Class Day Fun — and Troubles
“They must be all right,” said Alice, as the girls were about through dressing for Class Day the next morning. “You know you tried them on three or four times, the day we bought them, and shoes don’t change.”
Mary Jane walked up and down the room twice, looking all the while at her left shoe. “Well,” very doubtfully, “maybe they are all right now, only they don’t feel all right—they don’t a bit.”
Mrs. Merrill sat down in the nearest chair and looked at Mary Jane in consternation.
“You don’t mean to say that now when we are every bit ready to go to Class Day, and there isn’t time to hunt up a store, that you think your shoes are wrong! Why, Mary Jane, you know you tried them on and tried them on and were sure they were a perfect fit.”
“I know it,” said Mary Jane, “and they were all right, only now there’s something sticks into my heel every time I take a step.”
“Give it to me dear,” replied Mrs. Merrill, “and I’ll press open the heels more. Maybe they are just a bit stiff. And then I’ll put your black pumps in my bag so if these hurt you, you can change.”
“But, Mother!” exclaimed Mary Jane, “folks don’t wear black shoes to Class Day, not with new organdy dresses and a pink sash!”
“To be sure they don’t,” agreed Mrs. Merrill, “but black pumps would be vastly better than blistered heels, so we’ll take them along to be sure. Are we ready now?” she added and as nobody objected she locked the door and they set out for Cambridge and Class Day.
The first thing on their arrival at Harvard was to see Uncle Hal’s room. It was on the first floor in Matthews and was so attractive that Mary Jane thought she would like to stay here all day and just look at things. Off the main room, which was both a living room and study, were two tiny bedrooms, one Uncle Hal’s and the other his roommate’s. Mary Jane was fascinated by those tiny rooms.
“It’s just as I’d like a house,” she said to her uncle, “a great big room with banners and pictures and lots of things to look at and a tiny little room all my own to keep house in.”
“Do you cook your breakfast there?” asked Alice as she spied a chafing dish in a corner.
“Heavens! No!” laughed Hal, “what do you think we come to Harvard for? To practice cooking? No, that’s only for fudge or something—just on state occasions.”
“Well, isn’t this a state occasion?” asked Alice.
“Um-m, well, yes it is,” admitted Hal, as he saw he had cornered himself, “but I’m afraid there isn’t time for fudge-making. See, there is the band already and it’s almost time to go over to the hall for the exercises.”
Mary Jane was quite willing to give up fudge for a band and she stood at the window watching the yard. It was a picture to make any little girl—or big girl either—look long. The yard was gayly decorated with lanterns and streamers, and chairs set about invited folks to be comfortable while they visited or listened to the band. The walks and open spaces were thronged with well-dressed people all eager and happy and having a beautiful time. The frequent sight of a student in cap and gown, or, less often, in the red garb of marshal, made Mary Jane feel as though it was all a great play, and she was thrilled to think that she—Mary Jane—only six years old and living way off in Chicago—was there seeing it all. There were lots of men and lots of women but she hadn’t yet seen a single girl as young as herself.
“I must remember every bit of it so’s to tell it to Daddah,” she said to herself, as a group of students and alumni went by singing, “I must remember it all.”
But of course a person couldn’t remember it all—for something was happening every minute! The exercises in Sander’s Theatre for which, thanks to Uncle Hal’s many friends, they all had seats; lunch at the “Dickey,” one of Uncle Hal’s clubs, and the procession to the Stadium. Much to Mary Jane’s amazement, this procession was led by old men—men as old as her grandfather.
“Why, do they go to Harvard, Mother?” she asked as the old men marched by.
“Not now, dear,” answered Mrs. Merrill, “they went there years ago—oh, long ago.”
“Then what are they in Uncle Hal’s Class Day for?” asked Mary Jane.
“They’ve come back for their re-union,” explained Mrs. Merrill. “They come back in three years and ten years and twenty-five years I think it is—you must ask Uncle Hal to be sure, and their class has a regular get-together party. Then of course they come other times, whenever they can.”
“They look as though they liked to come back,” observed Mary Jane.
“They surely do,” agreed Mrs. Merrill.
“I think that’s fine,” decided Mary Jane, “I should think it would be fun to march and shout and everything like that, after you’d been a grown-up man and had to behave so much.”
At the tag-end of the procession, the onlookers fell in line and hurried over to the Stadium where the exercises were held. Mary Jane was thrilled by the sight of the great cement building, open to the blue sky and thronged with happy-looking people.
“I like it, Mother,” she whispered as they found their seats, “I like it a lot, ’cause everything’s so pretty and it makes you feel so good.”
After the exercises were over the crowd scattered to the various club houses for tea. Uncle Hal took his party first to the D.U. house where they met some of his friends, and had lobster salad and sandwiches and cake and ice cream and tea.
“Better not eat too much,” he advised as he saw Mary Jane reach for a third sandwich.
“Haven’t they made enough?” asked Mary Jane.
