Belmont College - Milady in Brown Yearbook (Nashville, TN)

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to go to bed sham-wise — that means with no intention of staying there; to turn out the light; to be very care- ful about arousing the suspicions of your room-mate, if you have the delectable fun (?) of rooming with a stem- winder; to know in vour heart of hearts she knows and wants to go, but cannot risk her reputation by going and that she would like to tell for revenge but dare not ; to creep out after awhile and be met as you emerge from the door by a teacher! To drop your load inside your door and tip down the hall to the cooler; to make three or four abortive attempts ; to run the gauntlet of listening ears at last and scurry down the hall dragging the bag ; making as little noise as possible with it ; and finally to find the plotters there ready to make the ascent. You all get on and pull and pull till your hands are blistered, and by and by you reach the attic floor and dis- embark. My, but it is dark and cold and cavernous! The dust rises to meet you. The mice scamper off. The spiders wake up and swing back nearer the nucleus of their webs. You feel in the bag and find a shoe box full of candles, but in your nervous haste you drop the only box of matches. You grope for them and get your finger tips full of splinters. What next? How will you get back down in the dark? To feast in this Egyptian blackness is impossible. Why did girls not use matches for makeshifts like boys — in the place of buttons or instead of hairpins? It seemed no girl ought ever to be found without a match somewhere about her. Sud- denly the street car came by on its last round. The searchlight flashes for one lucky moment through the ven- tilator and a pair of sharp eyes falls on the matchbox, worth more to you that moment than all your father ' s bank-account. One by one the little candles flare up, each one making about itself a small sickly yellow glow which somewhat scatters the gloom and enables us to open the cans and bottles and find our mouths. Without much ado we begin a graceless meal. How good the olives and turkey would be if there was only half a chance to taste them! But we must hum ' . And yet no one is waiting. Why hurry? We watch the elevator. They are treacherous things. It might go leave us or fly up to the ceiling, followed by another to fetch us to faculty ! We talk in whispers. We could not crack a joke; it might be heard below. We make progress, however, and before long the cans and bottles are all empty. We have the contents in lumps in our several throats. We creep over to a dark corner and deposit the bottles and cans, to be found next summer when the attic is dusted, and start down. Our hands are very sore from pulling up, but we hold the ropes very hard and see-saw up and down stopping at the second story, the third story and all in between stories, anywhere except at the door to which we had the key. At length we succeeded in stopping one foot below the first floor and scrambled up and out. Our poor hands are aching, we are chilled to the bone and trembling with excitement. We go to bed sure enough this time, too utterly done for to set its full valuation on our escapade. But when a few days have come and gone we begin to remember the inexpressible fun of a midnight feast. This is surely examples enough of our fun to show our readers how various is its character and how all- pervading is its presence. A thing which is such a large ingredient in our college life calls for this much of phil- osophizing. I think after studying the subject closely I learn several things. One is the unconquerable endur- ance of girls in quest of fun. Another is proof positive that the way things look depends on whose spectacles you wear. Looked at differently, much that we call fun would be hardship.

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back to the college. Our paper soles are wet, our purses are depleted, our chance of a sleigh ride gone with the beautiful snow, but we tell it down the coming years — the unparalleled fun of our Belmont sleigh ride. But fun has grades and shades of difference. I think I have, in discussing fun, arranged it in climatic order. Now, away up near the topmost rounds of fun is the process of initiation. The funniest part about it is the way we love our frat. sisters and the fun we have in torturing them. When they are being served they think it is a queer turn for love to take, but it seems the most natural thing in the world when they begin to help us take in the others. We always select the most spirited girls we can find and pin them. Breaking them in is so much fun. If a girl is real vain and takes considerable pride in a lofty pompadour, we level her by lowering it. We plait her hair in dozens of little thin strings, tie a big flimsy bow of incongruous color on each one and send her to the desk on an errand. How we chuckle as she shivers through the whole length of the chapel! We make the talkative girl keep quiet, and the rosy girl who wins an appetite on the hockey ground fast when there ' s fried chicken and chocolate cream for dinner. We love to see the boastful girl tremble in her boots — no, in her bare feet — when we lead her into a dark room where Scrooge ' s ghost walks, dragging chains ; where Poe ' s black cat is holding carnival and all the myths and mysteries are taking shape and sound. The only thing that mars the fun just here is that to reach the finest results we have to send her in alone and we cannot hear her heart beat and see her eyes grow big. We have found though that fun is elusive; some of it nearly always escapes. But the funniest fun, the climax of fun, is the time-honored, historic midnight feast. These furnish the height of — I know I am violating rule seventy by using the same word so often that both Mr. Genung and the head of the English Department will disown me — but it would never do to leave any part of the fun out. Besides, if I use a substitute the students might forget my subject, which by way of emphasis let me remind you is the use of the word fun. Because the midnight feast is the highest limit of fun, the attic is the proper place for its celebration. A midnight feast is fun all through. From the time we begin to try to capture the key to the elevator room till we have forgotten that feast in planning for another one. We decide at first we will get the master key, but in a big basket of keys all new and bright, who can tell a master key? Besides, it would be more apt to be missed. We must get the real key to the elevator door; so we send one after another to look through the keys for one marked elevator, and fail to find it. But we do find a girl who has borrowed the master key to do reference work. All the doors have been locked for the night. While she is busy we run and unlock the door to our feasting hall and slip the key back. She finishes her work and restores the key, innocent that other hands have touched it. After supper we settle down to our books. How funny it is to let our minds wander away from Wordsworth, the Primrose, the Daisy, the Sonnet, and revel in the attic! Will it be dark and cold? What, that Aladdin ' s palace! How funny to leave our surds to rationalize themselves while we begin to be absurd by filling our clothes-bags — not with cuffs, handkerchiefs and turnovers — but cans of beans, bottles of pickle, olives, sauce, catsup, boxes of crackers and potted— everything! How funny it is to not undress

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In closing I would add that notwithstanding the fact that Webster ' s Unabridged Dictionary is a good sized volume, we are hard up for words when we use one little monosyllable to represent such different emotions and experiences. We might have another fun spelled p-h-u-n, but it seems needless trouble to introduce it as pho- netic spelling, which is expected soon to arrive, would take it away from us. It has suggested itself to me that it might be a good idea to reverse the word for some of the more divergent and incongruous notions, but that would make nuf, and it would never do. For as Aunt Vinie would have expressed it: Dese chilluns shore never do hab nuf fun.