest-and-youth-ful-Joll-i-tee-
Quips-and-cranks-and-wan-ton-Wiles-
Nods-and-Becks-and-Wreath-ed-Smiles…”
If Betsy ever shouted, “Hence, vain deluding joyes!” her voice was certainly drowned out in the racket.
But it is doubtful that she ever shouted, in spite of the good resolutions she had made riding home from Murmuring Lake. She relished the flattering laughter that arose when she read the minutes of the meetings.
“The second meeting of the Okto Delta sorority was held on October seventeenth at the home of Sister Root. The meeting was called to order by the president, and the Sistren showed undue mirth and hilarity during the reading of the minutes. (The secretary-treasurer is very witty, as well as pretty and good.)
“The appointed committee reported on the subject of pins. Sistren Biscay, T. Kelly and Ray had conducted this matter with their usual efficiency, and a local jewelry store is now engraving eight gold pins with the mystic Okto Delta symbols. The price of the pins should not cause fathers undue suffering for they are a mere one dollar per. They will be delivered shortly and will doubtless cause a sensation in the Deep Valley High.
“Sister Morrison moved that the meetings always be held in the afternoon. She was hooted down and didn’t mind at all; it had been her mother’s idea, anyway. Sister K. Kelly suggested a cross-country tramp for the following Thursday. This was agreed upon, one of her chocolate cakes being part of the bargain.
“Sister Root proposed opening the sorority to boys. This also was hooted down. Sister T. Kelly, who doesn’t like boys, grew as red as her own locks with rage. Sister Root would have been abashed if she had been anyone but Sister Root. ‘Let them get up a fraternity of their own,’ said the wise secretary-treasurer.
“After this business meeting, conducted with skill and dispatch by our honored president, the Sistren brought out sewing bags, and their lily-white fingers flashed as they crocheted, tatted, embroidered, or just plain sewed. Sister Ray worked on the world’s most famous jabot, destined for Sister Sibley’s swan-like neck. They also toasted marshmallows and discussed important matters: to wit, boys.
“Sistren T. Kelly, Muller, Root and Ray gave a drama in one act entitled, Woman versus Woman, or She Loved but Killed Him. The actors were superb. The audience watched the brilliant portrayal of love and hatred with tense faces, swayed from tears to laughter.
“The Sistren were then served with a delicious lunch. They are noted for their delicate appetites, but on this occasion they unbent and really ate. The meeting then adjourned.”
This meeting was described, a trifle more formally, in Winona’s father’s paper, the Deep Valley Sun. There was a good deal of talk about Okto Delta around school next day.
On the following week the sorority met with Carney.
“The Sistren didn’t have a very successful business meeting for they were disturbed by the male element, including Dave Hunt. (The secretary-treasurer writes this name with a delicate blush; she thinks he’s cute.) After an unladylike chase over the Sibley premises and the capture of several trophies, including Cab Edward’s cap, the Sistren returned to the house and henceforth the male element inspected proceedings from the windows.
“The minutes of the previous meeting were read and objected to, although it has slipped my mind entirely why. I am sure it was a silly objection as Sister Ray always writes up the minutes in a concise, dignified manner, and no legitimate objection could possibly be found. Sister Biscay handed out the new pins and with difficulty collected a dollar from each member.
“After the business meeting the Sistren played cards. To find their partners they drew sticks of licorice tied with orange bows. For a head prize Sister Sibley gave an orange and black pincushion and for a consolation prize a lemon.
“When the delectable refreshments were served, Sister Root again brought up the matter of inviting boys into the order and seemed to receive some support from Sister Muller, who is too small to have any weight in such discussions. Both of them were sternly rebuked. Sister Sibley, our noble president, announced that she has learned to drive her father’s auto and will take the Sistren in a body to the St. John game.”
This meeting likewise was written up, in a slightly different vein, by the Deep Valley Sun, and the high school looked with interest at the gold pins, engraved with a triangle having a circle inside, which appeared on eight shirt waists the following Monday.
“Sister Biscay entertained the Okto Deltas at a particularly skippy luncheon. Places at the table were marked by clothes pin dolls dressed in orange and black. Five hundred was played, with only a few interruptions in the form of fist fights, ragtime, Sister Muller’s ‘Baby Dance,’ and the ‘Cat Duet’ sung with feeling and some masterly caterwauls by Sistren T. Kelly and Ray. The head prize was won by Sister Morrison. It was a peachy little doll dressed in an orange and black princesse dress. The booby prize, won by Sister Muller, consisted of a soap teddy bear. A gentle hint, Sister Muller!
