-- _Malvolio and Viola, slipping quietly past the crowd; make-up not off; arms on each other's shoulders._

_Malvolio._ I suppose Dad's holding that carriage somewhere.

_Viola._ Well, I can't help it. I simply can't talk to everybody.

_Malvolio._ Do you know your speech?

_Viola._ I think so. It's so short, you know. I hate to have the president's speech long. (_A pause._)

_Malvolio._ Well, it's over, Susy Revere! No more glory for little Lide and Sue!

_Viola._ All over! Well, we've had the time of our lives, d.i.c.k!

I'd--I'd give anything to do it over again, three nights!

_Malvolio._ Me too. It's a pleasant little spot up here. (_They walk to the campus in silence._)

-- _Recent court lady and two young gentlemen, brothers of her friend, the stage manager. Her eyes are underlined heavily, and she has not gotten the rouge quite off her cheeks._

_Recent Court Lady._ Oh, _thank_ you, it would be _such_ a help!

Mollie is nearly wild, and these things must be got out to-night. If you would take this and this and this, and oh, Father, would you please carry this tankard and the cups? And could you take those two swords? I'll take the distaff and the mandolin. Jack, have you room for the moon? Will, here are more poppies, and I promised Ada that I'd put that rubber-plant in her room to-night. You're so good! You're sure you don't mind carrying them? Now don't get laughing, Father, and drop the cups.

_A Recent Court Gentleman._ Good-night, dear! I knew you'd like it.

Oh, I think everybody seems to feel it's the best yet. Of course, last year they had so much better opportunity, so much easier scenery. But with four such stars--yes, indeed. It was so much harder to find people to take--oh, she _did_! She thinks that just because it doesn't all depend on one or two people, it's easier? Well, just find your extra people, that's all!--Did you like it? Most people seemed to think it _was_ a pretty dance. Well, we rehea.r.s.ed enough, heaven knows. Did you know Orsino's fiance was there? She said she felt like such an idiot. Too bad Sue got scared, wasn't it? Well, good-night.

-- _Steps of the Dewey House. Three ushers propped against the pillars.

The night watchman approaches with lantern._

_Watchman._ Well, well, well! Want to get in? _Hi'll_ bet yer do!

(_First usher nods her head._) Are yer h'ushers? Fine play, wa'n't it?

(_Second usher nods her head._) Well, you do look tired! You pretty tired, Miss Slater? (_Third usher murmurs something about sleeping till noon, and second usher chuckles feebly and mentions Baccalaureate. They stumble into the Dewey, and the watchman shuts the door._)

II

IVY DAY

_The sun is glaring down on the campus. A crowd of parents and other relatives is surging toward an awning near the steps of College Hall; a stream of white-dressed seniors continually flows toward the Hatfield House, where a procession is forming. Forty junior ushers struggle with a rope wound with laurel, which is to encompa.s.s the column of seniors. A few scattered members of the Faculty and a crowd of alumnae wander aimlessly about, obstructing traffic generally._

_Small imperious mother, dragging large good-humored father toward the awning._ Hurry up, Father, hurry up!

_Father._ But Mother, I want to see 'em!

_Mother._ Well, you've got to take your choice of seeing 'em and not hearing a word of the speech or--

_Father._ You go right along, Mother, and I'll get there on time. I want to see Hattie marching.

-- _A crowd of girls with cameras rushes up and lines both sides of the walk. Two ushers sail up the path, clearing a way with white-ribboned sticks. The crowd becomes unmanageable, torn by the desire to watch the progress of the march and at the same time to secure a good place at the exercises. People summon each other wildly from various points of the campus._

_A group of strolling soph.o.m.ores, dodging some ushers and wheedling programmes from others, screws its way in a body to the best possible position in the front, smiling at the efforts of the displaced to reinstate themselves._

_First Soph.o.m.ore._ There they come! There's Sue and Betty Twitch.e.l.l!

My, what roses!

_Second Soph.o.m.ore._ Roses? Did the ushers--

_Third Soph.o.m.ore._ Oh, goodness, Win, haven't you heard that yet?

_Second Soph.o.m.ore._ No--tell me!

_Third Soph.o.m.ore._ Why, Miss Tomlinson's fiance sent her fifteen dozen American Beauties, and there wasn't any room for them in the house, and she asked if the cla.s.s would like to carry them, and first they voted no and then they voted yes, and some of the girls don't like it, but they are doing it just the same--Oh, isn't Helen Estabrook's gown stunning! There's Wilhelmina--h.e.l.lo, Will! Sue looks well, don't you think?

_Second Soph.o.m.ore._ Fifteen dozen American Beauties! Great heavens!

_First Soph.o.m.ore._ I think it's perfectly absurd and bad taste, too.

The idea!

_Third Soph.o.m.ore._ Well, she's not to blame, is she? They're certainly lots prettier than laurel or daisies or odd flowers--Oh, girls, _I_ think Louise Hunter is too silly for anything! She feels too big to live, leading the way! I'd try to look a little less like a poker if I _was_ an usher!

-- _The Ivy Procession marches to the steps two and two, each girl with an enormous American Beauty in her hand. At every step the girls with cameras snap and turn, so that the sound resembles a miniature volley of cannon. There is a comparative silence during their progress._

_Mother and daughter standing on their seats under awning, clutching at the heads of those near them for support._

_Mother._ Who is that with Susy, dear?

_Daughter._ That's the vice-president--I don't know her name. Sue looks pale, doesn't she?

_Mother._ And that's Bess Twitch.e.l.l next--with the tucks. She's Ivy Orator, you know. I think Sue's dress drops too much in the back--Ah, Miss Fosd.i.c.k has stepped on it! Good heavens--right on that Valenciennes! (_She sits down abruptly._)

-- _The procession winds slowly up and groups itself on the steps. The last third stands a long while before the awning and exchanges somewhat conscious remarks with its friends outside the rope, which the ushers endeavor to carry without straining or dropping: this attempt puckers their foreheads and tilts their hats._

_A group of last year's graduates standing close to the enclosure._

_First Graduate._ Stunning gowns, aren't they?

_Second Graduate._ Awfully. Prettiest I ever saw. And so different, too! And yet they're all alike--organdie over silk or satin, mostly.

Isn't Sue Jackson's lovely?

_Third Graduate._ I like Esther Brookes'; it's so plain, but there's not a more artistic--

_Fourth Graduate._ How do you like Lena Bergstein's?

_Fifth Graduate._ What's that?