"I couldn't do anything like that."
"Nor I."
"Nor I."
"Nor any one else," said Patty.
"We can flunk Latin and math; but if we flunk any more we're gone."
"I believe so," said Patty.
"And I'm awfully shaky in German."
"And I in French."
"And I in Greek."
"I don't know anything about German," said Patty. "Never had it myself.
But I remember hearing Priscilla say that the printed examination papers didn't come but in time, and Fraulein Scherin, who writes a frightful hand, wrote the questions on the board in German script, and they couldn't even read them.
In French I believe the first question was to write out the
'Marseillaise'; there are seven verses, and no one had learned them, and the
'Marseillaise,' you know, is a thing that you simply can't make up on the spur of the moment.
As for Greek, I told you my own experience; I am sure nothing could be worse than that."
The freshmen looked at one another hopelessly. "There's only English and hygiene and Bible history left."
"English is something you can't tell anything about," said Patty. "They're as likely as not to ask you to write a heroic poem in iambic pentameters, if you know what they are.
You have to depend on inspiration; you can't study for it."
"I hope," sighed Lady Clara, "to get through hygiene and Bible history, though, as they only count one hour apiece, I suppose it isn't much."
"You mustn't be too sanguine," said Patty. "It all depends on chance.
The class in hygiene is so big that the professor hasn't time to read the papers; he just goes down the list and flunks every thirteenth girl.
I'm not sure about Bible history, but I think he does the same, because I know, freshman year, that I made a mistake and handed in my map of the Holy Lands done in colored chalk to the hygiene professor, and my chart of the digestive system to the Bible professor, and neither of them noticed it.
They did look a good deal alike, but not so much but what you could tell them apart.
All I have to say is that I hope none of you will be number thirteen."
The freshmen stared at one another in speechless horror, and Patty rose. "Well, good-by, my children, and, above all things, don't worry.
I'm glad if I've been able to cheer you up a little, for so much depends on not being nervous.
Don't believe any of the silly stories the sophomores tell," she called back over her shoulder; "they're just trying to frighten you."
X
"Per l'Italia"
COLLEGE is a more or less selfish place.
Everybody is so busy with her own affairs that she has no time to give to her neighbor, unless her neighbor has something to give in return.
Olivia Copeland apparently had nothing to give in return.
She was quiet and inconspicuous, and it took a second glance to realize that her face was striking and that there was a look in her eyes that other freshmen did not have.
By an unfelicitous chance she was placed in the same study with Lady Clara Vere de Vere and Emily Washburn.
They thought her foreign and queer, and she thought them crude and boisterous, and after the first week or two of politely trying to get acquainted the effort was dropped on both sides.
The year wore on, and nobody knew, or at least no one paid any attention to the fact, that Olivia Copeland was homesick and unhappy.
Her room-mates thought that they had done their duty when they occasionally asked her to play golf or go skating with them (an invitation they were very safe in giving, as she knew how to do neither).
Her instructors thought that they had done their duty when they called her up to the desk after class and warned her that her work was not as good as it had been, and that if she wished to pass she must improve in it.
The English class was the only one in which she was not warned; but she had no means of knowing that her themes were handed about among the different instructors and that she was referred to in the department as "that remarkable Miss Copeland."
The department had a theory that if they let a girl know she was doing good work she would immediately stop and rest upon her reputation; and Olivia, in consequence, did not discover that she was remarkable.
She merely discovered that she was miserable and out of place, and she continued to drip tears of homesickness before a sketch of an Italian villa that hung above her desk.
It was Patty Wyatt who first discovered her.
Patty had dropped into the freshmen's room one afternoon on some errand or other (probably to borrow alcohol), and had idly picked up a pile of English themes that were lying on the study table.
"Whose are these?
Do you care if I look at them?" she asked.
"No; you can read them if you want to," said Lady Clara. "They're Olivia's, but she won't mind."
Patty carelessly turned the pages, and then, as a title caught her eye, she suddenly looked up with a show of interest. "'The Coral-fishers of Capri'!
What on earth does Olivia Copeland know about the coral-fishers of Capri?"
"Oh, she lives somewhere near there—at Sorrento," said Lady Clara, indifferently.
"Olivia Copeland lives at Sorrento!" Patty stared. "Why didn't you tell me?"