



Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)







Transcriber's Note:

  Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
  been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and un-italicized text by
  =equal signs=.




SMITH COLLEGE STORIES




     SMITH COLLEGE STORIES

     TEN STORIES BY
     JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM

     NEW YORK
     CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
     MCM




     _Copyright, 1900, by Charles Scribner's Sons_
     _D. B. Updike, The Merrymount Press, Boston_




     _To my Mother, who sent me to college,
     I offer these impressions of it._

     _J. D. D._




PREFACE


If these simple tales serve to deepen in the slightest degree the
rapidly growing conviction that the college girl is very much like any
other girl--that this likeness is, indeed, one of her most striking
characteristics--the author will consider their existence abundantly
justified.

     J. D. D.




CONTENTS


          I

     _The Emotions of a Sub-guard_        1

          II

     _A Case of Interference_            37

          III

     _Miss Biddle of Bryn Mawr_          67

          IV

     _Biscuits ex Machina_               85

          V

     _The Education of Elizabeth_       123

          VI

     _A Family Affair_                  151

          VII

     _A Few Diversions_                 205

          VIII

     _The Evolution of Evangeline_      247

          IX

     _At Commencement_                  279

          X

     _The End of It_                    321




THE FIRST STORY

_THE EMOTIONS OF A SUB-GUARD_




I

THE EMOTIONS OF A SUB-GUARD


Theodora pushed through the yellow and purple crowd, a sea of flags
and ribbons and great paper flowers, caught a glimpse of the red and
green river that flowed steadily in at the other door, and felt her
heart contract. What a lot of girls! And the freshmen were always
beaten--

"Excuse me, but I _can't_ move! You'll have to wait," said some one.
Theodora realized that she was crowding, and apologized. A tall girl
with a purple stick moved by the great line that stretched from the
gymnasium to the middle of the campus, and looked keenly at Theodora.
"How did you get here?" she asked. "You must go to the end--we're not
letting any one slip in at the front. The jam is bad enough as it is."

Theodora blushed. "I'm--I'm on the Sub-team," she murmured, "and I'm
late. I--"

"Oh!" said the junior. "Why did you come in here? You go in the other
door. Just pass right in here, though," and Theodora, quite crimson
with the consciousness of a hundred eyes, pulled her mackintosh about
her and slipped in ahead of them all.

             Oh, _here's_ to Ninety-_yellow_,
             And her _praise_ we'll ever _tell_--_oh_,
     Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
               _down_, _down_!

the line called after her, and her mouth trembled with excitement. She
could just hear the other line:

     Oh, _here's_ to Ninety-_green_,
     She's the _finest_ ever _seen_!

and then the door slammed and she was upstairs on the big empty floor.
A member of the decorating committee nodded at her from the gallery.
"Pretty, isn't it?" she called down.

"Beautiful!" said Theodora, earnestly. One half of the gallery--her
half--was all trimmed with yellow and purple. Great yellow
chrysanthemums flowered on every pillar, and enormous purple shields
with yellow numerals lined the wall. Crossed banners and flags filled
in the intervals, and from the middle beam depended a great purple
butterfly with yellow wings, flapping defiance at a red and green
insect of indistinguishable species that decorated the other side. A
bevy of ushers in white duck, with _boutonnieres_ of English violets
or single American beauties, took their places and began to pin on
crepe paper sunbonnets of yellow or green, chattering and watching
the clock. A tall senior, with a red silk waist and a green scarf
across her breast, was arranging a box near the centre of the
sophomore side and practising maintaining her balance on it while she
waved a red baton. She was the leader of the Glee Club, and she would
lead the sophomore songs. Theodora heard a confused scuffle on the
stairs, and in a few seconds the galleries were crowded with the
rivers of color that poured from the entrance doors. It seemed that
they were full now, but she knew that twice as many more would crowd
in. She walked quickly to the room at the end of the hall and opened
the door. Beneath and all around her was the hum and rumble of
countless feet and voices, but in the room all was still. The Subs
lounged in the window-seats and tried to act as if it wasn't likely to
be any affair of theirs: one little yellow-haired girl confided
flippantly to her neighbor that she'd "only accepted the position so
as to be able to sit on the platform and be sure of a good place." The
Team were sitting on the floor staring at their captain, who was
talking earnestly in a low voice--giving directions apparently. The
juniors who coached them opened the door and grinned cheerfully. They
attached great purple streamers to their shirt-waists, and addressed
themselves to the freshmen generally.

"Your songs are great! That 'Alabama <DW53>' one was awfully good! You
make twice the noise that they do!"

The Team brightened up. "I think they're pretty good," the captain
said, with an attempt at a conversational tone. "Er--when do we
begin?"