“Sister Root insisted at the top of her voice that if we won’t let the boys join, we simply must entertain them. Sister Muller seconded the motion, although anyone as small as she is should be seen and not heard. Then Sister K. Kelly, a genius of the first order, quieted everyone with a terrific announcement.
“She said that it was the Sistren Kellys’ turn to entertain next time and that, since there were two of them, it would be only fair for them to entertain twice as many people. Therefore, each girl might invite a boy.
“Great was the rush for Sister Biscay’s telephone, and the Sistren, who are well known for their beauty, charm and initiative, especially initiative, had no difficulty in ensnaring eight hapless males. This party will occur on the night of the St. John game to which Sister Sibley will take us in her auto. It should be quite a day.”
It was. The St. John game was always the climax of the football season in Deep Valley. Excitement would have mounted in all breasts even though there had been no Okto Delta plans afoot. But these grew more sensational all the time.
Tib danced up to Betsy, Tacy and Carney in the Social Room.
“I have some of that cardboard left over from the invitations, and those orange and black crayons. Wouldn’t you like to have me make an Okto Delta poster to put on the front of Carney’s auto?”
The response was enthusiastic:
“Marvelous.”
“Let’s make an Okto Delta pennant, too.”
“How about some orange and black arm bands?”
“Maybe,” Carney suggested, “we ought to wear the school colors?”
“Oh, sure! But we could combine them with the Okto Delta colors.”
“Let’s all dress alike.”
“What shall it be? Sweaters and tams? Gee, I wish we had black sweaters and orange tarns!”
“Maybe next year….” Betsy began, but Carney interrupted.
“Don’t make me feel bad. Next year I’ll be at Vassar.”
“Just think!” cried Betsy. “You’ll be an alumnus, the very first Okto Delta alumnus!”
“Betsy!” said Carney. “We’re females, and the word is alumna.”
“It’s alumnae, I think,” Tib interrupted earnestly. “I’ve never studied Latin but I used to hear them use that word at Browner.”
“Oh, let’s just say alum,” said Betsy. “It sounds more casual, anyway. You will be the first Okto Delta alum.”
On the day of the game the eight girls met at the Sibleys’, all wearing sweaters and tarns with orange and black arm bands and carrying an Okto Delta pennant. Tib had made a huge Okto Delta poster which they fastened to the front of the automobile. Mr. and Mrs. Sibley laughed at these arrangements but th
eir main interest was in Carney’s manipulation of the steering wheel. She had been practising driving for two months now and was almost as proficient as her father, who still relapsed occasionally into “Giddap!” and “Whoa!”
It was an overcast day in November. The trees had been stripped of their last withered leaves. Winter was sharpening its knives, but Okto Delta made its own warmth as the girls, flushed and laughing, crowded into the automobile.
Carney’s brother cranked the machine, which began to quiver and make explosive noises. Shortly it was rolling down Front Street, where the gaudy sign on the front, the pennant, waved by Tib sitting on Winona’s lap, all the bright colors and frenzied cheering caused the most insensitive passers-by to stop, look and listen.
Waving and cheering, the Okto Deltas rode on to the football field at the edge of town. There were no stands. Spectators usually stood or walked up and down the side lines. Occasionally someone watched from a buggy or an automobile, but this wasn’t considered sporting.
The Okto Deltas were full of school spirit, and after their spectacular arrival had been fully appreciated they piled out of the car.
Hazel Smith caught sight of Betsy, waved and started toward her. Then she noticed the display of sweaters and tarns, the orange and black colors, the new pins gleaming. Trying to act as though she had been heading somewhere else, she angled away.
“Hi, Hazel!” Betsy cried. “Come on over!”
Hazel came, but diffidently.
“Stay and watch the game with us,” Betsy said. She shouldn’t have said it. It had been agreed that the Okto Deltas were going to remain as a unit throughout the whole game. But she thought Hazel looked odd.
“No,” said Hazel, “I’m with somebody else. Is this your new club? Pretty skippy, aren’t you?” She said it good naturedly, but Betsy was troubled by the speed with which she ducked away.
Betsy Was a Junior / Betsy and Joe Page 9
