The spirit of rivalry, which had temporarily given way to one of courtesy for the night of the sophomore-freshmen reception, returned again with full force as soon as the party was over. Although no regular hazing was permitted, the sophomores usually enjoyed the privilege of ordering the younger girls to obey their commands.

The struggle between the classes lasted only six weeks, and might be ended before that time if the freshmen succeeded in holding a class meeting within that period, and electing a president with due formality. All the conditions regarding the conduct of the meeting were printed in large type and hung on the principal Bulletin Boards.

Ruth, who had always been a ring-leader in affairs of this nature, took particular interest in the event. She had discussed it many times with Evelyn and Mae, but neither she, nor in fact any other members of her class, had decided upon any definite action.

About a week after the sophomore reception, she paused on her way to Marjorie’s room to read the notice again. She almost knew it by heart; nevertheless, she read it over again carefully to see that she had missed nothing. It said:

“FRESHMEN PLEASE NOTE:

“The following rules concerning the election of a class president must be observed:

“1. The meeting must be held on the school grounds within six weeks’ time after the opening of the fall term.

“2. There must be at least two-thirds of the members of the class present to make the meeting valid.

“3. A president must be elected by a majority vote; at least two candidates must be nominated.

“4. The sophomores may do all in their power to prevent or break up such a meeting.

“5. If the freshman class fails to hold said meeting within the alloted time, a committee of three must be sent to the sophomore president to beg on bended knees for permission to hold their meeting.”

Ruth closed her lips tightly, resolving to do something—and to do it immediately. She hurried to Marjorie’s room.

“I tell you our class is as slow as molasses!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to do something about our class-meeting.”

Marjorie fingered her hockey-stick, and looked questioningly at her visitor. Her mind was still on forward passes, and she did not quite take in what she was saying.

“There’s no hurry, is there?” she asked, without much display of interest. “Isn’t there lots of time yet?”

“I should say not!” answered Ruth, crossly. “Two weeks have gone already—we only have four more!”

“Oh, four weeks is an age! I wish you would pay more attention to hockey, Ruth. Our class hasn’t any good players at all.”

“Now listen, Marj, I’m not here to talk about hockey. I’m going to do something about electing our class president. Who do you think would be good?”

“I don’t know many girls very well. Who do you think?”

“Why, how about yourself, Marj?”

Marjorie scorned the idea. “I’d never make it,” she said positively. “Besides, hockey takes all my time.”

Ruth hoped that Marjorie might suggest her in return for the compliment, but she was forced to leave the room ungratified.

She received more encouragement from Evelyn, however.

“I mean to nominate you, Ruth, if we ever get the meeting,” said her friend.

“Thanks, Eve—then I’ll nominate you!”

The other girl laughed. “What fun to run against each other!” she exclaimed.

“Of course, it isn’t only the honor of being class president, but they say she is always chosen by F??. They couldn’t afford to let a girl like that go by!”

Ruth rallied her forces, and finally succeeded in passing word around that all the freshmen should steal into the assembly room as soon as the lights went off the following night, which was Saturday.

Marjorie and Lily did not pretend to undress, but Ruth, in order to deceive Ethel, went to bed as usual. Her classmates had advised her not to make any attempt to attend the meeting if Ethel seemed at all suspicious; they reminded her that eleven girls out of the thirty-five freshmen could be absent, and that she might be one of that number.

But Ruth could not force herself to lie still and miss everything. She had arranged the meeting; she hoped to be nominated for the office; and she could not be content to remain away. Accordingly, after the lights were out, and she and Ethel were both in bed, she stirred cautiously and looked to see whether her room-mate were awake. Unfortunately, she was.

“Ethel,” she whispered, “Marjorie had a headache, and I want to take her over some of your aspirin pills. I forgot to do it before I got undressed. Where are they?”

“In the top drawer,” replied her room-mate, sleepily. “But, Ruth, it’s against the rules to go off the floor after ten.”

