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diff --git a/25893-h/25893-h.htm b/25893-h/25893-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fdc08a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/25893-h/25893-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10650 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beatrice Leigh at College, by Julia Augusta Schwartz</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight: normal; font-size: 1.2em} + h3.pg {text-align:center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 110%; } + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + div.ce p {text-align: center; margin: auto 0;} + .caption {font-size:.8em} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.tb {width: 35%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .blockquot {margin-left:5%; margin-right:5%;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; color: silver; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.silver {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight: normal; font-size: 1.4em} + + h1 {text-align:center; } + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Beatrice Leigh at College, by Julia Augusta +Schwartz, Illustrated by Eva M. Nagel</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Beatrice Leigh at College</p> +<p> A Story for Girls</p> +<p>Author: Julia Augusta Schwartz</p> +<p>Release Date: June 24, 2008 [eBook #25893]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEATRICE LEIGH AT COLLEGE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<div class='ce'> +<p>A SONG-CALENDAR</p> +<p>BY A. L. C.</p> +</div> + +<div class='ce'> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>I</p> +</div> + +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“When blood of autumn</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Runs warm and red</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>In all the branches</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Over head—</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Sing clear bright sunshine,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>And tender haze,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Sing glad beginning</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Of College Days!</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='ce'> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>II</p> +</div> + +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“When pines and spruces</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Are bowed with snow,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>When ponds are frozen</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>And keen winds blow—</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Sing cozy corners</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Or jingling sleighs,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Sing work or frolic</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Of College Days!</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='ce'> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>III</p> +</div> + +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“When comes sweet April,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>With soft slow rain,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>And earth has broken</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Her frozen chain—</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Sing low shy birdnotes,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>And woodland ways,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Sing mirth and music</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Of College Days!</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='ce'> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p>IV</p> +</div> + +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“When June days linger,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>And warm winds blow</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>O’er fields of daisies</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Adrift like snow—</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Sing sad leave-takings</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>And tender praise</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Of all the mem’ries</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>Of College Days!”</p> +<br /> +<p style='text-align: right;'>—Vassarion, ’95.</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='blockquot'> +<p>Cordial acknowledgment is due to the editors of the +<i>Youth’s Companion</i> for their courteous permission to reprint +in the following chapters of college life the episodes +entitled respectively “Wanted: a Friend,” and +“Her Freshman Valentine.” +</p> +</div> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/img-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='text-align:center;'> +SHE HID HER FACE AGAINST MARTHA’S DRESS +<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.6em; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0.5em;'>BEATRICE LEIGH at COLLEGE</p> +<p style=' font-size:1.6em; margin-bottom:2em;'><i>A STORY FOR GIRLS</i></p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:3em;'>By JULIA A. SCHWARTZ</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:0.8em;'><i>Author of</i></p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:3em;'>“Elinor’s College Career” etc.</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p style=' font-size:1.0em;'><i>Illustrated by</i></p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:3em;'>EVA M. NAGEL</p> +<div style='margin-top:1em'></div> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em;'><i>The Penn Publishing Company</i></p> +<p style=' font-size:1.2em; margin-bottom:1em;'>PHILADELPHIA MCMVII</p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Copyright 1907 by The Penn Publishing Company</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Contents</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='400' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>I </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Bea’s Roommate</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_BEA_S_ROOMMATE'>9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>II </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Enter Robbie Belle</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_ENTER_ROBBIE_BELLE'>35</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>III </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Question of Economy</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_A_QUESTION_OF_ECONOMY'>59</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>IV </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Her Freshman Valentines</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_HER_FRESHMAN_VALENTINES'>81</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>V </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>The Giftie Gie Us</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_THE_GIFTIE_GIE_US'>92</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>VI </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Wave of Reform</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_A_WAVE_OF_REFORM'>115</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>VII </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Four Sophomores and a Dog</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_FOUR_SOPHOMORES_AND_A_DOG'>145</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>VIII </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Classes in Manners</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_CLASSES_IN_MANNERS'>172</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>IX </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>This Vain Show</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_THIS_VAIN_SHOW'>198</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>X </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Consequences</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_CONSEQUENCES'>214</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>XI </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>A Girl to Have Friends</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_A_GIRL_TO_HAVE_FRIENDS'>231</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>XII </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>An Original in Math</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_AN_ORIGINAL_IN_MATH'>255</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>XIII </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Just This Once</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_JUST_THIS_ONCE'>283</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>XIV </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Classmates</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_CLASSMATES'>299</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right'>XV </td> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Victory</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_VICTORY'>321</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.4em; margin-bottom:1em;'>Illustrations</p> +</div> + +<table border='0' width='400' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto'> +<col style='width:80%;' /> +<col style='width:20%;' /> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>She Hid Her Face Against Martha’s Dress</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Lila Stood Staring Out at the Snow</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>28</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>“Anything New?”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>74</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>“Oh, Thank You; I Don’t Want Anything to Eat”</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>98</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>We Handed Over Five Dollars Apiece</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_5'>204</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>She Waved an Open Letter In Her Hand</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_6'>280</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>She Held Both Hands, Smiling</span></td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_7'>306</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></div> +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' font-size:1.6em;'>Beatrice Leigh at College</p> +</div> + +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 0em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='I_BEA_S_ROOMMATE' id='I_BEA_S_ROOMMATE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>BEA’S ROOMMATE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Lila Allan went to college in the hope of +finding an intimate friend at last. Her +mother at home waited anxiously for her +earliest letters, and devoured them in eager +haste to discover some hint of success in the +search; for being a wise woman she knew her +own daughter, and understood the difficulty +as well as the necessity of the case. +</p> +<p>The first letter was written on the day of +arrival. It contained a frantic appeal for +enough money to buy her ticket home immediately, +because she had a lonesome room +away up in the north tower, and nobody had +spoken to her all the afternoon, and her trunk +had not come yet, and she did not know +where the dining-room was, and the corridors +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +were full of packing-boxes with lids scattered +around, and girls were hurrying to and fro +with step-ladders and kissing each other and +running to hug each other, and everything. +</p> +<p>The second letter, written the following +day, said that a freshman named Beatrice +Leigh had come up to help her unpack. +Beatrice had a long braid too, and her hair +was the loveliest auburn and curled around +her face, and she laughed a good deal. Lila +had noticed her the very first evening. +She was sitting at one of the tables in +the middle of the big dining-room. When +Lila saw her, she was giggling with her +head bent down and her napkin over her +eyes, while the other girls at that table smiled +amused smiles. Lila knew instantly that +this poor freshman had done something +dreadful, and she was sorry for her. Later +that same evening in Miss Merriam’s room she +told how she had marched in to dinner alone +and plumped down at that table among all +those seniors. She seemed to consider it a +joke, but Lila was sure she had been almost +mortified to death when she learned of her +mistake, and that was why she had laughed +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +so hard. Several other freshmen were at Miss +Merriam’s. Two of them were named Roberta, +and one was named Gertrude something. But +Lila liked Beatrice best. Miss Merriam called +her Bea. Miss Merriam was a junior who had +invited in all the students at that end of the +corridor to drink chocolate. Lila did not care +for her much, because she had a loud voice +and tipped back in her chair and said yep for +yes. +</p> +<p>The third missive was only a postal card bearing +a properly telegraphic communication to +the effect that it was Saturday morning, and +Bea was waiting to escort her to the chapel to +hear read the lists of freshman names assigned +to each recitation section. Mrs. Allan scanned +the message with a quick throb of pleasure; +then sighed as she laid it down. The indications +were hopeful enough if only Lila would +be careful not to drive away this friend as she +had the others. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile on that Saturday morning Bea +and Lila, silent and shy, had crowded with +their two hundred classmates into chapel. +The two friends sat side by side. Lila was in +terror of making some horrible blunder that +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +might overwhelm her with a vast indefinite +disgrace. She leaned forward in the pew, the +pencil trembling between her fingers, the +blood pounding in her ears, while from the +platform in front a cool voice read on evenly +through page after page of names. And then +at last the tragic despair of finding that she +had jotted down herself for two sections in +English and none in Latin! When she managed +to gasp out the awful situation in Bea’s +ear, that young person looked worried for full +half a minute. It was a very serious thing to +be a freshman. Then her cheery common +sense came to the rescue. +</p> +<p>“Never mind. We’ll go up and look the +lists over after she has finished them all.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, can we? Will you truly go with +me?” Lila drew a quick breath of relief and +gratitude. This was one of the precious +privileges of having found a friend. She +gazed at Bea with such an adorable half-wistful, +half-joyful smile on her delicate face that +Bea never quite forgot the sensation of realizing +that it was meant wholly for her. The +memory of it returned again and again in +later days when Lila’s exacting ways seemed +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +beyond endurance. For Lila’s nature was one +of those that give all and demand all and +suffer in a myriad mysterious ways. +</p> +<p>On the afternoon of that Saturday when +Bea skipped up the narrow tower stairs to invite +Lila to go to the orchard to gather a +scrapbasket full of apples, she discovered the +door locked. In answer to her lively rat-tattoo +and gay call over the transom, she heard +the key turn. +</p> +<p>Bea started to dash in; then after one +glance stopped and fumbled uneasily with the +knob. In her happy-go-lucky childhood with +many brothers and sisters at home, tears had +always an embarrassing effect. +</p> +<p>“Let’s—let’s go to the orchard,” she stammered. +“It’s lovely, and the fresh air will +help your—your headache.” She had a boyish +notion that anybody would prefer to excuse +heavy eyes by calling it headache rather +than tears. +</p> +<p>Lila pointed to the bed which was half +made up. +</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded +in agonized reproach. “I thought the maids +attended to the beds here. I left the mattress +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +turned over the foot all day long, and the +door was wide open. Everybody in the +neighborhood must have looked in and then +decided that I was lazy and shiftless. They +believe that I have been brought up to let +things go undone like that. They do, they +do! Miss Merriam just the same as said so. +She poked in her head a minute ago and said, +‘Heigho, little one, time to make up your +bed. It has aired long enough and the maid +is not expected to do it.’ She said that to +me! Oh, I hate her!” Lila caught her +breath hard. +</p> +<p>Bea opened her candid eyes wider in astonished +curiosity. “But didn’t you want +to know about the maid?” +</p> +<p>“She mortified me. Do you know how it +feels to be mortified? The—the awfulness—” Lila +stopped and swallowed once or twice as +if something stuck in her throat. “She +might have told me in a different manner so +as not to wound me so heartlessly. She +isn’t a lady.” +</p> +<p>“Please.” Bea twirled the door-knob in +worried protest. “Don’t talk that way. She +is my friend. We live in the same town. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +She’s nice, really. You’ve only seen the outside. +Please!” +</p> +<p>“Oh, well!” Lila raised her shoulders +slightly. “She isn’t worth noticing, I dare +say. Such people never are. I can’t help +wishing that you were not acquainted with +her. I want you all to myself. I’m glad she +belongs to another class anyhow.” +</p> +<p>Into Bea’s puzzled face crept a troubled +expression. “You’re a funny girl, Lila,” she +said; “let’s go to the orchard.” +</p> +<p>On their way across the campus, they +passed countless girls hurrying from building +to building. Every doorway seemed to +blossom with a chattering group, a loitering +pair, or an energetic single lady on pressing +business bent. Bea met every glance with a +look of bright friendliness in her eager eyes +and lips ready to smile, no matter whether +she had ever been introduced or not. But +Lila’s wild-flower face, in spite of its lovely +tints and outlines, seemed almost icy in its +expression of haughty criticism. No wonder, +then, that this miniature world of college reflected +a different countenance to each. +</p> +<p>“Aren’t they the dearest, sweetest girls you +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +ever saw!” exclaimed Bea as the two freshmen +turned from the curving concrete walk +into the road that led to the orchard. +</p> +<p>“I saw only one who was truly beautiful,” +commented her companion. “I expected to +find them prettier.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, but they are so interesting,” protested +Bea in quick loyalty. “Nearly everybody +appears prettier after you get acquainted. +I’ve noticed that myself. It is better to dawn +than to dazzle, don’t you think? Sue Merriam, +for instance, improves and grows nicer +and nicer after you know her. You will +learn to love her dearly.” +</p> +<p>“Never!” +</p> +<p>At the tone Bea gave an involuntary whistle; +then checked herself at sight of Lila’s quivering +lips. “Oh, well, don’t bother. Let’s go +on to the orchard. Look! There comes +Roberta Abbott with about a bushel of russets. +She is a funny girl too. To judge from her +appearance, you would say she was sad and +dignified. She has the most tragic dark eyes +and mouth. But just wait till you hear her +talk. Didn’t you meet her last night at +Sue’s?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></p> +<p>“Yes.” Lila turned away to hide the flicker +of jealousy, for she had learned long since +how transparently every emotion showed in +her features. “I think we ought not to waste +any time now. And anyway I’d rather get +acquainted with you all alone this afternoon.” +</p> +<p>Bea stared. “You’re the funniest girl!” +She walked on after waving a sociable hand +at Roberta. “It is interesting to have friends +that are different, don’t you think?” +</p> +<p>“To have one friend who is different,” +corrected Lila. +</p> +<p>“All right,” laughed Bea. “Oh, see what +a gorgeous glorious place this is, with the trees +and scarlet woodbine and the lake sparkling +away over there, and girls, girls, girls! But +I don’t believe that there is a single other one +exactly like you.” +</p> +<p>During the next week this thought recurred +to her more than once. By means of some +diplomatic maneuvering, the two friends +managed to have their single rooms exchanged +for a double. After moving in, Lila seized a +moment of solitude to plan a beautiful cozy +corner for Bea. She dragged her own desk +into a dusky recess and set Bea’s at an artistic +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +angle at the left side of the sunniest window. +Just as she was hanging her favorite picture +above it, Bea came rushing in with her arms +full of new books. +</p> +<p>“Oh, no, no, no!” she exclaimed impulsively, +“that won’t do at all. You must +put it at the right so that the light will fall +over the left shoulder. Otherwise the shadow +of your hand will go scrambling over the +paper ahead of your pen. Here, let me show +you.” +</p> +<p>By the time she had hauled the desk across +to its new position, Lila had vanished. Bea +found her huddled in a woe-begone heap behind +the wardrobe door in her bedroom, and +flew to her in dismay. +</p> +<p>“Oh, Lila, dearie, did you smash your finger +or drop something on your foot? There, +don’t cry. I’ll get the witch-hazel and arnica +and court-plaster. What is it? Where? +Why-ee!” she gasped bewildered, “why, Lila!” +for her weeping roommate had pushed her +gently away and turned her face to the wall. +</p> +<p>“I was doing it for you,” she sobbed. “I +was trying to please you, and then you were +so cr-cr-cruel! You were cruel.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span></p> +<p>“Cruel?” echoed Bea, “why, how? I +haven’t done a thing except buy the books I +ordered last week. Yours were down in the +office, too, but I didn’t have enough money +for all, because Sue Merriam borrowed four +dollars. She asked after you and said——” +Bea hesitated, smitten with novel doubt that +she ought to begin to think three times before +speaking once where such a sensitive person +was concerned. +</p> +<p>Lila sat up in swift attention and winked +away her tears. “Said what?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing much.” Bea wriggled. +“Just talking.” +</p> +<p>“I insist.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, well, it doesn’t signify. I was only +thinking——” Bea paused again before +blurting out. “She said that roommates are +good for the character.” +</p> +<p>At this Lila rose with such an air of patient +endurance that poor Bea felt clumsy, remorseful, +injured and perplexed simultaneously. A +cloud of resentful silence hovered over them +both through the weary hours of the afternoon. +Not until the ten o’clock gong sent the echoes +booming through the deserted corridors, did +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +Lila break down in a storm of weeping that +terrified Bea. She found herself begging +pardon, apologizing, caressing, explaining and +repenting wholesale of rudeness about the +desk, of selfish neglect in the case of the books, +of disloyalty in giving ear to Miss Merriam’s +gratuitous comments. This gale blew over, +leaving one girl with darker circles under her +eyes and a more pathetic droop at the corners +of her mouth, leaving the other with a fellow +feeling for any unfortunate bull who happens +to get into a china shop, intentionally or +otherwise. Life at college promised to be like +walking over exceedingly thin ice every day +and all day long. +</p> +<p>And yet, after she had learned to make +allowances for the oversensitiveness, Bea found +Lila more lovable and winning week by week. +She was philosopher enough to recognize the +fact that every one has the “defects of his +qualities.” The very quality that sent Lila +hurrying up-stairs in an agony of mortification +because a senior had forgotten to bow to +her, was the one that inclined her to enter +into Bea’s varying moods with exquisite +responsiveness. It was delightful to have a +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +friend who was ever ready to answer gayety +with gayety and sober thoughts with sympathy. +Indeed, when Lila was not wrapped +up in her own suffering, she could not be +surpassed in the priceless gift of sympathy. +For the sake of that, much might be forgiven. +</p> +<p>Much but not everything. Just before the +midyear examinations came a crisis in the +growth of their friendship. One afternoon +Lila reached the head of the stairs barely in +time to make a sudden swerve out of Miss +Merriam’s breezy path. +</p> +<p>“Heigho, Eliza Allan,” she called in careless +teasing, “why don’t you spell your name +the way it is in the catalogue? More dignified, +I think. By the way, I’ve been into your +room and left some burned cork for your chapter +play. We had more than we needed last +night. By-bye.” +</p> +<p>Lila walked on in frosty silence. By-bye, +indeed! And to address her as Eliza, too, on +this very afternoon when she had as much as +she could bear anyhow. To hear her essay +read aloud and criticised before the class, and +then to have it handed to her across the desk, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +so that anybody could see the awful <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Rewrite</span> +in red ink scrawled on the outside! To be +sure, all the essays had been distributed at the +same time, and nobody knew for sure that +hers had been the one read aloud. Still they +might have seen the name on it or noticed +how red and pale she turned, or something. +And worse still, the examinations were coming +soon, and she was sure she would fail. If +it were not for leaving Bea, she would go home +that night. She certainly would! +</p> +<p>As she entered, Bea looked up brightly +from the cardboard which she was cutting +into squares. +</p> +<p>“Here you are!” she exclaimed in cheery +greeting, though her eyes had shadowed instantly +at sight of the unhappy drooping of +every line. “Sue Merriam has been in to +show me how to make you up for the play +next month. It takes quite an artistic touch +to darken the brows and touch up the lashes. +Catch these corks and put them away. +They’re messing up my dinner-cards.” +</p> +<p>Lila’s shoulders quivered as if pricked by a +spur even while she mechanically caught the +bits of black and fumbled them in her fingers. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></p> +<p>“She meant that my brows are too thin +and my lashes too light. I would thank her +to keep her criticism until it is called for.” +</p> +<p>For half a minute Bea kept her head down +while her chest heaved over a sigh of weary +anticipation. Then she turned with an affectionate +query: “What has happened now, +Lila? Tell me, dear.” +</p> +<p>Upon hearing about the affair of the essay, +she expostulated consolingly, “Of course that +is no disgrace. She is severe with all the +girls, tears their essays into strips and empties +the red ink over them. She doesn’t mean it +personally, you know. How can we learn anything +if nobody corrects our mistakes? Anyway +it was an honor to have it read aloud. +Very likely the girls did not see the <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Rewrite</span>. +She never bothers much with the utterly +hopeless papers. Come, cheer up! The red +ink was a compliment.” +</p> +<p>“Do you really think so?” Lila smiled a +little doubtfully. “It sounds like one of the +sophists—‘to make the worse appear the better +reason.’ I’d love to believe it, and you +are sweet to me.” She laid one arm caressingly +across Bea’s shoulders. “It is queer +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +that I don’t mind more when you scold me so +outrageously.” +</p> +<p>“Scold you?” repeated the other in amazement +at such a description of her soothing +speech. +</p> +<p>Lila nodded. “I never stood it from anybody +else. Maybe it is because you are my +special dearest friend. That is why I came to +college, you know. At home the girls disappointed +me. There were several in the high +school who might have been my friends if +they had been different from what they were. +Ena Brownell and I were inseparable for +weeks till one morning she went off with another +girl instead of waiting for me on the +corner, though I had telephoned that I would +meet her there. Even if I was a few minutes +late, she would have waited if she had really +cared. I cried myself to sleep every night for +a long time but I never forgave her.” +</p> +<p>“Um-m-m,” muttered Bea, her head +again bent over the cardboard, “how horrid! +See, isn’t this a lovely daisy I’m drawing? +They’re to be dinner cards for my next spread. +This is for your place.” +</p> +<p>“It’s sweet. I think you are the most +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +talented girl in the class.” Lila stooped for a +hug but carefully so as not to interfere with +the growth of the silvery petals. “There was +another girl, and her name was Daisy. She +seemed perfect till I discovered that she +prized her own vanity more highly than my +happiness. She refused to take gym work +the third hour when I was obliged to have it. +She said the shower bath spoiled the wave in +her hair, and so she chose the sixth hour class. +Yet she knew very well that I had Latin at +that period. I don’t care for that selfish kind +of friendship, do you?” +</p> +<p>“Um-m, no!” Bea’s brush dropped an +impatient splash of yellow in the heart of the +flower. Then she glanced up with a penitent +smile. +</p> +<p>“You’re so awfully loyal yourself, Lila,” +she said. “You try to measure everybody up +to that standard. I shan’t forget that day in +hygiene when you declined to answer the +question that floored me. It was like that +poem about the girl who wouldn’t spell a +word that the boy had missed, because she +hated to go above him. And at the tennis +tournament you wouldn’t leave till I had finished +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +the match, though you shivered and +shook in the frosty October air. You do a lot +for me, and I am downright ashamed sometimes. +See, behold the completed posy!” +</p> +<p>“It is too pretty for a mere dinner card.” +Lila dropped into a rattan chair and idly +tossed the corks from hand to hand. “Aren’t +you planning a long time ahead? Your family +knows exactly what to send in a box. +That last was the most delicious thing! I suppose +we’ll just ask our crowd of freshmen, +Berta and Gertrude and the rest.” +</p> +<p>Lila’s eyes were so intent upon the dancing +corks that she failed to note the swift glance +which Bea darted in her direction. +</p> +<p>“Um-m-m,” she said cautiously, “I think +I might like an upper class girl or two. +Some of them have been awfully kind to me +this year. Sue Merriam escorted me to the +first Hall Play, and she proposed our names +for Alpha, and on her birthday she asked me +to sit at her table and meet some seniors as an +invited guest. She said the “invited” with +such a thump on it that my heart almost +broke. Isn’t she the greatest tease?” +</p> +<p>No answer. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p> +<p>“It was mostly due to her that I came to +college,” continued Bea with an effort to speak +naturally though her fingers shook the least +bit in their grasp of the brush, and one anxious +eye was watching Lila’s face. “I’ve known +her all my life. She persuaded the family to +send me, and she tutored me last summer and +helped in a million different ways. You don’t +understand how much I owe her. It is such +a little thing to invite her to my—to our +party. I’d love to do it, Lila.” +</p> +<p>Still no answer. The silence lengthened +out minute after minute. Finally Bea ventured +to raise her head and hold up another +card for inspection. “See, a new daisy, but +this one has a different disposition. Do you +observe the expression—sort of grinning and +cheerful? This is like Sue, while the first +one is like you, an earnest young person, not +one bit impudent. See it, lady. The dearest +flower-face. I love it.” +</p> +<p>“And yet”—Lila’s voice sounded choked, +“you want to invite her to the party. You +know it will spoil my pleasure. You—know—I—hate—her.” +</p> +<p>Bea’s frame trembled once in a nervous +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +shiver. Her fascinated eyes followed Lila to +the window, where she stood staring out at +the dazzling winter world of snow. +</p> +<p>“You must choose between Susan Merriam +and me. I have a right to demand it. I +have a right. I have a right.” +</p> +<p>Bea saw Lila lift her arm as if to brush +away the tears. Then one hand fumbled for +her handkerchief, while the other squeezed +the burned corks with unconscious force. She +was certainly wiping her eyes. +</p> +<p>“You must—you must—choose to-day—between +Susan Merriam and me. If you +choose her, I shall never speak to you again. +If you choose me, you must have nothing to +do with her. Nothing! You must drop her +acquaintance. You cannot have both.” +</p> +<p>Bea suddenly tipped back in her chair, +teetered to and fro for a frantic moment, then +brought it down with a bump on all four feet. +</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” she snapped. +</p> +<p>Lila stood motionless so long that Bea had +time to notice the ticking of her watch. Then +she turned slowly around from the window. +</p> +<p>“And this is friendsh——” +</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/img-028.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='text-align:center;'> +LILA STOOD STARING OUT AT THE SNOW +<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></div> +<p>“Oh!” squealed Bea, “oh, oh, oh! Ha, +ha, ha!” Flinging her arms out over the +desk she buried her face upon them and +shook with uncontrollable laughter. +</p> +<p>Lila crimsoned to her hair, then went white +with anger. Without a word she walked into +her own room and locked the door. +</p> +<p>Half an hour later when she rose from +the bed and began to pour out a basinful of +water to bathe her smarting eyes, she heard a +rustle on the threshold. Glancing quickly +around she saw a square of white paper being +thrust beneath the door. It was a letter from +home on the five o’clock mail. Lila picked it +up and opened it listlessly. The fit of weeping +had left her exhausted. +</p> +<p style='line-height: 1'> </p> + +<p>“My darling daughter,” she read, +</p> +<p>“This is a hasty note to say that your great +aunt Sarah is on her way east, and will stop +at the college for a day’s visit with you. I +wish to caution you, dear girl, against even +the semblance of a slight in your treatment +of her. Do not forget to inquire after Gyp +the terrier, Rex the angora cat, Dandy the +parrot, and Ellen the maid. Your aunt is +exceedingly sensitive about such small attentions. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +You might invite your friends to +meet her at afternoon tea, and if you can +manage it tactfully you might warn them not +to discuss topics with which she is unacquainted. +She has, as you know, a very +peculiar disposition. The least suspicion of +neglect or hint of criticism exasperates her +beyond endurance. In her childhood she +suffered continually because of this oversensitive +nature. I suspect that she made no +effort to conquer the fault. Indeed so far as +I may judge from her present attitude, she +has always considered it a proof of superior +delicacy and refinement. She has cherished +her selfishness instead of fighting it. As a +consequence her life has been embittered and +unspeakably lonely. I believe that she has +not a friend on earth except her pets, and +even Gyp has learned not to frisk with joy at +sight of anybody but his mistress. +</p> +<p>“I am sure I may trust you, dear, to make +her visit as happy as possible, although in +truth it seems irony to speak of real happiness +in connection with such a temperament. +You may not be aware that even your Aunt +Sarah was once the heroine of a romance. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +He was an extraordinarily fine man, and she +would have found happiness with him, if with +anybody. But one day in the rush of an important +law-suit, he forgot to keep an engagement +with her, and she never forgave the +slight. After that disappointment—and it +was a grievous disappointment, however self-inflicted—especially +grievous to such an expert +in self-torture—her nature grew rapidly +and steadily more self-absorbed and unlovely. +</p> +<p>“My darling little daughter, sometimes I +have feared that you may have inherited a +similar tendency. It has been difficult, +dearest, to guide aright where even the +slightest word of criticism stings and burns +and lashes. You, more than many girls, need +the discipline of wisest, frankest friendship +with others of your own age. I see that during +your high school days I did wrong in trying +to supply their place to you with my own +companionship. A child, however precious, +cannot be forever kept wrapped in cotton-wool. +</p> +<p>“So, dearest daughter, you will understand +how joyful I am this year in hearing of your +new friends. Don’t let them slip away +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +through any fault of yours. Whatever is +worth winning is worth keeping, even at the +cost of many a sacrifice of foolish pride. +</p> +<p>“When you see your aunt, be sure to remember +me to her. +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“With a heart full of love,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Mother</span>.”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p style='line-height: 1'> </p> + +<p>Lila read the letter, replaced it in the envelope, +and walking across the little room +threw herself again face downward on the +bed. After a while the dressing-gong whirred +its tidings through the corridors. Lila slid +to her feet and began to walk mechanically +toward the mirror. +</p> +<p>“But Bea laughed. She laughed at me. +Mother doesn’t know that Bea laughed. And +I thought she was my friend.” Lila felt +another sob come tearing up toward her +throat and clenched her teeth in the struggle +to choke it back. Blinded by a rush of +fresh tears, she opened the top drawer of the +bureau and felt for her brush with groping +fingers. +</p> +<p>“She laughed right in my face. I—I—could +have forgiven everything else. But—but +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +mother doesn’t know that Bea in-insulted +me. She—laughed—right—in—my——” +</p> +<p>Then through the blur Lila happened to +catch sight of her reflection in the looking-glass. +The last sob broke off sheer in the +middle, and left her with her lips still parted +in an unfinished quiver. +</p> +<p>The horrified face that stared back at her +from the mirror was striped and rayed with +startling streaks of black. The astonished +eyes shone out from white circles framed in +ebony sunbursts; the nose was like an islet +washed by jetty waves; the mouth slowly +widened under a fiercely upcurved line of +inky hue. +</p> +<p>In the study on the other side of the door, +remorseful Bea was wearing several paths in +their best rug, as she waited for some sign. +Suddenly a new sound welled up and she +bent her head to listen, in quick dread of +another storm of weeping. But, no! This +was different. It was not a sob, though it +did seem rather gaspy. It bubbled and chuckled. +It was laughter. +</p> +<p>“Lila!” cried Bea, and made a dash +toward the room. Lila flung open the door. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></p> +<p>“Bea!” she answered, “I am going to +give a tea for my Aunt Sarah. Do you +think Sue Merriam will come if I invite +her?” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='II_ENTER_ROBBIE_BELLE' id='II_ENTER_ROBBIE_BELLE'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>ENTER ROBBIE BELLE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Now it happened one evening in the early +fall, while Bea and Lila were learning to live +together, that the Students’ Association held +a meeting to appoint corridor wardens for the +year. +</p> +<p>In the throng that came pouring out of +chapel afterward, Bea, who had an eel-like +rapidity in gliding through crowds, found +herself at the doors some yards in advance of +Lila. Halting to wait in the vestibule, she +overheard a junior instructing a new freshman +officer in her duties. +</p> +<p>“It is very simple. Oh, no, Miss Sanders, +no, indeed! There is nothing meddlesome +about it. You’re not expected to spy upon +the girls in your neighborhood. The aim is +merely to preserve a certain degree of quiet. +Girls are often thoughtless about being noisy +in the corridors. Simply remind them now +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +and then in flagrant cases that they are disturbing +those who wish to study. Of course +you must be tactful, though it is rarely that +a student wilfully disregards the rights of +others.” +</p> +<p>Bea peered around the edge of her particular +door in order to catch a glimpse of +this freshman so distinguished. It was the +tall, fair-faced child with the splendid long +braid, who lived at the end of Berta’s transverse. +Now the sweet mouth was drooping +disconsolately, and the big eyes looked dewy +with anxious tears. +</p> +<p>“I—I don’t think I’d like to,” she said. +</p> +<p>“Oh, but it is something that must be +done, and you have been selected as the one +in that vicinity who strikes us as best fitted +for the duties of the position. It is really, +you know, a case of public service. Every +one at some time or other ought to be willing +to make sacrifices of personal desires for the +good of the community, don’t you think? +But forgive me for preaching. I didn’t mean +to. By the way, how do you like college, +Miss Sanders?” +</p> +<p>“It isn’t so much fun as I had expected,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +said she. Bea’s head popped around the door +again. The junior was smiling with an air of +amused superiority. +</p> +<p>“Ah, yes, I understand. Probably you +used to have a sister or cousin at college, and +from her letters you supposed that the life +was composed chiefly of dancing, fudges and +basket-ball with a little work sandwiched in +between. Is it not so? And now——” +</p> +<p>“I don’t mind the work,” here Bea’s head +popped out a third time to contemplate this +interesting classmate, “but——” +</p> +<p>“Beatrice,” called Lila at her other ear, +“Berta says to hurry or we’ll miss the best of +the fun. It’s to be a sheet-and-pillow-case +party to-morrow, and a lot of the girls are +coming in to learn how to do the draping. +Berta has an idea. Come along quick!” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle Sanders stared after them +wistfully. “Those girls live near me,” she +said, “they have fun all the time.” +</p> +<p>The junior’s keen glance spied in the open +countenance something that kept her lingering +a moment longer. “This is a democratic +place,” she said in a more sympathetic tone, +“every girl finds her own level sooner or later. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +The basis is not money or social rank of the +families at home. It is not brains or clothes +or stuff like that. It is simply that the same +kind of girls drift together. They’re congenial. +It seems to be a law. A general law, you +understand. Of course,” she hesitated for an +instant before being spurred on by her sense +of scrupulous honesty, “there are exceptions. +Once in a while a girl fails to find her +special niche. Maybe she rooms off the +campus and is not thrown in contact with her +own kind. She may be abnormally shy—that +hinders her from making friends. Or perhaps +she does something that queers herself +first thing.” +</p> +<p>“Queers herself?” echoed Robbie Belle, +“how does a person queer herself?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know.” She paused to reflect. +“She does outlandish things. And still it +isn’t what she does so much as what she is. +Her acts express her character. If her character +is queer, she behaves queerly, and the +others fight shy of her. After all, I dare say +she does find her own level, and there is nobody +else there. So she goes along solitary +through the four years.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span></p> +<p>Robbie Belle looked frightened. “I wish I +knew what things are queer,” she said. +</p> +<p>“Oh, being different from the other girls, +for instance, awfully different, so different +that everybody notices it. Not just original, +you know, but actually queer. Watch the +girls, particularly those who always go around +alone, and you’ll learn. Good-night, Miss +Sanders. I must congratulate you again on +the honor of being appointed freshman warden. +Good-night.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle walked slowly down the corridor +to her room. “I wonder if I am queer,” +she thought. “I am almost always alone.” +She halted before a door that displayed a +small square of white paper pinned in the +middle of its upper half. Robbie Belle, her +hand on the knob, regarded the sign hopelessly. +“If you have a roommate who never +takes down her <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Engaged</span>, and she doesn’t like +company and she won’t go anywhere with +you herself, maybe you can’t help being +queer.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle entered softly. It was a large +room and seemed quite bare because of the +absence of curtains, rugs, and cushions. The +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +unsociable roommate was sitting beside the +centre table, her elbows propped on its shiny +surface that was innocent of any cover and +ignorant of the duster. A green shade over +her eyes connected a blur of nondescript hair +with a rather long nose beneath which a pair +of pale lips in the glow of the drop-light +was rapidly gabbling over some lines in Greek +scansion. +</p> +<p>Without looking up, she waved one hand +forbiddingly; and Robbie Belle obediently +shut her mouth over the few words that were +ready to be uttered in greeting. She stood +waiting in her tracks, so to speak, until the +final hexameter had wailed out its drawling +length, and Miss Cutter pushed back the green +shade. +</p> +<p>“Well,” she demanded, “what was the important +business before the meeting? I could +not spare valuable time for self-government +foolishness to-night.” +</p> +<p>“They appointed corridor wardens,” answered +Robbie Belle. +</p> +<p>“Oh, indeed! It is certainly time, I must +say. In theory it is all very well to make the +rules a matter of honor, but when you happen +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +to live in a nest of girls who behave as if they +were six years old, I insist that something +more forcible than chapel admonitions is required. +Who is the warden for this neighborhood?” +</p> +<p>“I am,” said Robbie Belle. +</p> +<p>“You are!” Miss Cutter pushed the green +shade farther up on her high forehead. “Well, +I must say!” She surveyed her roommate +with new interest. “How exceedingly extraordinary!” +</p> +<p>Robbie shifted her weight to the other foot. +“I didn’t want to be,” she said. +</p> +<p>“No, of course not, and you nothing but a +child yourself. It must be your height and +that grave way you have of staring. With +that baby-face, couldn’t they see that your +dignity is all on the outside?” +</p> +<p>Robbie said nothing, but if Miss Cutter had +not been quite so near-sighted she might have +spied deep in the violet eyes a glint of black +remotely resembling anger. +</p> +<p>“Think of appealing to a sixteen-year-old +infant—really you are literally in-fans, which +is to say, one without the power of speech! +Fancy me applying to you to compel quiet +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +in the halls! Imagine that boisterous crowd +trailing after Miss Abbott and Miss Leigh et al.—Hist!” +She lifted her head like a warhorse +sniffing battle near. “There they are now.