“Look at the piles on the table,” laughed Uncle Hal, “no, I guess they have enough, but you’ve just begun. You see, we have to make the rounds of several houses and you have to eat something at every place.”
“Don’t you worry about us,” observed Alice, consolingly, “we can always eat at every place, and every time.”
“All right then, go ahead, ladies,” laughed Uncle Hal. “Bill, pass the food to my starving family!” And Alice and Mary Jane, both had second helpings all around.
But by the time they had eaten lobster salad and tea and sandwiches and ice cream and cakes at D.U., and tea and lobster salad and sandwiches and ice cream and cakes at the “Dickey,” and lobster salad and sandwiches and tea and ice cream and cakes at the “Crimson” house, Mary Jane began to suspect that Uncle Hal’s advice about going light at first wasn’t so bad after all.
“Do they have the same things because that’s all they know how to cook or because they think that’s all we like to eat?” asked Mary Jane when she saw her plate filled with the fifth—or was it the sixth, she had lost count—helping of salad.
“You can’t prove it by me,” laughed Uncle Hal, “I guess it’s all just the proper thing to have on Class Day. Don’t you like it?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Mary Jane, politely, “and I used to like it a lot.”
“Maybe you’re not really hungry any more,” said Uncle Hal with a teasing twinkle in his eye, “if you can stand it not to eat for a while suppose we dance.”
He brought up one of his friends, Lawrence Echart, to talk to Mary Jane and danced off with Alice.
“Have you a little sister about my size?” asked Mary of the college man she was left with.
“No, I haven’t,” he replied.
“I thought not,” said Mary Jane.
“Now what made you think that?” asked Hal’s friend with real curiosity.
“‘Cause you talk to me like I was a real grown-up lady,” explained Mary Jane. “When they’ve got a little sister like me they just bow when Uncle Hal brings ’em up and they say ’what grade are you in in school?’ and then before I can answer they start talking to somebody else. But when they haven’t any little sister, they talk to me like I was a real grown-up lady—well, anyway, as though I was as big as Alice.”
“That’s funny,” laughed Mr. Echart, “what would you say if I asked you to dance with me—like a real lady?”
“I’d say thank you, yes I will,” replied Mary Jane demurely, and much to her partner’s surprise she danced off every bit as well as he could.
Now usually Mary Jane loved to dance; she and Alice often danced together and both enjoyed it and did it well. And to-day should have been perfect for the music was good and the floors excellent. But they hadn’t taken a dozen steps before sharp twinges of pain shot through her left heel and she felt as though she couldn’t stand it another minute.
“Tired?” asked Mr. Echart, as he noticed that something was wrong. “Anything you’d rather do than dance?”
“Yes,” replied Mary Jane with a sudden burst of feeling, “I’d rather take off my shoe! Do they have any place where folks take off their shoes on Class Day?”
“Well,” said her partner, “I can’t say that they prepare for it as a regular part of the program, but it might be done.”
“Then let’s do it right away,” said Mary Jane miserably.
She hobbled down the stairs after her partner and into a small office on the left. There was a great table in the center of the room, and pulled up to it was a huge, comfortable chair.
“How will that do?” asked Mr. Echart.
“Any chair would do,” answered Mary Jane, “but that one is lovely!”
“Well, you sit down there, young lady,” he added, “and I’ll take off that shoe.”
“Oh, that feels good,” she sighed with relief as the offending shoe came off and she settled back in comfort in the great chair.
“Where did it hurt?” asked Mr. Echart.
“Right there,” said Mary Jane, pointing to the back of the heel.
“That’s easy,” said Mr. Echart, “it’s just too stiff and likely as not has made a blister. You just wait till I put in a pad of soft tissue paper and you’ll see how much better it will feel.”
At that minute the music stopped and Alice and Uncle Hal appeared at the door of the room.
“You don’t mean to say,” demanded Hal, “that you are letting my niece sit in the president’s chair—the sacred chair of the president of the Crimson?”
“You didn’t think you were going to keep it yourself, did you?” laughed Lawrence, “I must say Mary Jane looks every bit as well in it as you did!”
“But what are you doing?” asked Hal.
“Going into the boot and shoe business—repairing department,” announced Lawrence. “And if I don’t get the job I want on the Boston Transcript, I’m going to open a shop of my own. How’s that feel, now?” he added as he slipped the shoe back on.
Mary Jane set her foot gingerly onto the floor. Then, as it didn’t hurt, she pressed, harder and harder.
“It’s all right,” she said with great relief, “my, but you know a lot and I’m so much obliged!”
“You’re entirely welcome,” said Mr. Echart smilingly, “we do find a college education useful sometimes,” he added teasingly, “even if it’s only for stuffing copy paper into young ladies’ shoes. Now where do we go from here?”
“Back to the yard for the music and lights,” said Hal, and back to the yard they all went and found themselves chairs where they could hear the singing and watch the beautiful picture made by the throngs of people, the gay lights and the gleaming fountain.