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Updated: June 12, 2025
It was from the Literary Society of the Boy's High School, proposing a debate between the two; it was signed by the secretary, who chanced to be a boy whose name was Chester. Miss MacLauren, in spite of herself, grew red; she had been talking about the Platonians and their debates with him quite recently. The effect of the note upon the Platonians was visible.
And mounting the stairs to the mansard, their door had shut upon the Platonians; it was a secret society. And now this door stood open to Miss MacLauren. She took her note to Hattie and to Rosalie, who showed a polite but somewhat forced interest. "Of course if you have time for that sort of thing," said Hattie. "As if there was not enough of school and learning, now, Emily," said Rosalie.
"If it is Professor Bryan," said Emmy Lou, "there's no need of my working any more on the Debate." "Why not?" said Uncle Charlie. "If it's Mr. Bryan, he'll never let them come, he thinks they are awful things boys." Miss MacLauren was right about it; the debate did not take place. Platonian affairs seemed suddenly tame. Would a strictly feminine Olympus pall?
Her forces were that part of the Society which had voted against the Debate. Miss Kilrain was one of those who must lead, at something; if she could not be leader on the rostrum, she descended to the ranks. Miss MacLauren was deeply interested, and felt she had a right to be, for these things, newspapers and such, were in her family.
At the corner she met William with another boy. She knew this other boy, but that was all; he had never shown any disposition to have her know him better. But this morning things were different. William and the other boy joined her, William taking her books, while they all walked along together. Miss MacLauren felt the boy take a sidewise look at her.
The under-world seems always to be over-populated and valued accordingly. But progress in the High School, by rigorous enforcement of the survival of the fittest, brings ultimately a chance for identity. Emmy Lou, a survivor, found a personality awaiting her in her Sophomore year. Henceforth she was to be Miss MacLauren. The year brought further distinction.
Along in the term Miss MacLauren received notification that she had been elected to membership in the Platonian Society. "On account of recognised literary qualifications," the note set forth. Miss MacLauren read the note with blushes, and because of the secret joy its perusal afforded, she re-read it in private many times more.
Hattie meant to be valedictorian some day, nor did Miss MacLauren doubt Hattie would be. Rosalie's was a different Field. Hers was strewn with victims; victims whose names were Boys. It was Rosalie's Field, Miss MacLauren, in her heart, longed to enter. But how did Rosalie do it? She raised her eyes and lowered them, and the victims fell. But everyone could not be a Rosalie.
Nor does so big a girl as a grammar-school pupil longer confess to any infantile abbreviation of entitlement; she gives her full baptismal name and is written down, as in Emmy Lou's case, Emily Louise Pope MacLauren, which has its drawbacks; for she sometimes fails to recognise the unaccustomed sound of that name when called unexpectedly from the platform.
Some are born to prose and some to higher things. She applied herself to a plain statement in Hattie's album: Dear Hattie: I am a Mugwump and your true friend. Emily Louise Maclauren. Then she put the book on Hattie's desk as the bell rang. With the class came a visible and audible excitement. Mr. With visual signalling and labial dumb show, Emily Louise implored enlightenment.
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