Bryn Mawr College - Bryn Mawr Yearbook (Bryn Mawr, PA)

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THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN 17 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 und er 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.

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i6 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELE VEN 7J K%£SD CL -.1} R5T class rmr ii £ tS ££ Gf£Z-J3i WHAT a contrast to some of our perfunctory 25 cents fine for non-attendance class meetings was the mysterious, melodramatic setting of the first class meeting! Then our faces had not yet acquired that unmistakable class meeting look, one of mingled dullness, virtue, and indignation, especially if the day were rainy and the place of meeting the Gym. At first our one chief thing was to guard against any appearance of going to a class meeting at all until wafted there by Lucky Providence in the shape of a Junior. Lots of Juniors came around to see us that first day to tell us confidentially to meet in the cloisters at six o ' clock. They were such pleasant girls, with frank, engaging smiles, but with such a disconcerting habit of sitting on the 1910 side of the chapel the rest of the year. Then other Juniors came who told us not to believe anybody or go anywhere but just to wait. My particular Lucky Providence came late when I had almost given up expecting it, came with Pleasaunce Baker popping in at the Merion dining room door and beckoning! I left my soup precipitately, after a hasty apology to the faintly and frigidly amused warden! After Pleasaunce ' s whispered question, Are you a Freshman? she gave me directions as we went up the stairs, then we separated to go different ways.

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18 THE BOOK OF THE CLASS OF NINETEEN-ELEVEN musty m$ t I AM commissioned to detail our Rush Nights because until I was a Junior I never took part in one and so have a calm, judicial opinion of them. Freshman year, I remember well, we had a wild class meeting when, among other things, we learned to sing with an appearance of enthusiastically believing it, that here we came. The choice of people to lead the line was another important thing accomplished at that class meeting. Some one suggested Jeanette and some one else said: Get up and let ' s see you. Then Jeanette arose, inflated her brawny chest, and rolled up her jumper sleeve to show us her muscle; that was enough — and she and Agnes Wood successfully butted their way through all obstacles. Speaking of jumpers — I was ignorant in those days, and when Florence told us we were to wear jumpers and short skirts, I had visions of us in some sort of baby clothes. The appropriateness of it even made me mad. I was so relieved when Scottie told me a jumper was a middy blues. Well, that first Rush Night, I hear, was fearfully thrilling, and it accomplished the purpose it was meant to. It introduced us to 1910 thoroughly, and to 1909 most pleasantly, and we were not divided. But the thrill of Sophomore year. It began when we decided to wear Pierrot costumes, it rose when John Richardson discovered 1912 ' s tune and Amy and Scottie wrote derisive words to it— it reached a climax when behind Radnor we scattered the Freshmen, like so much astonished chaff, thanks to Schmittie ' s correct imitation of a Freshman. I did get in on some of that Rush Night, for, coming out from town, and entering Denbigh, I heard Kate Rotan Drinker shout, No violence! Remember, no violence, while she pushed Hoby through the wall with one hand and propelled 1912 along with the other. A little farther down Elsa was begging us to remember that we had given up violence, while she deftly hung Delano over the electric fight fixtures and helped the Freshman keep on the key. When we finally arrived under the Arch, Jeanette and Frances Hearne still locked in a deadly struggle, Leila ironing out any one who came in her way, Virginia acting like a snow plow through the masses of 1910, the Freshmen had been as it were discounted and the contention was carried on by those most interested. As Juniors we had arrived at the point of decrying violence ourselves, with fierceness