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle lifted her head too and +listened, although indeed the noise would +have penetrated to the most inattentive ears. +A multitude of feet were marching lock-step +past the door to a chorus of giggling, stifled +squeals and groans, while at intervals a voice +choking with emotion rose in shrill accents: +“There was an old woman all skin and bones, +o-o-oh!” When it faltered and collapsed on +the o-o-oh, the other voices joined in and +dragged out the syllable to lugubrious and +harrowing length. Then some one giggled +hysterically and another squealed. The soloist +took up the verse: “She went to the +church to pray, o-o-oh!” The chorus wailed +and moaned and croaked and whimpered and +groaned in concert. Miss Cutter regarded +Robbie Belle sternly. +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle’s shoulders rose and fell over +a deep breath. She stepped across to the door +and closed the transom softly just as the next +weird line hissed out above the tumult and +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +then sank into its smothering welter and moan +of vowels. Robbie spoke more loudly. +</p> +<p>“One of them said that they were going to +dress up in sheets and pillow-cases to-night. +They are practicing for the Hallowe’en party. +It’s only fun.” +</p> +<p>Berta’s voice—it was Berta who did the solo—here +rose in a quavering shriek that halted +not for keys in their holes or transoms in their +sockets: “The worms crawled in and the +worms crawled out, o-o-o-oh!” +</p> +<p>Miss Cutter rose to her indignant feet. +“Roberta Sanders, as you are the corridor +warden for this neighborhood, I appeal to you. +I make formal complaint——” +</p> +<p>“They’ve gone.” Robbie Belle smiled in +relief and sat down rather quickly. The +lock-step had receded into the muffled distance +and the ear-splitting wail wafted back +in tones that grew steadily fainter. +</p> +<p>Miss Cutter took off her glasses, rubbed +them bright, put them on again, and contemplated +Robbie Belle. +</p> +<p>“I do believe that you would rather I suffered +than that they became offended with +you. You are afraid to rebuke them.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p> +<p>Robbie’s eyes fell and the guilty color rose +slowly through the delicate skin of throat and +brow. But Miss Cutter did not see it. She +had pulled down the green shade and propping +her elbows in their former position had +returned to her scansion. She had wasted too +much time already. +</p> +<p>Conscience-smitten Robbie Belle slid silently +through the door and stood at loss for a +minute in the deserted corridor. It was Friday +night. Nobody studied on Friday night +except girls who were queer or who roomed +with superior special students like Miss Cutter. +On her first day at college Miss Cutter +had remarked that there might be a vacant +seat of congenial minds for Robbie at her table. +Somehow the grave young freshman who was +hoping for fun failed to find them satisfying. +She had not won a real friend yet, and here it +was the end of October. +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle was not conceited enough to +feel sorry for herself, or else she might have +perceived a certain pathos in that listless +journey of a lonely child from her worse than +solitary room to the deadly quiet of the +library. One of the hilarious ghosts who +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +were weaving spells under the evergreens happened +to glance in through a great softly shining +window and recognized the drooping head +above a long deserted table between the shelves +of books. +</p> +<p>“There’s our noble warden,” whispered Bea, +“studying on Friday night! Looks like a +dig as well as a prig, n’est-ce-pas?” +</p> +<p>Berta’s eager dark face grew sober under +the swathing folds of her pillow-case. “Maybe +it isn’t her fault,” she said. +</p> +<p>But Robbie Belle unaware of this precious +drop of sympathy plodded through an essay +on Intellect, wrote out a laborious analysis, +and at the stroke of the nine-thirty gong crept +reluctantly back to her room. The next +morning she translated her Latin, committed +a geometrical demonstration to a faithful +memory, consumed a silent luncheon amid a +dizzying cross-fire of psychological arguments, +walked around the garden, through the pines +and over the orchard hill for a scrupulously +full hour of exercise, read her physiology +notes, and composed one page of her weekly +theme before dinner time. After dinner she +stood in a corner of Parlor J and watched the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +dancing. Then she went to chapel with Miss +Cutter, returned alone in haste to dress in the +concealing sheet and pillow case. It was +rather difficult to manage the drapery without +aid, especially in the back and at the sides. +The strange junior who had chosen Robbie’s +name from the class list and undertaken to +escort her to the party found awaiting her a +rumpled young ghost with raiment that +sagged and bagged quite distressingly in unexpected +places. But the eyes that shone +from between the crooked bands of white were +joyous with excitement. In this disguise she +was sure that no one would recognize her; +and so of course they would not know that she +was queer, and perhaps she would have fun at +last. +</p> +<p>And at first it really seemed as if she would. +Imagine a big gymnasium with jack-o’-lanterns +on the rafters and a blazing wood-fire in the +wide fireplace, and five hundred figures in +white circling and mingling among the +shadows, and at least a thousand sticks of +candy, and three big dish-pans full of peanuts, +and gallons and gallons of red lemonade. +When her escort proposed that they should go +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +up-stairs to look in upon the seniors and +sophomores who were having a country dance, +Robbie Belle moistened her lips and said, “If +you please, don’t wait for me. I enjoy it so +much here.” Then at the junior’s formal, +“Oh, certainly, Miss Sanders!” she remembered +that often people did not understand +her unless she used a bothersome number of +words. So she added hastily, “I mean that +you must go with your own friends and leave +me here, because I am watching some girls I +know, and I want to speak to them. Please +don’t trouble any more about me, thank +you.” +</p> +<p>“I do know them,” she assured herself as +her escort disappeared, “and I do want to +speak to them even if they don’t know me. I +think”—she hesitated and turned quite pale +at the prospect of such daring, “I think I +shall go and play with them. They will +suppose I am one of them. Nobody will +know.” +</p> +<p>At this point the file of impudent ghosts, +headed by Berta, who looked unusually tall +and still angular under her flowing sheet, +paraded past Robbie Belle’s corner, their +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +elbows flapping like wings. With a gasp for +courage she took one step forward and found +herself prancing along at the end of the line. +</p> +<p>It was such fun! Robbie Belle had shot up +to an annoying stature so comparatively early +in life that her romping days seemed to have +broken short off in the middle. She had +never had enough of tag and hide-and-seek +and coasting. She hated long skirts. Indeed +that was one reason why she longed to join +the enviable circle of freshmen around Berta: +they wore golf skirts all day long, except +when hockey called for the gymnasium costume +or bicycling demanded its appropriate +array. The reason why she liked Miss Abbott +best of course was because her name was Roberta, +too. +</p> +<p>On this Hallowe’en, in joyous faith in her +disguise, she forgot her height and breadth +and the dignity imposed thereby. And anyhow +Berta Abbott was just as tall, if not of +such stately proportions. So Robbie Belle +with exulting zest in the frolic raced up-stairs +and down with the mischievous band of +freshmen. They skipped saucily around +members of the faculty, chased appreciative +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +juniors, frightened the smallest forms into +scuttling flight, and gave their great performance +of “There was an old woman all +skin and bones,” in the middle of the upper +hall, where the seniors were entertaining the +sophomores. +</p> +<p>It was fun to howl. It was so long since +Robbie Belle had grown up that she had +almost forgotten the joy of using her lungs to +their full capacity. With her spirits dancing +in the afterglow of such vocal exercise, she +marched after the others down to the hall +below. There in the vestibule Berta halted +her followers for final instructions. +</p> +<p>“Now, girls, fall into line according to +height. We are going to astonish——Why!” +She fixed two amazed dark eyes +upon the tallest, “who are you?” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle heard; she felt her heart +shriveling within her; her shoulders seemed +to shrink together; her head drooped. Then +turning away slowly she moved toward the +gymnasium apartment, a loose corner of her +robe trailing at her abashed heels. But she did +not escape swiftly enough to avoid catching +the sound of hisses. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></p> +<p>“Ha! an interloper!” +</p> +<p>“Hist! ye false intruder!” +</p> +<p>“Seize him! To the shambles!” +</p> +<p>“To the guillotine! Ho, brothers! pursue!” +</p> +<p>That made Robbie Belle flee so fast that +she was able to take refuge behind Prexie +himself while the vengeful furies withdrew to +a respectful distance. That night when she +was shaking her pillow back into its case +Robbie noticed some damp spots amid its +creases. A few minutes later she laid her +head down on it and proceeded to create some +more. There was only one comfort in the +throng of scorching reflections: this was that +it had not been Berta’s voice that had called +her an intruder. Perhaps Berta did not think +she had done something so awfully wicked +after all. +</p> +<p>This faint hope infused more dreadful bitterness +into the incident that happened in +mathematics C on Monday. Anybody would +have believed that Berta was offended past +forgiveness. She sat next to Robbie. She +was not very well prepared that morning, +possibly in consequence of Saturday’s excitement. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +The instructor was more than usually +curt and crisp with an unsmiling sternness +that struck terror to palpitating freshman +hearts. In the middle of the hour Berta became +aware that a problem was traveling rapidly +down the row toward her; and she had +not been paying attention. She had not even +noticed the statement of it, for it had started +at an apparently safe distance from her seat. +Turning with a swift motion of the lips she +asked Robbie Belle to tell her. And Robbie +Belle—how she longed to tell it! It had almost +leaped from her lips while conscience +reasoned wildly against it as deceit. It would +not be honest. And yet—and yet—the girls +would think she was queer. They would say +she was mean and priggish, for she might +have told Berta as easily as not. +</p> +<p>There! the third girl from Berta was trying +to explain her own ignorance and failing +brilliantly. Now the second was stammering +through a transparent bluff. Berta had +settled back, coolly resigned to fate. How she +must suffer, after having stooped to ask for +aid! Poor Robbie Belle! Poor, lonely, disappointed +Robbie Belle! For strange to say she +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +flunked too and the question journeyed on +triumphantly to the mathematical prodigy at +the end of the row. +</p> +<p>In the corridor outside Berta exerted her +nimble self to overtake Miss Sanders, who was +sidling away in a strikingly unprincesslike +manner, her eyes shifting guiltily. +</p> +<p>“So you didn’t know the answer either? +Wasn’t that the biggest joke on me! And +really, Miss Sanders, I beg your pardon for +asking. It popped out before I could gather +my wits. I am scared to death in that class, +though of course that is no excuse for sponging. +I’m glad you didn’t know it enough to +tell me after all.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle lifted the lashes from her +flushed cheeks. “I—I did know it,” she said +with a gulp. +</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Berta, and stared, “how—how +peculiar!” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle held back the tears till she +had reached her room, seized her hat and +snatched her thickest veil. Then she fled to +the loneliest walk among the pines. Her veil +was a rarity that rendered her an object of +curiosity to everybody she passed on the way. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +But she hurried on, somewhat comforted by +the conviction that no one could mark her +reddened eyelids. In truth she had good +need of comfort, for Berta Abbott herself had +said that she was peculiar. And peculiar +meant queer! +</p> +<p>That evening Robbie sat down to study for +the Latin test announced for the next day. +Miss Cutter was studying, too, harder than +ever. The green shade was pulled so fiercely +forward that a fringe of hair stood up in a +crown where the elastic had rumpled it. Her +grammar, lexicon and text-book occupied most +of the table, but Robbie did not complain. +She could manage very well by laying her +books, one on the open face of another, in +her lap. For once she was grateful that an +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Engaged</span> sign shielded them from interruptions, +for Latin was her shakiest subject, especially +the rules of indirect discourse. The +instructor had warned the class that this weak +spot was to be the point of attack. If +Robbie Belle should not succeed in drumming +the rules into her head before the ideas in it +began to spin around and around in their +usual dizzy fashion when she waxed sleepy, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +she might just as well stay away from the +recitation room. Or better perhaps, for in +absence there was a possibility of both doubt +and hope: hope on Robbie Belle’s part that +she might have been able to answer the questions +if she had been there, on the teacher’s +part doubt concerning the exact extent of the +pupil’s knowledge. +</p> +<p>At the end of the corridor just outside +their door a narrow stairway led to the north +tower rooms on the floor above. Beatrice +Leigh and Lila Allan and a number of their +liveliest friends lived up there on the fifth, +with Berta Abbott at the foot of the stairs +near Robbie’s place of abode. +</p> +<p>Just as Robbie’s usually serene brow was +puckering its hardest over the sequence of +tenses, a door banged open in the tower and +the stairs creaked under swift clatter of +feet—a dozen at the very least. +</p> +<p>Miss Cutter scowled beneath the green +shade; Robbie Belle could tell that from the +way the fringe of upright hair vibrated. +</p> +<p>“Savages!” she muttered, “they’ll tear the +building to pieces. No wonder the newspapers +report that the college girl’s favorite +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +mode of locomotion is sliding down the banisters.” +</p> +<p>“No,” said Robbie Belle, “not that. They +take hold of the railing and jump several +steps at a time. I’ve seen them. Miss Leigh +says she does it for exercise.” +</p> +<p>“And this also is exercise!” Miss Cutter +clutched her ears as a tornado swept past their +threshold. +</p> +<p>Robbie bent to listen anxiously. “They’re +going to the ice-cooler,” she said, “pretty soon +they will go back again.” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Miss Cutter as she rose and +moved toward the door, “they will doubtless +go back, and doubtless also they shall go in a +different manner.” +</p> +<p>Then she went out and remonstrated briefly +but to the point. Whereupon the culprits +apologized with noble profusion and tiptoed +their way to the stairs. This would have +been an admirable proof of repentance if their +heels had not persisted in coming down on +the bare boards in very loud clicks at very +short intervals. And every click was greeted +by a reproving chorus of “Sh-sh-sh!” +</p> +<p>The instant they reached the hall above, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +pandemonium broke loose. To judge from +the sounds, they were playing blindman’s +buff with scampering of heavy shoes, scraping +of chairs, banging against walls, flopping on +mattresses. Even reluctant Robbie Belle +looked upward in fear that the ceiling might +fall. When a deputation of wild eyed sophomores +from an adjacent study arrived to protest +against a continuation of the outrage, the +shrinking corridor-warden had no loophole +for escape from her duty. Outwardly calm, +inwardly quivering, she mounted the stairs to +expostulate on behalf of the Students’ Association +for Self-Government. +</p> +<p>When the peace officer reached the foot of +the flight, the noise sank abruptly into a silent +scurrying—on unadulterated tiptoes this time. +When she appeared at the top, she beheld the +tower hall deserted, every door shut and a +suspiciously profound stillness reigning in the +dimly lighted Paradise of fun. Ah! she drew +a breath of relief from away down in her +boots. Surely now she had performed her +duty. Nobody could expect her to find fault +after the disturbance had ceased. Now the girls +below would be at liberty to study in peace. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>Barely had she completed her hurried descent +before the strange silence above was +shattered suddenly by the simultaneous banging +of seven doors. Seven full-lunged voices +burst forth into a howling song, while twice +as many feet thumped and tapped and pranced +and pounded in the mazes of an extemporaneous +jig. +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle halted instantly, with a quick +lift of her head. Her nostrils quivered. Her +violet eyes snapped black. Her hands +clenched. Turning swiftly she mounted the +stairs once more. But this time she was +angry. The uproar was an insult to the authority +of the Students’ Association. She forgot +for the minute all about shy Robbie Belle. +</p> +<p>And the mischievous freshmen above—the +flippant fun-loving irresponsible six-year-old +freshmen—they waited ready to meet the +warden with an impudent burst of revelry, +and thus to dash her official dignity from its +exasperating estate. When they saw Robbie +Belle’s face they simply stared. They listened +in silence to the few rapid words that stung +and burned and smarted. They watched her +depart, her head still held at its angle of +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +wrathful justice. Then they looked at one +another. +</p> +<p>They could not see how, when once safely +in the haven of her room, she broke down utterly +and lay trembling and sobbing in Miss +Cutter’s astonished arms. Now at last she +had surely committed an unpardonable offense +against the only girls for whom she +cared in the whole collegeful—especially +Berta. Now Berta would be certain she was +queer. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile in the tower, Berta drew a long +breath and glanced around at her dismayed +and sobered companions. +</p> +<p>“The more I see of that girl,” she said, +“the better I like her. And we have been +awfully silly—that’s a fact. The next time I +see her I shall tell her so too. Now suppose +we go and do a little studying our own +selves.” +</p> +<p>Somehow or other before Thanksgiving Day, +Robbie Belle Sanders had ceased to be disappointed +in college. With Berta for a dearest +friend and Miss Cutter withdrawn to a more +congenial neighborhood, she was finding it +even more fun than she had expected. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='III_A_QUESTION_OF_ECONOMY' id='III_A_QUESTION_OF_ECONOMY'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>A QUESTION OF ECONOMY</h3> +</div> + +<p>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>I love</span> music myself,” said Robbie Belle, +lifting serene eyes from her porridge, “but to-day +is Thanksgiving Day.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” sighed Berta, as she clasped her +hands—those thin nervous hands with the +long fingers that Robbie Belle admired all the +more for their contrast with her own dimpled +ones, “think of hearing Caruso and Sembrich +together in grand opera! I could walk all +the way on my knees.” +</p> +<p>“What!” cried Robbie Belle in wide-eyed +astonishment, her spoon half way to her +mouth, “walk seventy miles! And miss the +Dinner?” +</p> +<p>The graduate fellow at the head of their +table looked quite sad as she nodded her +pretty head, though to be sure her napkin was +hiding her lips. +</p> +<p>“Why!” gasped Robbie Belle, freshman, +“but Dinner is to begin at three and last till +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +almost six. And we are going to have salted +almonds and nesselrode pudding and raw oysters +and chocolate peppermints and turkey +and sherbet and macaroons and nuts and +celery and Brussels sprouts and everything. +We are painting the place-cards this morning +and one is for you. It is a shame for you to +sacrifice it just to hear grand opera, Miss +Bonner. Are you really intending to take +the nine o’clock train?” +</p> +<p>Again the fellow nodded. Robbie Belle’s +wondering gaze rested a moment on Berta’s +gypsy face alight now with an intensity of +longing. Deliberately depositing her spoon +on one side of her saucer and her buttered bit +of roll on the other she devoted her entire +attention to this marvel. +</p> +<p>“I cannot understand,” she said clearly, “it +is only singing. And to-day is Thanksgiving +Day. It comes once a year.” +</p> +<p>Miss Bonner brushed her napkin across her +mouth rather hurriedly and excused herself +from the table. Robbie Belle watched her +retreating down the long vista of the dining-room. +</p> +<p>“Would you honestly choose to go with +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +her if you could, Berta?” she asked, “grand +opera is only something to see and hear and +then it is all over.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Robbie Belle!” groaned Berta, “how +about the Dinner? That is only something +to eat, and then it is all over too.” +</p> +<p>“Why don’t you go if you want to?” inquired +Robbie Belle as she reflectively picked +up her roll again. “We can invite somebody +else to take your place at the table. Bea and +Lila are going to the hothouse for smilax and +chrysanthemums.” +</p> +<p>“Why don’t I go?” Berta leaned back +and drew a long and melancholy sigh from the +bottom of her boots. “Girls,” she turned to +the others who were still lingering over their +breakfast, “she asks why I don’t go to hear +grand opera. And it costs two dollars railroad +fare even on a commutation ticket, and +seats are three dollars up, and I have precisely +thirty-seven cents to last me till Christmas.” +</p> +<p>“Oh,” commented Robbie Belle repentantly, +“I didn’t think. I’d love to pay for all of +you, only I haven’t any money either.” +</p> +<p>Berta clutched at her heart and bent double +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +in a bow of gratitude unspeakable. Robbie +Belle continued to stare at her thoughtfully. +“If you truly want to, Berta, we might save +up and go to the opera some other day. I’m +willing.” +</p> +<p>“Willing! Dear child! Willing! Behold +how she immolates herself upon the altar of +friendship! She is willing to go to grand +opera and sit listening to sweet sounds from +dawn to dark——” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Berta!” interrupting in alarm, “not +from dawn to dark really? How about——” +</p> +<p>“Luncheon?” the other caught up the +sentence tragically. “Ah, no, but calm thyself, +dear one. Be serene—as usual. There is +an intermission for luncheon. We could go to +a restaurant. It would be a restaurant with a +vinegar cruet in the centre of the table and +plates of thick bread at each end and lovely +little oyster crackers for the soup. Perhaps +if you had two dollars extra you might order +terrapin.” +</p> +<p>“And pickles,” put in Bea generously, +“with striped ice-cream.” +</p> +<p>“And angel food with chocolate frosting an +inch thick,” contributed Lila. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span></p> +<p>“It’s a long time till spring,” said Robbie +Belle regretfully, “but very likely we will +need all that while to save it up.” +</p> +<p>As it turned out, they did need all that +while to save it up. For beauty-loving Berta +with her eternally slim purse and hopelessly +meagre account-book, the plan at first seemed +only a vision of the moment. Nobody can +save out of nothing, can she? Robbie Belle, +however, had a stubborn fashion of clinging +to an idea when once it became fixed. Her +ideas, furthermore, were apt to be clean-cut +and definite. This is how she reasoned it +out: +</p> +<p>If a girl receives five dollars a month from +home to pay for books and postage and incidentals, +she is entitled to whatever she saves +from the allowance. Every time this girl refrains +from writing a letter, she has really +saved two cents or the value of the stamp, to +say nothing of the paper. Whenever she +walks down town instead of riding, she has a +right to the nickel to add to the fund in the +back of her top bureau drawer. If she buys +a ten-cent fountain-pen instead of a dollar one, +she virtually earns ninety cents. If she rents +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +a grammar for twenty-five cents instead of +paying one dollar and a half for a new book, +she is a thrifty person who deserves the difference. +Every time she declines—mournfully—to +drop in at the restaurant for dinner with +a crowd of friends, or refuses to join in a waffle-supper, +Dutch treat, she is so much nearer +being a melancholy and noble capitalist. +</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s all right for you,” assented +Berta airily when told of this working theory, +“but supposing you don’t have the money to +save in the first place? I fail to receive five +dollars a month from home or even one dollar +invariably; and I always walk to town and +never enter the restaurant except to wait while +you save ten cents by buying half a pound of +caramels when you want to buy a whole +pound.” +</p> +<p>“They’re forty cents a pound, Berta,” objected +scrupulous Robbie Belle. “I really +saved twenty cents yesterday, you see.” +</p> +<p>“Ah, of course, how distressingly inaccurate +of me. And I also—I saved five dollars +and fourteen cents by using my wash-stand +for a writing-table instead of buying that +bargain desk for four dollars and ninety-eight +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +cents. The extra fifteen was saved on the inkwell +I did not buy either. I say, Robbie +Belle Sanders, let’s save the entire sum by +denying ourselves that set of Browning we +saw last week.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle looked grieved. “You always +make fun of everything. You act as if you +didn’t care.” +</p> +<p>Berta turned away for a minute, and stood +gazing from the window of her little tower +room. The window was small and high, but +the view was wide and wonderful toward the +purple hills in the west. At length she said +something under her breath. Robbie Belle +heard it and understood. It was only, “I’m +afraid.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle knew that Berta was afraid of +caring too much. She had listened once in +twilight confidence under the pines to the +story of how Berta had been all ready to start +for college three years before, when a sudden +family misfortune changed her plans and condemned +her to immediate teaching. In the +bitterness of her disappointment she had +vowed never to set her heart on any plan +again. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p> +<p>Walking over to Berta’s side Robbie Belle +took the listless hand in both her comforting +ones. +</p> +<p>“Even if we shouldn’t manage it this year, +you know, we could try again next year. We +might earn something extra during the summer.” +</p> +<p>“Next year!” echoed Berta under her +breath. “I can’t count on next year—I dare +not. You do not understand, for your scholarship +is certain through the course, while mine +depends on what Prexie thinks I am worth. +I am under the eye of the faculty. Don’t +talk about next year. I am pretending that +this is the last time I shall be here in October, +then in November, then in December. I look +at everything—the lake, the trees, the girls, the +teachers, the dear, dear library, and say, +‘Good-bye! Good-bye, my college year.’ +They may not help me to come back, you +know. If I really try not to expect it, I will +not be disappointed in any case. Of course, +I am not worth four hundred dollars to them. +I am afraid to hope for it.” +</p> +<p>“Why, you are the brightest student here. +Bea says so and you know it!” exclaimed +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +Robbie Belle indignantly; “there isn’t any +question about your being granted another +scholarship when you apply for it next spring. +They weigh everything—intellect, personality, +character, conduct. Never you fear. If they +give only one scholarship in the whole college, +it shall be to you. You are superstitious: +you fancy that if you do your best to expect +the worst, the best will happen, because it is +always the unexpected that happens. Only +of course, that isn’t true at all.” +</p> +<p>Berta was smiling mistily around into the +fair face. “Dear old Robbie Belle! Will +Shakespeare was right—‘there’s flattery in +friendship’—it makes me rejoice. The +trouble, you see, sweetheart, lies in my character. +I misdoubt me that Prexie will spurn +my plea if he hears how often we have a +meeting of the fudge club at a tax of two +cents per head. Let’s save up that two cents +for the Opera fund.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle drew a deep sigh. “All +right,” she agreed with a doleful glance toward +the particular blue plate in which she +was accustomed to pour her share of the +delicacy. “Anyway the doctor calls fudge an +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +‘abomination.’ Bea will scold because she +hates scrimping. But then she doesn’t care so +much as we do for music unless it is convenient.” +</p> +<p>Berta’s contributions were the result of +more active exertions than the other’s passive +self-denial. She sat up one night till two +o’clock to dress a doll. Every fall a few +hundred dolls were distributed to be dressed +by the girls for the Christmas tree at the Settlement +House in the city. Some of the +students took dolls and paid other girls to +make the clothes. Berta earned a dollar by +helping Bea with the three which that impulsive +young woman had rashly undertaken. +In February she composed valentines and sold +them to over-busy maidens who felt unequal +to rhyming in the reaction after the midyear +examinations. In March she painted Easter +eggs and in April she arranged pots of growing +ferns and flowers from the woods. By +May the fund was complete and the tickets +were bought. +</p> +<p>As the longed-for event drew nearer, +Berta made a string of paper dolls and joyfully +tore off one for each passing day. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></p> +<p>At last the morning dawned. Robbie Belle +was dreaming that she had fallen asleep in +fifth hour Latin. It seemed as if the instructor +called her name and then came walking +down from the platform, thump, thump, +thump, in her broad-soled shoes. It was unladylike +to thump so heavily, thought Robbie +Belle in the midst of her confused dismay over +having lost the place in the text as well as +forgotten the translation. The thumping +sharpened to a rat-tat-tat upon the bedroom +door. +</p> +<p>“Robbie Belle, Robbie Belle, you lazybones! +The night watchman has knocked +twice already. Get up, get up this instant! +We’re going to hear Grand Opera to-day! +O-o-ooh!” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle lifted her head to listen. +“Berta Abbott, you’ve got a chill. I hear you +shivering. Hurry into your clothes this +minute. I’ll bring you the quinine.” +</p> +<p>Quinine! Berta shivering from excitement +laughed softly to herself. Dear old Robbie +Belle! Quinine on this wonderful day! +Listen! That was the twittering of swallows +under the eaves. A squirrel peered in at her +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +window, his bright eyes twinkling. It was too +bad that he did not enjoy music. But perhaps +he did after all. Hark! that was a +robin. And listen! There sounded the full-throated +whistle of a brown thrush. The +world was ringing with music—beautiful, +beautiful, beautiful! And she was going to +hear Grand Opera to-day! That had been her +most precious dream next to coming to college. +To come to college and to hear Grand Opera +too! +</p> +<p>“My cup runneth over! My cup runneth +over,” she chanted softly to herself, while +from Robbie Belle’s room rose a faint noise of +deliberate dressing, subdued splashing, slow +steps, a rustling that was almost methodical in +its rhythm. +</p> +<p>“Berta,” she announced, appearing with +hat set straight and firm over her smooth dark +hair, her coat over one arm, her umbrella +neatly strapped, “I think I shall carry my +Horace, for it is a two-hours’ ride, and to-day +is Saturday and after Sunday comes Monday.” +</p> +<p>Berta clapped her hands over her ears, +“Go away, go away to your breakfast, miserable +creature! Horace! that worldly wise old +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +Roman! With the river before your eyes, the +beautiful river in May!” +</p> +<p>“The next ode begins, ‘O Fons Bandusiæ!’—a +fountain, you understand,” protested +Robbie Belle in injured tones, “he loved +the country. I wanted to read it aloud to +you and get in my practice on scansion +that way. I am learning to do it quite well. +Listen! ‘Splendidior vitro-o-o,’” she declaimed, +dragging out the syllables to lugubrious +length. +</p> +<p>“Dear Robbie Belle,” murmured Berta +pleasantly, “if you breathe one line of that +stuff on this journey I shall throw you into +the river myself—cheerfully.” She nodded +vigorous approval of her own sentiments, and +her contrary hair seized the opportunity to +tumble down again in resentment of impatient +fingers. “Oh, Robbie Belle, come and twist +this up for me, won’t you? We shall be late +for the train. I don’t believe we care for +breakfast anyhow.” +</p> +<p>“Not care for breakfast!” Robbie Belle +shut her mouth determinedly. She walked +over to the wardrobe, pinned Berta’s hat +securely on the fly-away hair, caught up her +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +jacket, tucked the tickets into her own pocket, +and sternly marched her scatter-brained friend +out of the room and down the corridor. +</p> +<p>“It’s gone to her head,” she muttered sadly +as if communing with herself, “the idea +of music has gone to her head. I must address +her soothingly. Yes, yes, we’re going—we’re +going soon, don’t worry. But we’re +a-going clothed and in our right mind—mine +at least, and fed.” +</p> +<p>On tiptoe they flitted down to the big +empty dining-room. A special breakfast was +being served to the dozen or more students +who intended to take the early train to the +city. The unaccustomed stillness in the vast +apartment usually vibrating with clatter of +dishes and chatter of tongues seemed dreamlike +to Berta in her exalted mood. Robbie +Belle found it necessary to exert her firmest +authority in order to get Berta to eat even a +roll and swallow a cup of chocolate. +</p> +<p>Two of the seniors who were going shopping +lamented that they had neglected to +apply for opera tickets until the house had +been sold out. Berta gazed at them pityingly. +To have the money and to be in the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +city, and yet not to be able to go! Why +hadn’t they thought of it in time? She had +anticipated it years in advance. This world +was full of queer people—all sorts of people +who did not care for music, and even some +who did not care for books. Wasn’t it the +strangest thing—not to care! +</p> +<p>When somebody consulting her watch announced +that the special electric car was to +leave the Lodge Gates for the station in seven +minutes, Berta dropped spoon and napkin +in eager haste to depart. Out into the corridor +and around the balusters to the messenger +room where they were required to register +their names and destination. At the foot of +the broad staircase hung the bulletin board in +the pale flicker of a lowered gas-jet. The +morning light was brightening through the +windows beyond. Berta halted mechanically +to scan the oblong of dark red in search +of possible new notices. Something may have +been posted since chapel last night. +</p> +<p>Ah, yes, there was a fresh square of white +tucked under the tapes that marked the felt +into convenient diamonds. Berta read it at a +glance. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>“All students requiring financial assistance +for the coming year are requested to make +written application to the President before +May 10th. It is understood that those receiving +such aid will exercise all reasonable economy +in avoiding unnecessary expenditure.” +</p> +<p>Berta did not move, though her mobile +face seemed to harden in a curiously stony +expression. She read the notice again. Robbie +Belle came breezily from the messenger +room. +</p> +<p>“Anything new, Berta? You look queer.” +She followed the direction of the fascinated +eyes. She read it slowly and drew a deep +breath. +</p> +<p>“So we can’t go after all,” she said. +</p> +<p>Berta seemed to wake up suddenly from +a trance. “Robbie Belle!” +</p> +<p>“I can’t help it,” doggedly though the +smooth forehead had clouded in a quick frown +of pain at the cry, “it would not be honest. +I didn’t know before.” +</p> +<p>“It’s our own money,” protested Berta +defiantly. +</p> +<p>“But our scholarships are the same as borrowed.” +</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/img-074.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='text-align:center;'> +“ANYTHING NEW?” +<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div> +<p>“The tickets are bought and paid for.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle caught a glimpse of figures +emerging from the dining-room. “There +come those two seniors who forgot to get seats +in advance. Isn’t it lucky! Now we can sell +them ours.” +</p> +<p>“Give me my ticket,” demanded Berta’s +voice sullenly, “you never cared.” +</p> +<p>“But it is not honest,” repeated Robbie +Belle stubbornly. “I never thought of it in +that light before. It is not honest to spend +five dollars and more for a luxury while we +are living on borrowed money.” +</p> +<p>“Give—me—my—ticket.” +</p> +<p>The seniors rustled past. To Berta their +laughter sounded far away. “Oh, girls, we’ll +have to hurry! Hear that bell jangle.” +</p> +<p>“The conductor does it on purpose to see +us run. We have three minutes yet. Those +two freshmen by the bulletin-board are +going.” +</p> +<p>“It is not honest,” said Robbie Belle. +</p> +<p>Fragments of gay chatter floated back to +them. “Caruso and Sembrich in Lucia di +Lammermoor! Fancy! It is the most wonderful +combination of extraordinary talent—genius. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +I shall certainly go if I have to stand +up every minute of the three hours.” +</p> +<p>“It is simply wicked to miss such an opportunity.” +</p> +<p>“Important part of our education, isn’t it? +I only wish my thesis were on the ‘Development +of the Drama.’ I should employ the +laboratory method most assuredly.” +</p> +<p>“The critics say that such a chance as +this does not occur more than once in a +century.” +</p> +<p>“It is not honest,” said Robbie Belle, back +in the shadowy corridor before the bulletin-board. +</p> +<p>“Will you give me my ticket?” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle flinched before the passionate +low tones, and the roseleaf color in her cheeks +went quite white. She handed Berta both +tickets. “You may do what you like with +mine,” she said and turned slowly away. +</p> +<p>Berta fled in the wake of the hurrying +seniors. Her head buzzed with frantic arguments. +It was her own money—she had +earned it. Nobody had a right to dictate +what she should do with it. Robbie Belle +never could see more than one side of a +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +question. To forbid unnecessary expenditure +just because she accepted a loan to carry her +through college! Who was to say whether it +was unnecessary or not? The Opera was part +of her musical education. She would repay +the scholarship with interest at the earliest +possible date after she began to earn a salary. +What meddling insolence! The girls who +held scholarships were the brightest and +finest in college—some of them. And to +treat them as if they were extravagant, silly +little spendthrifts! It was honest. Hadn’t +she denied herself everything all the +year—clubs and dinners and drives and +flowers and ribbons and gloves and new +books and fine note-paper and that cast of +the Winged Victory which she had wanted +and wanted and wanted? Not that she assumed +any credit for such self-denial—it +simply had to be, that was all. But now, +this was different. She owed it to herself +not to miss such a wonderful occasion. A +chance in a century—that was what the senior +said. +</p> +<p>Ting-aling, ting-aling! jangled the bell +madly. The conductor paused, his hand on +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +the strap. A breathless girl sprang upon the +platform, darted into the car, tossed a packet +upon a convenient lap. +</p> +<p>“There are two seats for the Opera. We +can’t go.” And she had leaped from the +moving steps and vanished through the great +iron gates of the Lodge. +</p> +<p>Back in the dormitory before the bulletin-board +Miss Bonner, the graduate fellow, was +staring at the new placard. She gave a slight +start of astonishment at a glimpse of Berta +hastening past her. Then because she had +heard the story from Robbie Belle two minutes +earlier, she pretended to be absorbed in +the notices, for she suspected that any comment +would start the tears that Berta was +holding back. However, she was smiling to +herself after the girl had vanished up the +stairs. When the gong struck for breakfast, +she halted at the faculty table to whisper a +few words to the professor in her special department. +The professor answered, “How +glad I am!” +</p> +<p>“And you really believe that it would have +prejudiced the scholarship committee against +Miss Abbott, if she had persisted in this extravagance? +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +She has worked so hard to +earn it.” +</p> +<p>“I understand,” the professor was sympathetic +but unswerving from her convictions; +“it seems somewhat cruel when one considers +how passionately fond of music the child is. +Still you must remember that this scholarship +fund is the result of endless self-denial. I +have known several alumnæ, to say the least, +who have sacrificed greater privileges than +visits to the Opera for the sake of contributing +an extra mite. Would it be just for +one who benefits from the economy of others +to spend in self-indulgence?” +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Berta, unconscious of the fact +that her whole college career and the future +to be moulded by it had depended upon her +decision to do right in this apparently insignificant +respect, had trudged up to a certain +lonely room. Robbie Belle lifted a wet face +from a consoling pillow. +</p> +<p>“Berta!” It was like a soft little shout of +triumph. “I knew——” +</p> +<p>Berta swallowed a lump in her throat and +managed to smile a whimsical smile from behind +dewy lashes. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></p> +<p>“Maybe we’ll have clam chowder for luncheon,” +she said, “and then won’t those two +seniors be sorry!” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IV_HER_FRESHMAN_VALENTINES' id='IV_HER_FRESHMAN_VALENTINES'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>HER FRESHMAN VALENTINES</h3> +</div> + +<p><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>When</span> Bea straightened her head from its +anxious tilt over the desk, she drew the tip of +her tongue from its perilous position between +two rows of white teeth, and heaved a mighty +sigh of relief. +</p> +<p>Then she blinked admiringly upon the +white pile of envelopes lying in the glow of +the drop-light. “There! That makes fifteen +valentines all for her. She will be sure to receive +more than any other senior, and that +will teach Berta Abbott a thing or two. The +idea of her insisting that her senior is more +popular than my senior!” +</p> +<p>With a smile that was rather more sleepy +than dreamy, the industrious young freshman +picked up the precious missives. +</p> +<p>“O Lila,—my magnanimous roommate,—are +you asleep? Do you want to listen to my +last valentines? I intend to run down and +put them in the senior caldron presently. Is +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +this sentimental? When I read it to Berta, +she laughed at it. +</p> +<div class='ce'> +<p>“My Music</p> +</div> + +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“At thy birth were gathered voices of the sea,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Murmur of the breezes in the forest tree,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Songs of birds and laughter—”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>At this point an open umbrella, which hid +the pillow on the farther narrow bed, gave a +convulsive shiver, and a fretful voice complained: +</p> +<p>“Will you turn off that gas and stop your +nonsense? Here it is midnight, if it’s an +hour, and I haven’t slept a wink, with that +light blazing. I know I shall fail in the written +test to-morrow, Valentine’s day or not.” +</p> +<p>Bea stared pensively at the Topsy-like +corona above the flushed face. “I don’t believe +she ever puts her hair up in curlers now, +do you? She is superior to such vanities, and +anyway, it is naturally curly, you know, and +that probably makes a difference. I wonder +if she even stoops to making verses. Do you +suppose she sends valentines to other girls? +Of course, she doesn’t care a snap whether +she receives more than any, and is declared +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +the most popular senior. H’m-m-m!” drifting +into reverie afresh. “I dare say I could +compose a poem on that idea. For instance: +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“I know a senior all sedate—”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The umbrella bounced tempestuously across +the floor, and was followed by a pillow driven +hard and straight at a tousled head that +ducked just in time. +</p> +<p>“U-huh!” ferociously. “Well, +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“I know a freshman, sure as fate!</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Who shall no longer sit up late,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Because her long-suffering roommate—”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Here the gas flared suddenly into darkness, +and slippered feet scurried away from the +desk. The door opened and shut quickly; +and Bea, her valentines clutched safely against +her dressing gown, was speeding through the +dark corridors toward the senior parlor. +There a kettle, overflowing with bits of +white, swung from a tripod before the +shadowy folds of the parlor portières. +</p> +<p>Ah! Bea, bending toward the caldron with +arm extended, stiffened without moving. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +She had heard something. Yes, there it was +again—a muffled footfall on the stairs near +by. Hark! Down the black shaft from the +cave above came stealing a second slender +figure in a flowing robe of some pale woolly +stuff. In her hands also was clasped a packet +of envelopes. +</p> +<p>“Hello, Berta!” Bea said. +</p> +<p>“Oh, good-morning, Miss Leigh!” responded +Berta, advancing with a tread the +stateliness of which was somewhat impaired +by a loosely flapping sole. “Did you rise +early in order to prepare for the Latin test?” +</p> +<p>Bea brushed aside the query with the contempt +it deserved. “Are all those for your +senior? I don’t think it’s fair for you to +copy verses out of any old book, while every +one of mine is original; and yet yours count +exactly as much. Well, anyway, I wouldn’t +send my senior anything that was ordinary +and unworthy of her acceptance. How many +have you?” +</p> +<p>This ignoble curiosity was likewise ignored +by Miss Berta, who proceeded with dignified +slowness to drop her valentines one by one +into the caldron. Bea, with lingering care, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +deposited her contribution on the very top. +One slid over the edge, and in rescuing it she +disturbed a fold of the portière. A glimpse +within set her eyes to sparkling. +</p> +<p>“Berta, there’s an open fire in the senior +parlor, and it’s still red!” +</p> +<p>“Ho,” whispered Berta, in reply to the unspoken +challenge, “I’m not afraid! Let’s,” +and two flowing, woolly robes glided into +the warm room, with its heart of glowing +coals. One bold intruder nestled in the biggest +arm-chair, the other fumbled for the +tongs. +</p> +<p>“Aren’t we wicked! Robbie wouldn’t do +it.” Berta cuddled deeper among the comforting +cushions. “But—oh!—doesn’t it feel +good in here!” +</p> +<p>Bea poked a coal until it split into a faint +blue blaze. “We’re worse than wicked. +We’re cheeky,—that’s what,—coming into +this room without being invited. Suppose +some senior should discover us!” She +paused, smitten by the terror of the new +thought. “Just suppose my senior should +find me here! She has a horror of anything +underhanded or sly. I should die of shame!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +It was a genuine groan, and Berta was too +startled to laugh. +</p> +<p>“I guess it isn’t very nice of us,” she acknowledged +meekly. +</p> +<p>“I’m going this instant.” Bea’s hand was +on the portière when a rustling in the kettle +caught her attention. Through a rift between +the folds she spied lace ruffles about a delicate +hand that was dropping envelopes down upon +the others. Over the tripod a face appeared +for one moment in the dim light, and then +was gone. Light steps retreated swiftly, and +a door closed not far away on the senior corridor. +Bea had recognized her senior. +</p> +<p>When the two midnight visitors stole +timorously forth a moment later, Bea’s eyes +traveled wistfully toward the big envelope lying +squarely on top of all the valentines. +</p> +<p>Berta regarded her keenly. “Why don’t +you march up and read the name, if you +want to so much?” was her blunt question. +</p> +<p>“She must be pretty fond of somebody,” +whispered Bea, “if she stayed up till now +just to write valentines for her. I wish——” +</p> +<p>“Do you think it is sneaking to look?” +persisted Berta. “If she objected to having +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +it seen, she might have turned it address +down.” +</p> +<p>“It is address down,” murmured Bea, sadly, +“and I know it would be dishonorable to try +to see it. She herself would call any act like +that contemptible.” +</p> +<p>At this crisis Berta sneezed—sneezed hard +and long and with suspicious vehemence. +And when Bea cast one lingering farewell +glance toward the caldron, she perceived that +the topmost missives were sliding over the +edge in the breeze raised by that gusty sneeze. +The big square envelope tumbled clumsily +down upon its back and lay staring, quite close +to the flickering gas. Bea’s wilful eyes rested +on it one illuminating instant, and then leaped +away, while her cheeks whitened suddenly. +The name on the valentine was that of the +senior herself. +</p> +<p>Poor little Bea! After the first dazed moment +she began to select and gather up the fifteen +valentines which she had deposited five +minutes before. +</p> +<p>“Why, Beatrice Leigh!” gasped Berta. +“You haven’t any right to take them back +after you have mailed them!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></p> +<p>“Do you imagine for one moment that I +shall give valentines to a girl who sends them +to herself? And the senior who receives the +most is declared the most popular in the +class!” +</p> +<p>“But—but,” stammered Berta, “perhaps she +thought—perhaps she didn’t think——” +</p> +<p>“And I was afraid a girl who could do a +thing like that might blame us for entering +the senior parlor uninvited!” +</p> +<p>Bea’s hands fell listlessly at her sides as +she walked away. “I don’t care,” she said. +And Berta, who was wise in some unexpected +ways, wondered why people always said +they did not care just when they cared the +most. +</p> +<p>Next day various anonymous verses were +delivered at the door where Lila Allan +wrestled with the rules for indirect discourse, +while her roommate, chin in hand, stared +gloomily out at the snow-darkened sky. +Valentines were silly, anyway, and it was a +shame for any one to waste time and energy +in hunting foolish rhymes for eyes and hair +and smiles and hearts. How could a person be +sure about anybody, if a girl with a face like +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +a white flower could send valentines to herself +with the address side down? +</p> +<p>All day long the senior caldron bubbled +notes faithfully till the very last minute. +After chapel the class fluttered into their little +parlor, with its fire blazing merrily and its +shaded lamps glowing. Somebody, disguised +in a long gray beard and flowing gray robe, +stalked in amid laughter and clapping, and +began to distribute the contents of the kettle. +</p> +<p>Berta, hanging at a perilous angle over the +stairway just outside, felt some one halt +silently beside her, and glanced up into Bea’s +eyes. +</p> +<p>“Hello!” she said, in an excited whisper. +“Can you see all right, Bea? I think she has +called my senior’s name about twenty times +already. Look how the valentines are heaped +in her lap! Where’s your senior?” +</p> +<p>“That person with the gray beard,” began +Bea, calmly, only to be interrupted by, +“Why, so it is! What fun! Where does she +put the envelopes addressed to herself? Oh, +yes, I see. Why——” Berta caught Bea’s +skirts in a firm grasp. “See here, young +lady, you’ll go over the banisters head first if +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +you don’t undouble yourself pretty soon. +You’ll——” +</p> +<p>“That’s the very valentine—that big, square +envelope in her hand this instant! She sent +it to herself——” +</p> +<p>Bea saw Saint Valentine read aloud the +name, and then stop short, staring at the address +in a puzzled way. She turned the envelope +over to examine its back, and study +the waxen seal. Suddenly she bent her head +in the delighted laughter that Bea once had +thought so charming. She laughed till the +long gray beard threatened to shake itself free. +</p> +<p>“Isn’t that the greatest joke! I was scribbling +verses last night till I was too sleepy to +see straight. I didn’t mean to send this to +myself. How perfectly ridiculous!” and she +tossed the innocent missive into the fire. +</p> +<p>Outside on the shadowy stairway Berta gave +a little squeal of pain. “Ouch! You’re +pinching me black and blue! Why, Bea, Bea +Leigh, whatever in the world——” +</p> +<p>A packet of white, bound with an elastic, +went flying through the air, to fall with a +rustling plop into the half-empty caldron. +An inquisitive senior going out to investigate +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +spied only the deserted stairs, and heard nothing +but four scampering feet on the corridor +overhead. Saint Valentine, with a voice that +dropped lower and lower into a muffled murmur, +read her own name fifteen times in succession, +and blushed rose-pink, from gray +beard to powdered hair, while the other seniors +laughed and laughed. +</p> +<p>Two minutes after the valentines had been +counted and the result announced Bea was +waltzing about Berta’s room, with that unwilling +captive in her arms. +</p> +<p>“Ho! Who says your senior is more popular +than my senior now?” she jeered. “Who +won that time, I want to know?” +</p> +<p>“Before I’d have a senior who sends valentines +to herself!” grumbled Berta wickedly, to +the ceiling. +</p> +<p>“Ho!” chanted shameless Bea. “I knew +it was a mistake all along. That’s the reason +I didn’t tear up my valentines.” +</p> +<p>“Yes?” commented Miss Berta, with an inflection +so maddening that in three seconds +she was fleeing for her life. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='V_THE_GIFTIE_GIE_US' id='V_THE_GIFTIE_GIE_US'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>THE GIFTIE GIE US</h3> +</div> + +<p>It had been raining for a week. Berta was +writing a poem, her elbows on the desk, her +hair clutched in one hand, her pen in the +other. At the window Robbie Belle was +working happily over her curve-tracing, now +and then drawing back to gaze with admiration +at the sweeping lines of her problem. +Once the slanting beat of the drops against +the pane caught her eye, and she paused for a +moment to consider their angle of incidence. +She decided that she liked curves better than +angles. She did not wonder why, as Berta +would have done, but having recognized the +fact of preference turned placidly back to her +instruments. +</p> +<p>Splash! came a fiercer gust of rain, and +Berta stirred uneasily, tossing her head as if +striving subconsciously to shake off a vague +irritation of hearing. Another heavier sound +was mingling with the steady patter. Rub-a-dub-dub, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +rub-a-dub-dub! Robbie Belle +glanced up and listened, her pencil uplifted. +</p> +<p>“It’s Bea,” she said, “she’s drumming with +her knuckles on the floor in the corridor. +She says that it is against her principles to +knock on the door when it has an engaged +sign on it. Shall I say come?” +</p> +<p>Apparently Berta did not hear the question. +With her chin grasped firmly in one +fist, she was staring very hard at a corner of +the ceiling where there was nothing in particular. +Robbie looked at her and sighed, +but the resignation in the sigh was transfigured +by loving awe. She picked up her +pencil in patient acquiescence. Berta must +not be disturbed. +</p> +<p>“Chir-awhirr, chir-awhirr, tweet, tweet, +tweet!” It was Bea’s best soprano, with several +extra trills strewn between the consonants. +“Listen to the mocking-bird. Oh, the mocking-bird +is singing on the bough. Bravo, +encore! Chir-awhirr! Encore! +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“‘Make me over, Mother April,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>When the sap begins to stir.</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>When thy flowery hand delivers</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>All the mountain-prisoned rivers,</p> +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></div> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>And thy great heart throbs and quivers</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>To revive the joys that were,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Make me over, Mother April,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>When the sap begins to stir.’”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Robbie Belle was leaning back in her chair +to listen in serene enjoyment. She loved to +hear Bea sing. Berta was listening, too, but +with an absent expression, as if still in a +dream. +</p> +<p>The voice outside the door declared itself +again. “Ahem, written by Bliss Carmen. +Sung by Beatrice Leigh. Ahem!” It was a +noticeably emphatic ahem, and certainly deserved +a more appreciative reply than continued +silence from within. After a minute’s +inviting pause, the singer piped up +afresh. +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“‘Make me over in the morning</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>From the rag-bag of the world.</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Scraps of deeds and duds of daring,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Home-brought stuff from far-sea faring,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Faded colors once so flaring,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Shreds of banners long since furled,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Hues of ash and hints of glory</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>From the rag-bag of the world.’ Ahem!”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The concluding cough was so successfully +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +convulsive that Robbie Belle’s mouth opened +suddenly. +</p> +<p>“It must be something important,” she +said. +</p> +<p>Berta woke up from her trance. “Come!” +she called. +</p> +<p>At the first breath of the syllable, the door +flew open with a specially prepared bang, and +Bea shot in with an instantaneous and voluntary +velocity that carried her to the centre of +the rug. +</p> +<p>“Oh, girls!” she exclaimed in the excited +tone of a breathless and delighted messenger +bringing great and astonishing news, “it’s +raining!” +</p> +<p>In the ensuing stillness, she could almost +hear the disgusted thud of expectation dashed +to earth. +</p> +<p>“Villain!” said Berta, and swung around +to her interrupted poem. +</p> +<p>Robbie’s puzzled stare developed slowly +into a smile. “I think that is a joke,” she +said. +</p> +<p>Then Bea laughed. She collapsed on the +sofa and shook from her boots to her curls. +It was contagious laughter that made Robbie +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +chuckle in sympathy and Berta grin broadly +at a discreet pigeon-hole of her desk. When +the visitor resumed sufficient self-possession to +enable her to enunciate, she sat up and inquired +anxiously, +</p> +<p>“Did you hear me sing?” +</p> +<p>Berta regarded her solemnly. “We did,” +she answered. +</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Robbie Belle. +</p> +<p>“Well, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m +going to change. I’m going to be made over, +Mother April. I’m going to turn into a +genius for a while. I’ve always wanted to be +a genius. It’s no fun to be systematic and +steady and conscientious, and so forth, is it, +Robbie Belle? At least it isn’t very much +fun, considering what might be done with our +opportunities. So I intend to behave as if I +had an artistic temperament. I am going to +let my work pile up, cut late, skip meals, +break engagements, never answer letters, give +in to moods, be generally irresponsible, and so +forth, just like Berta. I’m going to——” +</p> +<p>“What!” +</p> +<p>Bea laughed again mischievously at the +sound of outraged dignity in Berta’s voice. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +“Yes, I am. I have the spring fever: I don’t +want to do anything, and I don’t want to do +nothing either. In fact, this is the single +solitary thing I do want to do. That’s the +reason why it will be so agreeable to be a +genius. At least, it will be agreeable to +me, if not to my contemporaries and companions. +I shall do exactly as I please at +the moment. Another reason will be the +thrill of novelty—I’m simply dying for excitement.” +</p> +<p>“Thrill of novelty!” groaned Berta. “I +infer that you never do as you please. You +continually ‘sackerifice’ yourself——” +</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, of course, but I was afraid you +hadn’t noticed.” Bea raised her fingers to +smooth the corners of her mouth straight. +“Now, you’ve been growing worse—I mean, +more and more of a genius ever since entering +college. I myself ought to be called Prexie’s +Assistant, somewhat after the order of Miss +Edgeworth’s ‘Parent’s Assistant,’ you know, +because my career has been such an awful +warning to the undergraduate. But you’re an +example——” +</p> +<p>“I am not a genius,” Berta spoke with biting +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +severity of accent; “Lucine Brett is a +genius, and I despise her.” +</p> +<p>“You used to despise her,” put in Robbie +Belle gently. +</p> +<p>Berta caught her lip between her teeth for +a fleeting instant of irritation, for she was not +naturally meek. Then she glanced at Robbie +with a quick smile all the sweeter for the +under-throb of repentance over her impatient +impulse. “All right, I used to long ago. +But to return to our guest. I am not a genius, +I hasten to remark again. Furthermore I +shall be excessively obliged if Miss Leigh will +march out of this apartment and stay where +she belongs.” +</p> +<p>In the pause which was occupied by Bea in +considering a choice of retorts stupendous, +Robbie spoke again. +</p> +<p>“I think Bea misses Lila while she is in the +infirmary,” she said. +</p> +<p>Bea swung magnificently on her heel. “I +have decided that the proper rejoinder is a +crushing silence. I wish you good afternoon.” +At the door she halted. “And I shall be a +genius for a spell. You just watch me and +see. Shelley was lawless, you know, and +Burns and Carlyle, I guess, and Goethe and +George Eliot——” +</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +<img src='images/img-099.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='text-align:center;'> +“OH, THANK YOU; I DON’T WANT ANYTHING TO EAT” +<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></div> +<p>“What!” +</p> +<p>This was a shout of such indignation that +Bea vanished instanter. A moment later she +poked her head around the lintel. +</p> +<p>“Well, they were,” she said, “and so are +you. It is a marvel to me how you hoodwink +Prexie about your work. Pure luck! Vale!” +</p> +<p>Berta’s repartee consisted of a sofa pillow +aimed accurately at the diminishing crack. +</p> +<p>The next day was Saturday. Bea failed to +appear at breakfast—a catastrophe which had +not occurred before in the memory of the +oldest junior. Berta who usually arrived herself +half an hour late headed a procession of +inquiring friends, three of whom bore glasses +of milk and plates of rolls to supply the dire +omission. A succession of crescendo taps at +her door was at length rewarded by a drowsy-eyed +apparition in bath-robe and worsted slippers. +</p> +<p>“Oh, thank——” she exclaimed at sight of +the sympathetic group, and suddenly remembered +that she must be different from her ordinary +self. “I don’t want anything to eat. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +I didn’t feel exactly like getting up early. I +seem to prefer to be alone this morning.” +And she managed, though with a hand that +faltered at the misdeed, to shut the door in +their astonished faces. +</p> +<p>“Well, I never!” “What has happened?” +“Was it a telegram?” “How perfectly +atrocious!” “Is she sick?” “Beatrice Leigh +to treat us with such unutterable rudeness!” +</p> +<p>Berta listened with a queer little smile on +her sensitively cut lips. Once she noticed a +hasty twist of the knob as if Bea had snatched +at it from the other side under the prick of +the comments floating over the transom. As +she walked slowly away the smile faded before +a shadowing recollection. She was +wondering if her own manner had truly been +so unpardonable on that autumn morning +when Robbie had carried her a baked apple +with cream on it and plum bread besides. It +had certainly been irritating to be interrupted +in the middle of that rondel for the sake of +which she had skipped Sunday breakfast. +She had not forgotten how amazed and disappointed +Robbie had looked with the saucer in +one hand, the plate in the other, while the door +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +swung impatiently back to its place. But +then, the poem was sufficient excuse for that +discourtesy, Berta assured herself in anxiety +to justify her behavior. If she had waited to +be polite, the thought and the rhymes would +doubtless have scattered beyond recall. Nobody +could condemn her for slamming the +door and hurrying again to her desk. She +had saved the rondel, and it had been printed +in the Monthly. That was worth some sacrifice, +even of manners to dear old Robbie. +She always understood and forgave such small +transgressions of the laws of friendship. Only +it certainly looked different when somebody +else did it. +</p> +<p>An hour or so later while Berta was bending +devotedly over her notes in the history +alcove of the library, she was vaguely aware +of a newcomer sauntering carelessly behind +her chair. A heavy book clattered to the +floor, and somebody’s elbow in stooping to +pick it up nudged her arm. Her pen went +scratching in a mad zigzag across the neat +page and deposited a big tear of red ink where +it suddenly stopped. +</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m sorry,” exclaimed Bea repentantly, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +for she was indeed the culprit; “it’s +horrid to be heedless on purpose. I didn’t +know it would really do any harm.” +</p> +<p>Berta glanced up quickly from her blotter. +So Bea considered a reckless disregard for +books and persons also a quality of genius. +Berta felt a slow blush creeping up to her +brow at the candid memory of her tendency +to bump into things and brush against people +when in a dreamy mood—and to pass on +without even a beg pardon. +</p> +<p>“You’re evidently new to the business, my +cautious and calculating young friend,” she +whispered, “you should have ignored the +resultant calamity. Ah—why, child!” she +stared in surprise, “your collar is pinned +crooked and your turnover is flying loose at +one end, and your hair is coming down. You +look scandalous.” +</p> +<p>Bea looked triumphant also. “It’s an +artistic disarray,” she explained. “It’s hard +work because I’ve slipped into the habit of +being prim and precise, and I had to bend a +pin intentionally. Four girls already have +warned me about my hair falling down. It +worries me a lot and yet it doesn’t give the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +same effect as yours. Does yours feel loose +and straggly?” +</p> +<p>Berta’s hand flew to her head. “You sinner! +Mine is just as usual.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, I know it,” assented Bea innocently, +“it’s a negligee style. I’m being a geni——” +</p> +<p>“Go away!” Berta snatched up her bottle +of red ink. “Fly, villain, depart, withdraw, +retreat, abscond, decamp,—in short, go +away!” +</p> +<p>Bea went, holding her neck stiffly on one +side to balance the sensation of unsteadiness +above her ears. Berta watched her with a +wavering expression that veered from wrathful +amusement to uneasy reflectiveness. Was +it really true that she dressed so untidily as +this little scamp made out? Perhaps she did +slight details once in a while, but though not +scrupulously dainty like Lila, still she tried +to be neat enough on the whole. Could it be +possible that the other girls criticised her so +severely as this? +</p> +<p>The suspicion bothered her so effectually +that she left the library five minutes early and +hurried to her room for a few renovating +touches before luncheon. Her hair caused +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +her such extraordinary pains that she was late +in reaching the table. She found that Bea +had usurped her place at the head, but forgot +to object in the confusion of being greeted +with: “Heigho, Berta, what’s happened?” +“You’re spick and span enough for a party.” +“Are you going to town this afternoon?” +</p> +<p>“Young ladies!” Berta ignored the warm +color that she felt rising slowly under her +dark skin, “I am astonished at your manners. +Don’t you know that you should never refer +to an individual’s personal appearance? I +read that in a book on etiquette. You may +allude to my money, to my brains, to the +beauty of my soul, but you must not remark +upon my looks. I don’t understand the principle +of the thing, unless it is that compliments +on the other three articles fail to injure +the character, whereas flattery with regard to +my pulchritude——” +</p> +<p>Bea’s hand shot into the air and waved +frantically. +</p> +<p>“Please, teacher, what is that funny word?” +</p> +<p>“Go to the Latin lexicon, thou ignoramus.” +</p> +<p>“I can’t,” said Bea, “you borrowed mine +and never brought it back. It’s being a——” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></p> +<p>“But aren’t you going anywhere?” asked +Robbie Belle who had been filling Berta’s +plate and pouring her milk during the discourse. +</p> +<p>Bea sent a bewitching smile straight into +Berta’s eyes. “I’m ’most sure she is going to +give me a swimming lesson at half past four. +Then if it is still raining this evening, we +can all swim over to the chapel for the concert. +Please, Berta.” +</p> +<p>“All right,” acquiesced Berta carelessly. +“I will do it because I am so noble and you +are a literary person, though how in this +world of incomprehensibilities you managed +to get elected to that editorial board passes +my powers of apperception. Robbie, will +you be so kind as to reach me that saltcellar?” +</p> +<p>“You ought to say, ‘Salt!’ at the beginning, +and then while you are putting in the +rest of the words, she can be handing it over,” +advised Bea; “ah, what was the thought I was +about to think?” +</p> +<p>She paused in dispensing the main dish and +rolled up her eyes vacantly for a moment before +she dropped the spoon without a glance +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +at the cloth to see if it left a stain and rising +walked dreamily out of the dining-room. +</p> +<p>The other girls stared. Robbie looked +alarmed till Gertrude caught the likeness and +explained: “It’s ‘sincerest flattery’ for you, +Berta. Imitation, you understand. When +an idea strikes you, you drop everything +and wander away while Robbie or Bea picks +up the spoon and goes on ladling out the +stuff in the dish at your place. What a +monkey!” +</p> +<p>“No, a missionary,” corrected Berta, her +eyes and mouth contradicting each other as +usual. This time her eyes tried to hide a +troubled spark in their depths while her +mouth twitched over the joke of it all. “She +is posing as an awful example.” +</p> +<p>“Here I am again!” Bea appeared suddenly +in her seat. “I find I’m considerably +hungry still,” she vouchsafed in response to a +chorus of taunts and jeers. “Ideas aren’t +filling, so to speak. At least, mine aren’t—and +they most of them belong to other people; +hence I infer that other people’s aren’t +either. Is that plain, my dear young and +giddy friends? Now, somebody, applesauce!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +she called, and added politely, “please +pass it.” +</p> +<p>Berta regarded her sternly. “Beatrice +Leigh, you are running this scheme pretty far +into the ground. When you reach bed-rock, +something is likely to get a bump. Take care! +Remember!” +</p> +<p>“Thank you, yes, Berta. Half-past four at +the swimming-tank in the gymnasium. I’ll +be there. Trust me!” +</p> +<p>“Trust you!” echoed Berta in withering +scorn. +</p> +<p>Bea lifted a face bearing a suitably wounded +expression. +</p> +<p>“I trust you,” she murmured in touchingly +plaintive tones. “I shall be in the water at +the stroke of the half hour—in the icy water. +Promise that you will not fail me.” +</p> +<p>“All right!” Berta dismissed the engagement +from her mind with a heedless assent. +An hour later while she was absorbed in looking +over the week’s daily themes which she +had found in the box, Robbie walked in rather +disconsolately. +</p> +<p>“Bea’s writing a poem, too,” she said; “she +scowled at me.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></p> +<p>Berta frowned in abstraction. “Yes,” she +muttered, “yes, yes.” +</p> +<p>Robbie looked at her and then stared +out at the steady pall of rain. “I think I +shall go swimming with you, if you want +me.” +</p> +<p>“Do come.” It was a mechanical response +while Berta’s eyes narrowed in the intensity +of her application. “Now I wonder what +that question-mark on the margin can mean. +She is the vaguest critic I ever had. Suggestive, +I reckon, and nothing else.” +</p> +<p>Robbie sighed. “Bea always used to be interested +in everything. I wish she wouldn’t +write poems. She walked right past four +girls and didn’t see them. They were astonished. +They asked me if she was sick or +anything. Her eyes were sort of rolled up in +her head, as if she were being oblivious on +purpose.” +</p> +<p>“Um-m,” replied Berta brilliantly from the +depths of her own obliviousness, “quite +likely. Alas! there is another questionable +question-mark. I do wish she weren’t so +stingy with her red ink.” +</p> +<p>Robbie sighed again and looked at the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +clock. “It will be half past four in two +hours,” she volunteered. +</p> +<p>Berta pushed back her hair with an impatient +gesture. “Robbie Belle, the longer it +rains, the more loquacious you become. Do +go and write a note to Lila, or darn stockings +or something. I have a committee meeting at +three, and you bother me dreadfully, with +your chatter. Do run along, there’s a dear.” +</p> +<p>Robbie rose and wandered away forlornly. +Even though she did not feel like studying, +she half wished that she had not finished the +preparation of Monday’s lessons. College on +a rainy Saturday afternoon, when all your +friends are writing poems, is not a very cheerful +place. +</p> +<p>At half-past four Berta was in the midst of +a fiery argument about the program for the +Junior Party to the seniors. The dispute concerned +some fine point of æsthetic taste in the +choice of paper and position of monogram. +The stroke of the half hour reminded her of +the engagement with Bea, but she lightly +pushed aside the thought as of no consequence +in comparison with the present emergency. +</p> +<p>It was ten minutes to five when she seized +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +an umbrella and scurried across the campus +to the gymnasium. There in the dusk of fading +light from the clouded sky outside she beheld +the swimming-tank deserted, its surface +still glinting in soft ripples as if from recent +plunging. +</p> +<p>At sound of a rustle in one of the dressing-rooms, +Berta called Bea’s name. It was Robbie’s +voice that answered her. +</p> +<p>“Bea’s gone out walking.” +</p> +<p>“Out walking?” echoed Berta scandalized +and incredulous. +</p> +<p>“Yes, she was here in the water at half-past +four, just as she had said she would be. She +waited for you, and tried to swim at the end +of a curtain pole. I held it steady for her, +but when she was the teacher, she let me duck +under. And we weren’t sure about the stroke +anyhow. And we kept getting colder and +colder.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” the voice sounded as if suddenly +enlightened. “At what time did you go in?” +</p> +<p>“It was after three, and she waited for you +till twenty minutes to five. Then she said +she thought it would be interesting to go up +to the orchard and gather apple-blossoms with +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +rain-drops fresh on the petals. She said it +would be poetic and erratic and a lot of fun. +So she went. She said it would be more like +a real genius if she went alone, and so I +didn’t go with her. Besides that, she took +my umbrella, and it isn’t big enough for +two.” +</p> +<p>“It is queer that she did not wait longer,” +commented Berta wonderingly. +</p> +<p>“She said it would be more whimsical and +unexpected to stroll off in that eccentric way. +She explained how she is being made over, +Mother April, from the rag-bag of the world; +and so she has to be different.” +</p> +<p>“I hope that she gets very wet indeed,” +said Berta, “and I don’t see why I should +worry.” +</p> +<p>Robbie’s voice answered, “Bea worried +about you that day last fall when you went +off alone in that storm to find fringed gentians. +The branches were crashing down in +the wind, and one girl had seen a tramp out +on that lonely road. You said you could take +care of yourself, but we worried.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, that was different,” exclaimed Berta. +“I am perfectly capable of judging for myself. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +But Bea is such a scatterbrain that I +can’t help feeling”—she hesitated, then +added as if to herself, “There isn’t any +sense in feeling responsible. She is old +enough——” +</p> +<p>“I can’t hear when you mumble,” called +Robbie. +</p> +<p>“Bea is an awful idiot,” replied Berta in a +louder key. “Did you catch that valuable +bit of information, Robbie Belle?” +</p> +<p>“It sounds,” spoke Robbie with unexpected +astuteness, “as if you are really worrying +after all.” +</p> +<p>“Does it?” groaned Berta; “well, then I +am an idiot too.” +</p> +<p>She sternly refused to look anxious even +when the dressing-gong found the wanderer +still absent in the rain. At six Berta started +for the dining-room, leaving Robbie hovering +at Bea’s open door with a supply of hot +water, rough towels, dry stockings, and spirits +of camphor. In the leaden twilight of the +lower corridor a draggled figure passed with a +sodden drip of heavy skirts and the dull +squashing of water in soaked shoes. +</p> +<p>“Where are the apple-blossoms?” asked +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +Berta in polite greeting as they met at the +elevator. +</p> +<p>“I’ve b-b-b-been studying b-b-b-bobolinks,” +Bea’s teeth chattered. “It’s original to follow +birds in the rain.” +</p> +<p>“But”—Berta’s eyes snapped, “I myself +when I did it I wore a gym suit and a mackintosh +and rubber boots. Of all the idiots!” +</p> +<p>“‘O wad some power the giftie gie us,’” +chanted Bea’s tongue between clicks, +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“‘To see oursels as ithers see us,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>It wad fra mony a blunder free us,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>And foolish notion.’”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Then as Berta took a threatening step in +her direction, she broke into a run. “I think +I’ll take some exercise now,” she called back +mockingly as she fled up the stairs. +</p> +<p>At midnight Berta was roused wide awake +by an insistent rapping on the wall between +her room and Bea’s. Startled at last wide +awake, she asked what was the trouble. Upon +receiving no audible reply, she hurried around +through the corridor to the door. She heard +the key turned as she grasped the knob. An +instant later she felt Bea sway against her and +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +stand choking for breath, her hands to her +chest. +</p> +<p>“It’s croup,” she gasped. “The doctor! +Run!” +</p> +<p>Berta ran. She ran as she had never run +before. Down the endless corridor and up +the stairs, two steps at a time. Then a hail +of frantic knocks on the doctor’s door brought +her rushing to answer. In four minutes they +were back beside Bea’s bed, and the doctor’s +orders kept Berta flying, till after a limitless +space of horror and struggle she heard dimly +from the distance: “She’ll do now.” +Whereupon Berta sat down quietly in a chair +and fainted. +</p> +<p>The next day was Sunday. Berta carried +Bea her breakfast. +</p> +<p>“Good-morning, Beatrice,” she said. “I’ve +decided that I am tired of being a genius.” +</p> +<p>“So am I,” said Bea. +</p> +<p>“No more poems!” cried Robbie Belle and +clapped her hands. “Oh, goodie!” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VI_A_WAVE_OF_REFORM' id='VI_A_WAVE_OF_REFORM'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>A WAVE OF REFORM</h3> +</div> + +<p>Bea did her hair high for the first time in +public on the evening of the Philalethean +Reception in her sophomore year. As was to +have been expected, this event of vital importance +demanded such careful preparation +that she missed the address in chapel altogether +and was late for the first dance. +When at last she really put in an appearance—and +a radiant appearance it was, with cheeks +flushed from the ardor of her artistic labors, +she found the revelry in full swing, so to +speak. The corridors and drawing-rooms +were thronged with fair daughters and brave +sons. Naturally the daughters were in the +majority, most of them fair with the beauty +of youth. The sons were necessarily brave to +face the cohorts of critical eyes that watched +them from all sides. +</p> +<p>Two of the critical eyes belonged to Bea as +she stood on the stairs for a few minutes and +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +mourned that her handsomest cousin was not +there to admire her new white crêpe, and also +to be admired of the myriad guestless girls. +She caught a glimpse of Lila in rose-colored +mull as she promenaded past with a cadet all +to herself. Berta and Robbie were walking +together in the ceaseless procession from end +to end of the second floor corridor, while the +orchestra played and the couples whirled in +the big dining-room. They were talking just +as earnestly as if they had not seen each other +every day for a year. Bea’s dimple twinkled +and she took a step forward under the impulse +to join them for the fun of chaffing them about +such polite devotion. +</p> +<p>At that moment Gertrude touched her +shoulder. +</p> +<p>“Oh, Beatrice Leigh, have you anybody +engaged for this number and the next? My +brother has turned up unexpectedly, and I +haven’t a single partner for him. Won’t you +take care of him while I rush around to fill +his program? Do! There’s a dear!” +</p> +<p>“All right,” said Bea, “can he talk?” +</p> +<p>“N-no, not much, but you can, and he’s +awfully easy to entertain. Tell him about +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +the girls or college life or anything. He’s +interested in it all. Will you? Oh, please! +There goes Sara now. I’ve got to catch her +first thing.” +</p> +<p>“Bring on the brother,” exclaimed Bea +magnanimously, “I’ll talk to him.” +</p> +<p>And she did. Twenty minutes later, when +Gertrude in her frantic search through the +shifting crowds explored the farthest group +of easy chairs in senior corridor, she discovered +Miss Bea still chattering vivaciously to a rapt +audience of one. +</p> +<p>“I’ve been telling him about our playing +at politics last month,” she paused to explain; +“he was interested.” +</p> +<p>The brother smiled down at her. “It is +certainly a most entertaining story,” he said. +</p> +<p>“Things generally are when Bea tells +them,” commented Gertrude, “that is one of +her gifts.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you!” Bea swept her a curtsey. +“But don’t hurry. Didn’t you know +that I promised him a dance as a reward for +listening to my dissertation on reform. Some +day I’ll maybe tell you the story.” +</p> +<p>This is the story: +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>Did Gertrude ever tell you about our playing +at politics when we were sophomores? +Possibly you have heard politics defined as +present history, and history as past politics. +On that understanding, this tale is a history. +It is the history of a great reform. When I sit +down to reflect, a luxury for which I seldom +have time even in vacation, it really seems to +me that I have been reforming all my life. +Lila has reformed a good deal since she +entered college, and Berta has been almost as +bad as I. Robbie Belle is the best one among +us, but she does not realize it. That is the +reason why she is such a dear. She never +preaches—that is, never unless it is her plain +duty as at that time in the north tower, when +we were freshmen, you remember. If she +disapproves of any of our schemes, she simply +says she doesn’t want to do it. That was what +she said when the rest of us proposed to +masquerade as a gang of wardheelers on election +day. +</p> +<p>You know what wardheelers are, I suppose. +They are politicians who hang around the +polls and watch the voting and see that people +vote for the right party, or the wrong party, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +for the matter of that. It all depends on +which side they belong. When they notice +anybody going to vote for the other side, they +sort of intimidate him, tell him to get away, +or else push him out of line or punch him in +the head or something like that. Sometimes +they stuff the ballot-boxes, too, or go from one +poll to another, voting over and over. +</p> +<p>Now Robbie Belle had joined in with all +the other fun that autumn. There were imitation +rallies and parades and receptions to +candidates and mock banquets with real +speeches and fudges and crackers to eat. She +made a perfectly splendid presidential candidate +at one of the meetings. She looked ever +so much like him too as she sat gravely on +the platform with her hair parted on one side, +and a borrowed silk hat clasped to the bosom +of her brother’s dress suit. When all at once +her face crinkled in a sudden irresistible +smile, even the seniors said she was dear. +But this time she said she’d rather not be a +wardheeler. She wouldn’t come to a banquet +of the gang the night before election day +either. She said she guessed she didn’t want +to. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>Berta and Lila and I collected butter and +sugar and milk at the dinner table that evening. +In our dormitory we are allowed to carry +away bread and milk to our rooms, but we are +not supposed to take sugar or butter for fudges. +That seemed awfully stingy to us then; for in +the pantry there were barrels of sugar, great +cans of milk, hundreds and thousands of little +yellow butterballs piled on big platters. +We thought it wouldn’t do any harm to use a +tiny bit of it all for our banquet. +</p> +<p>At dinner I slid two butterballs into my +glass of milk, and Lila filled her glass with +sugar from the bowl and then poured enough +milk over it to hide the grainy look. Robbie +Belle kept her eyes in another direction, but +Berta said we had a right to one of the balls +anyhow, because she had not eaten butter all +day. Berta is the brightest girl in the class +and she can argue about everything, and let +the other person choose her side of the question +first too. It was not until later that she +reformed from that tendency to juggle with +her intellect, as Prexie calls it. +</p> +<p>Well, Lila and I marched down the long +dining-room, past the seniors and the faculty +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +table, with our glasses held up in plain sight. +As soon as we reached the corridor in unmolested +safety, Lila gave a skip so joyous that +some drops spattered on the floor. +</p> +<p>She said, “Nobody caught us that time.” +</p> +<p>“Hush!” I jogged her elbow so that unluckily +more milk splashed on the rubber +matting, “there’s Martha.” +</p> +<p>Martha, you know—or probably you don’t +know until I tell you—was a freshman who +roomed with Lila and me that year. She was +the dearest little conscientious child with big +eyes that were always staring at us solemnly +and giving me the shivers. She appeared to +think so much more than she spoke that we +respected her a lot and tried to set her a good +example. +</p> +<p>Martha was waiting for the elevator. She +turned around and gazed at us without saying +a word. She is considerably like Robbie +Belle in her exasperating power of silence, but +neither of them does it on purpose. +</p> +<p>Unfortunately just then a senior behind her +turned around too and said, “Nobody catches +anybody here. This is a college, not a boarding +school.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></p> +<p>Now such a remark as that was distinctly +unkind, not so much because either Lila or I +had ever been to a boarding school, for we +hadn’t, as because we wished we had. We +had devoured all the stories about them and +envied the girls in them. We had hoped that +we would find some of the same kind of fun +at college itself. +</p> +<p>Lila blushed, and I could not think of any +repartee that would be appropriate, especially +as Martha was staring so hard at the glass of +sugar. I had noticed all the fall that she was +an odd child about candy. She never would +touch a mouthful of any that we made—and +we made it pretty often—maybe four times a +week. She always just shook her head and +said she’d rather not. +</p> +<p>It was a relief to hear the elevator come rattling +up from the first floor. The dining-room +is on the second, you see, though I don’t +know that this fact has any bearing on the +story; still it may supply local color or realism +or something like that. Well, we entered +the elevator, and there stood a junior in the +corner. This junior chanced to be an editor +of the college magazine which had offered a +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +ten dollar prize for the best short story handed +in before October twentieth. She glanced at +us and then stared hard at Martha till we had +passed the third floor, and at the fourth she +walked out behind us and spoke to Martha. +She said, “Miss Reed, I think I am not premature +in congratulating you upon the story +which you submitted in the contest. You +will receive official notice of your victory before +very long.” And then she smiled the +nicest sweetest smile at sight of Martha’s face. +It was like a burst of sunshine—anybody +would have smiled. I hugged her—Martha, +not the junior, because I am not well acquainted +with her, you understand—but I +wanted to hug everybody. Lila squeezed +Martha so hard that she squeaked out loud. +</p> +<p>“Oh,” sighed the little freshman almost to +herself, “now I can send mother a birthday +present.” +</p> +<p>Wasn’t that dear of her to think of giving +it away first thing! Of course some girls +would have thought of having a spread to +celebrate and invite in all the crowd; but +Martha was only a freshman and probably +had no college spirit as yet. Her remark +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +seemed to remind Lila of something, for she +quite jumped and exclaimed, “Why, you baby, +I had forgotten all about that two dollars and +seventy-five cents I borrowed of you last +month. And here it is only the sixth of +November, but my allowance is nearly gone. +Why didn’t you poke up my memory?” +</p> +<p>“And I owe her ninety cents,” said I. +</p> +<p>The little freshman walked on with her +hands clasped high up over her necktie. +“Will they give me the prize soon?” she +asked softly, “because the birthday is Thursday, +and to-day is Monday, and it takes two +days to get there.” +</p> +<p>Lila looked at me and I looked at Lila. +“We can scrape it together somehow,” she +said. Then she touched Martha on the +shoulder. “Do you want to buy it to-morrow?” +she inquired, “because if you do, you +shall. We’ll manage it somehow. We’ll pay +you what we owe, and then you can buy a +present even if the prize doesn’t arrive in +time.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, thank you!” It was strange to see +how voluble happiness was making the child. +“Will you really? I’ve wanted and wanted, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +but I couldn’t ask. I’ve got an engagement +down town to try on my gymnasium suit to-morrow +afternoon and I shall be so glad. I +can mail it then.” +</p> +<p>“All right,” said I, “we’ll get it for you.” +</p> +<p>Then we forgot all about it till noon the +next day. That was election day and full of +excitement, even if we hadn’t been late to +breakfast, because the fudges kept us awake +the night before. Martha had gone into her +room early to study. Though she had closed +the door I am afraid the girls made a lot of +noise; and she woke up with a headache. Of +course Berta and I and the others had a right +to cut late if we wanted to do so, but we didn’t +mean to keep anybody from working. +</p> +<p>Martha returned from breakfast just as I +was catching together a tiny hole in my +stocking above the shoe. It wasn’t really my +stocking, for I had lost mine by sending them +unmarked to the laundry, and so I had borrowed +these from Martha. They were her +finest best ones, I believe, and very nice, +though her clothes generally seemed shabby. +This morning she told us to hurry down +please, because the maid was feeling miserable. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +We did hurry and tried not to complain of +the cold cocoa or the tough steak, though it is +certainly the maid’s duty to get fresh hot +things no matter how late the girls are. She +couldn’t find our favorite crescent rolls in the +pantry or down-stairs in the bakery or anywhere. +Before we were through eating, the +other maids had cleared away their breakfast +dishes and had their tables all set for luncheon. +Our maid was naturally slow, I suspect. +</p> +<p>After breakfast we had barely time to +smooth the counterpanes over sheets and +blankets that lay in wrinkles. They looked +pretty well on top, but honestly I was relieved +to have Martha and her big eyes out of +the way. Though we snatched our books and +ran through the corridors we were two +minutes tardy in reaching the Latin room. +The instructor was so irritable that she laid +down her book and the whole class waited +while Lila and I tiptoed to our seats in the +middle of the last row. +</p> +<p>With all the campaign excitement of course +we had let our work get crowded out, and the +other girls appeared to be in the same fix. