five o'clock
A few moments later the freshman and sophomore classes , with a sprinkling of juniors to make the numbers even , were gathered _ en masse _ in the big gymnasium . All the afternoon loyal sophomores had toiled thither from the various campus houses , lugging palms , screens , portières and pillows . Inside another contingent had arranged these contributions , festooned the running-track with red and green bunting , risked their lives to fasten Japanese lanterns to the cross-beams , and disguised the apparatus against the walls with great branches of spruce and cedar , which still other merry , wind-blown damsels , driving a long-suffering horse , had deposited at intervals near the back door . By five o'clock it was finished and everybody , having assured everybody else that the gym never looked so well before , had gone home to dress for the evening . Now the lights softened what Mary Brooks called the `` hidjous '' greens of the freshman bunting , a band played sweet music behind the palms , and pretty girls in pretty gowns sat in couples on the divans that lined the walls , or waited in line to speak to the receiving party . This consisted of Jean Eastman and the sophomore president , who stood in front of the fireplace , where a line of ropes intended to be used in gym practice had been looped back and made the best sort of foundation for a green canopy over their heads . Ten of the prettiest sophomores acted as ushers , and four popular and much envied seniors presided at the frappé bowls in the four corners of the room .