THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 17
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I opened the door of the middle suite just as Pleasaunce had said, “‘ Not a soul was to be
seen, not a sound to be heard.” I opened the bedroom door, and there, filling the room to
overflowing, piled up on the floor, on the bed, and perched on the bureau, was the first class
meeting.
There were figures familiar and yet strangely unfamiliar. Flo and Anna sat huddled
up in a corner in kimonos, with soap and towels in their hands, just as they had been seized
on their way to the bathroom. Harriet Couch was there in evening dress and cape, with a
gold band in her hair which riveted my attention like something new and strange, although
I had seen it every day for the past year in school.
My climax has to suffer somewhat here for no Sophomore jumped out of the closet or
crawled from under the bed, as Florence Wyman was nominated chairman. Everything
went smoothly, and we elected our chairman, with the usual implicit faith in our Juniors,
though not one of us knew who, what or why Florence was. Somebody opened a window
and a cheer went up from the crowd of Juniors gathered underneath.
The meeting was over, and we all adjourned to the Arch for the singing and cheering
and to meet our new chairman.
Thus was the little account settled between 1909 and 1910. After the words of “Les
Romanesques,” “One first class meeting with variations attempted,” and 1911 was hence-
forth to go calm and undisturbed along the path of regular and uninteresting class meeting.
MARGUERITE LAYTON.