"The Subs can go out now," said one of the coaches, opening the door
importantly. "Now, girls, remember not to wear yourselves out with
kicking and screaming. You're right under the President, and he'll
have a fit if you kick against the platform. Miss Kassan says that
this _must_ be a quiet game! She _will not_ have that howling! It's
her particular request, she says. Now, go on. And if anything happens
to Grace, Julia Wilson takes her place, _and look out for Alison
Greer_--she pounds awfully. Keep as still as you can!"

They trotted out and ranged themselves on the platform, and when
Theodora got to the point of lifting her eyes from the floor to gaze
down at the sophomore Subs across the hall in front of another
audience, the freshmen were off in another song. To her excited eyes
there were thousands of them, brilliant in purple and yellow, and
shouting to be heard of her parents in Pennsylvania. A junior in
yellow led them with a great purple stick, and they chanted, to a
splendid march tune that made even the members of the Faculty keep
time on the platform, their hymn to victory.

     _Hurrah!_ _hurrah!_ the _yellow_ is on _top_!
     _Hurrah!_ _hurrah!_ the _purple_ cannot _drop_!
     _We_ are Ninety-_yellow_ and our _fame_ shall never _stop_,
     _'Rah_, _'rah_, _'rah_, for the _freshmen_!

They sang so well and so loud and strong, shouting out the words so
plainly and keeping such splendid time, that as the verse and chorus
died away audience and sophomores alike clapped them vigorously, much
to their delight and pride. Theodora looked up for the first time and
saw as in a dream individual faces and clothes. They were packed in
the running-gallery till the smallest of babies would have been sorely
tried to find a crevice to rest in. A fringe of skirts and boots hung
from the edge, where the wearers sat pressed against the bars with
their feet hanging over. They blotted out the windows and sat out on
the great beams, dangling their banners into space. She could not see
the Faculty behind her, but she knew they were adorned with rosettes,
and that the favored ones carried flowers--the air where she sat was
sweet with violets. A group of ushers escorted a small and nervous
lady to the platform: on the way she threw back her cape and the
sophomores caught sight of the green bow at her throat.

             Oh, _here's_ to Susan _Beane_,
             She is _wearing_ of the _green_,
     Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
               _down_, _down_!

they sang cheerfully.

Just behind her a tall, commanding woman stalked somewhat consciously,
decked with yellow streamers and daffodils. The junior leader
consulted a list in her hand, frantically whispered some words to the
allies around her box, and the freshmen started up their tribute.

             Oh, _here's_ to Kath'rine _Storrs_,
             Aught but _yellow_ she _abhors_,
     Drink her _down_, drink her _down_, drink her _down_,
               _down_, _down_!

Miss Storrs endeavored to convey with her glance, dignity, amusement,
toleration of harmless sport, and a repudiation of the personality
involved in the song; but it is to be doubted if even she was
satisfied with the result. Theodora wished she had seen the President
come in. She had been told how he walked solemnly across the hall,
mounted the platform, unbuttoned his overcoat, and displayed two
gorgeous rosettes of the conflicting colors--his official and
exclusive privilege. And she had heard from the Team's retreat the
thunder of applause that greeted this traditional rite. She wondered
whether he cared who won: whether he realized what it was to play
against a team that had beaten in its freshman year.

A burst of applause and laughter interrupted her meditations. She felt
herself blushing--was it the Team? No: the sophomore Subs were
escorting to the middle of the floor a child of five or six dressed in
brightest emerald green: a child with a mane of the most remarkable
brick-red hair in the world. She wore it in the fashion of Alice in
Wonderland, and it grew redder and redder the longer one looked at it.
She held a red ribbon of precisely the same shade in her hand, and at
the middle of the floor the sophomores suddenly burst away from her
and ran quickly to their seats, revealing at the end of the ribbon an
enormous and lifelike green frog. The child stood for a moment
twisting her little green legs undecidedly, and then, overcome with
embarrassment at the appreciation she had evoked, shook her flaming
locks over her face, and dragging the frog with her, sometimes on its
side, sometimes on its head, fled to the sophomores, who bore her off
in triumph.

"They got her in Williamsburgh," said somebody; "they've been hunting
for weeks for a red-haired child, and that frog was from the drug
store--oh, my dear, how _perfectly_ darling!"

Alone and unabashed the freshman mascot took the floor. He was perhaps
four years old and the color of a cake of chocolate. His costume was
canary yellow--a perfect little jockey suit, with a purple band on his
arm adorned with Ninety-yellow's class numerals. He dragged by a
twisted cord of purple and yellow a most startling plum-
terrier, of a shade that never was on land or sea, with a tendency to
trip his master up at every step. In the exact middle of the floor the
mascot paused, rolled his eyes till they seemed in danger of leaving
their sockets, and then at a shrill whistle from the balcony pulled
his yellow cap from his woolly head and made a deep and courtly bow
to his patrons. But the storm of applause was more than he had been
prepared for, and with a wild look about the hall and a frantic tug at
the cord he dragged the purple and protesting animal to a corner of
the room, where a grinning elder sister was stationed for his comfort.

