[Gutenberg 44804] • Betty Lee, Junior

“Clash, Bim-bang!”

“Toot-toot,” high! “Toot-toot,” low!

“Tooral-looral-loo-oo-oo-oo,” up the scale, “tooral-looral-loo-oo-oo-oo,” down the scale.

“R-r-r-boom!”

Cymbals clashed; horns tooted; scales mounted or fell; bits of popular tunes were tried, and drums occasionally rolled; for Lyon High band was on the platform, in almost full force. All were in uniform and gathered for the greatest Pep Assembly of the year, which would begin when the proper gongs were sounded.

Betty Lee, junior, opening the door of the auditorium, smiled broadly at the sight. Ordinarily Betty would have been in her home room with the rest, waiting for the signals; but she had been sent by her home room teacher on an errand to the office. And on her arrival there, the principal had appeared from his inner office as her message was being delivered to one of the office force.

Looking around for some one who was not busy, he recognized Betty’s presence with a smile. “Betty,” said he—and Betty was proud that he knew her well enough to address her by her first name—“will you please step to the auditorium and see if the band leader has arrived? If so, tell him that I should like to see him a moment before the assembly.”

Armed with this authority, Betty Lee was now invading the present domain of boydom, while the band gathered and practiced after this noisy and irregular fashion. It was fun for everybody and Betty enjoyed her unusual privilege. She hesitated inside of the central door, which she had entered, then walked forward as far as the back row of seats, while she scanned the platform to see if the young man who trained the band had yet come in. She could not see him. There were the rows of chairs, arranged across the stage, the two central rows facing each other. The boys were getting their music in order, putting it upon the standards in front of them, or just sitting down to try out their instruments. Betty, the assured junior now, knew personally many of the band members, and the names of most of the others.

As she waited, not seeing the person she sought, the door behind her flew open to admit a hurrying boy, Chet Dorrance, a senior now and still a good friend of Betty’s. He stopped in his mad haste to speak to her. “’Lo, Betty, how’s this? Going to lead the band this morning?”

“Of course,” laughingly replied Betty. “I’m glad you came along, Chet. The principal wants to see the band leader and sent me to tell him—not the drum-major, you know, but Mr.—What’s-his-name.” Betty lifted her pretty chin a moment.

“You see I’m all fussed, Chet, over such an errand.”

“Yes—you—are!”