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +When the most dazzling star in the class +flunked on a grammatical reference, the instructor +bit her lip and sent the question flying +up one row and down another as fast as +the students could shake their heads. As it +came leaping nearer and nearer to us, Lila +remembered a college story about a girl sliding +from her place and kneeling behind the +seat in front till the question had passed on +over the vacant spot. Lila was so agitated +that she forgot how conspicuous we had been +in entering late. She slipped out of her seat +and hid like the girl in the story. Then fell +an awful stillness. The question stopped +right there, hovering over the empty place. +Everybody waited. The instructor set her +mouth in grimmer lines, and waited, her eyes +glued to the spot from where Lila had +vanished. Those in front turned around to +look. Lila knelt there waiting and waiting +for the question to be passed on to me. I +shook my head as vigorously as I dared, but +nobody paid any attention. Lila waited and +waited; the instructor waited; everybody +waited and waited, till Lila’s knees ached so +that she lifted her face and peeked. She +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +peeked straight into those grim waiting eyes +on the platform. +</p> +<p>Then the instructor said, “Miss Allan?” +with the usual dreadful interrogative inflection, +and Lila shook her head. She slid +back into her seat with her cheeks as red as +fire. +</p> +<p>The minute we escaped into the hall at the +end of the recitation, the girls gathered around +us and giggled and teased Lila till she almost +broke down and cried before them all. There +is a lot of difference between playing jokes on +another person and appearing ridiculous yourself. +The first few weeks of the year we had +teased Martha by telling her it was etiquette +for freshmen to rise when addressed by sophomores +and stuff like that. The little thing +was so unsophisticated that we made up yards +and yards of stories about the dangers of going +walking alone or being out after dusk. One +student really did have her purse snatched +last year, and a senior saw a masked robber +in the pines, and once a maid caught a glimpse +of a face outside her window, and actually one +evening six of us beheld with our own eyes a +man jump through the hedge. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span></p> +<p>On this particular morning I had no time +to waste, for my tutor in mathematics had +warned me that she intended to charge me +for the hour for which I had engaged her, no +matter whether I arrived on the scene or not. +That struck me as queer and rather mean, because +on some days I did not feel like going, +and I failed to see why I should pay her for +tutoring that I had not received. She said +that her time was valuable and an hour +squandered in waiting for a delinquent pupil +was so much loss. I guess it was a loss to me +too. +</p> +<p>While I was flying around, trying to find +my notes and pen, I heard a gulp and a sob +from Martha’s bedroom, and popped in to find +her with her head buried in the pillow. The +little idiot was crying because she had flunked +in English. +</p> +<p>“Oh, but English is so easy to bluff in!” +I exclaimed, “almost any string of words will +do if the teacher asks for a discussion of a +tendency or of nature or vocabulary or poetic +form or something. Didn’t you make a try +at some sort of an answer?” +</p> +<p>“I said I didn’t know,” sobbed Martha, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +“and I didn’t. My thoughts were all mixed +up and I couldn’t remember a line.” +</p> +<p>“You goosie!” I was disgusted. “If I +said I didn’t know at every opportunity where +I could say it truthfully, how long do you +think I would be allowed to stay in this institution +of learning? When I don’t know a +fact, I use fancy. It is the greatest fun to +catch a hint and elaborate it into a brilliant +recitation without a jot of knowledge to back +it up. It takes brains to do it. You’ve got +to learn to bluff, and then get along without +studying.” +</p> +<p>The little freshman raised her heavy eyes, +all reddened about the lids. “Oh, but that +isn’t honest,” she said. +</p> +<p>“Not honest?” For an instant I was actually +alarmed. Once when I myself was a +freshman I nearly lost my faith in human +nature because a senior whom I admired did +something that looked dishonest. But sending +valentines to yourself in order to win a +prize is different from bluffing. So I said, +“Nonsense!” and was just hurrying out of +the door when she called in a quivery voice: +“P-please, may I borrow a sheet of theme +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +paper? Mine’s all gone and I can’t buy—I +mean, it’s due to-night.” +</p> +<p>“Help yourself,” I answered, “there’s a +heap of it that I carried away from the last German +test. Right hand drawer of the desk.” +</p> +<p>“No, no! I can’t take that. Haven’t you +any that you bought with your own money? +I’ll pay it back. That paper—they gave it to +you—didn’t they give it to you just for the +test?” +</p> +<p>I stopped and walked over to feel of her +head and tell her that she ought to see the +doctor or take a nap or something. Then I +gave her three sheets of the paper and told +her not to be silly. I don’t know whether she +used it or not. At luncheon she appeared +with her fingers inky and her hat on. +</p> +<p>Berta said, “Whither, my child?” +</p> +<p>She answered, “Down town.” And then +she looked at Lila with such anxious eyes that +I jumped and clapped my hands together in +contrition. +</p> +<p>“Lila, we’ve forgotten to get that money +for her!” +</p> +<p>Martha turned her face toward me and sat +gazing like a little dog. We asked all the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +girls at the table for contributions, but they +were nearly penniless. I said, “Are you in a +hurry, Martha?” And she said she had to +be there at two o’clock. So we told her to +hurry on, and we would get the money somewhere +and meet her on the corner of Main +and Market Streets at quarter past four sharp. +She said, “Honest?” And I answered, “Yes, +trust me. We’ll be there, and I’ll stand treat +for soda water, if I can scrape up any extra +pennies. You run along and pick out your +present.” +</p> +<p>And then, do you know, in spite of all that +and our promise to meet her, we forgot every +bit about it till half-past four! You see, it +was election day, and we were frightfully +busy. After the fifth hour recitation we +hurried into the ragged blue overalls that we +had worn in one of the torchlight parades. +Lila punched up the crown of an old felt alpine +hat, and I battered my last summer’s +sailor till it looked disreputable enough. +Then we rushed over to the gymnasium to +join our gang of wardheelers. +</p> +<p>We found the judges sitting at bare tables +with their lists before them and wooden booths +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +along the walls. And then—oh, I can’t do +justice to the fun we had! Some of us hung +around outside and tried to scare away opposing +voters by telling how the judges might +make them sing scales or slide down ropes or +wipe off their smiles on the carpets or chant +the laundry list or write their names in ink +with their noses, if they should be challenged. +We actually succeeded in frightening away +several timid freshmen. The rest of the gang +pretended to stuff ballot-boxes and buy votes, +just as we had read in the papers. +</p> +<p>Berta, Lila and I voted while wearing our +overalls. Then we dashed back to our rooms +and dressed in our ordinary clothes and attempted +to vote a second time. Such fun! +The judges recognized us and refused to accept +our ballots. Such an uproar as we +raised! The other wardheelers stormed to +the rescue; the lists were scattered, and the +tables overturned. Of course it was only a +joke, and most of us were too weak from +laughing to clear away the disorder in time +for the polls to close promptly. +</p> +<p>And then we happened to remember +Martha. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p> +<p>There it was half-past four and it would +certainly be five before we could get ready and +catch the car and reach the corner of Main +and Market. So we let it go and decided that +she would be tired of waiting by that time +and start for home, and we might most likely +miss her anyhow, even if we should collect +the money and try to keep the engagement. +And besides that we were having such a picnic +telling about the turmoil at the polls that we +hated to waste a minute away from the scene. +Berta had a splendid idea about dressing up +as policemen and borrowing the express wagon +belonging to the janitor’s grandson, and then +tearing over to the gym as if we had been +summoned to arrest the hoodlums and take +them to jail in the patrol. It was so late, +however, that we had to give this plan up and +get ready for dinner. It was a dreadful disappointment. +</p> +<p>Martha hadn’t come yet. It was half-past +five and dark, and then it was quarter of six, +and then it was six, and we went down to +dinner, but she hadn’t come yet. And then +it was half-past six, and we went down the +avenue to the Lodge to watch the car unload, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +but no Martha. We danced in parlor J for a +while, and then we went to chapel at seven, +but she hadn’t come yet. And then we +walked down to the Lodge again and watched +three cars stop and turn around the curve, +one after another, but she wasn’t in any of +them. And then we went back to tell Mrs. +Howard, the lady principal, about it. And +she was awfully anxious and asked all sorts of +questions about Martha, and what kind of a +girl she was, and if she had any money with +her, or any friends in town, or any peculiar +habits about running away from her friends, +or any trouble lately or anything. +</p> +<p>Then she began to telephone and went to +see Prexie, and Lila and I wandered out to +the stairs above the bulletin board where the +students were waiting to hear the election returns. +Between the successive telegrams the +girls clapped and laughed and stamped and +hissed at speeches by the seniors and juniors, +or else they sang patriotic songs. +</p> +<p>When Miss Benton, president of the +Students’ Association, the greatest honor in +the college course, and she is the finest senior +in the class too—was urged upon a chair to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +make a speech, Lila almost pushed me through +the banisters in her excitement. She has admired +Miss Benton ever since the first day +when it rained, and we were so terribly homesick, +and she smiled at us in the corridor. +</p> +<p>“Hush!” whispered Lila, “listen! Isn’t +she beautiful!” +</p> +<p>“Ouch!” said I, “she isn’t beautiful, she’s +downright plain with her hair smoothed back +that way.” But I said it pretty low, because +that staircase banked with girls was no place +for distinctly enunciated personalities. It was +a humorous speech, for one reason of Miss +Benton’s popularity is her fun under a dignified +manner. In the middle of the cheering +after she had finished, the messenger girl appeared +with a new bulletin. Somebody read +it aloud so that we could all hear. It reported +the victory of the corrupt party machine in an +important city. Nobody spoke. There was +just the faint sound of a big sighing oh-h-h! +and then a hush. +</p> +<p>The next thing I knew, Miss Benton and +some other seniors were coming up the stairs, +and the girls were moving this way and that +to open a path for them. Lila crowded closer +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +to me so as to make way. A junior on the +step below reached up her hand and stopped +Miss Benton as she was passing. +</p> +<p>“Do wait for the next telegram, Mary,” she +said, “perhaps that will be more encouraging. +The country as a whole seems to be going +right.” +</p> +<p>Miss Benton dropped down beside her with +an awfully discouraged sort of a sigh. “You +don’t live there, and I do,” she said. “You +do not know how the reform party has +worked with soul and strength to defeat that +boss. Something is terribly wrong with the +citizens and their standards of honesty. How +could they? How could they?” +</p> +<p>The junior bent nearer to speak in lower +tones; but Lila and I could not help hearing. +“Mary, something is wrong with us too,” she +whispered. “Did you know that to-day at +our mock election some of the sophomores +pretended to be corrupt voters and wardheelers? +They intimidated voters, challenged +registrations, played at buying votes, tried to +stuff the ballot-boxes. There was a most disgraceful +scrimmage! To turn such crimes into +a joke! How could they? How could we?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></p> +<p>Miss Benton straightened herself with a +movement that was sorrowful and angry and +discouraged all at once. She drew a deep +breath. +</p> +<p>“I will tell you what is wrong with us as +well as with the entire country. Our ideal of +honesty is wrong. With us here at college +the trouble is in little things; with the world +of business and politics the evil is in great +matters too. But the principle is the same. +We are not honest. We condemn graft in +public office. Is it not also graft when a +student helps herself to examination foolscap +and takes it for private use? Is the girl who +carries away sugar from the table any better +than the government employee who misappropriates +funds or supplies in his charge? +We cry out in horror at revelations of bribery. +Ah, but in our class elections do we vote for +the candidate who will best fill the office, or +for our friends? I have known a girl who +desired to be president of the Athletic Association +to bargain away her influence to another +who was running for an editorship.” +</p> +<p>“And some of us travel on passes which +are made out in other names.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span></p> +<p>Miss Benton did not hear. “We exclaim—we +point our fingers—we groan over the +trickery of officials, scandals, bribery, treachery, +lawlessness. And yet we—is it honest to +bluff in recitations—to lay claim to knowledge +which we do not possess? Is it honest +to injure a library book and not pay for the +damage? Is it honest to neglect to return +borrowed property? Some of us rob the +maids of strength by obliging them to work +overtime in waiting on us at the table. Our +lack of punctuality steals valuable time from +tutors and teachers and each other. We cheat +the faculty by slighting our opportunities and +thus making their life work of inferior quality +to that which they have a right to expect. +By heedless exaggeration we may murder a +reputation—mutilate an existence. We +wrong each other by being less than our best. +We are unscrupulous about breaking promises. +Down town this afternoon at the corner of +Main and Market Streets I saw a freshman +waiting in the cold. She was walking to and +fro to get warm. Her teeth chattered,—she +was crying from nervous suspense. When I +spoke to her and advised her to return to college +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +before dark, she shook her head, and +said no, somebody had promised to meet her, +and she had to stay. Now that girl, whoever +it was, who broke that engagement, is responsible——” +</p> +<p>I leaned forward and clutched Miss Benton’s +shoulder. +</p> +<p>“She hasn’t come back yet,” I cried; “do +you think she is there still? I forgot—I +thought it didn’t matter. I didn’t mean to—” +</p> +<p>Miss Benton turned around her head to +look up at me, and the others near us looked +too, and down at the foot of the stairs the +crowd packed in front of the bulletin board +sort of quieted for a minute and seemed to be +listening and watching us. And up on the +wall over their heads the big clock went tick-tock, +tick-tock, tick-tock, and its long pendulum +swung to and fro. +</p> +<p>Then swish, swish, swish, the lady principal +came hurrying through the reception hall +beyond, with her silk skirts rustling, and her +face quite pale. And the girls turned their +heads toward her. She raised her hand and +said in her soft voice: “Are Miss Martha +Reed’s roommates here?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span></p> +<p>And then some more girls with their hats +and coats on came running up the steps from +the vestibule. The crowd was buzzing like +everything when Lila and I pushed our way +through to tell Mrs. Howard we were there. +We caught scraps of sentences flying hither +and thither. +</p> +<p>“Run over?” +</p> +<p>“Lying in the road——” +</p> +<p>“Who found her?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, right there in the loneliest part.” +</p> +<p>“Such a timid little thing——” +</p> +<p>“Frightened and fell maybe——” +</p> +<p>“Queer she didn’t take the car.” +</p> +<p>“Is she dead?” +</p> +<p>Lila pushed ahead, thrusting the girls right +and left from her path. I couldn’t see her +face, but her shoulders kept pumping up and +down as if she were smothering. You know +she’s more sensitive than I am, and I felt +badly enough. +</p> +<p>Mrs. Howard took her hand and said, +“Miss Reed wishes to see you both and leave +a message.” +</p> +<p>Of course such a speech would make anybody +think she was dying. I rubbed my +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +sleeve across my eyes and shut my teeth together +and swallowed once, for the other girls +around were gazing after us. Lila walked on +with her head up. I couldn’t see anything +but the line of her cheek, and that looked +sort of cold and stony. We followed on over +the thick rugs into the second reception room. +There sitting in a big chair, leaning back +against a cushion kind of limp and pale but +not dead at all—there was Martha. +</p> +<p>“Did you get the money?” she asked. +</p> +<p>Lila didn’t answer. She just dropped on +her knees and hid her face against Martha’s +dress. +</p> +<p>“It was a centerpiece I thought Mother +would like. I chose it in the shop-window +there at the corner while I was waiting. +Maybe it will get there almost in time if it is +mailed to-morrow, but the doctor says I must +go to the infirmary for a day or two. If you +would please send it away for me in the +morning—if you have the money to buy it, +Lila,—I’m sorry.” +</p> +<p>The doctor walked in alert and brusque as +usual but gentle too. +</p> +<p>“Now for my captive,” she said, “time’s +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +up. Life in a study with two sophomores is +hard on a freshman’s nerves. A few days of +the rest-cure will about suit you.” +</p> +<p>Martha glanced at me, for Lila was still +hiding her face. +</p> +<p>“It was silly of me,” she explained shyly, +“but I grew so nervous when you didn’t meet +me that I cried and that made it worse. I +watched every car and both sides of the street, +and I waited till after dark. You see, I +didn’t have any money for car-fare. After +they began to light the lamps, I started to +walk out here to the college. Everybody was +eating supper, and I was all alone on the road +with dark fields on both sides. I could not +help thinking of those dreadful robbers and +maniacs and tramps——” +</p> +<p>“What?” cried the doctor. +</p> +<p>I drew a deep breath. “We told her,” I +said. “I—I’m afraid we exaggerated. I—I +thought it would be more interesting.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” said the doctor. It was such a grim +sort of an oh that I repented some more, +though indeed it was not necessary. +</p> +<p>Martha smiled at me. I always did consider +her the dearest, most sympathetic little +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +thing. “It was my fault,” she said, “I am +such a coward anyhow. And then when I +ran past a rock, I imagined I saw something +move and jump toward me. I lost my wits +and ran and ran and ran till I twisted my +ankle and fell. I must have struck my head +on a stone. I’m sorry. It was silly of me to +run. Please don’t worry.” +</p> +<p>“That will do for the present,” said the +doctor. +</p> +<p>Then they carried her over to the infirmary. +Lila and I walked out past the +crowd in front of the bulletin board. They +were cheering. +</p> +<p>“Listen, Lila,” I said, “good news from +somewhere.” +</p> +<p>“We promised to meet her,” said Lila. +</p> +<p>I hate regrets. “Well,” I said, “that’s all +over and done with. There is no use in bothering +about it now. But the next promise +we make——” +</p> +<p>Berta rushed up to us. “Oh, girls!” she +exclaimed, “did you catch that last return? +Reform is sweeping the country. Hurrah!” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VII_FOUR_SOPHOMORES_AND_A_DOG' id='VII_FOUR_SOPHOMORES_AND_A_DOG'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>FOUR SOPHOMORES AND A DOG</h3> +</div> + +<p>The last recitation of the winter term was +over, and the corridors were alive with girls +hurrying this way and that, pinning on their +hats, buttoning jackets, crowding into the elevator, +unfurling umbrellas, and chattering all +the time. +</p> +<p>“Hope you’ll have the nicest sort of a +time!” “Don’t stay up too late!” “Good-bye!” +“Oh, good-bye!” “Be sure to get +well rested this vacation!” “Awfully, +awfully sorry you wouldn’t come home with +me, Gertrude, you bad child! But I know +you won’t suffer from monotony with Berta +and Beatrice in the same study.” “Hurry, +girls, there’s the car now. Just hear that bell +jingle, will you!” “Good-bye, Gertrude, +and don’t let Sara work too hard!” “Oh, +good-bye!” +</p> +<p>Gertrude felt the clutch of arms relax from +about her neck, and managed to breathe +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +again. This was one of the penalties—pleasant +enough, doubtless, if a person were +in the mood for it—of being a popular sophomore. +For a minute she lingered wearily in +the vestibule to watch the figures flying down +the avenue to the Lodge gates. How their +skirts fluttered and twisted around them, and +how their hats danced! Their suit-cases +bounded and bumped as they ran, and their +umbrellas churned up and down in choppy +billows before the boisterous March wind. +There! the last one had vanished in a whirl +of flapping ends and lively angles beyond the +dripping evergreens. +</p> +<p>As she was turning languidly away, a backward +glance espied two girls emerging from +one of the dormitories far across the flooded +lawn. They came skipping over the narrow +planks that had been laid in the rivers flowing +along the curving walks. The first was +Berta swathed in a hooded waterproof; and the +second, of course, was Beatrice, a tam flung +askew on her red curls, her arms thrust +through a coat sleeve or two, a laundry bag +swinging from one elbow, and a tin fudge pan +clasped tenderly and firmly beneath the other, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +while with the hands so providentially left +free she stooped at every third step to rescue one +or the other of her easy-fitting rubbers from +setting out on a watery voyage all by itself. +</p> +<p>“Hi!” she gasped after a final shuffling +dash, as she caught sight of immaculate Gertrude, +“I wore your overshoes. Hope you +don’t mind. They’re not very wet inside, and +I brought over your things so that we can +move into our borrowed study right off now.” +</p> +<p>“Where are my things?” asked Gertrude +with natural curiosity and perhaps unnatural +calm. +</p> +<p>“Here,” jerking the laundry bag, “it holds +a lot—brushes, soap, nightgown, toothpowder, +fountain-pen, note-book, everything. Berta +carried your mending basket. You needn’t +bother one bit.” +</p> +<p>“I’ll run back and forth for anything you +want,” volunteered Berta hastily at sight of an +irritable frown on the usually serene brow of +handsome Gertrude. +</p> +<p>“You’re cross!” commented Bea with a +cheerful vivacity that was exasperating to the +highest degree, considering that everybody +ought to be worn down to an unobtrusive +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +state of limp inertia after the three busy +months just concluded, “you’ve been cross +ever since Sara——” +</p> +<p>“Berta, lend me your gossamer and rubbers, +please,” when Gertrude was unreasonably +provoked she had a habit of snapping out +her words even more clear-cut than usual. +An instant later she swept forth into the rain +only to stop short and hurry in again before +the door had swung shut. “We might as +well look at the study first,” she said in a +more gracious tone, “and we can draw lots to +see who is to have the inside bedroom. I +dare say the change to this building will be a +rest.” +</p> +<p>Berta took quick survey from the window +to explore the cause for this amazing wavering +of purpose. +</p> +<p>“Ah!” she murmured in swift enlightenment, +“it’s Sara. She’s coming over the +path.” +</p> +<p>A peculiar expression flitted across Bea’s +ingenuous face—an expression half quizzical, +half sorry. “Then we’d better follow Gertrude’s +example, and clear the track. She’ll +cut us dead again—that meek little mouse of +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +a girl! And I don’t blame her for it either, +so there!” +</p> +<p>Berta tucked a pensive skip in between +steps as they moved through the gloomy corridor +past rain-beaten windows. “It wasn’t +like Gertrude to burst out like that just because +Sara came late to our domestic evening, +but it did spoil the fudges and the game and +everything.” +</p> +<p>“And not to give her a chance to explain!” +fumed Bea’s temper always ready to +flame over any injustice. “Before she could +open her lips, Gertrude blazed up, cold as an +icicle——” +</p> +<p>“What?” interpolated demure Berta with +her most deeply shocked accent, “an icicle +blaze?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, hush, you’re the most disagreeable +person! I wish Lila hadn’t gone home. +Well, she did just that. She said the artistic +temperament was no excuse for discourteous +falsehood—or she almost the same as said it—meaning +breaking your word, you know, +for Sara had promised she would come at +eight, and there it was quarter to nine. She +said that it might be wiser next time to invite +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +somebody more reliable about keeping +engagements. Sara did not answer a word—only +went white as a sheet and walked out of +the room. Now she even cuts us—because +we were there—stares right over our heads +when we meet her anywhere.” +</p> +<p>“I’m sure Gertrude was sorry the minute +she had spoken. And she’s been working +awfully hard over committees and the maids’ +classes and the last play. She was tired and +nervous up to the brim, and then to wait and +wait and wait for Sara. Why, I was getting +cross myself.” +</p> +<p>“Well, why doesn’t she beg Sara’s pardon +then, and make it all right?” demanded the +young judge severely. “Sara has always +simply worshiped her, but because she never +has made mistakes nor learned how to apologize, +and everybody admires her and flatters +her, she is too proud to say she was wrong. +It’s plain vanity—that’s what it is. She can’t +bear to make herself do it.” +</p> +<p>“She’s unhappy,—that’s what I think, +though she sort of pretends she doesn’t +care.” +</p> +<p>“She’s cross as a bear—that’s what I think,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +snapped Bea, “and Sarah has dark circles +under her eyes. It’s dreadful—those two +girls who used to be inseparable! Quarrels +are—are horrible!” The impetus of this conviction +almost succeeded in hurling its proprietor +against the water cooler at the bathroom +door. “Say, Berta, what if you and +I should quarrel, with Robbie Belle and Lila +one thousand miles away?” +</p> +<p>“I’m too amiable,” responded Berta complacently, +“sugar is sweet——” +</p> +<p>The tin cup dropped with a flurried rattle +against the fudge pan. “Oh!” a shriek of +dismay, “my dear young and giddy friend, +we’re all out of sugar. What if we should +want to make anything to-night? Let’s run +back to the grocery by the kitchen this minute.” +</p> +<p>Owing to this delay, Gertrude had been in +the study for more than ten minutes, staring +out at the trees writhing in the wind, when +she was startled by the sound of a suffocated +shriek, followed by a scamper of four thick-soled +shoes, the heels smiting the corridor +floor with disgracefully mannish force. The +door flew inward vehemently, and Bea shot +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +clear across the room to collapse in the farthest +corner, hiding her face in the fudge pan +while her shoulders quivered and heaved terrifyingly. +Berta walked in behind her, and +after one reproachful look, sat down carefully +in a rocker and brushed her scarlet face before +beginning to giggle helplessly. +</p> +<p>“You’re the meanest person! Beatrice +Leigh, you knew I was turning into the +wrong alleyway, but you never said a word. +You wanted to see me disgraced. The door +opened like magic, and there she stood as if +she had slid through the keyhole. She stood +there plastered against the wall and—and—regarded +us——” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” moaned Bea in ecstasy, one fiery +ear and half a cheek emerging from the +kindly shelter of the fudge pan, “she glared. +She wondered why those two idiotic individuals +were stalking toward her without a word +or knock or smile, when suddenly the hinder +one exploded and vanished, while the other +ignominiously—stark, mute, inglorious—fled, +ran, withdrew—so to speak——” +</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you say something?” groaned +Berta. “I simply lost my wits from the surprise. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +She was the very last person I expected +to see anywhere around here. How in +the world did she happen to borrow the next +room to ours? She’ll think we were making +fun of her—that we did it on purpose. She’s +awfully sensitive anyhow!” +</p> +<p>“Well, you two are silly!” commented +Gertrude, her face again toward the driving +storm. “Who was it? Not a senior, I hope, +or a faculty?” +</p> +<p>Bea straightened herself abruptly, the +laughter driven sternly out of every muscle +except one little twitching dimple at the +corner of her mouth. “It was Sara,” she +exclaimed, “and she is pale as a ghost. She +has never been so strong since waking up on +that boat and finding a burglar trying to +steal the ring off her finger during the holidays. +You know how she jumps at every +sudden noise, and she’s been getting thinner +and thinner, and I think you ought to be +ashamed of yourself clear down to the +ground.” Here the dimple vanished in +earnest. “I know I’m ashamed of myself, +and so’s Berta. Even her lips were white. +Now we’ve hurt her feelings worse. I didn’t +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +think. Nice big splendid excuse for a sophomore, +isn’t it?” +</p> +<p>“There’s the gong for luncheon,” was Gertrude’s +only reply as she moved toward the +door. +</p> +<p>Bea’s flare of denunciation had subsided +quickly in her characteristic manner. She +sat absently nibbling the handle of the obliging +pan, while staring after the receding +figure, its girlish slenderness stiffened as if to +warn away all friendliness. “She’s stubborner +than ever. I say, Berta, let’s reconcile +them.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, let’s!” in echoing enthusiasm, adding +as the beauty of the plan glowed brighter, +“they’ll probably thank us to the last day +that they live. I know I would, if it were +Robbie and I who were drifting farther and +farther apart.” +</p> +<p>“Very likely,” responded the arch-conspirator, +beginning at the lower edge of the tin +doubtless itself delicious from long association +with dainties, “but the question is: How are +we going to do it? One is proud, and the +other is proud too. I don’t see exactly how +we can fix it.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>As Berta did not see either, they decided +with considerable sound sense meanwhile to +go to luncheon. The next day after many +minutes of discouraging meditation mingled +with a few hours of tennis in the gymnasium, +an idea came to them. While they rested on +the window ledge, watching Gertrude stroll to +and fro in the sunshine balmy at last, Bea began +to waste her breath as usual. +</p> +<p>“‘To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow +drags out its weary course from day to +day,’” she quoted with mindless cheerfulness, +only to interrupt herself good naturedly, +“say, Berta, do you realize that the third to-morrow +aforementioned is April Fool’s Day? +I wish something interesting would happen. +This is the most monotonous place in vacation.” +</p> +<p>“To-morrow never is, it always will be,” +corrected the carping critic. +</p> +<p>Bea with indifference born of long endurance +paid no attention. “I say!” rapturously +as the idea began to dawn upon her inward +vision, “let’s reconcile them with a joke.” +</p> +<p>“All right,” agreed her partner with most +charming alacrity, “what joke?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></p> +<p>The question was rather a poser, as Bea was +inclined to take only one step at a time and +utter one thought as it obligingly arrived, +without anxiety about the next. This tendency +had occasionally landed her high and +dry on the shores of nothingness in the classroom. +</p> +<p>“Oh, um-m-m, I haven’t determined that +point yet. It isn’t only great minds that +move slowly.” Gertrude’s cape swung into +view at the turn of the walk. “Berta, she +looks awfully lonesome, doesn’t she?” +</p> +<p>“Well,” argued the other, “nobody can expect +us to do all the tagging around ourselves, +especially where a contemporary is concerned. +If she wants us to walk with her, she might +omit a few snubs now and then. I’m tired of +chasing after her.” +</p> +<p>“The trouble is that you are not a faithful +friend, faithful friend,” rattled Bea, “man’s +faithful friend, the dog. Oh, oh, oh, Berta, I +have an idea!” +</p> +<p>“Noble girl!” Berta patted her on the +head. “I generously refrain from comment.” +</p> +<p>“Thank you, sweetheart. I feared you +could not deny yourself that remark about +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +keeping my idea, as I might never get another. +But this one is an idea about a dog. +Let’s find a puppy to give Gertrude for a +soothing companion this vacation. I love +puppies.” +</p> +<p>“The question is: does Gertrude also love +puppies? Or is it a joke?” +</p> +<p>“Let’s get a dog and surprise her with it +April Fool’s morning. He will be such a +friendly little fellow and so faithful that her +conscience will sting her——” +</p> +<p>“I must acknowledge that you are a +humane, tender-hearted individual. To plot a +stinging conscience——” +</p> +<p>“Oh, hush, Berta! Do be nice and agreeable. +I’m awfully tired this week, and I +really need some distraction. The corridors +stretch out empty and silent, and breakfast +doesn’t taste good at all, and—and I want to +do something for Sara.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, all right!” Berta spied the glint of an +excitable tear and shrugged the weight of +common sense from her shoulders. “I’m with +you.” +</p> +<p>Three days passed—three days of blue sky +and fluffy clouds and air that sent Bea dancing +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +from end to end of the long stone wall +while Berta stumped conceitedly along the +path in her new rubber boots. Gertrude wondered +aloud why two presumably intelligent +young women insisted upon spending every +morning in foolish journeys over muddy +country roads. Noting an unaccustomed accent +of peevishness in the energetic voice, +Berta began to worry a bit over the likelihood +that such petulance was due to impending +sickness. Bea jeered at this, though with +covert side glances to detect any signs of fever. +In her secret soul, where she hid the notions +which she dimly felt looked best in the dark, +she reflected that an attack of some mild disease +might be a valuable form of retribution, +and also afford the invalid leisure to repent of +her sins. Still she did not quite like to mention +this thought aloud, as it seemed too unkindly +vengeful with regard to any one so obviously +miserable as Gertrude. +</p> +<p>One day on charitable plans intent the two +conspirators dragged Gertrude out across the +brown fields to have fun building a bonfire, as +they had done the previous spring. But +somehow the expedition was not much of a +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +success—possibly because the wood was too +damp to burn inspiritingly. On that other +occasion Sara had been with them, and had +kept them laughing. She could say the funniest +things without stirring a muscle of her +small solemn face. That stump speech of hers +given from a genuine stump had sent them +actually reeling home. This year—alas!—while +returning to college rather silently, they +saw Sara plodding toward them with an air of +being out for sober exercise, not pleasure. The +moment she spied them, she deliberately retraced +her steps, and vanished through a hole +in the hedge. This incident set Gertrude to +chattering so excitedly about nothing in particular +that the others knew she cared even +more than they had fancied. +</p> +<p>On the evening of the last day of March, +Bea and Berta came rushing into the dining-room +twenty minutes late for dinner. When +they both declared that they did not want any +soup—their favorite kind, too—Gertrude +sighed impatiently over countermanding her +order to the maid. It seemed as if she were +not getting rested one bit this vacation, though +she did nothing but read novels all day long. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +She felt sometimes as if she were hurrying +every minute to escape from herself and her +own thoughts. Everything irritated her in +the strangest way. In all her busy healthful +life she had never been nervous before. It +was not hard work that had worn upon her. +The doctor told them when they were freshmen +that no girl ever broke down from work +unless worry was added. Gertrude knew perfectly +well what torturing little worry was +gnawing away in her mind. She kept telling +herself that her speech to Sara had been true—it +was so—Sara had broken her engagement—and +she could not, could not, could not +humble herself to apologize. In fact, Sara +was the one who ought to offer apologies. +And all this time wilful Gertrude refused to +acknowledge even to herself that she was juggling +with her conscience in the desperate determination +to hold herself free from blame +in her own esteem. She simply could not +beg anybody’s pardon, and she was not going +to do it, because—well, because she had not +been to blame—so there! +</p> +<p>On this particular evening, after five solid +minutes of silence on the part of her exasperating +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +roommates, she raised her heavy eyes, +and let them rest expressionlessly on the two +wind-freshened faces, till Bea’s roses blossomed +to her hair. +</p> +<p>“We’re not doing anything,” rebelliously, +“you are so boss-y.” +</p> +<p>“Moo-oo,” muttered Berta to her plate. +“Bow-wow-wow.” Bea choked over her glass +and fled precipitately, leaving her partner to +capture a pitcher of milk ostensibly to drink +before going to bed. +</p> +<p>Of course they would have regretted missing +dessert as well as soup, if Gertrude had not +asked permission to carry some of the whipped +cream to her room. It was easier to do something +unnecessarily generous than to beg Sara’s +pardon—which was merely plain hard duty. +The girls were not in the study when she +entered with her offering, but soon Bea dashed +in and dropped breathlessly on the couch, +with a conspicuous effort to act as if accustomed +to arrive without her present double. +Gertrude listened unsuspiciously to the flurried +explanation that Berta was kept by a—a—a—friend, +before she revealed the brimming +trophy from dessert. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></p> +<p>Bea clapped her hands. “Oh, you darling! +the very thing! Won’t that pup”—an abrupt +and convulsive cough subsided brilliantly into, +“that pet of a Berta be pleased! I’ll take it to +her this instant.” +</p> +<p>However, she did not invite Gertrude to +accompany her, and upon her return after a +prolonged absence, she conducted herself with +odd restlessness. In the intervals of suggesting +that they put up an engaged sign or read +aloud or darn stockings or play patience before +going to a certain spread, she stared at the +clock. Promptly at eight she escaped from +the door, near which she had been lingering +for the past quarter-hour, with the carefully +distinct announcement that she was going +after Berta, and later she might attend the +spread. +</p> +<p>Five minutes later she was bending over a +fluffy little creature nestling on Gertrude’s +best pillow in one of the partitioned off bathrooms +at the end of the corridor. +</p> +<p>“He’s been pretty good,” said Berta as she +surrendered the spoon, “and he likes the +cream, only the bubbles in it keep him awake, +I think. Somebody hammered at the door so +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +long that I had to stuff a lot into his mouth +every time he started to cry.” +</p> +<p>Bea assumed her station of nurse with businesslike +briskness. “Hurry back to Gertrude, +and coax her to go to that spread if you can. +She’s terribly blue to-night. Be sure to get +back here at nine, and I will take my turn at +the party so that nobody will be too curious +about this affair. At ten we shall both be +here to decide about the night.” +</p> +<p>“Then we can hook the door on the inside, +and climb over the partition. Won’t it be +fun! I wonder if I shouldn’t better practice +doing it now,” and Berta looked longingly at +the black walnut precipice. +</p> +<p>“You trot along this instant, and don’t let +Gertrude suspect anything for the world. Be +just as natural as you know how—more than +ever before in your life. I reckon I shall put +him to sleep in a jiffy.” +</p> +<p>“Try it,” called the ex-nurse with laconic +scorn, “I’ll allow you the full hour for the +experiment.” +</p> +<p>It must have been a very full hour indeed, +to judge from Bea’s feelings as the minutes +dawdled past. It seemed to her that instead +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +of flying with their sixty wings, according to +the rhyme, each minute trailed its feathers in +the dust as it shuffled along. At first, it was +amusing to watch for the mouth to open, and +then pop in a spoonful of cream. But this +soon became monotonous, especially when +she learned that no matter how long she sat +motionless beside the pillow, the bright little +eyes blinked wide awake at her slightest stir +to rise. +</p> +<p>It was lonesome in that end of the great +building. Their suite and Sara’s room next +to it were the only ones occupied in that +neighborhood during the vacation. This +bathroom was as much as forty steps distant +even from that populated spot, and not a +single footfall had sounded in the corridor +since Berta had disappeared into the gloom. +The light from the outer apartment glimmered +dully over the partition. At intervals +in the stillness, a drop of water clinked from +the faucet out there. Bea found herself holding +her breath to listen for the tinkle of its +splash. Outside the small window, a pale +moon was drifting among fluffy clouds. +</p> +<p>More than once Bea rose with exquisite +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +caution, and stole to the outer door, only to +hear a plaintive whine, while four clumsy +paws came pattering after her. Then followed +more minutes of soothing him with cream, +and watching for the little woolly sides to +cease heaving so piteously. Perhaps after all +it would have been wiser to have left this +troublesome joke with his mother on the +farm. +</p> +<p>By the time this vague suggestion had +wavered into her consciousness, the strain of +waiting and listening began to re-act on her +temper. Of course, Berta had forgotten all +about her watching there alone in the dark. +Berta was selfish and thoughtless and heedless. +That very afternoon, while they were +bringing the puppy to college, she had almost +tipped the buggy over into a puddle. Berta +had no right to impose upon her like this, +and make her do the worst part of the work +every time. Why, even when they went calling +together, Bea always had to do the knocking +and walk in first and manage the conversation +and everything. And now Berta was +having fun at the spread, and it must be near +ten o’clock, for the watchman had already +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +shuffled softly past and turned the gas still +lower. And she knew her foot was going to +sleep, and she could never feel the same +toward Berta Abbott again. +</p> +<p>Bea was so sorry for herself that her lip began +to quiver over a sobbing breath, when +steps came hurrying helter-skelter, the door +banged open, and Berta dived in. +</p> +<p>“Oh, Bea, I’m dreadfully sorry! I +couldn’t get away before. They held me—actually—and +made me jig for them, and sing +that last song I wrote. The preserved ginger +was so delicious that I saved some for you. +Nobody suspects a thing. How is the little +dear?” +</p> +<p>Bea rose with impressive dignity till the +straightening of numb muscles inspired an +agonized, “Ouch!” and a stiff wriggle. It +was every bit Berta’s fault, and she evidently +didn’t care a snap. She would show people +whether they could walk all over her and +never say boo! She would not lose her +temper—oh, no! she would not utter a word—not +a single one of all the scorching things +she could think of. She would just be dignified +and self-possessed and teach certain persons +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +that she did not intend to be imposed +upon one instant longer. Therefore, Miss +Beatrice Leigh flung open the door and +stalked away without a backward glance. +</p> +<p>“Hulloa!” ejaculated Berta, staring +blankly after her, “what’s your rush?” +</p> +<p>No answer; merely a somewhat more defiant +swing of the slender shoulders vanishing +in the dusk of the deserted corridor. +</p> +<p>“What shall we do with the dog? You +borrowed him—you’re responsible—it’s your +idea,” following in a puzzled flurry as far as +the threshold. “Shall I lock him in alone? I +said all along it was silly.” +</p> +<p>Those insolent shoulders sailed silently +around the transverse and out of sight. +</p> +<p>After a petrified moment, Berta drew a deep +breath, and threw back her head while the +crimson of quick resentment flamed from +neck to hair. That was a nice way to be +treated, when she had simply done her best +not to arouse suspicion, exactly as Bea had +warned her. She took two steps hastily away +from the spot; then turned slowly and +glanced in at the soft heap of white showing +dimly on the darker blur of the pillow. She +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +certainly did not propose to spend the entire +night in playing nurse to anybody, especially +after Bea had insulted her so unpardonably. +It had been Bea’s idea all along too, and +Berta had worked herself nearly to death to +make it a success. The miles and miles she +had tramped through the mud—and all to no +result! Now everything was spoiled, and +everybody had quarreled with everybody else. +Whereupon Berta marched away to bed, leaving +the swinging door unhooked and the +outer door ajar. Bea was indisputably right +in criticising her fellow conspirator as heedless. +</p> +<p>At midnight Gertrude sprang from her pillow, +both arms flung out into the darkness, +every nerve quivering as she listened for a +second scream. She had chosen the inside +bedroom that had a window opening on the +corridor. Now in the breathless silence, she +heard a swift creak ending in the bang of an +up-flung sash. A swish of light garments, +a thud shaking the floor outside, and then +bare feet flying in frantic haste past her room +and into the alleyway. +</p> +<p>A crash against the study door, and the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +knob rattled wildly. “Let me in, quick, +quick! Help, Gertrude, help!” +</p> +<p>There was a flash of white across the floor, +the lock grated, and Sara was in Gertrude’s +arms. Portières rustled apart, and two more +apparitions loomed pallidly in the dark. +</p> +<p>“Hulloa!” gasped Berta’s voice, while a +woodeny click from Bea’s direction told of +Indian clubs snatched bravely in readiness +for war. +</p> +<p>“Light the gas, girls,” ordered Gertrude +quietly; “there, dear, don’t be frightened +now. See, we are all here. We will take +care of you. What was it startled you?