188

178 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN





to stop walking on tiptoe every time I mounted the stairs. In those days what had been
the slim green worm called 1911 was just putting forth the first few feelers of the caterpillar,
and was beginning to show a really firm faith in the red Phoenix of 1909.

In Junior year 1911 had a still greater interest in the Library. We began to feel a real
responsibility, and under the leadership of M. Hobart we commenced a course in voice
control. Not a sound would escape the mouth of a student for minutes at a time. No
harsh whispering went on, and the rows of students lining the desks could sleep like babes.

All went well till the ventilation question came up, but that has been well aired, so I
won’t probe the matter. They merely said the air came in through the gargoyles, through
the stack, up to the magazine room, through Mr. King’s lecture room where it was refined
and toned down, then ‘up to the reading room. Then people asked why the students went
tosleep. The more vulgar did go so far as to suggest that the windows be opened directly
and the crude outer air let in. One outrage was committed and a window opened. It
naturally closed, being in perfect harmony with the Library regulations. Then some bar-
barian tied an overshoe to the window cord, together with several other articles of apparel.

The next excitement was when Miss Jones’ meditations in the office were disturbed
by the noise in the cloister. She called upon Miss Hobart to proctor the croaking of the
crocuses and the thuds the snowdrops were making. This matter was soon attended to,
for the noisy blooms were stamped down by hordes of students who thronged the cloisters
to glean culture from the gargoyle man. Junior year ended in a grand finale and burst of
patriotic enthusiasm, over which the smile of President Taft shed its benign influence.

Then came the last and best year of all, with the Library steadily inhabited by Seniors.
Some of 1911 took up their permanent abode there, and one student showed great self-
restraint in refraining from putting up the only camp-cot in Bryn Mawr in the far right-
hand corner within easy access of the reserve book room.

Many peaceful Junior naps have been rudely broken by the noisy fall of a shower of
freshly dug up Greek roots from M. Hobart’s encircling arm. Of course, the Library proctor
never meant to make a noise, only there is a limit to the number of books one Senior can
carry at one time.

Now, thanks to the steady use of the Library, 1911 has made its way through orals to the
eve of finals. Soon we will take leave of these walls where we have learned just how vast
is knowledge and how golden is silence, as is attested by the speaker’s voice, which, through
long disuse in the Library, has almost lost the power of speech.

With the few croaks left me, I bid farewell to the Library and its kind authorities in the
name of 1911.

Marcery SmMItu.