“I know, but—poor Marjorie is suffering!”

“Well, she could go to the infirmary. The night nurse would take care of her.”

“But I promised, and I mean to stick to it. You don’t mind?”

Ethel watched her go out of the door, and buried her head again in her pillow. The night was rather chilly, and she was glad she did not have to creep around cold corridors.

Suddenly she sat up in bed. Why was Ruth doing this? She wasn’t usually so solicitous about Marjorie; she certainly was willing to slight her at the reception the previous week! Ethel forgot all about the chilliness of the night, and her own sleepiness. She put on her shoes and stockings, and reached for her middy and skirt. Then, seizing a sweater, she rushed up to Frances Wright’s door on the third floor.

She opened her friend’s door cautiously. “Wake up, Frances!” she said. “It’s Ethel—I think the freshmen have something up. Ruth’s gone!”

Frances jumped out of bed. “Where?” she asked excitedly.

“I don’t know—you better blow your whistle!”

“I daren’t at night; it’s against the rules.”

Ethel gasped. “Well, then hurry,” she said.

“I’ll go look in the class and assembly rooms, and you wake up the other squads to search the dormitories.”

By this time Frances was already dressed, and the girls started out together.

She knocked three times on the sophomores’ doors as she passed, thus substituting the night signal in place of the whistle she used in the day time.

The freshmen had chosen an unfortunate place for their meeting; it was too obvious; and they could not keep down their voices. Ruth was trying to count the girls, but since the assembly room was almost perfectly dark, she found this a difficult thing to do.

When she had finally ascertained that two-thirds of the members of the class were present, she called for order, and announced: “Nominations are in order!”

“They are not!” cried Ethel, throwing on the switch.

The freshmen could only gasp at the suddenness of the interruption and the light. The spectacle they presented, with their hair down, and in their unconventional clothing, contrasted oddly with the usual dignity of assembly room audiences. Ethel laughed out loud.

It was only a moment before the light attracted a crowd of sophomores, and the meeting had to disband. Just as the girls were leaving Miss Allen appeared, demanding an explanation. She ordered all the girls back to their rooms, and warned them that if a night meeting were ever attempted again, the practice would have to be given up.

At the beginning of the fourth week of school, the freshmen made another attempt to hold their meeting, and this time, with the help of several of the juniors, their attempt was successful.

Edith Evans, an upper classman, stood out under the big tree on the campus and waved a white handkerchief, which the freshmen interpreted as a summons to the library basement, secured for the occasion. The time for the meeting was selected at an hour when the sophomores were on the hockey field. Edith Evans counted the freshmen as they entered the library; as soon as there were twenty-four, she went inside, and took charge of the nominations. Doris Sands, the prettiest, and at the same time one of the most popular girls of the class, was already elected president, when Ruth and Evelyn arrived on the scene.

“Who were nominated?” asked the former, breathlessly.

“Doris Sands and Rita Wilds. Of course Doris got it,” replied the freshman she had questioned. “She’d get it, no matter who else was put up.”

Ruth turned away hastily, for she could not keep back the tears. Evelyn saw her disappointment, and decided to leave her alone. But before she had reached the door, it was flung open, and half a dozen sophomores, with their hockey sticks in their hands, rushed in.

“Too late!” cried Edith triumphantly. “The freshmen have elected Doris Sands for their president!”

A groan arose from the defeated girls. Frances Wright was the first to put aside the class antagonism, and to remember her manners.

“Congratulations, Doris!” she said, coming forward and shaking hands.

By this time Ruth had control of herself again; she resolved not to let Ethel know that she had ever hoped for the office. She found her among the group around Doris, and the girls walked back to their room together.

“I’m not surprised that Doris was elected,” said Ethel, as she unlaced her hockey shoes. “I always thought she would be!”

“So did I,” agreed Ruth pleasantly. “She’s the girl we all wanted from the first!”