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know. It was dark. Something +moved. I heard something. I was afraid.” +</p> +<p>Gertrude felt her tremble, and held her +closer. Over the bowed head she spoke with +her lips to the other two. “That steamboat +shock.” +</p> +<p>Bea caught the idea impulsively. “Oh, +Sara!” she exclaimed, “you’re only nervous. +You’ve often waked up and screamed a little +ever since that night on the boat. It’s nothing. +Crackie! but you frightened us at first!” +</p> +<p>Sara lifted a white face. “This was different,” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +she said; “this was something alive. +Hark!” +</p> +<p>They leaned forward, listening. Yes, there +was a footstep outside, muffled, stealthy. A +board creaked. Something was breathing. +</p> +<p>Gertrude and Berta looked at each other in +quick challenge for mutual courage. All the +other rooms at that end of the building were +vacant; the long dark corridor stretched out +its empty tunnel between them and available +help. What could four girls do? +</p> +<p>“We can scream,” said Bea. +</p> +<p>“Lock the door—and the inner window—quick!” +Gertrude flew to one, Berta to the +other. “Sara, take this Indian club. Now +if it really is—anything, scream. But don’t +run. Don’t scatter. Scream—scream all together. +Ah!” +</p> +<p>The footsteps were coming down the alleyway +toward the door. Bea filled her lungs, +and opened her mouth in valiant preparation. +</p> +<p>“Wee-wee-wee, bow-wow!” Two little paws +scratched at the door. +</p> +<p>Bea’s breath issued in a feeble squeak, as +she dropped neatly down upon the floor and +buried her face in her hands. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></p> +<p>Berta swooped upon her. “The puppy!” +</p> +<p>Gertrude felt herself freed from the encircling +arms. She moistened her lips. “I am +sorry, Sara, about the other night. I am—sorry.” +</p> +<p>The pale little face upturned toward hers +began to glow as if touched with sunshine. “I +was late because Prexie kept me. I should +have explained, but—but it hurt. I knew +you were sorry.” +</p> +<p>Berta sat up as if jerked into position by a +wire, and briskly brushed the hair out of her +eyes. +</p> +<p>“Listen, Bea,” she whispered to a small +pink ear half hidden by red curls, “they’re +reconciled.” +</p> +<p>“So are we,” said Bea, “please open the +door for the puppy.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VIII_CLASSES_IN_MANNERS' id='VIII_CLASSES_IN_MANNERS'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>CLASSES IN MANNERS</h3> +</div> + +<p>Gertrude’s brother paid another visit to his +sister at Class Day. At least, he was supposed +to be visiting his sister, but it was really Bea +who took charge of him during all that radiant +June morning while Gertrude, as chairman +of the Daisy Chain committee, was busy +with her score of workers among the tubs of +long-stemmed daisies in a cool basement +room. Bea had immediately enrolled the +young man as her first assistant in the arduous +task of gathering armfuls of the starry flowers +in the field beyond the dormitories. +</p> +<p>After that labor was finished, and even Lila +had deserted her for the sake of an insensate +trunk that demanded to be packed, Bea conducted +her companion to the lake. There +through the golden hour of midday they +drifted in the shadow of the overhanging trees +along the shore. Once they paddled softly +around the little island at the end, and a colony +of baby mud-turtles went scrambling +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +madly from a log into the water. When the +brother began to fish for one with an oar, +Bea protested in a grieved tone. +</p> +<p>“But you don’t seem to realize that I am +worrying about freckles every minute that we +stay out here in the broad sunlight. What +are trees for if not to provide shade for girls +without hats? And anyhow it is unkind to +seek to tear a turtle from his happy home. If +you do that, I shall never, never consent to +admit you to our highest class in manners.” +</p> +<p>“Highest class in manners,” he echoed, +“that sounds promising. Is it another +story?” +</p> +<p>“It certainly is,” replied Bea, “and if you +are very good indeed and will keep the boat +close to the bank from the first word to the +last, I will tell you all about it.” +</p> +<p>Berta called it our classes in manners, but +Miss Anglin, our sophomore English teacher, +said that it was every bit as bad as gossip. +When Berta told her that she was the one +who had started us on it by advising us to +read character in the street-cars, she looked +absolutely appalled, and groaned, “What +next?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></p> +<p>This was the beginning of it. When Miss +Anglin took charge of our essay work the +second semester, she explained that we should +be required to write a one-page theme every +day except Saturday and Sunday. Lila almost +fainted away, because she hates writing anything, +even letters home. Robbie Belle +looked scared, and I opened my mouth so +wide that my jaw ached for several minutes +afterward. But Berta kept her wits about +her. She said, “Miss Anglin, we are all living +here together, and we see the same things +every day. I’m afraid you’ll be bored when +you read about them over and over. Why +can’t some of us choose intellectual topics?” +</p> +<p>By intellectual topics she meant subjects +that you can read up in the encyclopædia. +Miss Anglin sort of smiled. “Do you truly +think that you all see the same things day +after day? How curious! Have you ever +played a game called Slander?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, Miss Anglin,” said Berta, and went +on to tell how the players sit in a circle, and +the first one whispers a story to the second; +and the second repeats it as accurately as she +can remember to the third; and the third tells +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +it to the fourth, and so on till the last one hears +it and then relates it aloud. After that the +first one gives the story exactly as he started +it. It is awfully interesting to notice the difference +between the first report and the last +one, because somehow each person cannot help +adding a little or leaving out a little in passing +it on to the next. That is the way slander +grows, you know. The gossip may be +true at first, or almost true, but it keeps +changing and getting worse and worse and +more thrilling as it spreads till finally it isn’t +hardly true at all. That is how our classes in +manners turned out. +</p> +<p>Well, to go back to that day in the rhetoric +section. Miss Anglin saw that we were discouraged +before we had commenced and we +didn’t know how to start; and so she began +to suggest subjects. For instance, she said, +one girl might wake up in the morning——Oh, +but I am forgetting her application of the +illustration from the game of Slander. She +said that if no two persons receive the same +impression from a whispered story spoken in +definite words, it is probable that no two pairs +of eyes see the same thing in the same way, to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +say nothing of the ideas aroused in the different +brains behind the eyes. One girl might +wake up in the morning, as I was saying, and +when she looks from the window she sees +snow everywhere—provided it did snow during +the night, you understand. Then she +writes her daily theme about the beautiful +whiteness, the shadows of bare trees, diamond +sparkles everywhere and so forth. Another +girl looks out of that very same window at the +same time, and she doesn’t think of the +beautiful snow merely as snow; she thinks of +coasting or going for a sleigh-ride or something +like that. And so her theme very +likely will prove to be a description of a coasting +carnival or tobogganing which she once +enjoyed. Another girl looks out and thinks +first thing, “Oh, now the skating is spoiled!” +Her theme maybe will tell how she learned +to skate by pushing a chair ahead of her on +the ice. +</p> +<p>Berta raised her hand again. “Well, but, +Miss Anglin,” she said, “suppose it doesn’t +snow?” +</p> +<p>Berta is not really stupid, you know, quite +the reverse indeed, but she is used to having +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +the girls laugh at what she says. They +laughed this time, and Miss Anglin did too, +because she knew Berta was just drawing her +out, so to speak. She went on to give other +examples about the things we see while out +walking or shopping or at a concert, and finally +she drifted around to character-reading. She +said a street-car was a splendid field for that. +The next time one of us rode into town, she +might try observing her fellow travelers. +There might be a working-man in a corner, +with a tin-bucket beside him. Maybe he +would be wearing an old coat pinned with a +safety-pin. By noting his eyes and the expression +of his mouth the girl could judge +whether he was just shiftless or untidy merely +because his wife was too busy with the children +to sew on buttons. She told a lot of interesting +things about the difference between +the man who holds his newspaper in one hand +and the man who holds his in both. Some +temperaments always lean their heads on their +hands when they are weary, and others support +their chins. A determined character sets +her feet down firmly and decidedly at every +step—though of course it needn’t be thumping—while +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +a dependent chameleon kind of a +woman minces along uncertainly. Why, +sometimes just from the angle at which a person +lifts his head to listen, you can tell if he +has executive ability or not. +</p> +<p>Before the bell rang at the end of the hour, +we were awfully enthusiastic about reading +character. The first thing Robbie Belle did +was to stumble over the threshold. +</p> +<p>“Oho!” jeered Berta, “you’re careless. +That’s as easy as alpha, beta, gamma.” +</p> +<p>She meant a, b, c, you understand, but she +prefers to say it in Greek, being a sophomore. +</p> +<p>“But she isn’t careless,” protested Lila, +“she’s the most careful person I ever met. +The sole of her shoe is split, and that is the +reason she stumbled.” +</p> +<p>“Why is it split?” demanded Berta in her +most argumentative tone; “would a nobly +careful and painstakingly fastidious person +insist upon wearing a shoe with a split sole? +No, no! Far from it. If she had stumbled +because the threshold wasn’t there, or because +she had forgotten it was there, the inference +would be at fault. I should impute the defect +to her mentality instead of to her character, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +alas! A stumble plus a split sole! Ah, Robbie +Belle, I must put you in a daily theme.” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle looked alarmed. “Indeed, +Berta, I’d rather not. I was going to trim it +off neatly this morning, but I have lent my +knife to Mary Winchester.” +</p> +<p>“Ha! lent her your knife!” declaimed +Berta sternly, “another clue! This must be +investigated. Why did she borrow your +knife?” +</p> +<p>“To sharpen her pencil,” answered Robbie. +“I made her take it.” +</p> +<p>“Her pencil! Her pencil!” muttered +Berta darkly, “why her pencil? Are there +not pens? Mayhap, ’tis not her pencil. Alas, +alas! Her also I thrust into a daily theme.” +</p> +<p>“She’s snippy about returning things,” +said Lila, “she acts as if she didn’t care +whether you do her a favor or not. I don’t +like her.” +</p> +<p>“She’s queer,” I said. +</p> +<p>Now I had a perfect right to say that because +it was true. Mary Winchester was just +about the queerest girl in college. Everybody +thought so. But I shall say no more at present, +as her queerness is the subject of the rest +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +of this story. If I told you immediately just +how she was queer and all the rest of it, there +wouldn’t be any story left, would there? +</p> +<p>Well, as the weeks whirled past, we studied +character and wrote daily themes till we were +desperate. Robbie Belle grew sadder and +sadder until Berta suggested that she might +describe the gymnasium, the chapel, the +library, the drawing rooms, the kitchen, and +so forth, one by one, telling the exact size and +position of everything. That filled up quite +a number of days. When Miss Anglin put a +little note of expostulation, so to speak, on the +theme about the corridor—it was, “This is a +course in English, not mathematics, if you +please,”—Berta started her in on the picture +gallery. There were enough paintings there +to last till the end of the semester. Of course, +such work did not require her to read character. +Robbie Belle didn’t want to do that +somehow; she said it seemed too much like +gossip. +</p> +<p>However, at first, it wasn’t gossip. For +instance one day Lila and I collected smiles. +We scurried around the garden and dived in +and out of the hedge in order to meet as many +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +people as possible face to face. Then we took +notes on the varieties of greeting and made up +themes about them. Miss Anglin marked an +excellent on mine that time. For another +topic we paid one-minute calls on everybody +we knew. When they looked surprised and +inquired why we did not sit down, we frankly +explained that we were gathering material for +an essay on Reading Character from the Way +a Person says “Come in!” +</p> +<p>After we had been grinding out daily +themes for three weeks we began to long for +something to break the monotony. My brain +was just about wrung dry, and Lila said she +simply loathed the sight of a sheet of blank +paper. One afternoon while I was struggling +over my theme, Berta threw a snowball +against my window, flew up the dormitory +steps, sped down the corridor, gave a double +rat-tat-too on my door, and burst in without +waiting for an answer. +</p> +<p>“Listen! Quick! I have an idea. It +struck me out by the hedge. Why not study +manners as well as character? Why not +divide——” +</p> +<p>“Go away. That snowball plop against the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +pane spoiled my best sentence. This is due +in forty minutes. I’ve written up my family +and friends and books and pictures, my summer +vacations—a sunset at a time, my +little——” +</p> +<p>“Why not divide everybody, I say——” +</p> +<p>“——dog at home,” I continued placidly. +“I’ve composed themes about the orchard, +the woods, the table-fare, the climate, the kitten +I never owned, the thoughts I never had. +To-day I was in despair for a subject till I +happened to borrow one of your cookies +and——” +</p> +<p>“You did! My precious cookies! Burglar!” +</p> +<p>“——bite it into scallops. Ha! an idea! I +arranged myself on the rug with much care in +order that I might stretch out the process to a +whole page of narration. Thereupon I nibbled +off the corners of the scallops till the +cookie was round and smooth again. Next I +bit it into scallops and then I nibbled off the +corners; and next I bit and then I nibbled; +and next I bit and then I nibbled; and next +I bit——” +</p> +<p>“You did! Oh, I wish I——” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span></p> +<p>“——and then I nibbled; and next I bit +and then I nibbled, till there was nothing left +but the hole. Now I am writing a scintillating +and corruscating theme about it. Go +away.” +</p> +<p>Berta turned toward the door. “Some day +you’ll wish you had listened,” she declared in +accents heavy with gloom, “some day when +you can’t think of a single thing to write +about, and the hand keeps moving around +the clock, and the paper lies there blank and +horrible before your vacant eyes, and your +pen is nibbled so short that your fingers——” +</p> +<p>“I didn’t mean go away,” I said, “I meant, +go on. Tell me about it.” +</p> +<p>“Nay, nay! To lacerate my feelings, spurn +my proffered aid, insult my youthful pristine +zeal, and then to call me back—in short, to +throw a dog a bone! Nay, nay!” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Berta, be sweet. Tell me. You know +that I think you have the most original ideas +in college.” After I had coaxed her quite a +lot, she told me her new scheme. It was +something like advanced character reading +and biology combined. Just as scientists classify +trees and plants in botany, Berta proposed +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +that we should divide the students into different +classes according to their manners. +</p> +<p>“It will be so improving and instructive +too,” she pleaded, “we’ll be paragons of +politeness before we finish them all. We’ll be +so particular about our highest class that we +will notice every little thing and thus take +warning.” She paused a moment; then, +“Did you hear me say thus?” she inquired. +When I nodded, she gazed at me sadly. +“People who belong to the highest class never +gesticulate; they use spoken language exclusively. +Furthermore, as to the thus. I +wondered if an up-springing sense of courtesy +persuaded you to refrain from hooting at such +elegant verbiage. That would be a sign of +benefit already derived from the classes. By +the way, it was Mary Winchester who inspired +the idea.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, but she has no manners at all!” I exclaimed +before I thought. +</p> +<p>“That is precisely the point. I met her +flying along like a wild creature on her +bicycle, eyes staring, hair streaming in the +wind. At least, some locks were streaming. +She gave the impression of a being utterly +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +lawless. Then I thought——See here, Miss +Leigh, are you interested in my thoughts?” +</p> +<p>“Yes’m,” I answered meekly. +</p> +<p>“Then drop that pen and pay attention. +Even the girls who are to belong to the second +class in manners know how to do that. Well, +I thought that she hardly ever accepts an invitation, +and she looks as she didn’t expect +anybody to like her, and she minds her own +business and does exactly as she pleases generally. +My next important thought was that +sometimes she cuts me in the hall, and sometimes +she doesn’t, just as she happens to feel. +That led to the philosophic reflection that +politeness is a question of law.” +</p> +<p>“Ah, pardon me, Miss Abbott, but I remember +from a story which was read by my +teacher about forty years ago when I was in +the fourth reader that +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“‘Politeness is to do or say</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>The kindest thing in the kindest way.’”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>“That’s what I meant. The law of kindness—that’s +what politeness is. Listen to the +logic. Mary Winchester is lawless, hence she +breaks the law of kindness, hence she has no +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +manners, hence it will be fun to divide everybody +here into various classes according to +their manners.” +</p> +<p>So that is the way our classes began. +</p> +<p>It was awfully, awfully interesting. Robbie +Belle said she didn’t want to; but Berta +and Lila and I talked and talked and talked. +We sat in the windows and talked instead of +dancing between dinner and chapel. We +talked after chapel, and on our way to classes +or to meals. And of course we talked while +we were skating or walking or doing anything +similar that did not demand intellectual application. +Lila even talked about the classes in +her sleep. We discussed everybody who happened +to attract our attention. +</p> +<p>Finally we had sifted out all the candidates +for the highest class except three. One was +the senior president, pink and white and slender +and gentle and she never thumped when +she walked or laughed with her mouth open +or was careless about spots on her clothes or +forgot the faces of new girls who had been introduced +to her. The second was a professor +who was shy and sweet and went off lecturing +every week. The third was a teacher who +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +looked like a piece of porcelain and always +wore silk-lined skirts and never changed the +shape of her sleeves year after year. Not one +of the three ever hurt anybody’s feelings. +</p> +<p>Miss Anglin was obliged to go into the second +class because she had moods. No, I +don’t mean because she had them,—for sometimes +you cannot help having moods, you +know—but because she showed them. She +let the moods influence her manner. Some +mornings she would come down to breakfast +as blue as my dyed brilliantine—(how I hated +that frock!)—and would sit through the meal +without opening her mouth except to put +something into it; though on such occasions +we noticed that she rarely put into it very +much besides toast and hot water. On other +days she made jokes and sparkled and +laughed with her head bent down, and was +so absolutely and utterly charming that the +girls at the other tables wished they sat at +ours, I can tell you. We three were exceedingly +fond of her, but we agreed at last after +arguing for seven days that true courtesy +makes a person act cheerfully and considerately, +no matter how she may feel inside. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></p> +<p>There were about nine in that second class, +and fourteen in the third and twenty in the +fourth, when we started in on Mary Winchester. +</p> +<p>Lila and I were rushing to get ready for the +last skating carnival of the season. Some +one knocked at the door. It was Mary, but +she didn’t turn the knob when I called, +“Come.” She just waited outside and gave +me the trouble of opening it myself. Then in +her offish way she asked if we were through +with her lexicon. After I had hunted it up +for her, she happened to notice that Lila was +wailing over the disappearance of her skates. +</p> +<p>“I saw a pair of strange skates in my +room,” she said and walked away as indifferent +as you please. +</p> +<p>Now wouldn’t any one think that was +queer? +</p> +<p>It made Lila cross, especially when she found +that the skates had three new spots of rust on +them. March is an irritable month, anyhow, +you know. Everybody is tired, and breakfast +doesn’t taste very good. She sputtered about +the rust till we reached the lake where we +found two big bonfires and three musicians to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +play dance music while we skated. Imagine +how lovely with the flames leaping against the +background of snowy banks and bare black +trees! Berta and Lila and I crossed hands and +skated around and around the lake with the +crowd. When we stopped in the firelight, Lila +looked unusually pretty with her rosy cheeks +and her curls frosted by her breath. Berta’s +eyes were like stars. Of course Robbie Belle +was beautiful, but she did not associate much +with us that evening. After one turn up and +back again while we discussed Mary Winchester, +she said she thought she would invite our +little freshman roommate for the next number. +</p> +<p>We kept on talking about Mary. Lila was +insisting that she ought to be put in the tenth +class or worse, while Berta maintained that +she wasn’t quite so bad as that. I kept +thinking up arguments for both sides. +</p> +<p>Lila counted off her crimes, and she didn’t +speak so very low either. “Mary Winchester +doesn’t deserve a place even in the tenth class. +Why, listen now. You admit that she borrows +disgracefully and never returns things. +At least, she helped herself to my skates. It +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +is almost the same as stealing. She has no +friends. She always goes off walking alone, +and sits in the gallery by herself at lectures +and concerts. Everybody says she is +queer.” +</p> +<p>“Miss Anglin thinks girls in the mass are +funny,” I volunteered, “though maybe they +are not any more so than human kind in the +bulk. She says that we all imagine we admire +originality, but when we see any one +who is noticeably different from the rest, we +avoid her. We call her queer and are afraid +to be seen with her.” +</p> +<p>“Mary Winchester’s independence is commendable,” +protested Berta. “I envy her +strength of character. She ignores foolish +conventions——” +</p> +<p>“As for instance, the distinction between +mine and thine,” interrupted Lila, “you don’t +live next to her, and you don’t know. Her +disregard for the property rights of others indicates +a fatal flaw——” +</p> +<p>“Fatal flaw, fatal flaw!” chanted Berta +mischievously, “isn’t that a musical phrase! +Say it fast now, and see if it tangles your +tongue.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span></p> +<p>I was afraid Lila would feel wounded, so I +remarked hastily that we agreed that Mary +was not polite; the question was as to the degree +of impoliteness. +</p> +<p>“Even Robbie Belle acknowledges that she +is not a lady,” chimed in Berta; “she said it +when Mary wanted to take that stray kitten +to the biological laboratory. She declared it +would be happier if dead.” +</p> +<p>“And it wasn’t her kitten either,” I contributed. +“Robbie found it up a tree. It is +necessary to weigh every little point in a +scientific study like this.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t you see, girls, that Mary Winchester +does not come from good stock,” began Lila, +“of course she isn’t a lady. Her attitude toward +the rights of others is certain proof that +her family has a defective moral sense. Perhaps +her brother——” +</p> +<p>“Oh, let’s follow out the logical deductions,” +cried Berta. “That course in logic is the +most fascinating in the whole curriculum. +See—if a girl lacks moral judgment, she either +inherits or acquires the defect. If she inherits +it, her father doubtless was dishonest. +Maybe he speculated and embezzled or gambled +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +or something. If she acquired it through +environment, her brother must have suffered +likewise as they were presumably brought +up together. So perhaps Mary Winchester’s +brother was expelled from college for kleptomania.” +</p> +<p>“Then,” said Lila triumphantly, “how +can we possibly put her into even the lowest +of our classes in manners?” +</p> +<p>“Hi, there!” I started to scream before the +breath was knocked out of me by colliding +with some girls who had been skating in front +of us. One of them had caught her skate in +a crack, and we were so intent on our conversation +that we bumped into them, and all +tumbled in a heap. Nobody was hurt. That +is, nobody was hurt physically. We picked +ourselves up and went on skating as before. It +was not until days later that we discovered +what had been hurt then. It was Mary Winchester’s +reputation. Those girls in front had +overheard part of our remarks. And they +thought that we were talking about real facts +instead of just analyzing character. +</p> +<p>It was exactly like a game of slander, only +worse. The rumor that Mary Winchester’s +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +father was a gambler and that her brother +had been expelled from college for stealing +spread and grew like fire. You know, as I +said before, she was a queer girl—so queer in +countless small ways that she was conspicuous. +Even freshmen who did not know her name +had wondered about the tall, wild-looking girl +who had a habit of tearing alone over the +country roads as if trying to get away from +herself. Naturally when such a report as this +one of ours reached them, they adopted it as +a satisfactory explanation. They also, so to +speak, promulgated it. +</p> +<p>The first we knew of the rumor was from +Robbie Belle. It was the afternoon before the +Easter vacation, and Lila and I were in Berta’s +room to help her pack her trunk. At least +Lila held the nails while Berta mended the +top tray and I did the heavy looking on. +When Berta stopped hammering and put her +thumb in her mouth, I remarked that nobody +who squealed ouch! in company could belong +to our highest class in manners. +</p> +<p>Lila’s expression changed from the pained +sympathy of friendship to the scientific zeal +of character study. “Girls, have you noticed +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +Mary Winchester lately? It is the strangest +thing! She seems more alone and alien than +ever. The girls avoid her as if she had the +plague. In the library and the corridor to-day +it was as plain as could be. They stop +talking when she comes around. They watch +her all the time though they try not to let +her know it. Of course, she couldn’t help +feeling it. They point her out to each other, +and raise their brows and whisper after she +has passed. She moves on with her head up +and her mouth set tight. Her manners are +worse than ever.” +</p> +<p>“When I met her this morning, she looked +right through me and didn’t see anything +there, I reckon,” said I, “and, oh, Lila, you +were mistaken about her borrowing your +skates without leave. It was Martha who +had them that morning. In rushing to class +she got mixed up and threw them in at the +wrong door, that’s all. Our example is corrupting +the infant.” +</p> +<p>Berta forgot her aching thumb. “Something +is wrong. Mary’s eyes are those of a +hunted creature. Driven into a corner. +Everybody against her. I wonder——” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></p> +<p>Robbie Belle walked slowly into the room, +her clothes dripping with water. +</p> +<p>“Mary Winchester fell into the lake,” she +said, “you did it.” +</p> +<p>In the silence I heard Berta draw a long +sigh. Then she dropped her hammer. +</p> +<p>“She broke through the ice,” added Robbie +Belle. +</p> +<p>“But the ice is rotten. How did she get +on it?” asked my voice. +</p> +<p>“She walked,” answered Robbie Belle, “I +saw her.” Then she crossed over to Berta, +put both arms around her neck, hid her face +against her shoulder, and began to shake all +over. “I helped pull her out, and she fought +me—she fought——” +</p> +<p>At that moment little Martha, our freshman +roommate, came running in. “That +queer girl jumped into the lake. I saw them +carrying her to the infirmary. She did it because +everybody knows her father is in the +penitentiary. They heard about it at the +skating carnival. Her brother is an outlaw +too——” +</p> +<p>Robbie Belle lifted her head. “She hasn’t +any brother, but it is true about her father. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +The doctor knows. She wonders how the +story got out. It was a secret. Mary changed +her name. She—she fought me.” +</p> +<p>I heard Berta sigh again. It sounded loud. +Lila sat staring straight in front of her with +such a horrified expression on her white face +that I shut my eyes quick. +</p> +<p>When I opened them again, Miss Anglin +stood in the doorway. I never was so glad to +see anybody in all my life. But we did not +tell her then about our classes in manners. +We waited till one day in June when she +asked us how we had managed to win Mary +out of her shell. +</p> +<p>As I look back now I cannot possibly +understand how we succeeded. It was the +most discouraging, hopeless, hardest work I +ever stuck to. Over and over again Berta and +I would have given up if it had not been for +Lila. She said that she dared not fail. Of +course Robbie Belle helped a lot in her steady, +beautiful way. Martha did her best too, partly +because she was so sorry about her share in the +affair of the skates. In fact all the girls were +perfectly lovely to Mary after the doctor had +persuaded her not to throw everything up +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +and run away to hide. By and by she +realized that it was no use to refuse to be +friends. +</p> +<p>Indeed she is a dear girl when you get to +know her real self. Her unfortunate manner—it +was unfortunate, you know—had been a +sort of armor to shield her sore pride. She +had been afraid of letting anybody have a +chance to snub her. That was the reason +why she had seemed so offish and suspicious +and indifferent and lawless and queer. +</p> +<p>Do you know, I never heard Robbie Belle +say a sharp thing except once. She said it +that day when we were telling Miss Anglin +about the classes. It was: “Whenever I +want to say something mean about anybody, +I think I shall call it a scientific analysis of +character.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IX_THIS_VAIN_SHOW' id='IX_THIS_VAIN_SHOW'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>THIS VAIN SHOW</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was the first evening at college in their +junior year. Upon coming out of the dining-room +Lila caught sight of Bea waiting at the +elevator door. Dodging three seniors, a maid +with a tray, and a man with a truck full of +trunks, she made a dash for the new arrival +who in a sudden freak of perversity danced +tantalizingly just beyond reach. +</p> +<p>“You imp! And I haven’t seen you for +three months. Help me!” she beckoned to +Berta who that moment emerged from dinner, +“run around that side and catch her.” +</p> +<p>But Bea, swiftly subsiding from her mischievous +agility, stood still and regarded them +with an air of surprised, sad dignity as the two +flung themselves upon her. +</p> +<p>“Young ladies, I am astonished at such +behavior. Leading juniors—real, live, brand-new +juniors—and to display such lack of self-restraint, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +such disdain of gracefulness and +repose! Oh!” her voice changed magically, +“oh, you, dear sweet, darling girls, I love you +pretty well.” +</p> +<p>“Then why,” queried Berta, gasping as she +released herself, “then why, I repeat, do you +endeavor to choke us to death?” +</p> +<p>“Because,” answered Bea, as she meekly +allowed Lila to straighten her hat while +Berta rescued her satchel from the middle of +the corridor, “because you are so nice and +noble and haven’t any false feeling about +little tokens of affection like that. In fact, +you haven’t any false pride or anything false, +and I have a tale of woe to tell you by and +by. Hereafter I intend to be a typical college +girl, not an exception.” +</p> +<p>The promised by and by proved to be the +hour of unpacking after chapel services. +While Bea was emptying her satchel that +night she snatched up a little fringed napkin +and shook it vigorously before the other girls. +</p> +<p>“See the crumbs! Thereby hangs the tale. +Now, listen. +</p> +<p>This summer we have been feeling rather +poor at home, you know. My father’s firm +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +was forced to make an assignment. It wasn’t +his fault, you understand; it was because of +the hard times. Every few days we would +hear of a bank closing its doors or a factory +shutting down. People have been cutting off +expenses in all directions. Of course my +family has to economize. I am thankful +enough to be able to come back to college. +About a dozen girls in the class have dropped +out this year of the panic. I knew that I +could earn fifty dollars or more by tutoring +and carrying mail, if I once got here. That +will help quite a lot toward books and postage +and ordinary personal expenses. Father said +he could manage the five hundred for board +and tuition. You had better believe that I do +not intend to be needlessly extravagant, when +my mother is keeping house without a maid, +and my father is riding to his office on a +bicycle. +</p> +<p>Now I rather suspect that this explanation +is no excuse for the foolish way I behaved on +the journey to college that September. But +the summer has been so horrid, and two or +three acquaintances changed around after the +failure and treated us as if we had ceased to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +be worth noticing. Of course I know that +such persons are not worth noticing themselves, +still it did hurt a little. I guess the +reason why I pretended to have plenty of +money while traveling with Celia was because +I was afraid of being hurt again. And then +too I remembered how she had said one evening +the year before when we were playing +Truth that she despised stinginess beyond any +other vice. That had made an impression on +me because I was just going to say the very +same thing myself. +</p> +<p>Celia is a new student who is to join our +class this year. We met her last spring when +she came up from a boarding-school in New +York to visit a senior. You remember her? +It was at a fudge party in her honor that we +played the game of Truth, to which I have +already alluded. She is the kind of person +who is generally asked to be an usher at a +hall play or on Founder’s Day. She is tall, +holds her head high, has an air. The doctor +herself said when she saw her in chapel the +evening of her visit, “Who is that striking +girl?” She dresses beautifully too; and I +think I shall ask her to let me put down her +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +name for two dances next month, if my cousin +and his roommate come from Yale for the reception. +</p> +<p>Being new to the college atmosphere, she +had an excuse for the way she acted on the +journey. An excuse that I did not have, you +know—and I know too. But as for that, +more anon, anon! At present I start in and +continue by stating that on a certain September +day I was sitting by myself in the Union +Station at Chicago, while I waited for my +train. I had arrived two hours before, and I +was hungry, and I was also, as explained +above, strongly inclined to be economical. +And therefore I was eating my luncheon out +of a pasteboard box, instead of going to a +restaurant. +</p> +<p>On my lap was a fringed napkin upon which +reposed one slice of chocolate cake with frosting, +one big peach, and seven large white +grapes each containing at least three seeds. +Just at the very moment when I took a bite +of the peach, hoping that none of the weary +passengers around me was taking notes, for +that peach was certainly juicy,—just at that +exact moment, I happened to glance across to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +the door. There was Celia Lane, with her +head higher than ever, looking up and down +for an empty seat. And the only empty seat +in the whole waiting-room was next to mine. +And my lap was strewn with an economical +luncheon. +</p> +<p>It was silly of me. I admit that once and +forever, and shall not repeat it again. But +like lightning her remark about stinginess +flashed into my mind. Before she had taken +the second step in my direction, I had crammed +all those seven grapes into my mouth, bundled +the napkin with crumbs, cake and pit +into my satchel, shoved it under the bench, +and rose nonchalantly swallowing the grapes +whole as I haughtily lifted my chin in order +to survey my worthless companions. Then of +course my eyes fell upon her, and I started +forward in vivacious greeting. +</p> +<p>I don’t believe she had recognized me before, +for she said, “Oh!” with a queer little +gasp. Then she put out her hand in that cordial +way of hers. It made me think that I +was the person she had been longing to find. +She inquired what road I was going on, and +said, “Ah, yes, what a charming coincidence!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +But honestly it seemed to me that there was +a worried expression in her eyes. +</p> +<p>And there I sat miserably shaking in my +old shoes. It may appear funny to you, but +it was an awful feeling. Even now months +afterward I never want to smile at the memory. +You see, it costs five dollars to ride in a +Pullman car from Chicago to New York. I +had planned to go into the common passenger +coach until nightfall, and thus save two dollars +and a half toward books for the new +semester. That sounds a bit mean and sordid, +doesn’t it? And I know my family +would have objected if I had told them, because +the sleeping-cars are much safer in case +of accidents. Oh, how I hated to say anything +about it! You can’t imagine. I wonder how +Berta would express it with literary vividness. +Maybe she might say that she “shrank in every +fibre.” But it was worse than that—I just +didn’t want to, I simply couldn’t. +</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +<img src='images/img-205.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='text-align:center;'> +WE HANDED OVER FIVE DOLLARS APIECE +<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></div> +<p>The hand of the clock kept moving around—oh, +lots faster than it had done before Celia +appeared. When it was nearly time for the +train to be ready, I began to mutter and mumble +and finally managed to remark that I +thought I had better see about engaging my +berth. What do you suppose? She gave a +sort of astonished jump and exclaimed, “Why, +I must too.” So we both marched over to the +agent’s window and handed over five dollars +apiece. I was dying to ask her to go shares +with me, because one berth is plenty—or, I +mean almost plenty—large enough for two. +But though I opened my mouth a few times +and coughed once, I absolutely did not dare +to propose such a penurious plan. She might +have thought me close-fisted, and perhaps she +would not have slept very well either. +</p> +<p>No sooner had we settled ourselves in the +sleeper, than I began to worry about the meals. +Naturally she would assume that I intended +to go into the dining-car every time. Most of +the girls do as a matter of course. In fact I +remember feeling condescending whenever I +saw anybody eating from a box while the +other passengers were filing down the aisle, or +up, whichever it happened to be. This year +I was to be one of the brave unfortunates left +behind in their seats. +</p> +<p>Well, very likely you understand that people +while traveling really ought not to eat so +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +heartily as usual. Much food in a dining-car +clogs the system and ventilates the pocketbook, +so to speak. I appreciated myself hard for +being right and noble and abstemious and foresighted—with +respect to the semester’s expenses, +you perceive, and also self-denying and +self-reliant. There are a number of selfs in +that sentence, likewise in the idea and in my +mind at the time. I don’t believe honestly +that poverty is good for the character, though +Berta says that she knows it isn’t good for +anything else. +</p> +<p>Celia and I went out to sit on the rear platform +of the observation-car. The scenery was +not particularly interesting in comparison +with Colorado; and consequently I had spare +energy for meditating on Emerson’s essays and +his observation that “What I must do is all +that concerns me, not what the people think.” +I wish I were strong-minded. To reflect sincerely, +however, I don’t believe it is so much +a question of a strong mind as of a weak imagination. +If I had been unable to imagine +what Celia might think, doubtless I wouldn’t +have bothered about it. +</p> +<p>But I was bothered. The sensation of botheration +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +deepened and swelled and widened as +supper time drew nearer and nearer, and +every moment I expected to hear the waiter’s +voice intoning behind me, “Supper is now +ready in the dining-car.” What made this +state of affairs all the sadder was the memory +of springing gladness inspired by the same +sound on previous journeys. I sat there +dreading and dreading and dreading. And +then, what do you think? Celia was asking +me about Lila and Berta and Robbie Belle +and the fun we have and incidentally something +about the work. I was talking so fast +that I forgot all about being poor. When the +waiter’s voice suddenly rang out at the end of +the car, I jumped up instantly just as I had +always done on former occasions of the same +nature. And I exclaimed, “I am simply +starved to death.” +</p> +<p>Then I remembered and sat down so quickly +that my camp-chair tipped against Celia and +knocked her over so that she might have fallen +off the platform if there had not been a +railing around it. That catastrophe created +such a flurry of anxieties, apologies, and so +forth, that I succeeded in letting the crisis +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +slip past unmolested. At least, that first +crisis did. The second crisis arrived a little +later when the voice behind us rang out again +with, “Second call to supper in the dining-car.” +I glanced sidewise at Celia just in time +to catch her glancing sidewise at me. That +made me spring lightly to my feet, I can tell +you. Was she getting suspicious? Was she +too courteous to suggest an extravagance the +refusal of which might hurt my pride? Was +she wondering why I seemed to have forgotten +that I was starving to death, if not already +starved? +</p> +<p>So I said in a tone of patient consideration, +“Shall we wait any longer, Miss Lane?” +She jumped up like a flash, and her face was +quite red. +</p> +<p>“No, indeed! Not on my account certainly.” +She emphasized the my so distinctly +that I was sure she suspected. That dreadful +thought caused me to stiffen my manner, and +as hers had been strangely stiff all the afternoon, +we were awfully polite to each other +during supper. Each of us insisted upon paying +the bill and feeing the waiter. It was terrible. +I couldn’t afford to pay it all, and yet +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +I was too silly to give in gracefully, especially +as some other passengers were listening, and +the waiter hovered near. Finally it resulted +in his receiving twice the sum, half for the +bill, and half for a fee. I hope he appreciated +it. +</p> +<p>Then we talked politely to each other for an +hour or two before going to bed. And in the +morning, there was the problem of breakfast +confronting me. +</p> +<p>The problem woke me early. Being poor is +bad for the health as well as bad for the character, +I think. Probably it is bad for the soul +also. Or maybe it is not the poverty so much +as being ashamed of it that perverts a person’s +life. Well, actually I almost cherished the +deceitful plot of getting up so early that I +should be already dressed before Celia would +appear, and then I could tell her that I had +been so hungry that I had eaten my breakfast +alone. It would have been true too, because +I intended to nibble my malted milk tablets +behind a magazine. But this plan came to +naught; for when I poked my head out between +the curtains I saw Celia herself staggering +toward the dressing-room with her satchel. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +Thereupon I lay down again and nibbled the +tablets in the berth. That would enable me +to assert truthfully that I was not hungry and +did not care for breakfast in the diner. +</p> +<p>Oh, dear! Wasn’t it awful! I did tell her +that very thing, and she said she didn’t believe +she was hungry either. Then we were +polite to each other till noon. When the +waiter’s dreaded voice once more rang out, I +made my little speech that I had been composing +all the morning. It was as follows: +</p> +<p>“Don’t wait for me, Miss Lane. I consider +that over-eating is a heinous fault among +Americans, and so I have decided to omit the +dining-car for the remainder of this journey. +Pray, do not let me keep you.” +</p> +<p>She said, “Why, that’s exactly what I +think, too.” +</p> +<p>Just fancy! And there I was almost famished. +I thought she would leave me at +once, and I could have a chance to eat the +luncheon spoiling in my box. Chicken sandwiches +and jelly and olives and salted almonds +and fruit and cake and everything good. I +had been thinking of it for hours. +</p> +<p>What could I do? There she sat, and there +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +I sat in plain sight of each other, being in the +same seat for the sake of sociability, though +her section was the one in front of mine. She +seemed rather quiet and formal—not so much +stiff as limp, so to speak. Still there was no +cordiality about it. Just as I felt I could not +stand starvation another minute, she rose and +said she believed she would go into the observation-car +for a while. She did not invite me +to accompany her, and I made no offer to go. +I simply sat and smiled and watched her +fumble in her bag for a few minutes before +extricating what was apparently a rolled up +magazine. Then she marched down the aisle. +The instant she had vanished into the vestibule, +I made a dive for my box. In just +thirty seconds I had consumed half a sandwich +and a slice of cake. I kept my eyes on +the spot where she had disappeared, you had +better believe. Oh, wasn’t I silly? But +then, I promised not to allude to that obvious +fact again. That lunch tasted good. And I +had plenty of time to eat all I wanted, though +I cut short the chewing process. +</p> +<p>When it was all down to the very last olive, +I brushed off all the crumbs I could see, and +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +decided to walk into the observation car and +be polite again. So I did. And what do you +suppose? Through the glass at the rear I saw +her sitting sort of sidewise so that one eye +could watch the door where I was entering. +It seemed to me that she gave a little quiver +as I came within view, and then actually she +threw something overboard. People always +see more than you think they do. At least I +saw that, and she thought I didn’t, for when +I emerged upon the platform she looked up +with a surprised smile of welcome and said, +“Isn’t the river beautiful!” +</p> +<p>I said, “Oh, isn’t it!” and then I gazed at +it very hard and attentively so as to give her +a chance to wipe the spot of jelly from her +shirtwaist. She had been eating her luncheon +too. She had carried it wrapped up in the +funneled magazine. She had been ashamed +to acknowledge that she needed to be economical, +too. I saw it all in a flash. She had +intended to ride in the common coach and +save pullman fare, just like me. And there +we had been racing, neck and neck, trying to +keep up with each other. +</p> +<p>“Oh, dear!” I said at last, “I wish we had +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +taken a berth together and saved our two dollars +and a half apiece.” +</p> +<p>I heard her give a little gasp and I felt her +staring at me. The next minute she said, +“There are crumbs on your necktie too.” +And then she bent down her head and laughed +and laughed and laughed till I had to laugh +too. +</p> +<p>“I hope it’ll be a lesson to us,” I said at +last. +</p> +<p>She wiped the tears from her lashes. “It +will be. I expect to be repenting for weeks +ahead,—at least, until my next allowance +comes in. But, you! Why, Miss Leigh, it +seems so queer. I thought the college girl +was different as a rule—independent and +frank and—oh, pardon me—and—and so +forth.” +</p> +<p>“She is,” I assured her sadly, “as a rule. +But I am an exception. I prove the rule.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='X_CONSEQUENCES' id='X_CONSEQUENCES'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>CONSEQUENCES</h3> +</div> + +<p>For her junior year Bea was fortunate +enough to secure a mail-route, the proceeds of +which helped to make her independent of a +home allowance for spending money. To +tell the truth, however, she enjoyed the work +even more than the salary. While distributing +the letters she felt a personal share in +every delighted, “Oh, thank you!” in each +ever-unsatisfied, “Is that all?” or the disappointed, +“Nothing for me to-day?” +</p> +<p>From her own experience and observation +during the years already past, she was particularly +interested in the different pairs of roommates +who came within the scope of her daily +trips. In a certain double lived two freshmen, +one of whom always greeted her with, +“Oh, thank you!” whether the mail was addressed +to her or to her roommate. But when +the roommate answered the knock, she invariably +exclaimed, no matter how much was +handed to her, “Is that all?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></p> +<p>More than once in her reports to Lila, Bea +declared that it was about time for a wave of +reform in the vicinity of Ethelwynne Bruce. +Perhaps she might even have contemplated +the possibility of engineering something of +the kind herself, if she had not been too busy +to spare the necessary thought-energy. In +the course of events, fate with its machinery +of circumstances added an extra lesson to +Ethelwynne’s college course. +</p> +<p>It happened one evening during the skating +season. +</p> +<p>Ethelwynne with her skates jingling over +her arm came shivering into the room. +“Oo-oo-ooh!” Her teeth chattered. “Wynnie’s +freezing. Do shut that window and +turn on the heat, Agnes. It is hard lines to +live in a double with a regular Polar bear +direct from the land of Sparta. You ought +to keep it up as high as forty degrees anyhow.” +</p> +<p>“Sh-h!” The smooth dark head at the +desk bent lower over the water-color before +her. “Don’t interrupt this minute. There’s +a dear. I’ve got to catch this last streak of +daylight——” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span></p> +<p>“But it isn’t daylight,” fretted Ethelwynne, +“the moon’s up already. And I’m so +chilly! I wish you would help me make +some hot chocolate.” +</p> +<p>“Look at the thermometer. Ah, one more +stroke of that exquisite saffron on the stem! +Hush, now. Look at the thermometer, look +at the thermometer,” she muttered abstractedly +while concentrating all her mental attention +in the tips of her skilful fingers. +</p> +<p>Ethelwynne stared at her a moment before +giving a little chuckle that ended in a shiver. +“Look at the thermometer, look at the thermometer,” +she echoed sarcastically, “I reckon +that’ll warm me up, won’t it? Like somebody +or other who set a lighted candle inside +the fireless stove and then warmed himself at +the glowing isinglass. Suppose your old +thermometer does say seventy or eighty or +ninety or a hundred? Maybe it is telling a +story. Why should I trust an uneducated instrument +that has never studied ethics? Now +listen here!” She lifted her skates and +poised them to throw from high above her +head. “Hist! if you don’t drop those hideous +toadstools of yours and begin to sympathize +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +with me this instant, I shall hur-r-rl +this clanking steel——” +</p> +<p>Agnes still painting busily raised one elbow +in an attitude of half-unconscious defense. +</p> +<p>“——upon the floor-r-r!” +</p> +<p>At the crashing rattlety-bang Agnes sprang +to her feet with a nervous shriek. Ethelwynne +dived for her skates and felt them +carefully. “I tried to pick out the softest +spot on the rug,” she complained whimsically, +“but there wasn’t any other way to wake her +up. And I simply had to have some sympathy. +Oo-oo-ooh, Wynnie’s freezing!” +</p> +<p>Agnes had returned to her brushes and was +wiping them dry in heartless silence. +</p> +<p>“Wynnie’s freezing, I say.” +</p> +<p>“Say it again,” counseled the other’s calm +voice. “I am so provoked at myself for +jumping at every little noise! It is shameful +to have so little control over my own +nerves even if I am tired. Ah! what was +that?” +</p> +<p>“Jump again,” advised Ethelwynne in a +tone that was meant to be serene but proved +rather jerky. “It was nothing but my teeth +chattering and clicking together.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></p> +<p>“Generally it’s your tongue,” retorted +Agnes with interest but broke off in this +promising repartee to exclaim with genuine +anxiety, “Why, Wynnie, child, you have a +regular chill. Lie down quick and let me +cover you up. Have you been out skating +ever since I left you on the lake?” +</p> +<p>“Yes, I have,” she replied with an air of +defiance, “you needn’t preach. I couldn’t +bear to come in. Everybody out. We had +square dances, shinney-on-the-ice, wood tag. +Perfectly glorious! Such a splendid elegant +sunset behind the bare trees! I simply had +to stay. Beatrice Leigh and her crowd were +there. A big moon came sailing up. We +skated to music—somebody whistled it. I +couldn’t bear to stop. I wanted to stay, I tell +you. I wanted to stay.” +</p> +<p>“Hm-m,” said Agnes, “I wanted to stay +too. But what with the Latin test to-morrow +and this plate for the book on fungi to be sent +off in the morning, I managed to tear myself +away.” +</p> +<p>“You’re different. Oo-oo-ooh!” Ethelwynne +shivered violently again. “You like +to deny yourself. You enjoy discipline. It +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +gives you pleasure to do what you hate. You +love duty just because it is disagreeable.” +</p> +<p>“My—land!” Agnes clutched her own +head. “The infant must have slipped up a +dozen times too often. Did the horrid bad ice +smite her at the base of the brain? Poor little +darling! Is her intellect all mixedy-muddle-y? +We will fix it right for her. We’ll +give her a pill.” +</p> +<p>“I think I have caught cold,” moaned her +roommate from the depths of the blankets. +</p> +<p>Agnes looked judicial. “Our doctor at +home has a theory that people take cold easily +when they have been eating too much sweet +stuff. He says that colds are most frequent +after Thanksgiving. Now I wonder—I believe—why, +you surely did go to a meeting of +the fudge-club in Martha’s room last night. +Ethelwynne, did you eat it? Did you eat it +even after all the doctor said to you about your +sick headaches?” +</p> +<p>“Of course I ate it. How do you expect +me to sit hungry in a roomful of girls all digging +into that plateful of brown delicious soft +hot fudge with their little silver spoons, and I +not even tasting it? I hated to make myself +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +conspicuous before the juniors there. They +would think I am a hypochondriac, and Berta +Abbott might have said something to make +the others look at me and laugh. I don’t believe +the stuff hurts me a particle. Doctors +always want you to give up the things you +like best.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Ethelwynne!” groaned Agnes, “you +never deny yourself anything. It is the only +trait I don’t like in you. Now you have +caught a dreadful cold just because you could +not refuse the candy. You must break it up +with quinine.” She fetched a small box from +the bureau in her bedroom. “Here, open +your mouth.” +</p> +<p>The other girl opened her mouth obediently. +“I love pills. We’re homeopaths, you know. +Once when I was a baby, I got hold of +mother’s medicine chest and ate all the pellets. +I thought they were candy. Sweet—oh, +delicious! I used to enjoy being sick. +And now this nice big chocolate-coated pill!” +She sprang up suddenly, her face twisted into +an expression of agony. “Oh, oh, oh!” +</p> +<p>Agnes white as a sheet flew to her side. +“What is it? Quick, quick, Wynnie! Is it +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +your heart? Your head? A darting pain! +Where, oh, where?” +</p> +<p>“Crackie!” Ethelwynne ruefully rubbed +her mouth. “I’ve been sucking that pill.” +</p> +<p>After a moment’s struggle to retain her +sympathetic gravity, Agnes gave way and +dropping her head on her hands shook alarmingly +for at least half a minute. +</p> +<p>“I told you I was a homeopath,” expostulated +Ethelwynne, “how was I to know that +allopaths always swallow their pills whole?” +</p> +<p>“Wh-wh-why did you suppose it was coated +with chocolate?” gasped Agnes. +</p> +<p>“So as to improve the taste of course and +tempt me to eat it. I am fond of chocolate. +If it is my duty to eat a pill, I want it to be +inviting. I don’t want to do anything that I +don’t want to do, specially when I am sick. +Well, anyhow, I shall never touch another.” +</p> +<p>However, by bedtime Ethelwynne was feeling +so miserable that finally after long urging she +consented to swallow another dose of quinine +in the orthodox way. She allowed Agnes to +put a hot water bottle at her feet and to tuck +in the coverlets cozily; and then she tried to +go to sleep. But that was another story. It +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +was a story of fitful jerks and starts, of burning +fever alternating with shivering spells, of +terrifying dreams and wretched haunted hours +of wakefulness. At last the longed-for morning +stole in at the windows to find her eyes +heavy, her limbs languid, her brain muddled +and dull, her head roaring. +</p> +<p>It was the quinine that had done it—she +knew it was—unspeakably worse than the +cold unattended. Worried Agnes acknowledged +that the dose might effect some systems +violently. +</p> +<p>“But it has broken up your cold,” she +pleaded, “that’s certainly gone.” +</p> +<p>“What?” said Ethelwynne fretfully, “don’t +mumble so and run your words together. I +can’t hear the gong very well either. And +the Latin test is coming the first hour after +breakfast. I haven’t had a chance to review +an ode. I feel so wretched! Oh, me! oh, +me!” +</p> +<p>Ethelwynne never forgot that Latin test. +The very first line written by the instructor +on the blackboard smote her with despair. +She had never been able to translate from +hearing anyhow. This morning when Miss +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +Sawyer took her seat on the platform and +opened her book, Ethelwynne bent forward +anxiously, every nerve alert and strained. +What was the first word? Oh, what was it? +She had not caught it. It sounded blurred +and mazy with no ending at all. And the +next—and the next! And the third! Now +she had lost it. The first was gone. She had +forgotten the second. The voice went reading +on and on. She floundered after, falling +farther and farther behind. There wasn’t any +sense to it, and she couldn’t hear the words +plainly, and everything was all mixed up. +The other girls seemed to understand. They +were writing down the translation as fast as +they could scribble—at least some of them +were. But she could not make out a particle +of meaning. It was Agnes’s fault—it was all +her fault. She had coaxed her to take the +quinine, and now she could not hear plainly +or think or remember or anything. +</p> +<p>In wrathful discouragement she turned to +the rest of the questions. One or two were +short and easy. She managed to do the translations +already familiar. But when she +reached the last part and attempted to write +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +down an ode which she had memorized the +week before, she found that many of the words +had slipped away from her. The opening line +was vivid enough, then came a blank ending +in a phrase that kept dancing trickily from +spot to spot in her visual imagination of the +page. Here she recalled two words, there +three, with a vanishing, vague, intangible +verse between. The meaning had slid away +utterly, leaving only these faulty mechanical +impressions of the way the poem had looked +in print. Struggle as she would, the thought +frolicked and pranced just beyond the grasp +of her memory. +</p> +<p>Ethelwynne bit her lip grimly and put the +cap on her fountain-pen. It was not the +slightest use. Miss Sawyer had always told +them to learn the odes understandingly, not +in parrot fashion. It was better to submit a +blank than a paper scribbled with detached +words and phrases. It was all Agnes’s fault—every +bit. She had forced her to swallow +that pill—the pill that had muddled her brain +and dulled her hearing—the pill which was +causing her to flunk in Latin. She had known +that ode perfectly only the previous day. It +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +wasn’t her fault—it was entirely Agnes’s. She +would go instantly and tell her so. +</p> +<p>And she went the moment class was over. +To be sure, she did not go so fast as she wished, +for her head had a queer way of spinning dizzily +at every sudden movement. Once or +twice her knees faltered disconcertingly in her +progress down the corridor. But at last she +reached the room and walked in with a backward +slam of the door. +</p> +<p>Agnes was putting the final touches to the +water-color drawing of exquisite fungi before +her. +</p> +<p>“Sh-h,” she murmured, “don’t interrupt. +Just one more stroke—and another—now this +tiny one. There, it is finished. Professor +Stratton sends her manuscript off to-day and +she is waiting for this. Think of it! Thirty +dollars for this sheet of paper! Thirty whole +big beautiful dollars to send home for Christmas. +They need it pretty badly. I’ve worked +hours and hours, and now they shall have a +real Christmas! I know what mother wants +and couldn’t afford——” +</p> +<p>Ethelwynne stamped her foot. “It was all +your fault. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t think. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +I couldn’t remember. The pill did it. You +made me take it. You always think you know +best. You’re always preaching and advising. +You wanted to make me flunk. You knew +it would make my ears ring and my head +whirl. You did it on purpose. I shall never +forgive you, never, never, never!” +</p> +<p>“What!” +</p> +<p>At the tone Ethelwynne suddenly shivered, +threw herself on the couch, and fell to crying +weakly. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean +it at all. I only wanted to say something horrid. +I wanted you to suffer too. I just wanted +to say it, and so I did say it. Oh, oh, oh, I +am so miserable! I want to go home.” +</p> +<p>Agnes paid no attention. In her sudden +sharp resentment at the preposterous accusation, +she had swung around in her chair, and +her elbow had tipped over the inkwell, spilling +the contents over the desk. She sat staring +in horrified silence at her ruined drawing. +</p> +<p>Finally Ethelwynne puzzled by the continued +stillness peered with one eye from the +sheltering fringes. She sprang up with a +jump. +</p> +<p>“Agnes, your beautiful fungi!” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span></p> +<p>A knock sounded at the door. +</p> +<p>“Come,” called Agnes in mechanical response. +There was a pause; then the knob +turned and the visitor entered with diffident +step. +</p> +<p>Ethelwynne hastily smoothed her hair with +one hand and felt of her belt with the other. +“Oh, good evening, Professor Stratton,” she +stuttered from surprised embarrassment, “I +mean, good morning. How do you do? +Won’t you sit down?” +</p> +<p>Agnes turned to look, and rose in sober +greeting. +</p> +<p>“You see it is spoiled,” she pointed to the +ink-splotched drawing. “It was an accident. +You don’t know how exceedingly sorry I am, +Professor Stratton. The work on your book +can go on without it, I hope.” +</p> +<p>The older woman forgot her incorrigible +shyness in dismay. “What a shame! How +distressing!” She hurried forward impulsively +to examine the sheet. “Since you +brought it to me last night I have been exulting +in the thought of it. You have great +talent for such work. The time you have +spent on it! How distressing!” She stopped +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +in thoughtful fear that she might be adding +to the girl’s disappointment. “An accident, +you say? How did it happen?” +</p> +<p>“Something startled me so that I twirled +around in my seat, and my elbow knocked +the ink over. I—I am very sorry.” Her +lips felt stiff. Ethelwynne watching with +miserable eyes saw her moisten them. They +were drooping at the corners. +</p> +<p>“It is my fault,” she burst out hurriedly, +“it is all my fault. I made her jump. I +startled her on purpose. I said mean things +to her because I felt like saying them. I felt +like saying them because I had flunked in +Latin. And I flunked in Latin because I took +a p-p-pill—oh, no, no! I mean, because I +caught cold from staying out on the ice +too long. And I stayed out long because I +wanted to. And the reason why I caught +cold from staying out too long was because +my digestion was upset from eating fudge +when the doctor told me not to. And I ate +the fudge because I wanted it. And it is all +my fault. It is all because I do things just +because I want to do them and not because I +ought to do them or ought not to do them. I +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +ought to leave them undone, you know. And +Prexie says that most miseries in life come +from that attitude of I-do-it-because-I-want-to-do-it-and- +I-don’t-do-it-because-I-don’t-want-to-do-it. +And now Agnes won’t have thirty +dollars to send home for Christmas. And it +is all my——” +</p> +<p>“Hush!” said Agnes, “hush, now, dear! +That’ll be all right. It was my fault anyhow. +I should have had better control of my nerves +and learned not to let myself get startled.” +She smiled reassuringly across the bowed head +into Professor Stratton’s concerned eyes. +</p> +<p>“I will see what I can do about holding +back the manuscript till you reproduce the +drawing,” said the older woman, “it is barely +possible that I can manage it.” +</p> +<p>As the door closed softly behind her, +Ethelwynne lifted her tear-wet face. +</p> +<p>“Agnes, do you think it was the pill that +did it?” +</p> +<p>“Did what? Everything?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, no, no! Was it the pill that made +me flunk in Latin?” +</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” she answered doubtfully, +“perhaps it helped.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span></p> +<p>“I want to say it was the pill. I want to believe +it was the pill. I want to, but I won’t, +because it wasn’t—not really way down underneath +truly, you know. It was my own +selfish self.” She reached up both arms to +draw Agnes closer in a repentant hug. +“Wynnie’s sorry,” she said. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XI_A_GIRL_TO_HAVE_FRIENDS' id='XI_A_GIRL_TO_HAVE_FRIENDS'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>A GIRL TO HAVE FRIENDS</h3> +</div> + +<p>“Laura!” It was a soft little call sent +fluttering in through the keyhole. “Laura, +are you there?” +</p> +<p>Laura with her chin propped on her hands +at one of the broad sills stirred uneasily in her +chair and glanced sideways at her roommate +who was seated before the other window. +Lucine had stopped reading aloud and was +regarding the door with an irritable frown on +her vivid dark face. +</p> +<p>“I do wish, Laura, that you would tell +Berta Abbott that an engaged sign on our +door means nothing if not the desire for undisturbed +privacy. She is the most inconsiderate +person in the junior class. This is the +third time——” +</p> +<p>“Laura!” called the voice again, “answer +me! I know you are in there. I’ve simply +got to speak to you one minute. It’s awfully +important.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></p> +<p>Laura half rose with a pleading smile toward +Lucine who motioned her indignantly +back to her seat. +</p> +<p>“Laura Wallace, stay right there. You +promised to help me revise this essay. You +know that I can’t do it alone, because I +haven’t a particle of critical ability; and the +editors say they cannot print it as it is now. +You are exceedingly selfish to think of deserting +me just when I most need your suggestions. +The board of editors meets to-night to +choose the material for the next number of +the magazine, and if they decline this again I +shan’t be eligible for election next month. +You promised.” +</p> +<p>“Laura, there’s something I’ve got to ask +you. If you don’t come out, I shall have to +take this sign down and walk in my own self. +Laura! Ah!” The door swung open and tall +Berta popped in. Slamming it behind her, she +stood with both hands on the knob, her eyes +fixed with an expression of innocent inquiry +upon Lucine who had halted in the middle of +her sudden dash across the floor, her hand +still outstretched toward the key. +</p> +<p>“Excuse me, Miss Brett. Were you just going +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +out? I’m glad I did not disturb you. +Shall I hold it open for you?” She stepped +to one side and waited gravely without moving +a muscle till Lucine after a withering stare had +stalked angrily back to her window. The +corner of Berta’s mouth gave a quick, queer +little twitch before settling back into proper +solemnity. +</p> +<p>“Come, Laura. You’d better. I shan’t +keep you long.” At her imperious gesture +Laura slid out of the room at an apologetic +angle, her head twisted for a final shy glance +back at Lucine who was apparently absorbed +in her papers. +</p> +<p>When safely outside in the corridor Berta +seized her about the waist and whirled her +away from all possible earshot through cracks +and transom. +</p> +<p>“Now then, exit the ogre, or rather eximus +nos, leaving the ogre alone. For what particular +reason is she trampling all over you to-day? +I didn’t catch all her last speech. You +don’t mean to say that you have promised to +help her with her writing?” +</p> +<p>“Yes,” Laura nodded her rough curly head. +She was a delicate little thing with the irregular +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +features that generally accompany such +hair. Her beauty lay in her expression which +brightened charmingly from minute to minute +since her escape. “Oh, how good the air +smells!” she stopped to lean from an open +window. “Lucine shivers at every draught. +It is hard to manage the ventilation to suit two +persons in the same room. I smother——” +</p> +<p>“Of course you smother—and you smother +a good many more hours than she shivers. +Trust her for that. Such a little ninny as you +are! Don’t forget that you have agreed to +room with my best little sister when she +enters next fall. You would not have been +thrust in with Lucine Brett this year if I +could have prevented it.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, but if I can’t come back—you know, +I’m almost sure I shan’t come back. And +anyhow I’m the only friend she has. I’ve got +to stick to her. If you could hear her mourning +over her loneliness! Nobody cares for +her—nobody in all the world! And the girls +don’t like her. I promised to be her friend. +She—she needs me.” +</p> +<p>“Humph!” growled Berta sourly, but +somehow her arm was stealing around the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +slight shoulders so far beneath her own, “that’s +the silly kind of a person you are. If any +creature needs you, from a lame kitten to a +lion with a toothache, you’ll cling. Idiocy, +that’s what it is! Your brother warned me +last summer to restrict your charities. And +now to help her with her writing, and she +your most dangerous rival for the editorship!” +</p> +<p>“Ah, but she doesn’t know it, you understand. +She doesn’t know that I am eligible. +The editors have been so awfully kind to me +and gave me book reviews to do and reports +to make, and they printed my verses and two +editorials. Every freshman who has had so +many words published is eligible for election +on the board at their annual meeting next +month. Lucine’s last story was clipped so +much that she is short about two thousand +words; and this is her last chance to qualify +by getting her essay accepted for the next +issue. I’ve got to help.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, certainly you’ve got to help a rival +qualify for a competition in which she is +likely to defeat you. Do you realize that?” +Berta swung Laura around in front of her and +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +studied her curiously while she spoke. “You +are a good steady worker, you understand. +You have critical ability and a simple, +sincere style. If elected you would make an +excellent editor, but—now listen, but, I say, +you are not a genius like Lucine Brett. She +is brilliant. Oh, I acknowledge that, even if +I do despise her for being selfish and disagreeable +and ego——” +</p> +<p>“Hush! She tries—she doesn’t understand——You +mustn’t talk that way. I +won’t listen. I promised to be her friend. +She wonders why the girls don’t like her.” +</p> +<p>“And yet she expects you to help her defeat +you! She is willing to accept that sacrifice +from you! When it means so much to +you that——” +</p> +<p>“Oh, hush, Berta!” Laura slipped out of +the range of that keen straight-ahead gaze and +nestled under the protecting arm again. +“She doesn’t know that I am eligible, I tell +you. My articles weren’t signed usually except +with initials. And she is not thinking +about other girls’ qualifications—she’s bothered +about her own. It’s got to be a fair race +with everybody in it, if they want to be. Of +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +course she will be elected—there isn’t a doubt—and +I’ll be as glad as any one.” +</p> +<p>“Yes!” Berta’s voice veered from sarcasm +to genuine anxiety. “You’ll be glad—but +you’ll be glad at home. You can’t come back +to college—you told me so yourself—unless +you are elected editor. That’s why I called +you out just now. Did your uncle really say +that he was disappointed in your career here?” +</p> +<p>Laura cleared her throat. “He doesn’t +like it because I haven’t won any honors yet. +Don’t you know how almost every girl here +came from a school where she was the brightest +star and carried off all the prizes and +things like that? My uncle doesn’t understand. +He thinks it is the fault of the college +because I haven’t done anything great. +Oh, you know, Berta. I—I do hate to talk in +such a conceited way. He doesn’t realize +that I am not brighter than the rest and can’t +dazzle. He wants me to win an honor that +he can put in the papers at home. He says if +I don’t distinguish myself this year, I might +as well stop and go to the Normal next +fall. He thinks college is too expensive. +This editorship is the only chance, because—because +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +there isn’t anything else for our class +now that the offices are filled and committees +appointed. He didn’t like it because my articles +in the magazine were signed with initials +and not the whole name. He said, ‘Well, +niece Laura, let me see your name printed +plain in that list of editors, and then we’ll +decide about next year.’ He—he’s disappointed.” +</p> +<p>“And yet,” Berta spoke slowly, “you are +going to help Lucine Brett with that essay. +And you know how much my little sister +cares about being at college with you.” +</p> +<p>Laura gave a startled jump and turned to +run. “Oh, Berta, I had forgotten. She’s +waiting. I’ve stayed too long. She’ll be so +angry!” +</p> +<p>“Let her,” growled Berta; but Laura had +fled. +</p> +<p>Meanwhile Lucine when left alone had +dropped the sheets of her essay in her lap and +planting her elbows on the sill crouched forward, +staring miserably out at the brown +soaked lawn flecked with sodden snowdrifts in +the shadows of the evergreens that were bending +before a rollicking March wind. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span></p> +<p>“Nobody cares,” she mourned, “even Laura +doesn’t care whether I succeed or not. I want +the girls to like me, but they won’t.” +</p> +<p>Tears of self-pity dimmed her lashes when +Laura slipped timidly into the room and after +a worried glance at the scattered papers resumed +her former seat. +</p> +<p>“Now, Lucine, if you will read that last +paragraph once more, I will try to see where +the difficulty lies. It—it’s fine so far.” +</p> +<p>Lucine looked down at her essay, then +across at the attentive small face that appeared +quite plain when fixed in such a worried +pucker. “No,” she said at last, “I won’t. +You are not interested in the essay or in my +hopes of success. You offer to help merely +because you think it is your duty. I refuse to +accept such grudging friendship. You toss +aside my affairs at the slightest whim of an +outsider, and then expect me to welcome the +remnant of your mental powers. No, thank +you.” +</p> +<p>Laura bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said, +“you ought not to feel that way about it. I +do truly wish to help you all I can. Please!” +</p> +<p>Lucine made a half-involuntary movement +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +to gather up the sheets; then checked herself. +“No, I have too much pride to play second +fiddle. Your neglect has wounded me deeply, +and I do not see how I can ever forgive you. +To forsake me for such a shallow, disagreeable +person as Berta Abbott is an unpardonable +insult.” +</p> +<p>Laura gave a little shiver and lifted her head +sharply. “I have tried to be your friend. I +have endured—things. But I won’t endure +this—I won’t—I can’t. Berta is my friend. +You shall not speak of her like that to me. +Say you’re sorry—quick! Oh, Lucine, say +you didn’t mean it and are sorry.” +</p> +<p>“I am not sorry,” said Lucine distinctly, +“and I did mean it. I am glad I have dared +to speak the truth about her. She is shallow +and disagreeable.” +</p> +<p>“And what are you?” Laura sprang to +her feet. “A conceited selfish inconsiderate——” +She clapped her hand to her +mouth with a quick sobbing breath. “Oh, +Lucine, we can’t be friends. I’ve tried and +tried, but we can’t.” +</p> +<p>From beneath lowered eyelids Lucine +watched the slight little figure hurry to the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +door and vanish. Then rising abruptly she +jerked a chair in front of her desk, slapped +down a fresh pad of paper, jabbed her pen +into the inkwell, shook it fiercely over the +blotter—and suddenly brushing the pages +hither and thither she flung out her arms +upon them and buried her face from the light. +</p> +<p>A few minutes later Laura entered noiselessly +and stopped short at sight of the crouching +form with shoulders that rose and fell +over a long quivering sob. Laura took one +step toward her, next two away; finally setting +her teeth resolutely she glided softly +across the room and patted the bent, dark +head. For an instant Lucine lay motionless; +then with a swift hungry gesture she reached +out her arms and swept the younger girl +close to her heart. +</p> +<p>“Laura, I can’t spare you, I can’t spare +you. You are all I have. Forgive me and +let me try again. It is an evil spirit that +made me talk that way. And, oh, Laura, +dear, I want you to like me better than you +like Berta. I need you more.” +</p> +<p>Laura put up her mouth in child-fashion +for a kiss of reconciliation. “I like you +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +both,” she said, and freeing herself gently +stooped to pick up the loose leaves of the +essay. “Shall we go on with revising this +now, Lucine? It is due this evening, you +know. The board meets at eight in the magazine +sanctum.” +</p> +<p>Lucine watched her with a wistfulness that +softened to tenderness the faint lines of native +selfishness about her mouth. “Laura, I want +you to room with me next year. We can +choose a double with a study and adjoining +bedrooms. It will make me so happy. Do +you know, last autumn when I lived in the +main building and you away off in the farthest +dormitory, I used to sit in a corridor window +every morning to watch for you. I care more +for you than for any one else. I shall teach +you to care most for me next year.” +</p> +<p>Laura seemed to have extraordinary trouble +in capturing the last sheet, for it fluttered +away repeatedly from her grasp and she kept +bending to reach it again. Lucine could not +see her face. +</p> +<p>“Will you,” she repeated, “will you room +with me next year, Laura?” +</p> +<p>Laura coughed and made another wild dive +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +in pursuit of the incorrigible paper. “Let’s +not talk about next year,” she mumbled uncomfortably, +“it is so far off and ever so +many things may happen before June. Of +course,” she faltered and swallowed something +in her throat, “I’d love to room with you, if—if +I can. But now we must hurry with this +essay.” +</p> +<p>“Well, remember that I have asked you +first,” said Lucine, “and I can’t spare you.” +</p> +<p>Laura said nothing. +</p> +<p>After the essay had been read and discussed +by Laura whose critical insight was much +keener than Lucine’s, the older girl settled +herself to rewrite the article before evening. +Dinner found her still at her desk, fingers +inky, hair disordered, collar loosened in the +fury of composition. In reply to Laura’s +urgent summons to dress, she paused long +enough to push back a lock that had fallen +over her brow. +</p> +<p>“Don’t bother me now. I’m just getting +this right at last. Go away. I don’t want +any dinner.” The pen began again on its +busy scratching. +</p> +<p>“Lucine, you know the doctor warned you +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +to be more regular about eating. Whenever +you work so intensely, you always pay for it +in exhaustion the next day. Do come now +and finish the essay later.” +</p> +<p>The rumpled head bent still lower. “I +wouldn’t drop this now for thirty dinners or +suppers. It’s good—it’s fine—it’s bound to be +accepted—it means the editorship. To sacrifice +it for dinner! Do go away. I wish you +would leave me alone.” +</p> +<p>Laura turned away silently. If the success +of the article was in question, she certainly +could not interfere further. Lucine wrote on, +paying no heed to the gong except for the +tribute of an impatient frown at the sound of +many feet clicking past in the corridor, with +a rustling of skirts and light chat of voices. +At seven when the bell for chapel again filled +the halls with murmur and movement, she +only shrugged uneasily and scribbled faster. +By half-past she had finished and was re-reading +it for final corrections. Then folding it +with a smile of weary contentment, for at last +she knew that it was sure of success, she set +out to carry it to the magazine sanctum. +</p> +<p>Down the stairs and through the lower corridor +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +she hastened toward the plain wooden +door whose key she hoped next year to claim +for her own fingers. The transom shone dark, +and no voice yet disturbed the quiet of the +neighborhood. Evidently the editorial board +had not yet begun to assemble for the business +session. Lucine decided to wait till they arrived, +so as to be certain that the precious essay +reached their hands in safety. If she +should drop it through the letter slit in the +door, it might be overlooked. +</p> +<p>Curling up on a window ledge in a shadowy +corner behind a wardrobe she waited while +dreamily gazing at the moon which was sailing +through clouds tossed by the still rollicking +wind. Ever since her first glimpse of the +magazine’s brown covers, she had determined +to become editor-in-chief some time. Now this +essay would surely be accepted, and when +printed this month would render her eligible +for election as the first sophomore editor. +From that position she would advance to the +literary editorship next year, and then to be +chief of the staff when she was a senior. Then—ah, +then the girls would be eager and proud +to be friends with her. And Laura would be +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +glad she had not forsaken her in her early +struggles. So far she had been too busy with +her writing to make friends and keep them. +It took so much time and was such a bother +to be friendly and do favors all the while. +But by and by she would have leisure to +grow unselfish and show the girls how noble +and charming and altogether delightful she +could be—by and by. Meanwhile her work +came first. She simply had to succeed in winning +this editorship. +</p> +<p>While Lucine lingered there, leaning her +forehead against the cool pane, footsteps +sounded from around the transverse; and two +figures, arm in arm, strolled nearer. They +glanced at the dusky transom, laughed over +the tardiness of their stern editor-in-chief, and +sat down on a convenient box to wait. +</p> +<p>Lucine after an intent scrutiny to identify +the two seniors as subordinate editors turned +again to the moon, and listened half unconsciously +to the low trickle of words till suddenly +her own name roused her alert. +</p> +<p>“Yes, they’re the favorite candidates.” It +was Bea’s voice that spoke. “If Miss Brett +completes her quota of lines this month she +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +will undoubtedly have the best chance in the +election, even if she is personally unpopular. +She is exceedingly self-centred, you know, +and does not trouble herself even to appear +interested in anybody else. Her manner +is unfortunate. However she is unquestionably +the ablest writer in the class though +little Laura Wallace is a close second. Berta +knew her at home and is very fond of her. +Laura and Berta’s sister Harriet have always +been special friends.” +</p> +<p>“Is Laura eligible? I do think she is the +sweetest child!” +</p> +<p>“Didn’t you know it? Her work has been +mainly inconspicuous contributions signed +only with initials. Stuff like that counts up +amazingly in the long run. She is a better +critic though not so original as Miss Brett. +For my part I think the editor-in-chief ought +to be primarily a critic, but perhaps I am +wrong. Anyhow the theory is that the election +goes to the best writer. I’m sorry. I +half wish Miss Brett would fail to qualify. +The editorship means such a heap to Laura.” +</p> +<p>“How?” +</p> +<p>“Her uncle who pays her expenses here is +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +rather queer—thinks he ought to see more results +of her career. He’s disappointed because +she doesn’t gather in prizes as she did in the +country schools. She may in her senior year, +but freshmen don’t have much chance to win +anything more than an honorable record. +He doesn’t believe in college anyhow and consented +to send her under protest. Now he +threatens to stop it if she doesn’t do something +dazzling this year.” +</p> +<p>“Poor infant! What a ridiculous attitude! +But since that is the case, why not vote her +in? Lay the circumstances before the board, +and they’ll elect her.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, no, they won’t. The board is altogether +too scrupulous and idealistic this season +to let personal feelings interfere. You’re +rather new to office as yet. Mark my words +and trust me: if Miss Brett qualifies, she will +be elected. I know—and that’s why I wish +she wouldn’t.” +</p> +<p>“There come the others. See that pile of +manuscript. We’ll be lucky if we get away +at midnight. I only hope nobody will ask +me to compose a poem to fill out a page; my +head feels as if stuffed with sawdust.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></p> +<p>Lucine turned her head slowly to watch the +group of girls wander into the office and light +the gas amid a flutter of papers and dressing-gowns +mixed with sleepy yawns and tired +laughter. Then some one shut the door. +Lucine was still sitting in the shadowy window-seat, +her essay clutched tightly in her hand. +</p> +<p>After a minute she rose, walked toward the +door, and lifted her arm as if to knock. Then +giving herself an impatient shake she swung +around and hurried down the corridor as far +as the transverse. There she hesitated, halted, +half swerved to retrace her steps, stamped one +foot down hard, brought up the other beside +it, and clenching both fists over the essay fled +from the neighborhood. +</p> +<p>When she reached her room, she paused to +listen. Hearing no sound she slipped inside, +threw the essay into a drawer, locked it, and +put the key in her pocket. Then after a +wistful glance around she stooped to pick up +Laura’s white tam from the couch, pressed it +against her cheek for a moment, and laid it +gently in the empty little chair where Laura +had sat while listening to the essay that afternoon. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></p> +<p>“Laura,” she whispered, “I can’t spare +you, Laura. You shall come back next year, +and we shall room together again, you and I.” +</p> +<p>Without a backward look toward the +drawer where the manuscript lay buried, +Lucine gathered up note-book and fountain-pen +and departed for the library. She walked +slowly through the long apartment, glancing +into alcove after alcove only to find every +chair occupied on both sides of the polished +tables that gleamed softly in the gaslight. +Finally she discovered one of the small movable +steps that were used when a girl wished +to reach the highest shelf. Capturing it she +carried it to the farther end of a narrow recess +between two bookcases and doubled her +angular length into a cozy heap for an evening +with Shelley’s poem of “Prometheus Unbound.” +That was to be the English lesson +for the next day. +</p> +<p>As she read verse after verse, the music of +the wonderful lines soothed her restless mood, +and the beauty of the thought that love and +forgiveness are stronger than selfishness lifted +her to a height of joyous exaltation. The +idea of Prometheus suffering all agonies for +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +the sake of men came to her like a revelation. +While she pondered over it, suddenly like the +shining of a great light she understood the +truth of “he that loseth his soul shall find it.” +The Christ-ideal of self-sacrifice meant the +highest self-realization. +</p> +<p>“My cup runneth over, my cup runneth +over,” sang Lucine in her heart, as she read +on and on. “I have been blind but now I +see. It has been always true, always, always. +My cup runneth over. Listen: +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“‘It doth repent me; words are quick and vain;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>Grief for awhile is blind, and so was mine,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>I wish no living thing to suffer pain.’”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>“Laura!” Lucine raised her head dreamily. +She was unconscious of how the evening +hours had drifted past, leaving only a few +lingering students here and there in the +library. She could not see the two girls bending +over the table on the other side of the +bookcase behind which she was nestling. +But their voices floated mistily to her ears. +</p> +<p>“Laura, remember that you have promised +to live with my sister next year. Don’t let +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +Lucine coax or frighten you out of it. You +have promised.” +</p> +<p>“But if I don’t come back?” +</p> +<p>“Well, anyway you have promised to room +with Harriet if you do. We’ll choose a parlor +away off at the other end of the campus +from Lucine, so that I can protect you from +her demands. You’ve been growing thinner +and whiter all the year. Now, remember. +Don’t you give in to her selfishness. She is +able to take care of her precious self without +killing you in the process. Promise.” +</p> +<p>Lucine heard a sigh. “I’ve promised to be +her friend and I do care for her dearly; but I +want with all my heart to room with Harriet, +if I can manage to get back for next year. +I’m almost sure I shan’t. Now, see here, does +this verb come from vinco or vincio? I’m so +sleepy I can’t read straight.” +</p> +<p>Lucine very white about the lips was sitting +erect in her corner. “My cup runneth +over, my cup runneth over,” echoed faintly in +her brain. “My cup runneth over and Laura +likes her best and the essay is up-stairs and I +wish no living thing to suffer pain—suffer +pain. My cup runneth over. ‘Pain, pain +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +ever, forever!’ I won’t, I won’t, I can’t +do it, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! To sacrifice +it all for her and then—and then to be forsaken!” +</p> +<p>Lucine glided from the recess, passed +swiftly from the library, climbed the stairs to +her room, moved toward the drawer which +held the essay, and felt for the key in her +pocket. It was gone. It must have fallen +out while she read, doubled up on the low +step. In wild haste now, for the minutes +were flying and the board of editors might +even now have adjourned, she hurried back to +search. The green baize doors swung open in +her face, and Berta and Laura came loitering +out, their arms around each other, their heads +bent close together affectionately. +</p> +<p>“Lucine, oh, Lucine!” Laura at sight of +her slipped away from Berta, “what is the +matter? What has happened? Didn’t they +accept the essay?” +</p> +<p>Brushing her aside Lucine swept on into +the library, turned into the recess, and +dropped on her knees beside the step to look +for the stray key. Her eyes fell upon the +open book which lay face downward where +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +she had forgotten it. Then she remembered. +“I wish no living thing to suffer pain.” +</p> +<p>It was long past ten o’clock and the corridors +stretched out their dusky deserted +length from one dim gas-jet to another flickering +in the shadows, when Lucine crept back +to her room. Laura raised a wide-eyed anxious +face from the white pillow. +</p> +<p>“Lucine, I couldn’t sleep until I knew.” +</p> +<p>The older girl sat down on the bed and +drew the little figure close. +</p> +<p>“When you are editor, Laura, will you try +to like me still? And will you keep on forgiving +me and helping—helping me to deserve +to have friends? And will you—will +you teach me how to make Harriet like me +too?