Theodora's heart beat high: theirs was the best! Everybody was
laughing and exclaiming and questioning; the very sophomores were
shrieking at the efforts of the terrier to drag the little darkey out
again; one member of the Faculty had laughed himself into something
very like hysteria and giggled weakly at every twitch of the idiotic
purple legs.

"It was Diamond Dyes," Theodora heard a freshman just above call out
excitedly, "and Esther Armstrong thought of it. They dyed him every
day for a week--"

The mascot and the dog had trotted up again, and as they ran back and
the animal gave a more than ordinarily vicious dart, the poor little
boy, yielding suddenly, sat down with exquisite precision on his
companion, and with distended eyes wailed aloud for his relative, who
disentangled him with difficulty and bore him away, his cap over his
ear and his little chocolate hands clutching her neck. In the
comparative silence that followed the gale of laughter some bustle and
conference was noticed on the sophomore side, and suddenly the leader
rose, lifting her green and red stick, and the front line of
sophomores and seniors intoned with great distinctness this thrilling
doggerel:

     I never saw a purple pup:
       I never hoped to see one:
     But now my mind is quite made up--
       I'd rather see than be one!

This was received favorably, and the gallery congratulated the
_improvisatrice_, while Theodora wondered if that detracted at all
from the glory of the freshmen! The chattering began again, and she
drummed nervously with her heels against the platform, while the
Centre, sitting next her, prophesied gloomily that Grace Farwell felt
awfully blue, and that Miss Kassan had said they were really almost
too slight as a team--the sophomores were so tall and big. Harriet
Foster had said that she was perfectly certain she 'd sprain her
ankle--then who would guard Martha Sutton? It was all very well for
Caroline Wilde to say not to worry about that--_she_ hadn't been able
to guard her last year! She was just like a machine. Her arm went up
and the ball went in; that was all there was to it. And Kate was as
bad. They might just as well make up their minds--

"Oh, hush!" cried Theodora, her eyes full of nervous tears; "if you
can't talk any other way, just keep still!"

"Very well," said the Centre, huffily, and then the chattering died
away as Miss Kassan made mysterious marks on the floor, and the
coaches took their places with halves of lemon and glasses of water in
their hands. A door opened, and in a dead hush the sophomore team
trotted in, two and two, the Suttons leading, bouncing the big ball
before them. There was such a silence that the thudding feet seemed to
echo and ring through the hall, and only when Martha suddenly tossed
it behind her at nothing and Kate from some corner walked over and
caught it did the red and green burst forth in a long-drawn single
shout: "Ninety-gre-e-e-e-e-n!"

Miss Kassan looked apprehensive, but no _'Rah, 'rah, 'rah!_ followed;
only,--

             Here's to _Sutton M._ and _K._
             And they'll _surely_ win the _day_,
     Drink 'em _down_, drink 'em _down_, drink 'em _down_,
               _down_, _down_!

Theodora set her teeth. "Humph! Will they?" she muttered savagely.

"Here they come!" cried the Centre, and they ran in, the big yellow
numerals gleaming effectively against their dark suits, their braids
bobbing behind them. Grace Farwell was quite pale, with one little
spot of red in each cheek, but Harriet Foster was crimson with
excitement, and the thick braids of auburn hair that fell over her
breast bumped up and down as she breathed. The thunder of recognition
died away, and they tossed the ball about nervously, with an eye on
Miss Kassan, who handed a ball to her assistant and took her place on
the line to watch fouls.

"All ready!" said the assistant. There was a shuffling about, a
confusion in the centre, a concentration of eyes. Harriet Foster took
her place by Martha Sutton and sucked in her under lip; Grace lined up
with Kate in the centre, clasping and unclasping her hands. Near her
stood a tall slim girl with green numerals on her sleeve. Her soft
dark hair was coiled lightly into a Greek knot--it seemed that the
slightest hasty movement must shake it over her sloping shoulders. It
grew into a clean-cut widow's peak low on her smooth white forehead;
below straight, fine brows two great, sad, gray eyes, wide apart,
wondered at life; her oval face was absolutely colorless and threw out
the little scarlet mouth that drooped softly at the corners. Her hands
lightly folded before her, she swayed a little and looked dreamily
over the heads of the others; she seemed as incongruous as a Madonna
at a bull-fight.

"Who is that lovely girl in the middle?" said some one behind
Theodora.

"That is a Miss Greer," was the reply. "She is one of the best--"

"