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Lucine!” Laura flung her warm +arms around the bowed neck. “I know what +we shall do next year, if I can come back. +The idea has just struck me. You and Harriet +and I shall room together in a firewall +with bedrooms for three!” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XII_AN_ORIGINAL_IN_MATH' id='XII_AN_ORIGINAL_IN_MATH'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>AN ORIGINAL IN MATH</h3> +</div> + +<p>When Gertrude’s brother turned up at +college just before the holidays of their senior +year, he boldly asked for Bea in the same +breath with his sister’s name. When the +message was brought to her, that fancy-free +young person’s first thought was a quick dread +that Berta would tease her about the preference. +But no. Miss Abbott, chairman of the +Annual’s editorial board, clasped her inky +hands in relief. +</p> +<p>“Bless the boy! He couldn’t have chosen +better if he had looked through the walls and +discovered Bea the sole student with time to +burn—or to talk, for that matter. Trot along, +Beatrice, and tell him that Gertrude is coming +the moment she has dug her way out of +this avalanche of manuscript. I can’t possibly +spare her for half an hour yet. Go and distract +his mind from his unnatural sister by +means of another story.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></p> +<p>“Tell him about your little original in +math, Bea,” called Lila after her, “that’s +your best and latest.” +</p> +<p>Bea retraced her steps to thrust back an injured +countenance at the door. “I guess I +am able to converse as well as monologue, +can’t I?” she demanded indignantly, “you +just listen.” +</p> +<p>However, when confronted by a young man +with a monosyllabic tongue and an embarrassingly +eloquent pair of eyes, she seized a copy +of the last Annual from the table in the +senior parlor, and plunged into an account of +her own editorial trials. +</p> +<p>Gertrude is on the board for this year’s +Annual, you know, and Berta Abbott is chairman. +At this very moment they are struggling +over a deluge of manuscripts submitted +in their prize poem contest. Of course, I +sympathize, because I have been through +something of the same ordeal. The Monthly +offered a prize for a short story last fall, and +we had rather a lively sequel to the decision. +Shall I tell you about it from the beginning? +At our special meeting, I read the stories +aloud, because I happen to be chief editor. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +Nobody said anything at first. Janet, the +business editor, tipped her chair back and +stared at the piles of magazines on the shelves +opposite. Laura, who does the locals, pressed +her forehead closer to the pane to watch the +girls hurrying past on their way to the tennis +tournament on the campus. Adele and Jo, +the literaries, nibbled their fountain-pens. +</p> +<p>I spread out the manuscripts, side by side, +in a double row on the big sanctum desk, +picked up my scribbled pad, leaned back till +the swivel screw squeaked protestingly from +below, and said, “Well?” +</p> +<p>Janet brought her chair down on all four +feet with a bump. “Nary one is worth a ten +dollar prize,” she declared pugnaciously, “especially +now that Robbie Belle has gone to +the infirmary for six weeks and she can’t help +me in soliciting advertisements.” +</p> +<p>Laura turned her head. “Robbie Belle +had promised to write up the first hall play +for me. She was going to review two books +for Jo and compose a Christmas poem for +Adele’s department. I think maybe there +are perhaps a dozen or so girls who might +have been more easily spared.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></p> +<p>I brushed a hand across my weary brow. +It did not feel like cobwebs exactly,—more +like cork, sort of light and dry and full of +holes. I had been up almost all night, studying +over those fifteen manuscripts, applying +the principles of criticism, weighing, balancing, +measuring, arguing with myself, and rebelling +against fate. If Robbie Belle had +been there she could have recognized the best +story by instinct. Ever since I became chief +editor I had depended upon her judgment, +because she is a born critic and always right, +and I’m not. And now just when I needed +her most of all and more than anybody else, +there she had to go and get quarantined in +the infirmary. +</p> +<p>“Girls,” I said, “do express an opinion. +Say what you think. We simply must decide +this matter now, because the prize story has +to go to press before the first, and this is our +only free afternoon. I know what I think—at +least I am almost sure what I think—but I +want to hear your views first. Adele, you’re +always conscientious.” +</p> +<p>Adele was only a junior and rather new to +the responsibility of being on the editorial +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +board. She glanced down at her page of +notes. +</p> +<p>“Every one of the stories has some good +points,” she began cautiously. “Most of +them start out well and several finish well. +Six have good plots, nine are interesting, five +are brightly written. Number seven is, I believe—yes, +I think I consider it the best. The +trouble is——” +</p> +<p>“Altogether too jerky,” interrupted Jo, “a +fine plot but no style whatever. This is a cat. +See the cat catch the rat. That’s the kind of +English in number seven. Now I vote for +number fifteen.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, but, Jo,” I broke in eagerly, for number +seven was my own laborious choice also, +and Adele’s corroboration strengthened me +wonderfully. “Jo, it is the simplicity of the +style that is its greatest recommendation. +You know how Professor Whitcomb has +drummed into us the beauty of Anglo-Saxon +diction. It’s beautiful—it’s charming—it’s +perfect. Why, a six-year-old could understand +it. Fifteen is far too sensational for +good art. Just listen to this——” +</p> +<p>Jo was stubborn. “The use of short words +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +is a mere fad,” she said, “it is like wearing +dimity for every occasion. Now listen to +this!” +</p> +<p>She snatched up one manuscript and read +aloud while I declaimed from the other. +Adele listened with a pained frown on her +forehead, Janet laughed and teetered recklessly +to and fro on her frisky chair, Laura +fidgeted at the window and filled every pause +with a threat to leave us instanter for the +tournament positively had to be written up +that day. Finally I put the question to the +vote, for Jo is so decided in her manner that +she makes me feel wobbly unless I am conscious +of being backed up by Robbie Belle. I +suppose it is because my own opinions are so +shaky from the inside view that I hate to appear +variable from the outside. It would +have been horrid to yield to Jo’s arguments +and change my ideas right there before the +whole board. The rest of them except Jo had +fallen into a way of deferring to my judgment, +for I had seemed to hit it off right almost +always in accepting or rejecting contributions. +Nobody knew how much I had depended on +Robbie Belle. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></p> +<p>The board awarded the prize to number +seven, my choice, you know. Janet was on +my side because the story had a nice lively +plot, and that was all she cared about. Laura +put in a blank ballot, saying that her head +ached so that it was not fair to either side for +her to cast any weight upon the scale. Adele +of course voted with me. Jo stuck to number +fifteen till the end. +</p> +<p>“Well, that’s over!” sighed Laura and escaped +before any one had put the motion to +adjourn. Janet vanished behind her, and Jo +picked up the manuscript of which she was +champion. +</p> +<p>“By the way, girls,” she said, “I will return +this to its writer, if you don’t mind. And I +shall tell her to offer it to the Annual. The +committee will jump at the chance. Find out +who she is, please.” +</p> +<p>I slipped the elastic band from the packet +of fifteen sealed envelopes and selected the one +marked with the title of the story. The name +inside was that of a sophomore who had already +contributed several articles to the +Monthly. Then I opened the envelope belonging +to number seven. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></p> +<p>“Maria Mitchell Kiewit,” I read, “who in +the world is she? I’ve never heard of her. +She must be a freshman.” +</p> +<p>Jo who was half way out of the room stopped +at the word and thrust her head back around +the door. “Did little Maria Kiewit write +that? No wonder it is simple and jerky. +She’s a mathematical prodigy, she is. Her +mother is an alumna of this college. See! +The infant was named after our great professor +of astronomy. She wants to specialize herself +in mathematical astronomy when she gets +to be a junior. Her mother was head +editor of the Monthly in her day. Maria +rooms somewhere in this corridor, I believe. +It will be a big thing for her to win +the prize away from all the upper class girls. +I didn’t vote for her. By-bye.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Adele, clasping her hands +in that intense way of hers, “won’t she be +happy when she hears! A little ignorant unknown +freshman to win the prize for the best +short story among eight hundred students! +Her mother will be delighted. Her mother +will be proud.” +</p> +<p>“Hist!” Jo’s head reappeared. “She’s +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +coming down the corridor now. Red cheeks, +bright eyes, ordinary nose, round chin, long +braid, white shirtwaist, tan skirt—nothing but +an average freshman. She doesn’t look like a +mathematical prodigy, but she is one. And +an author, too—dear, dear! There must be +some mistake. Authors never have curly +hair.” +</p> +<p>Adele and I poked our faces through the +crack. Jo wickedly flung the door wide open. +“Walk right out, ladies and gentlemen. See +the conquering heroine comes,” she sang in a +voice outrageously shrill. During the trill on +the hero, she bowed almost double right in the +path of the approaching freshman. Maria +Mitchell Kiewit stopped short, her eyes as +round as the buttons on her waist. +</p> +<p>Jo fell on her knees, lifting her outspread +hands in ridiculous admiration. “O Maria +Mitchell Kiewit,” she declaimed, “hearken! +I have the honor—me, myself—I snatch it, +seize it—the honor to announce that thou—thee—you—your +own self hast won the ten +dollar prize for the best short story written for +the Monthly by an undergraduate. Vale!” +She scrambled upright by means of clutching +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +my skirt and put out a cordial hand. “Nice +girl! Shake!” +</p> +<p>“Josephine!” gasped Adele in horrified rebuke. +My breath was beginning to come fast +over this insult to our editorial dignity when +I caught sight of the freshman’s face. Her +cheeks were as red as ever, but she had turned +white about the lips, and her eyes were really +terrified. +</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t want it!” she cried involuntarily, +shrinking away from us, “I don’t +want it.” +</p> +<p>Jo’s mouth fell open. “Then why in the +world——” +</p> +<p>The little freshman fairly ran to the alleyway +leading to her room. +</p> +<p>Jo turned blankly to us. “Then why in +the world did she write the story and send +it in?” +</p> +<p>Adele—I told you she was conscientious, +didn’t I? and inclined to be mathematical +herself—stared at the spot where Maria had +disappeared. “Such an attitude might be explained +either by the supposition that she is +diffident—sort of stunned by the surprise, you +understand—she never expected to win. Or +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +maybe she is shy and dreads the notoriety of +fame. Everybody will be looking at her, +pointing her out. Or—or possibly——” +Adele hesitated, glanced around uneasily, +caught my eye; and we both dropped our lids +quickly. It was horrid of us. I think it is +the meanest thing to be suspicious and ready +to believe evil of anybody. But truly we had +just been reading a volume of college stories, +and one was about a girl who plagiarized some +poems and passed them off as her own. And +this Maria Mitchell Kiewit had behaved almost +exactly like her. +</p> +<p>“Or possibly what?” demanded Jo. +</p> +<p>Adele stammered. “Or p-p-possibly—oh, +nothing! Maybe she is ashamed of the story +or something like that. She lacks self-esteem +probably. She didn’t expect it to be published, +you know, and—and she is surprised. +That’s all. She—I guess she’s surprised.” +</p> +<p>“Come along, Adele,” I slipped my arm +through hers and dragged her away from Jo’s +neighborhood, “you must help me reject +these fourteen others. That’s the part I hate +worst about this editorial business.” +</p> +<p>“Don’t you want to reconsider the decision?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +called Jo, “since she doesn’t wish +the prize herself, you’d better choose my girl. +This is your last chance. The committee for +the Annual will surely gobble number fifteen +up quick. Berta Abbott knows good literature +when she sees it. Going, going——” +</p> +<p>“Let her go. Now, Adele,” I said, closing +the sanctum door with inquisitive stubborn +Jo safely on the outside, “here are the rest of +the names. You doubtless know some of +their owners by sight, and I hope I know +others. This is how we shall manage. Whenever +you see one of them securely away from +her room—maybe in the library or recitation +or out on the campus or down town or anywhere—you +tell me or else run yourself and +take her manuscript and poke it under her +door. I’ll write a nice polite little regretful +admiring note to go with each story, and that +ought to take the edge off the blow. But +be sure she is not at home. It would be +simply awful to hand anybody a rejected article +right to her real face and see how disappointed +she is. I think it is more courteous +to give her a chance to recover alone and unobserved.” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></p> +<p>“But suppose she has a roommate?” said +Adele. +</p> +<p>“Oh, dear! Well, in that case we’ll have +to watch and loiter around till they are both +out of reach. It may take us all the week.” +</p> +<p>And it actually did. It took a lot of time +but it was exciting too in a way. We felt +like detectives or criminals—it doesn’t matter +which—to haunt the corridors and grounds +till we spied one of those girls headed away +from her room (of course we had to find out +first where each one lived), and then we scurried +up-stairs and down and hung around in +the neighborhood and walked past the door, +if anybody happened to be near, and finally +shoved the manuscript to its goal. Certainly +I understand that we were not obliged to take +all this trouble but I simply could not bear to +send those long envelopes back through the +post. Every student who distributes the mail +would have recognized such a parcel as a rejected +manuscript. And of course that would +have hurt the author’s feelings. +</p> +<p>Naturally I was rushed that week because +Thanksgiving Day came on Thursday, and I +had an invitation to go down to the city to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +hear grand opera that afternoon. It was +necessary to take such an early train that I +missed the dinner. That evening when I returned +I found the whole editorial board and +Berta too groaning in Lila’s study while +Laura acted as amanuensis for a composite +letter to Robbie Belle. You see, they had +eaten too much dinner—three hours at the +table and everything too good to skip. Each +one tried to put a different groan into the letter. +They were so much interested in the +phraseology and they felt so horrid that nobody +offered to get me crackers or cocoa, +though I was actually famishing. +</p> +<p>After poking around in the family cupboard +under the window seat, I routed out a +bag of popcorn. I lighted the gas stove and +popped about three quarts, and then boiled +some sugar and water to crystallize it. When +you are starving, have you ever eaten popcorn +buttered for a first course and crystallized for +a second? It is the most delicious thing! +I had just settled myself in a steamer-chair +with the heaped up pan of fluffy kernels +within reach of my right hand, when there +came a knock on the door. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span></p> +<p>“Enter!” called Janet. +</p> +<p>The knob turned diffidently and in +marched Maria Mitchell Kiewit. +</p> +<p>Lila pushed another pillow behind Jo on +the couch, Laura lifted her pen, Janet +exerted herself to rise politely. I carelessly +threw a newspaper over the corn, and then +poked it off. After all, editors are only +human, and freshmen might as well learn +that first as last. +</p> +<p>“I wish to see Miss Leigh,” said the visitor +in a high, very young voice that quavered +in the middle. +</p> +<p>I straightened up into a dignified right angle. +“What can I do for you, Miss Kiewit?” +</p> +<p>“I wish to withdraw my story,” she announced +still at the same strained pitch, “I +have changed my mind. Here is the ten-dollar +bill.” +</p> +<p>“But it went to press three days ago,” I +exclaimed. +</p> +<p>“And the Annual has gobbled up second +choice,” said Jo triumphantly. +</p> +<p>“We jumped at it,” corroborated Berta. +</p> +<p>“To take out the prize story now would +spoil the magazine,” cried Adele. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></p> +<p>“Impossible!” declared Janet. +</p> +<p>“Nonsense!” said Laura under her breath. +</p> +<p>The little freshman stared from one to +another. Then suddenly her round face +quivered and crumpled. Throwing up one +arm over her eyes she turned, snatched at +the door knob and stumbled out into the +corridor. +</p> +<p>I looked at Adele. +</p> +<p>“Yes,” she replied to my expression, +“you’d better go and find out now. It’s for +the honor of the Monthly. It would be awful +to print a—a—mistake,” she concluded +feebly. +</p> +<p>Just as I emerged from the alleyway I +caught sight of the small figure fluttering +around the corner of a side staircase half way +down the dimly lighted hall. I had to hurry +in order to overtake her before she could reach +her own room. She must have been sobbing +to herself, for she did not notice the sound of +my steps on the rubber matting till I was near +enough to touch her elbow. Then how she +jumped! +</p> +<p>“Pardon me, Miss Kiewit. May I speak to +you for one minute?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p> +<p>She nodded. I am not observant generally +but this time I could see that she said nothing +because she dared not trust her voice to +speak. She went in first to light the gas. +The pillows on the couch were tossed about in +disorder, and one of yellow silk had a round +dent in it and two or three damp spots as if +somebody had been crying with her face +against it. +</p> +<p>Now I hate to ask direct questions especially +in a situation like this where I wished +particularly to be tactful, and of course she +would be thrust into an awkward position in +case she should dislike to reply. So I sat +down and looked around and said, “How +prettily you have arranged your room!” +</p> +<p>The freshman had seated herself on the +edge of her straightest chair. At my speech +she glanced about nervously. “My mother +graduated here,” she explained, “and she +knew what I ought to bring. Ever since I +can remember, she has been planning about +college for me.” +</p> +<p>“What a fortunate girl you are!” This +was my society manner, you understand, for I +was truly embarrassed. I always incline to +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +small talk when I have nothing to say. She +caught me up instantly. +</p> +<p>“Fortunate! Oh, me! Fortunate! When +I hate it—I hate the college except for math. +My mother teaches in the high school—she +works day after day, spending her life and +strength and health, so that I may stay here. +I—I hate it. She wants me to become a +writer. And I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! I want +to elect mathematics.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” said I. +</p> +<p>“When she was a girl, she longed to write, +but circumstances prevented. Then I was +born and she thought I would carry out her +ambition and grow to be an author myself. +She’s been trying years and years. But I +can’t write. I’m not like my mother. I have +my own life to live. I—I hate it so. And—and——” The +child stopped, swallowed +hard, then leaned toward me, her eyes begging +me. +</p> +<p>“And if you keep my story for the prize, +she will hear about it, and she won’t let me +elect mathematics for my sophomore year.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” I said, and I was surprised to such +a degree that the oh sounded like a giggle at +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +the end. That made me so ashamed that I +sat up a little more erect and ejaculated vivaciously, +“You—you astonish me.” +</p> +<p>It was the funniest thing—she hung her +head like a conscience-smitten child. “I—I +haven’t told her about it because it would encourage +her and then later she would—would +be all the more disappointed. I can’t write, +I tell you.” +</p> +<p>“The vote was almost unanimous,” I remarked +stiffly. +</p> +<p>She stared at me doubtfully. “Well, +maybe that story is good but I know I +couldn’t do it again. And anyhow my +mother told me the plot.” +</p> +<p>“Oh,” I said. It was really the plot that +had won the prize, you understand, though +indeed I had found the style eminently +praiseworthy also according to all the principles +of criticism. It almost fulfilled the +rhetorical rules about unity, mass and coherence. +</p> +<p>“So you will let me withdraw?” she questioned +timidly, “here’s the ten dollars.” She +held out the crumpled bill which she had +been clutching all the evening. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></p> +<p>I thought I might as well be going. “It’s +allowable to use your own mother’s plot,” I +assured her, “don’t bother about that. Good +bye.” +</p> +<p>Without looking at her I hurried through +the alleyway into the corridor, flew past the +sanctum, darted into the staircase, then halted, +turned around, stopped at the water-cooler for +a taste of ice water, then walked slowly back +to her room. +</p> +<p>I put my head in at the door. “You +heard me say, didn’t you, that the story has +gone to press?” +</p> +<p>She lifted her face from that same yellow +silk pillow. “Yes,” she said. +</p> +<p>“All right.” I started away briskly as if +I thought I was going, but I didn’t. This +time I turned around, went clear into the +room and sat down on the couch. +</p> +<p>“And anyway,” I said, “you haven’t any +right to deceive your mother like that. It is +robbing her of a joy that she surely deserves. +She has earned it. You haven’t any right +not to tell her that your story won the prize. +Whether we let you withdraw it or not, it +would be wrong for you to steal that pleasure +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +from your own mother. You are thinking +merely of your own selfish wishes.” +</p> +<p>“No, no, no! Don’t you see?” She flung +herself toward me. “It is like being a surgeon. +I must cut out the ambition. I can +never fulfill it. Never, never, I tell you. +The news of this prize will make it grow and +grow like a cancer or something, till it will +hurt worse, maim, kill, when I fail at last. +If she would only see that I love mathematics +and can do something in that maybe some +day. But in literature. Suppose I shut myself +up for years, struggle, struggle, struggle +to wring out something that isn’t in me, +while she wears herself out to support me. +The publishers will send it back, one after +another. I can’t write, I tell you. I know +it. It will be all an awful sacrifice—a useless +sacrifice, with no issue except waste of her life +and my life. Don’t you see?” +</p> +<p>“Don’t you think,” said I calmly, “don’t +you think that you are just a little foolish +and intense?” That is what a professor said +to me once and it had a wonderfully reducing +effect. So I tried it on this excited little +freshman. But the result was different. Instead +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +of clearing the atmosphere with a breeze +of half mortified laughter, it created a stillness +like the stillness before a whirlwind. I +got up hastily. “I think I had better be +going,” I said. +</p> +<p>This time I heard the key turn in the lock +behind me as I walked rapidly away. Actually +I had to hold myself in to keep from scuttling +away like a whipped puppy. That is how I +felt inside. I didn’t believe that she would +ever forgive me. There were two compensations +for this episode in my editorial career: +one was the realization that the little freshman +had plenty of dignity to fall back on, the +other was that she would not be very likely +to ask again for the return of the prize story. +</p> +<p>Considering that this was my sincere attitude, +you may imagine how amazed I was to +hear my name called by this young person the +very next morning. She came running up +to me at the instant my fingers were on the +knob of the sanctum door. Her hands were +filled with those little cardboard rhomboids, +polyhedrons, prisms and so forth which the +freshmen have to make for their geometry +work. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></p> +<p>“I’m going to do it,” she began breathlessly, +“I’m going to tell my mother. Perhaps +it would please her more if—if you +should write me a note on paper with the +name of the Monthly at the top, you know. +She used to be an editor when she was in college. +In it say that the board gave me the +prize. I think it will please her.” +</p> +<p>“I shall be delighted,” I exclaimed. Then +something in the way she was gazing down +at those geometrical monstrosities (I never +could endure mathematics myself) made me +want to comfort her. +</p> +<p>“Why, child, it won’t be necessary to sacrifice +math entirely. You can elect analytics +and calculus to balance the lit and rhetoric. +Cheer up.” +</p> +<p>She raised eyes brimming with tears. “My +mother thinks that math has an adverse tendency. +She doesn’t want me to take much +science either. She says that science deals with +facts, literature with the impression of facts.” +</p> +<p>“Oh,” I remarked. You notice that I had +found occasion to use the foregoing expletive +several times since first meeting Miss Maria +Mitchell Kiewit. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></p> +<p>She nodded gloomily in acknowledgment +of my sympathetic comprehension. “Yes, +once when I described lights in a fog as ‘losing +their chromatic identity’ instead of saying +they ‘blurred into the mist,’ she asked +me to drop physics in the high school. She +said it was ruinous, it was destroying the +delicacy of my perceptions.” +</p> +<p>“Doesn’t your mother ever——” I hesitated, +then decisively, “doesn’t she ever +laugh?” +</p> +<p>Maria dimpled suddenly. “Oh, yes, yes! +She’s my dearest, best friend, and we have fun +all the time except when she talks about my +becoming a writer. She said that now at college +I could show if there was any hope in +me. She meant that this is my chance to +learn to write. I—I——” She paused and +glanced at me dubiously from under her lashes. +“I sent in that story just to show her that I +couldn’t write. I was going to tell her I had +tried and failed.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” Then I chuckled, and the freshman +after a moment of half resentful pouting +joined in with a small reluctant laugh. +</p> +<p>“It is funny,” she said, “I think that maybe +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +from your side of the affair it is awfully funny. +But——” +</p> +<p>I turned the knob swiftly. “No but about +it. I shall write that note this minute, and +you shall mail it home at once. That is the +only right thing to do.” +</p> +<p>“Yes.” She heaved a deep, long sigh. “I +know that. I have worked it all out as an +original in geometry. For instance: Given, +an unselfish mother with a special ambition +for her rebellious selfish daughter. Problem: +to decide which one should sacrifice her own +wishes. Let the mother’s desire equal this +straight line, and the daughter’s inclination +equal this straight line at right angles to the +other. To prove——” +</p> +<p>“See here, little girl,” I interrupted her +kindly but firmly, “no wonder your mother +dreads the effect of mathematical studies on +your tender brain! I said farewell to geometry +exactly two years and four months ago. I +did the examination in final trig three times. +Comprehend? Now run into your own room +and get that letter written quick. If you are +very agreeable indeed, I may let you enclose +the proof sheets, who knows?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></p> +<p>“Thank you,” she exclaimed in impulsive +joy, “that will be lovely. Mother will be so +pleased.” Then the vision of coming woe in +exile from beloved calculations descended upon +her, and she hugged the paper figures so convulsively +that the sharpest, most beautiful +angle of the biggest polyhedron cracked clear +across from edge to edge. They were perfectly +splendid clean edges, edges that even I could +see had been formed by the carefully loving +hands of a mathematical prodigy. +</p> +<p>After that day came a pause in the drama +(Adele declared that it was really a tragedy +caused by one life trying to bend another to its +will) until the day when the new issue of the +Monthly arrived in the noon mail. As Robbie +Belle was still in the infirmary of course, +the rest of the board took hold of her share of +the work. We divided the list of subscribers +between us, and started out to distribute the +magazines at the different rooms in the various +dormitories. +</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a> +<img src='images/img-281.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='text-align:center;'> +SHE WAVED AN OPEN LETTER IN HER HAND +<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span></div> +<p>Part of my route happened to include the +neighborhood of the sanctum. Just as I +turned into Maria’s alleyway to leave the three +copies always provided for every contributor, +she came dashing out of her room in such a +headlong rush that I barely saved my equilibrium +by a rapid jump to one side. As soon +as she could control her own impetus she +whirled and bore down upon me once more. +</p> +<p>“Mercy, mercy!” I cried, backing into a +corner by the hinges and holding my pile of +magazines in front as a rampart, “don’t be an +automobile any more.” +</p> +<p>She waved an open letter in her hand. +</p> +<p>“Mother says I may elect all the math I +want. She says I can’t write a little bit. She +says that this prize story shows I can’t. She +says it is awful—all except the plot, and that +isn’t mine, you know. She says that the vocabulary, +sentence structure, everything proves +me mathematical to the centre of my soul. +She says she has always been afraid she was +making a mistake to force a square peg into a +round hole. I’m the peg, you understand. +She says I needn’t struggle any more, and +she’ll be just as proud of a mathematical genius +as of a mechanical author. She says she is +grateful for the honor of the prize, but she +thinks the board of editors made a mistake.” +</p> +<p>I walked feebly into the room, sank on the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +couch, and propped myself against that yellow +silk pillow. +</p> +<p>“It’s horrid to be an editor,” I said, “especially +when Robbie Belle has to go and get +taken to the infirmary just when I need her +most.” +</p> +<p>“My mother knows,” chanted the little +freshman, “and she says I can’t write a little +bit. She says I can elect mathematics. +Whoopee!” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIII_JUST_THIS_ONCE' id='XIII_JUST_THIS_ONCE'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>JUST THIS ONCE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Ellen drummed restlessly on the window +pane. “I’m ’most sure it would not matter +just this once. We’ve had the mildest sort of +a fever, and I don’t see yet why they keep us +shut up so long away off here. I’m crazy to +send a letter home.” +</p> +<p>Lila’s thin shoulders gave an irritable little +shrug under the silken folds of her dressing-gown, +and her finely cut features screwed for +an instant into an expression of impatient dislike. +It was only for an instant—then the +mask of her conventional courtesy dropped +again between the two convalescents. +</p> +<p>“Why not tell the doctor or the nurse what +you wish to write? They will attend to it for +you. Infection may be conveyed in a dozen +ways, you know. We are beginning to peel, +and that is the worst——” +</p> +<p>“Oh, are we?” broke in Ellen excitedly, +“are we really peeling?” She lifted one hand +and examined the wrist. “No, I’m not even +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +beginning. Every morning the moment I +wake up I rub and rub, but it won’t peel. It +simply won’t. And I’ve got to stay here till +I do. Are you peeling? Really?” +</p> +<p>She darted across to her companion and +seized her arm without noticing the quiver of +distaste before it lay limp in her eager grasp. +</p> +<p>“Oh, oh, it is, it certainly is! You are +peeling. You will get through first and be +set free and go back to the girls. I shall be +left here alone. It isn’t fair. We both came +the same day. Think of almost six weeks lost +from college! My first spring in this beautiful +place! It doesn’t mean so much to you, +because you’re a junior. You don’t care.” +</p> +<p>Lila had withdrawn her hand under the +pretext of picking up a case knife to sharpen +her pencil. Now though her lids were +lowered as she hacked at the stubby point, +she was perfectly aware of the hopeful curiosity +in the freshman’s side glance at her. +Lila despised the habit of side glances. For +the past few days she had felt increasing +scorn of a childishness that sought to vary by +quarrels the monotony of their imprisonment. +Hadn’t the girl learned yet that she—Lila +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +Allan, president of the junior literary society—was +not to be provoked into any undignified +dispute by puerile taunts? +</p> +<p>“You don’t care,” repeated Ellen from her +old position at the window. “I guess you’d +rather anyhow have all your time to write +poetry instead of studying.” She glanced +around just in time to see Lila’s lips set in a +grimmer line as the lead in the short pencil +snapped beneath a more impatient jab of the +dull knife. She laughed teasingly. +</p> +<p>“What’s the use of writing all that stuff +now? You’re wearing out your pencil fast. +Aren’t you afraid the paper will carry infection? +Or will it be fumigated? I think it +is silly to bother about germs. Oh, dear!” +She began to drum again on the pane. “I’m +so tired of this infirmary. There’s nothing to +do. I can’t make up poetry. My eyes ache +if I try to read.” Here she paused, and Lila +was aware of another side glance in her direction. +</p> +<p>“My eyes ache if I try to read,” repeated +Ellen slowly, “and there is an awfully interesting +story over on the table.” She stopped +her drumming for a moment to listen to the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +steady scribble behind her. The little face +with its round features so unlike Lila’s delicate +outlines took on a disconsolate expression. +“Do your eyes ache when you try to read,” +for an instant she hesitated while a mischievous +spark of daring danced into her eyes. +Then she added explosively, “Lila?” +</p> +<p>She had done it. She had done it at last. +Never before through all the weeks of imprisonment +together had she ventured to call +Miss Allan by her first name. A delightful +tingle of apprehension crept up to the back of +her neck. She waited. Now surely something +would happen. +</p> +<p>But nothing happened except the continued +scribble of pencil on paper in the silence. Oh, +dear! this was worse than she had expected. +It was worse than a scolding or a freezing or +an awful squelching. It was the queerest +thing that they were not even acquainted +really after the many weeks. There was a +shell around this junior all the time. It made +Ellen feel meaner and smaller and more insignificant +every minute. The freshman +pressed her forehead wearily against the glass. +</p> +<p>“Oh, look! There come the girls. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +They’re your friends away down on the lawn. +Miss Abbott, I think, and Miss Leigh, and +Miss Sanders. See, see! The rollicking wind +and the racing clouds! Their skirts blow. +They hold on their tams. They are looking +up at us. They are waving something. +Maybe it is violets, don’t you think? Once I +found violets in March. Can’t you smell the +air almost? I’m going to open the window. +I am, I am! Who’s afraid of getting chilled?” +</p> +<p>“I would advise you not to do anything so +utterly foolhardy,” spoke Lila’s frigid voice. +A certain inflection in the tone made Ellen +shrink away instinctively. For an instant +she looked full into the serene, indifferent +eyes, and her own seemed to flutter as if +struggling against the contempt she saw there. +Then with a defiant lift of her head she hurried +to the writing table and seized the pencil +which Lila had dropped upon rising to approach +the window. +</p> +<p>A few minutes later when the older girl +turned from the greetings and messages in +pantomime with her friends below, she saw +Ellen’s rough head bending over a paper. It +was a needlessly untidy head. During the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +weeks of close confinement and enforced companionship, +she had felt her dislike steadily +growing. The girl was on her nerves. She +was wholly disagreeable. Everything about +her was displeasing, her careless enunciation, +queer little face, coarse clothes, impulsive, +crude ways, even occasional mistakes in grammar. +She told herself that the child had no +breeding, no manners, no sense of the fitness +of things. There was no reason why she +should admit her into the circle of her intimates +merely because the two had been +thrown together by the exigencies of an attack +of scarlet fever. Such a fortuitous relation +would be severed in the shortest possible +time, completely and irremediably severed. +Trust Lila Allan, president of the +junior literary society, to manage that. +Meanwhile she intended to leave the girl +severely alone. Think of the impudence of +calling her Lila! Lila, indeed! And that +hint about reading aloud! The incredible +impertinence of it! And to appropriate her +pencil! Atrocious! +</p> +<p>But of course she would keep on being +polite. She owed that to herself, to her position, +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +to her self-respect. Accordingly Miss +Allan busied herself graciously about other +matters till Ellen had finished her note, addressed +an envelope, and advanced with it to +the window. +</p> +<p>She hesitated doubtfully, with one hand on +the sash. +</p> +<p>“It won’t matter just this once,” she said +as if arguing, “somebody will pick it up and +mail it for me. It concerns something important +and private. People are silly about +infection. I’m quite sure it won’t matter just +this once.” She paused this time with rather +an anxious little side glance toward Lila. +</p> +<p>That young lady said nothing. She was +engaged in contemplating with a studiously +inexpressive countenance the stub of her +precious and only pencil. It needed sharpening +again. +</p> +<p>Ellen raised the window half an inch. +“The doctor here is so foolish,” she commented +with an injured air, “she’s always +bothering about infection or contagion or +whatever you call it. It isn’t necessary +either. I know a doctor at home and he told +a woman to wrap up her little girl and bring +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +her down to his office, and the little girl was +peeling too. He knew it wouldn’t do any +harm even if she did go in the street car. He +was sensible.” +</p> +<p>Lila smothered a sigh of long suffering as +she reached for the case knife again. +</p> +<p>“And I am so tired,” insisted Ellen with +fretful vehemence. “I am bored to death, +and nobody amuses me, and my eyes ache +when I try to read, and my wrist won’t peel, +and all the other girls are enjoying themselves, +and my letter is awfully important +and private, and mother will be so glad to receive +it, and my little sister will snatch it +quick from the postcarrier, and they’ll all be +glad, and there isn’t the least bit of danger, +and I’m going to do it.” She flung the sash +wide and glanced around for an instant with +a face in which reckless defiance wrestled with +a frightened wish to be dissuaded. “I’m going +to do it,” she repeated, “I’m going to do +it—Lila!” +</p> +<p>Miss Allan raised her head with a politely +controlled shiver. “Would you mind closing +the window at your earliest convenience, +Miss Bright?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></p> +<p>The younger girl gave her one look, then +turned and leaning out over the sill sent the +envelope fluttering downward till it rested +square and white on the concrete walk far below. +Lila shrugged her shoulder and finished +sharpening her pencil. +</p> +<p>In the course of weary time she was set at +liberty. Fair and sweet and delicate in her +fresh array she walked down the corridor in +the centre of an exultant crowd of friends. +In listening to the babel of chatter and +laughter, she forgot utterly her companion in +imprisonment. Just once she happened to +look back from the entangling arms of Bea +and Berta and Robbie Belle, and caught sight +of a forlorn little figure staring after her from +the shadows of the infirmary door. In the +glow of her new freedom and heart-warming +affection, Lila nodded to her with such a +radiant smile that Ellen blushed with joy. +On her journey to her room she told herself +that Miss Allan liked her after all. It was a +solitary journey, for Ellen had boarded in +town till February. After moving into the +dormitory she had barely begun to make acquaintances +before the ogre of fever had +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +swooped down upon her and dragged her +away to his den in the isolation ward. +</p> +<p>The vision of that smile must have remained +with her through the troubled weeks that followed; +for one April evening in parlor J she +ventured to invite Miss Allan to dance. Beyond +distant glimpses in the corridors and +chapel, Lila had seen nothing of her fellow +convalescent. To tell the truth, she had taken +pains to avoid any chance association. Once +she had found hardly time to take refuge +behind an <span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Engaged</span> sign before the dreaded +little freshman came tiptoeing shyly into the +alleyway. Another time when she spied the +small face waiting with an expectant wistful +half smile at the foot of the stairs she turned +to retrace her steps as if she had suddenly recalled +an errand in another direction. +</p> +<p>On this particular evening, Lila had been +the guest of honor at a senior birthday table. +The senior whose birthday was being celebrated +was chief editor of the Monthly. She +declared that she invited Lila because of the +rhymes that came in so handy to fill up several +pages in the last number of the magazine. As +Lila, lovely in pale rose and blue and silver, sat +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +at the table gay with flowers and shaded candles, +she told the story of how she had written +the verses in the infirmary. On her witty +tongue the stubby pencil, the dull knife, and +the teasing midget of an impudent freshman +made a delightfully humorous tale. Even the +explosive “Lila!” and its accompanying side +glance of terrified joy in the daring developed +into a picture that sent the seniors into +tempests of laughter. Somehow she did not +care to mention the letter which Ellen had +dropped out of the window. +</p> +<p>After dinner Lila pressed on with the others +to the dancing in parlor J. The applause and +admiration surrounding her made her look +her prettiest and talk her wittiest, for Lila’s +nature was always one that throve best in an +atmosphere of praise. She felt as if whirling +through fairyland. In the midst of the gayety +of music, lights, and circling figures, she lifted +her head in gliding past the great mirror and +beheld her own radiant face smiling back at +her from the flower-tinted throng. Just at +that moment through a rift in the throng she +caught a glimpse of two big troubled eyes in a +queer small face atop of a drooping ill-clad +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +form. Half a minute later as she leaned +breathless and glowing against the mirror’s +gilt frame, she became aware of a timid touch +on her arm. Turning quickly she saw Ellen +beside her. Her smile faded to an expression +of formally polite and distant questioning as +she drew her skirts a few inches away. +</p> +<p>“Will you——” the freshman swallowed +once, then pushed out the words with a desperate +rush, “will you dance with me?” +</p> +<p>“Oh, Miss Bright,” exclaimed Lila in an +overwhelmingly effusive manner, “I am so +dreadfully sorry, but I regret to say that I am +already engaged for every number. Good-bye!” +She slid her hand about her partner’s +waist and propelled her swiftly into the concealing +vortex of waltzers. +</p> +<p>The partner in question happened to be a +certain lively and independent young person +called Bea by her friends. “Lila Allan,” she +scolded as soon as she could steer their steps +to a sheltered eddy in a corner, “why in the +world did you snub that poor child so unmercifully? +After six weeks together in the +infirmary too! I’m downright ashamed of +you. You ought to be above snobbishness. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +And it isn’t a point of snobbishness either. +It is plain cruelty to children. Didn’t you +see how you hurt her? And the poor little +thing has enough trouble without your adding +to the burden.” +</p> +<p>“Trouble?” echoed Lila uneasily. +</p> +<p>“Yes, trouble. Haven’t you heard? Her +little sister is desperately ill with scarlet +fever. Infection conveyed in a letter, I understand. +A telegram may come for her any +hour. And then when she tries to cheer up, +you treat her so abominably! Lila, you are +growing more and more spoiled every day. +People praise you too much. You were born +with a silver spoon in your mouth. You’ve +improved a lot since you first began to room +with me, but still——” +</p> +<p>Lila had vanished. Winding her swift way +between the circling pairs, she hurried into +the corridor where girls were strolling idly as +they waited for the gong to summon them to +chapel. Beyond the broad staircase Ellen’s +disconsolate little figure stood in the glare of +the gas-jet over the bulletin-board. +</p> +<p>Lila hastened toward her. “Miss Bright, +oh, Miss Bright, I did not know. I am exceedingly +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +sorry. You will keep me posted? +If there is anything that I can do, of course—I +feel—I feel—so guilty.” +</p> +<p>Ellen raised her face. Her mouth was +trembling at the corners. “I sent the letter,” +she said, “I’m waiting.” She winked rapidly +and her odd features worked convulsively for +a moment. “If—if they telegraph——” +</p> +<p>“Miss Bright.” It was the voice of a messenger +girl who had that instant emerged +from an adjacent apartment. “Will you step +into the office at once, if you please? There +is a message——” +</p> +<p>Ellen was gone like a flash. Lila walked +across to the staircase and very deliberately +seated herself with her head resting against +the banisters. It was there that Bea found +her a few minutes later when the stream of +students was beginning to set toward the +chapel doors. +</p> +<p>Bea was startled. “Lila, what is it? You +look like a ghost. Shall I get some water?” +</p> +<p>Lila opened her eyes. “I think that her +little sister is dead,” she said. +</p> +<p>“Oh!” Bea clasped her hands in pity. +“How can we help?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></p> +<p>“I think that I killed her,” said Lila. +</p> +<p>“What!” It was almost a shout. Then +noticing that several girls turned to stare +curiously in passing, Bea put out her hand. +“Come, Lila, get up. It’s time to go to +chapel. You don’t realize what you’re saying.” +</p> +<p>She rose obediently in mechanical response +to the gesture. +</p> +<p>“It was my fault because I was the older +and I knew the danger. She was only a +freshman. She wanted me to persuade her +not to drop that letter from the window. I +could have kept her from feeling lonely. I +made her reckless. It wasn’t her fault. But +now her little sister is dead.” +</p> +<p>“How do you know she is?” asked Bea. +</p> +<p>“A message came.” +</p> +<p>“Hush!” They slipped into a pew near +the rear of the chapel. During the reading +of Scripture, Lila sat gazing blankly straight +before her over the rows of heads, dark and +fair. As if in a dream she rose with the others +for the singing of the hymn. Still as +though moving in a mist, she sank again into +her seat and bowed her forehead upon the pew +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +in front. While the rustling murmur was +subsiding into a hush before the prayer, she +stirred and lifting her face turned for one +fleeting moment toward the wide doors at the +back. Ah! She raised her head higher to +watch, motionless, breathless. The doors were +noiselessly swinging shut behind a girl with a +queer small face atop of an ill-clad little figure. +But the face instead of being crumpled in +grief was alight with joy; and the little figure +advanced with a lilt and a swing, as if just +freed from a burden. +</p> +<p>The message had been a message of good +tidings. +</p> +<p>Lila watched the child slip exultantly into +a convenient corner. Then with a sudden, +swift movement the older girl dropped full +upon her knees and covered her eyes with her +hands. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIV_CLASSMATES' id='XIV_CLASSMATES'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>CLASSMATES</h3> +</div> + +<p>Bea reached for Robbie with one arm, +grasped Lila with the other, and went skipping +after the rest of the seniors over the lawn +to their class tree. She dragged them under +its spreading branches to the centre of the +throng that had gathered in the June twilight. +Berta was already there, mounted on a small +platform that had been built against the +trunk in preparation for the morrow’s Class +Day ceremonies. +</p> +<p>“She looks pretty decent,” whispered Bea +to Robbie in order to frustrate the queer sensation +in her throat at sight of the eager face +laughing above them on this last evening together +before the deluge of commencement +guests. “I hope the alumnæ who are wandering +around admire our taste in presidents.” +</p> +<p>“Maybe,” Robbie spoke reflectively, +“they’re almost as much interested in their +classmates as we are in ours.” +</p> +<p>“Um-m,” said Bea, “why, maybe so they +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +are. I never thought of that before. Robbie, +you’re my liberal education. Now, then, attention! +Berta is raising her hand to mark +time for the songs to be rehearsed for to-morrow.” +</p> +<p>But Berta’s hand dropped at sound of a +shout from across the campus. “There!” +she exclaimed, “the sophomores are coming.” +</p> +<p>They certainly were coming, on a double-quick +march, two by two, shouting for the +seniors. As they approached the shouting +changed to singing. When they reached the +tree, they spread out and joining hands went +skipping, still viva voce, around the seniors +who watched them, silent and smiling. The +air was sweet with the cool, spicy breath of +spruces. Lila thought that she could even +smell the roses in the garden beyond the +evergreens. She lifted her face toward the +soft evening sky, and her mouth grew wistful. +Bea caught a glimpse of it, and immediately +became voluble if not eloquent. +</p> +<p>“This is impromptu,” she commented, generous +with her least thoughts. “I enjoy impromptus, +except speeches—or that last lecture +when the man couldn’t read his own +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +notes. Now my history which is to astonish +the world to-morrow will doubtless glitter +with extemporaneous wit which has cost me +two weeks of meditation. Likewise this impromptu +on the spur of the moment——” +</p> +<p>“I think it’s beautiful,” said Robbie. She +was watching Berta’s eyes as the last lingering +strains died away. Oh, dear! why did they +sing that good-bye serenade again? Berta +was going to cry. Hark! A robin’s twilight +call rose melodiously from the heart of a +shadowy spruce. In the thrill of it Robbie +felt the sting of sudden tears. She turned to +Bea. +</p> +<p>“Now I know how Berta feels when she +listens to music. I’m beginning to understand. +But I think a robin is different from +a brass band.” +</p> +<p>“Is it now? You astonish me.” Bea +squeezed her understandingly, nevertheless. +“I know. Being with Lila has taught me a +lot. She is like a windharp—every touch +finds a response. Berta’s a violin, I guess. +It takes skill to play on her. And you—oh, +I believe you’re a splendid big drum. You’ve +been marking time for the rest of us all the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +four years. As for me, I’m only an old tin +horn. You need to spend all your breath to +get any music. Even then it isn’t sickeningly +sweet, so to speak. Still for an audience +in sympathy with the performer——” +</p> +<p>“That is what college has given us,” put in +Lila who had been listening, “it gives us +sympathy. Being with different persons, you +know, and loving them.” +</p> +<p>“Oh, yes!” Robbie’s sigh of intense assent +left her breathless, “loving them.” +</p> +<p>“Now, then, girls!” Berta’s hand was +lifted again to beat time as the clapping for +the sophomores subsided. Then the seniors +sang. They sang the songs that were to be +interspersed as illustrations in Bea’s class history. +There was the elegant stanza which +they had shouted all the way to the mountain +lake that first October at college. +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“’Rah, ’rah, ’rah! kerchoo, kerchoo!</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 2em;'>We are freshmen—</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 4em;'>Who are you?”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>From that brilliant composition the selections +ranged through four years of fun and +sentiment with an occasional flight to the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +poetry of earnest feeling as well as many a +joyous swoop into hilarious inanity. +</p> +<p>When tired of standing around the tree, +the class fluttered across the campus to the +broad stone steps in front of the recitation +hall. +</p> +<p>Bea clung to Robbie’s arm again and +reached for Lila in their flight. “I’m ’most +sure we look like nymphs flying through the +glades, with our draperies blowing in the +lines of swift motion. I love to run when I +feel like it. Robbie Belle, shall we ever dare +to run when we get home?” +</p> +<p>Robbie did not hear her. From her seat +on the steps she gazed at Berta who was +standing before the ranks of familiar faces, +her eager face alight with the exhilaration of +the hour. Once she threw back her head, +laughing at some ridiculous verse. Her eyes +sought Robbie’s for an instant, smiled, then +danced away again. Robbie swallowed once, +unconsciously, and moved closer to Bea. +</p> +<p>In a semicircle sweeping around the group +of singers, sophomores and stray juniors and +many a wandering alumna in a flower-decked +hat had gathered to listen. In a pause between +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +the songs. Robbie surveyed them +gravely, unrecognizing any of the older +guests until presently one face stood out +vaguely familiar in the clear twilight. It +was a beautiful face, framed by dusky hair beneath +the wreath of crimson roses on her hat. +The eyes were dusky too and deep-set. They +were staring at Robbie with an intensity of +grieving affection that contrasted sharply with +the stern, almost resentful, expression of her +finely cut mouth. +</p> +<p>As Robbie gazed back in fascinated perplexity, +the face suddenly curved into a smile +so tenderly radiant that Robbie felt quite +dazzled for a moment. Involuntarily she +smiled back, while striving to grasp the dim +recollection. Who could it be? She had surely +seen her before somewhere. But where? At +college? At home? Where was it? Slowly +a vision grew distinct in her groping memory. +It was a vision of Elizabeth, her sister, lifting +a photograph from a pile of others. “This,” +she had said, “is my Jessica. She knows all +my family from their pictures, and some day +she shall come home with me and meet you +your own selves. She wishes Robbie Belle +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +were to enter college before we finish. Robbie +will be a senior when we go back for our fifth +year reunion.” +</p> +<p>Robbie’s chest heaved abruptly under the +shock of identifying the face amid the encircling +throng. It was Jessica More, Elizabeth’s +best friend at college. This was the +June of her class reunion. Robbie Belle was +a senior. But Elizabeth was not there, as +she had planned. Jessica had been expelled +before she graduated, and Elizabeth had died. +</p> +<p>Before the singing was over, Jessica had +disappeared. Then in the rush of last things +Robbie forgot her for a time. Some of the +seniors hurried away on hospitable duties +bent, for numerous relatives had already arrived. +There were to be informal gatherings +in different rooms. A few went to the Phi +Beta Kappa lecture in the chapel. To tell +the truth, however, these were but few indeed, +for to the seniors the last evenings were +too precious, to be wasted on mere scholarly +discourse. Probably Jessica had gone there +with the rest of the alumnæ, reflected Robbie +Belle as she sat beside Berta and the others in +the soft sweet darkness. With arms intertwined +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +they talked low or fell silent, lingering +over this farewell to the dear college +days. +</p> +<p>“I love everybody in the class,” whispered +Lila once. +</p> +<p>“In the college,” amended Bea promptly. +</p> +<p>“Oh, in the whole world!” exclaimed +Berta. +</p> +<p>Robbie nodded assent so solemnly that Bea +leaned down to peer at her more closely. “A +regular Chinese mandarin,” she teased, “or +are you nodding in your sleep? You approve +of Berta’s breadth evidently. Why do people +always speak about the value of being broadened? +I think it is nobler to be deep than +broad, I do. I’d rather divide my heart in +four pieces than in forty billion.” +</p> +<p>“There are two hundred in the class,” said +Robbie, “and there were only one hundred in +my sister’s class, but I am quite sure that they +did not love each other any more than we do.” +</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_7' id='linki_7'></a> +<img src='images/img-307.jpg' alt='' title='' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='text-align:center;'> +SHE HELD BOTH HANDS, SMILING +<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<div><span class='pagenum'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></div> +<p>The next morning saw the seniors assemble +at the amphitheatre which had been prepared +for the Class Day exercises. Berta was already +on the platform, assisting the committee +in the arrangement of seats for the class. +Among later comers who were hurrying across +the campus Bea caught up with Robbie Belle. +</p> +<p>“I am hastening across the sward,” she announced +in cheerfully inane greeting, “what +is a sward anyhow, and why isn’t it pronounced +the same as sword?” +</p> +<p>“It’s grass,” said Robbie Belle. Bea felt a +speaking silence fall and glanced up to catch +the direction of her gaze. Between them and +the expanse of mingled chairs and girls around +the platform against the wall of the nearest +dormitory, a stranger was moving rapidly +toward them, her eager eyes on Robbie. +</p> +<p>“Little Robbie Belle! I knew you last +night from your picture.” She held both +hands, smiling. +</p> +<p>Bea considered the two pairs of shoulders +on a level. “Little!” she sniffed to herself, +“it must be a very old alum.” +</p> +<p>Robbie turned to introduce her. “This is +my friend, Beatrice Leigh, Miss More. Bea, +this is my sister’s best friend. I remembered +you too, last night, Miss More. I remembered—I—I +wondered——” Robbie’s tongue +stumbled in embarrassment at the verge of +candor. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span></p> +<p>Miss More’s mouth hardened slightly, though +her eyes still smiled. “You wondered how I +happen to be here for the reunion of a class +from which I was expelled. Is that it? Perhaps +you are unaware that I have been reinstated. +The faculty has at last reconsidered +their unjust decision. They acknowledge that +it was based upon a misunderstanding. I +have made up the work at home. To-morrow +I shall receive two degrees, the Bachelor’s +with your class, the Master’s with the +post-graduates. I am sure you congratulate +me.” +</p> +<p>“Oh!” gasped Robbie Belle, “oh, yes!” +</p> +<p>Bea succeeded in depressing somewhat the +round-eyed stare with which she had listened +to this extraordinary speech. “I think it is +perfectly lovely, Miss More,” she said. “Your +class must be delighted. It is a triumph—a +splendid triumph. Oh,—ah!” She turned +at the sound of a faint call behind her: +“Jessica!” +</p> +<p>From a group of alumnæ under a cluster of +spruces, somebody was walking quickly toward +the three. Bea recognized in her a brilliant +young instructor at the college. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span></p> +<p>“Jessica, I am—glad. How do you do?” +She put out her hand. +</p> +<p>Miss More lifted her eyes, coolly scanned +the other woman from the tip of her russet +shoes to the crown of her sailor hat, then gazed +vacantly over her head, before addressing Robbie +again. +</p> +<p>“Then to-morrow, Robbie. Don’t forget +that I wish to see you after the commencement +exercises for a few minutes. There are +questions I desire to ask. Your mother is +well, I hope.” +</p> +<p>Two minutes later Robbie had reached one +of the chairs and dropped into it with a limpness +strangely inharmonious with her statuesque +proportions. “Bea, they belong to the +same class.” +</p> +<p>Bea sank down beside her. “That was awful—awful. +Those others were watching her +from the path. Why did she do it? I don’t +understand.” +</p> +<p>Robbie passed her hand across her forehead. +“I don’t quite remember everything,” she said, +“but I have an impression that it was Miss +Whiton who was to blame for having Miss +More expelled. She was class president, or +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +something, and felt responsible. Elizabeth +said she thought it was for the honor of the +college. She meant to do right. And now to +think it was all a mistake! Miss More will +receive her degrees to-morrow.” +</p> +<p>“Did Miss Whiton accuse her of any wrong +or make complaint?” +</p> +<p>“No, not exactly. I think she believed +that Miss More’s behavior somewhere reflected +on the college, and she considered it her duty +to report the circumstances. Or maybe it was +appearances—it seems now that it must have +been only appearances. That started the +trouble, and Miss More resented it. She was +stubborn or indifferent about some requirements. +I don’t remember quite what, and +Elizabeth never liked to talk about it. Elizabeth +wrote to her every week until she—until +she left us.” Robbie’s lip twitched suddenly. +Bea saw it and gently passing her arm through +the other’s arm drew her on to join the class +assembled at the amphitheatre. +</p> +<p>The next day brought commencement. +Bea from her place among the rows of white-clad +seniors in the body of the chapel could +by bending forward slightly catch a glimpse +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +of Miss More’s profile at the head of the +front pew at the right. When she raised her +eyes she could see Miss Whiton’s coldly regular +features conspicuous in their clean-cut +fairness among the younger instructors in the +choir-seats behind the trustees on the platform. +Bea had never liked Miss Whiton. It +seemed to her now, as she studied the immobile +face, that she had always recognized there +a suggestion of the self-righteous Pharisee. +There could be nothing but misunderstanding +and antagonism between the possessor of +such a countenance and Miss More with those +eyes of hers, that nose and that mouth. Bea’s +labors over the classes in manners had included +some research in the subject of physiognomy. +Now she leaned forward to secure +another view of that profile in the front pew. +Then she settled back with the contented sigh +of an investigator whose surmise has proved +correct. Miss More’s features certainly expressed +an impulsive, reckless and lovable temperament +as opposed to Miss Whiton’s conscientious +and calculating prudence. Oh, yes, +there was conscience enough in the icily handsome +face among the instructors. It was conscience +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +doubtless that had driven her across the +campus to speak to Miss More on Class Day +morning. Bea sighed again, this time with a +faint twinge of sympathy. She generally +meant well herself. A conscience was a very +queer thing—she thought so still even if she +had heard it all explained and analyzed in +senior ethics. +</p> +<p>“Surgite.” That was Prexie’s voice. The +class rose in obedience to the word. Bea +found herself standing with the others while +the Latin sentences rolled melodiously over +their heads. She never could translate from +hearing. Absently her glance sought the +front pew where Miss More had turned to +watch them. The girl’s wistful gaze caught +the expression of passionate regret in her +deep-set eyes, and clung there fascinated for +an endless moment before tearing itself +free. +</p> +<p>After it was over, after the class had filed +upon the platform to receive their diplomas, +after Prexie had delivered his annual address +and the procession of graduates, alumnæ and +faculty had marched out into the golden sunshine, +Bea drew aside to wait under an elm. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +Berta spied her and beckoned, then came hurrying. +</p> +<p>“Lila is over at the doors on guard to capture +the various relatives and start them toward +the cottages for dinner. The trustees +entertain the alumnæ in the main dining-room. +The seniors will go to Strong Hall. +Aren’t you ready?” +</p> +<p>“I’m getting an impression,” answered Bea, +“gothic portals, graceful elms, bare-headed +girls in white, sun-flecked lawns and glimpse +of the sparkling lake beyond, groups intermingling——” +</p> +<p>“I’ll help give you that impression.” +</p> +<p>Bea slipped nimbly out of reach in time to +escape the promised pinch—or it may have +been a squeeze. +</p> +<p>“I’ve got it already—a hundred of them. +You’re in two or three. And Robbie—do you +see Robbie anywhere?” +</p> +<p>Robbie approached at the moment. “Bea, +have you noticed Miss More pass? I found +something last night in my sister’s college +scrapbook—her memory-bill, you know. It +is something for Miss More.” +</p> +<p>“Yes, over there half way to the main +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +building. Look—that one in white all alone. +You can overtake her if you hurry, Robbie. +Oh, Berta!” Bea turned and held out one +hand impulsively. “If you could only have +seen her eyes while she watched us in +chapel! She was thinking of her own class, +how she had been driven away from them in +disgrace. It was tragic. She—she——” Bea +gulped and caught herself back from falling +over the brink into the pit of palpable emotion. +“In fact, I am almost sure she—hm-m,—envied +us.” +</p> +<p>She glanced apprehensively at her companion +in dread of the usual quick teasing rejoinder; +but Berta was soberly gazing after +Robbie. +</p> +<p>“Robbie has dropped a paper, Bea,” she +said, “I saw it flutter. Come.” +</p> +<p>Bea flitted across the grass, her bright hair +an aureole in the sunlight. Her fingers seized +the bit of white; her eyes read the message: +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Sunday evening after Bible lecture. +</p> +<p>“Jessica and the rest of us are choosing +mottoes to live out just for experiment this +week. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span></p> +<p>“Marian: ‘Love seeketh not her own.’ +(She always gets to places first.) +</p> +<p>“Alice: ‘Is not easily provoked.’ (Oh, oh!) +</p> +<p>“Louise: ‘Is not puffed up.’ (Ah!) +</p> +<p>“Jessica: ‘is kind.’ (And when she is +good, she is very, very good.) +</p> +<p>Elizabeth: “envieth not.” (My brain +doesn’t suit.) +</p> +<p>“Jessica says hers is the easiest because it +means just to keep from hating anybody, and +she loves the whole college.” +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p>“Oh, I didn’t mean to read it.” Bea almost +clapped her hand over her impetuous +eyes. “Robbie,” she broke into a run, “Robbie +Belle, here is something you dropped.” +</p> +<p>As Robbie turned at the call, one of the +trustees, an elderly woman whose white hair +seemed to soften the effect of her energetic +manner and keen gaze, paused to speak to +Miss More. The two seniors strolled on at a +leisurely pace while waiting for an opportunity +to ask attention without interrupting +a speech. The distance intervening lessened +step by step till Bea could not help overhearing +the trustee’s distinct low tones. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span></p> +<p>“——exceedingly difficult to choose between +the two candidates. Their qualifications +balance distractingly. Personally I incline +to Miss Whiton, and I should very much +like to see her win this unusual position. +Her original work certainly deserves it. However +I know her so slightly that I am reluctant +to give my decisive vote until I learn +more of her from her contemporaries. You +were in her class, Miss More, I understand.” +</p> +<p>“Yes.” +</p> +<p>At the smothered intensity of that simple +word, Bea’s head rotated swiftly to stare at +the source of it. She had never seen that +beautiful face like this before. On the campus +Class Day morning it had been friendly +though with the hint of hardness about the +mouth. In chapel it had been tragic with +regret over the irrevocable. Now the dusky +eyes were blazing with the light of coming +triumph over an enemy at last delivered into +her power. +</p> +<p>“It is an exceptional distinction for so +young a woman,” continued the trustee, “and +because it means so much to each of the +rivals, a feather’s weight of evidence may turn +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +the scales for one or the other. I am anxious +to be impartial. I invite this discussion +merely to assure myself of Miss Whiton’s irreproachable +record. I wish sincerely to see +her win.” +</p> +<p>“You never heard the exact circumstances +that led to my expulsion from college?” +</p> +<p>The defiant ring of this abrupt question +brought Bea to her sense of the situation. +She put out one hand to draw Robbie beyond +earshot. But Robbie did not notice her. She +was already touching Miss More’s arm. +</p> +<p>“Miss More, pardon me. I have hurried +to give you this. I—I think Elizabeth would +have enjoyed showing it to you. I—wish—she +could have been here to-day. She would +have been—glad.” +</p> +<p>Miss More took the paper mechanically. +“Thank you, Robbie Belle. Will you wait +one moment, dear? I want to speak to you.” +She turned again to the older woman. “It +may be an enlightening little tale,” she began, +“and Miss Whiton plays a part in it. +These are the facts.” +</p> +<p>Bea watched her, fascinated. The eyes +seemed to be gazing away beyond the evergreens +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +at old, unhappy, far-off things. Slowly +they returned to nearer objects, dropped suddenly +and caught for an instant upon some +one passing by. At sight of the swift gleam +of bitter recognition, Bea followed the direction, +and beheld Miss Whiton. She looked +back again in time to see a wonderful change +as Miss More’s glance traveled unconsciously +to the paper in her hand. +</p> +<p>Robbie’s wistful regard was also lingering +upon the paper. +</p> +<p>“Elizabeth loved it all—the class—the +whole college.” +</p> +<p>The trustee was evidently in haste. “And +this enlightening little tale of yours, Miss +More? Pardon me for urging you on. The +importance of the issue—ah!” Bea saw her +nod acquiescence in response to a gesture from +some one who was waiting at the porte +cochere. “I fear I shall not have time for it +now. May I consult you later? You are +sure, Miss More, that the story is something +that I ought to hear?” +</p> +<p>Miss More hesitated. “I don’t know,” she +said slowly. “It may have been merely a +schoolgirl misunderstanding. I will—think +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +it over and let you know after the dinner. In +any event, I thank you for your confidence. +Miss Whiton certainly merits the honor.” +</p> +<p>It seemed to Bea that Miss More looked +after the older woman with an expression of +half-puzzled surprise at her own indecision. +Then she turned to Robbie. +</p> +<p>“I remember that evening,” she spoke in a +curiously softened tone. “Elizabeth sat in +the glow of the drop-light and scribbled this +card, while the rest of us watched her idly, +and talked, half serious, half in fun over the +novelty of choosing our mottoes. It was +Elizabeth who had proposed it. She had such +a shy, sweet, humorous way of being good. +Everybody loved her.” +</p> +<p>Robbie nodded speechlessly. After a moment +she said, “The rest of your verse is +‘Love suffereth long and is kind.’” +</p> +<p>The deep-set eyes clouded again under the +dusky hair. +</p> +<p>“I—have—suffered,” she said slowly. +</p> +<p>Bea pinched her own arm in a quick agony +of vicarious embarrassment. How could a +person show her feelings right out like that +before anybody? What was the use of going +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +around talking about such things? It was +not very polite to make other people uncomfortable. +Bea smothered a quick little sob and +walked on, staring straight ahead. +</p> +<p>It was Robbie who turned to look into the +face so near her own. She saw the clouds lift +before the dawning of an exquisite smile like +a ray of sunshine after a stormy day. +</p> +<p>“‘Love suffereth long and is kind,’” repeated +the oddly gentle voice. “I have suffered, +and I will try—to be kind. I think +Elizabeth would have been glad.” +</p> +<p>“Elizabeth is glad,” said Robbie Belle. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XV_VICTORY' id='XV_VICTORY'></a> +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>VICTORY</h3> +</div> + +<p>At her escape into the corridor Berta paused +for a moment in the shadow of the staircase +to brush the excitement from her glowing +face. She winked rapidly once or twice in +hopes of smothering the sparkle in her eyes, +but succeeded only in nicking a happy tear +drop from her lashes. Then she smoothed +the dimple from her cheek and tried to +straighten her lips into the sober dignity +proper for a senior who was on the honor list +and had just come from an interview with the +critic of her commencement essay. +</p> +<p>Her efforts were all in vain, however, for at +the very minute that the dimple came dancing +out again and the rebellious mouth quivered +back into its joyous curves, somebody with a +swift tap-tap-tap of light heels flew down the +stairs in a rustle and a flutter and darted toward +Berta. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span></p> +<p>“They’ve come! They’re here! The +Board of Editors is going to meet in the lecture +room immediately to open the boxes. +Four big beautiful boxes full of splendid great +books all in green with gilt lettering. Hurry! +Hurry quick yourself! You’re head literary +editor. It’s really your book—the ideas, editorials, +verses, farce, everything! The sale +opens at five. Everybody’s crazy to see the +new senior Annual. Our Annual! Oh, +Berta!” She seized the taller girl around +the waist and whirled her down the hall till +loose sheets of paper from her dangling note-book +flitted merrily hither and yon. +</p> +<p>“Bea, take care! You’re crumpling my +essay.” +</p> +<p>“Your essay? Oh, that’s so! Senior president, +Annual editor, honor girl, commencement +speaker, graduate fellow-heigho! She +‘bore her blushing honors thick upon her.’ +No wonder you look uplifted. Listen! Behold! +Tell me, do her little feet really touch +the solid humble earth?” +</p> +<p>As mischievous Bea stopped, with anxiety +and awe written large on her saucy features +to investigate Berta’s shoes, a door near them +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +opened and a slender woman with fast-graying +hair and a curiously still face emerged. +There was the ghost of a twinkle in her gray +eyes. The transom had not been entirely +closed. +</p> +<p>“Miss Abbott, may I take that essay again, +for a few minor suggestions? If you will +drop in after chapel I shall have it ready for +you. Permit me once more to congratulate +you on its excellence and originality. It has +never been my pleasure to read any undergraduate +work of greater promise.” She withdrew +after the nicker of a quizzical smile in +Bea’s direction. +</p> +<p>That young lady gasped and then happening +to notice that her mouth was ajar +carefully closed it with the aid of both +hands. +</p> +<p>“Berta Abbott! To have your essay +praised by Miss Thorne the terrible, who +never approves of anything, and yet you +stand there like a common mortal! You live, +you breathe, you walk, you talk, just the +same as you used to do! She says it has +promise. I do believe that she never said as +much before about anybody except maybe +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +Shakespeare when he was young. Oh, just +wait until she sees the Annual!” +</p> +<p>Berta had colored hotly. “Bea, don’t tell +anybody, please. Of course, I care what she +says. I care most of all—I care heaps—about +her opinion that the qualities are—are promising. +But if I should fizzle out and never +amount to anything! It’s all in the future, +you see, and I’d be so ashamed to have the +girls quoting her now. If I shouldn’t win +the fellowship, if I had to go to teaching next +year and give it up——” +</p> +<p>Bea pounced upon her. “You’re a nice +sweet girl, and I love you to distraction. +Don’t you worry about that fellowship, but +trot up-stairs with me this instant and help +hammer the covers off those boxes. You’ll +be surprised!” +</p> +<p>“Shall I?” said Berta idly, as she followed +in Bea’s eddying wake, “I don’t see how, +since I read the proof and corrected the lists +of names.” +</p> +<p>“Hm!” Bea turned confidentially and +shot an alarming sentence toward her companion. +“Well, I’ll tell you; everything you +wrote is signed. The other editors did it last +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +thing—sometimes your initials, sometimes +your name. It’s for the sake of your reputation.” +</p> +<p>“My reputation!” exclaimed the victim. +“Oh,” she groaned, “they did that? Oh, my +land! My name on everything. I shall +sink through the floor. Run, run quick!” +</p> +<p>The corridors were almost deserted during +that recitation period. There was no stray +freshman in sight to gaze scandalized at the +vision of two reverend seniors racing toward +the lecture room door. Berta dashed in just +as the chairman of the board, with hair flying +and cheeks flushed from the exertion, was +brandishing a hatchet in one hand and a +splintered fragment of wood in the other. +The business editor hammered away with +characteristic energy at the ragged remnants. +The rest stood around waiting as patiently as +possible in their weaponless zeal. Several +glanced up and grinned provokingly at the +appearance of their head literary editor. +</p> +<p>“So you’ve heard the news, have you?” +began the artist, “you look wild. We knew +you’d never consent to sign the things yourself, +and it was rank injustice to let you do +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +the work and receive no special credit. Even +the ideas are yours, but we couldn’t tag a name +to them. Wish we could. That one for the +main feature—the pictures of distinguished +alumnæ——” +</p> +<p>“Hold on!” the chairman backed into a +convenient corner before Berta’s frenzied reproaches, +“it’s all right. We added a note of +explanation. Nobody will blame you for +writing so well. And the initials are very +small anyhow. Here, look!” She made a +dive for the box, ripped off a second board +with quick blows, snatched away the wrapping +paper underneath, and dislodged a handsome +green volume from its snug nest. She +thrust it into Berta’s hands. “It’s your book +really more than anybody’s—your first published +book.” +</p> +<p>Berta took it, sat down in a desk-chair +near by, and turned the leaves slowly with +fingers that trembled from nervousness. +</p> +<p>Bea bent over her shoulder. “It seems +as if that name of yours is on every page,” +she teased, “pretty name, don’t you think? +And isn’t it a beautiful, beautiful book! Wide +margins, heavy paper, clear print, fine reproductions. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +Won’t the girls be delighted with +those pictures of the basket ball teams! See, +ah, there is the page of photographs. You +suggested that the editors should appear as +the babies they used to be forty years or so +ago. What a dear little curly-head you were +at the age of two, Berta! I want to hug +you.” +</p> +<p>The embarrassment began to fade from +Berta’s expression as she gazed at the baby +faces before her. “That’s the great thing I +miss at college, don’t you, Bea? There aren’t +any babies here. We ought to borrow some +once in a while to vary the monotony of books. +I have three little nieces at home, you know. +Such darlings! I wish I had one here now +this minute.” +</p> +<p>“Which do you choose—the baby or the +book? Oh, Berta! Would you sacrifice this +book for a mere child? This beautiful, splendid, +green book with gilt lettering and your +name scrawled everywhere?” +</p> +<p>“The oldest baby looks a good deal like that +photograph of me,” continued Berta softly, +“she is named after me, too. I wish you +could see her. The way she holds up her little +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +arms and clings to you! I haven’t seen +her since last September.” +</p> +<p>“Hark!” Bea sprang from her perch on a +desk-arm. “There are the girls now clamoring +for admission. It must be the hour for +the sale to begin. Isn’t it fun! Fly, Berta +Abbott, flee and bury your blushes. The play +is now on.” +</p> +<p>Berta fled. She felt an impulse to creep +away into some dark corner till all the excitement—and +criticism—had subsided. Of +course, it was rather pleasant, she acknowledged +reluctantly to her candid self. There +was something down underneath tingling and +glowing. Very likely it was gratified vanity. +Everybody liked to be praised and admired, +but not too much, for that was uncomfortable. +It was like being set upon a pinnacle and +stared at. And she did care. She had worked +hard and long for success. She had proved +that she could work. Now if she should be +granted the foreign fellowship, she could go +on and on, step by step, till some day perhaps +she might become a famous college professor +or maybe the president of a university. That +would be accomplishing a career worth while. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span></p> +<p>Berta never quite remembered how she +screwed up resolution enough to enter the +dining-room that night and face the storm of +congratulations, affectionate jests, and laughing +taunts over her eminence. The last copy +of the Annual had been sold before the gong +whirred out its summons to dinner; and dozens +of dilatory students were already besieging +the chairman for an extra edition. After dinner +Berta was captured for a dance in parlor +J till chapel time. The lilt of the music was +still echoing in her ears, her heart beating in +happy rhythm to its harmony, when at last +she slipped into the back pew and leaned her +head against the wall, her lips relaxing in +happy curves, her hands lying idle in her lap. +</p> +<p>Prexie’s voice sounded soothingly far away. +Generally he read a chapter first, then gave +out the hymn, and after the singing he always +led in prayer. It hardly seemed worth while +to listen when one’s own thoughts were so +pleasant. Berta dropped her lashes to hide +the shining light of gladness. Weren’t they +dear, dear unselfish girls to rejoice with her +and for her! She loved them and they loved +her. The best part of any triumph was the +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +consciousness that victory would please her +friends and her family. Her mother would +be glad, and her father, the small brothers and +sisters, and even the pretty little sister-in-law. +Eva would not understand entirely, for she +hated to read and cared about nothing but the +babies since Robert had died. Robert would +have sympathized, since he had loved study +almost as much as he had loved Eva. When +he decided to marry, he gave up his science +and went into a bank. He chose a wife and +children instead of congenial ambition. If he +had lived, he would have been glad in Berta’s +success. Maybe when the baby nieces grew +old enough to understand, they would be +proud of their famous aunt. It was very, very +sweet to feel that people were proud of her. +</p> +<p>Listen! Berta straightened suddenly and +then leaned forward. What was Prexie saying? +Why, he hadn’t even opened the Bible +yet. “—and so, as the essays submitted in +competition were all remarkably good, the +judges would have experienced great difficulty +in reaching a decision if it had not been for +one exceptional even among the dozen most +excellent papers. The prize for the best +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +Shakespearean essay has been unanimously +awarded to Miss Roberta Abbott.” +</p> +<p>A low murmur swept over the bright-hued +congregation. Several faces in the pew before +her turned to smile at Berta. She smiled back +half involuntarily and gripped her fingers together, +conscious only of a smothering sensation +and a wonder that her chest kept heaving +faster and faster. It frightened her to have +things happen like this one after another. +She had won the Shakespearean prize. How +much was it? Thirty dollars? Fifty? It +didn’t matter. She could take baby Berta to +the seashore with her. She had won. The +girls would get tired of congratulating her. +</p> +<p>Hark! Prexie had gone on speaking. +</p> +<p>“Accordingly,” he was saying as Berta +braced herself once more to attention, “I am +sure you will agree with me that the faculty +acted justly and wisely this afternoon in electing +Miss Roberta Abbott to hold the European +Fellowship this coming year.” +</p> +<p>The murmur this time swelled to a soft +tumult of fluttering and whispering, which +broke here and there into a muffled clapping, +for everybody liked Berta. But when more +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +faces turned in joyous nodding toward the +back pew they found no answering smile. +Berta in panic had slipped down the aisle and +vanished through the swinging doors into the +dusky corridor. +</p> +<p>“Ah, Miss Abbott!” The messenger girl +overtook her at the foot of the broad staircase. +“Here is a special delivery letter for you. It +was brought from town five minutes ago.” +</p> +<p>Berta glanced at the address. Yes, it was +from her sister-in-law as she had expected. +Eva was always falling into foolish little flurries +and rushing to consult friends and relatives +by mail or wire or word of mouth. Possibly +this important communication was a request +for advice about the babies’ pique coats. +It could wait for a reading till Berta had found +a safe refuge from the girls who would certainly +surround her as soon as chapel was +over. They would follow Robbie and Bea. +</p> +<p>Where could she go to escape the enthusiasm? +Her room would be the first point of +attack, and Bea’s the second. Ah, now she +recalled Miss Thorne’s speech about calling for +the commencement essay at this hour. She +might as well go there now and wait till her +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +critic should return from services, if indeed +she had attended them to-night. +</p> +<p>At the door Berta knocked and bent her +head to listen, then knocked again. Still no +answer. She waited another minute, her +eyes absently hovering over the plants that +banked the wide window there at the end of +the transverse corridor. The evening breeze +sweet from loitering in clover fields drifted in +through the open casement. Miss Thorne was +very fond of flowers. That was a queer trait +in a person who seemed to care so little for +persons. There always seemed something +frozen about this gray-haired, immobile-faced +woman with her stern manner and steely +eyes. Sometimes Berta thought of her as like +a dying fire that smoldered under smothering +ashes. +</p> +<p>Berta turned the knob gently and entered. +A faint rosy glow from the lowered drop-light +shone on the piles of papers and scattered +books on the library table. The curtains rippled +in the sudden draught caused by the +opening of the door, and a whiff of fragrance +from a jar of apple-blossoms on the bookcase +floated past the visitor. Berta glanced around +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +with a little shrug that was half a shiver. A +room frequently partakes of the nature of its +occupant; and the atmosphere of this one always +made her heart sink with a quiver of +loneliness over the strange chill of lifelessness +there in spite of the rosy drop-light, the fluttering +curtains, and the drifting breath of +flowers. It was a large room with many easy +chairs in it—and they were all empty. Even +when Miss Thorne was there it seemed lonesome, +perhaps because she was such a slender +little woman and so icily quiet. +</p> +<p>Berta chose one of the empty chairs and +read the letter. Then she let the sheets fall +loose in her lap and sat there without moving +while the minutes went creeping by and the +transparent curtains rippled now and then in +the evening breeze. Through the window +she could see a great star hanging above the +peak of a shadowy evergreen that stirred +softly to and fro against the fading sky. +Once the twilight call of a distant robin +sounded its long-drawn plaintive music, and +Berta felt her lip tremble. She raised her +hand half unconsciously to soothe the ache in +her throat. +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span></p> +<p>Miss Thorne glided in. “Good evening, +Miss Abbott. May I add my congratulations, +or am I right in concluding that +you have taken refuge here from the persecutions +of your friends? It is a great +pleasure to me to know that you will have +the opportunity to keep on with your studying +this next year. You must allow me to +say so much at least. And now, with regard +to the essay——” +</p> +<p>Berta watched the slight figure move noiselessly +about in the act of making tea. +</p> +<p>“I wished to call your attention particularly, +Miss Abbott, to the qualities which +strike me as most promising. A vast amount +of futile effort is wasted every year by workers +who have not yet recognized their special +talents. There is continual friction between +the round peg and the square hole, and vice +versa. Now in your case, when you are ready +to plan your course of study for your graduate +work abroad——” +</p> +<p>“Don’t!” +</p> +<p>The tone was so sharp that Miss Thorne +lifted her head quickly and shot a keen glance +at the girl before her. The attractive face +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +had grown strained and the eyes were burning +restlessly. +</p> +<p>“What is it, Berta?” No student had ever +heard her voice so soft before. “You are in +trouble.” +</p> +<p>Berta looked at her for a moment without +replying. Then she picked up her letter, +folded it carefully in its original creases, and +fitted it into the envelope. “Yes,” she said +at last, “I am in trouble. My sister-in-law +has lost her income from a foolish investment, +entirely her own fault, and she is utterly +helpless. My parents have no money to spare. +There is nobody else but me to support her +and the three babies. She writes that a position +in the high school will be vacant next +year and I ought to apply at once.” +</p> +<p>Miss Thorne sat silent. “And there is no +other way?” she asked after what seemed a +long, long time. +</p> +<p>“None,” answered Berta. +</p> +<p>“You will give up the fellowship, your +hopes of doing exceptional work? You will +sacrifice all your ambition and take up the +drudgery of teaching in an uncongenial +sphere for the rest of your life?” +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span></p> +<p>“Well, I can’t let the babies go to an orphan +asylum, can I?” demanded the girl +brusquely to conceal the pain, “there is no +one else, I tell you.” +</p> +<p>The woman rose and put both arms around +the girl. “Berta, dear,” she said, “you are +right. Once I hesitated at the point where +you are now. I had to choose between the +demands of home and the invitation of ambition. +I let the home-ties snap, and—here +is my empty room. Now there is nobody +that cares.” +</p> +<p>Berta glanced around again with a little +shiver. “There isn’t any question about it +for me,” she said, “I’ve got to take care of +the babies. And”—she straightened her +shoulders suddenly as if throwing off a weight, +“it won’t be so hard when I get used to the +idea, because, you see, I—love them.” +</p> +<p>Faithful Robbie Belle had found out her +refuge somehow and was waiting in the corridor. +With that comforting arm across her +shoulders, Berta poured out the story of her +sudden disappointment. +</p> +<p>At first Robbie was silent. Then she spoke +gently: “But, Berta, you have had the four +<span class='pagenum'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +years at college, you know, and four years are +a good deal. There are thousands and thousands +of girls who never have even that.” +</p> +<p>“I know,” answered Berta, her voice +smothered against the convenient shoulder. +“And that thought helps—at least, I think +it will help to-morrow.” +</p> +<p>Robbie’s strong, warm hand sought and +clasped Berta’s nervous fingers. “All right,” +she acquiesced cheerily. “Now who do you +suppose wrote that epilogue in last year’s Annual? +</p> +<table summary='poetry' style='margin:0 auto'><tr><td> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>“‘We go to meet the future, strong of soul,</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>In sunlight or in shadow, holding fast</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>The inviolable gift the years enroll;</p> +<p style='margin: 0 0 0 0em;'>The Past is ours; nothing can change the Past.’”</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<div class='ce'> +<p style=' margin-top:2em;'>END</p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEATRICE LEIGH AT COLLEGE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 25893-h.txt or 25893-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/5/8/9/25893">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/8/9/25893</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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