CHAPTER XIIAFTER THE HOLIDAYS
The session between the Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation always seemed a brief one, filled as it is with plans for the latter holiday.
When the Thanksgiving holiday was over Beverly and the boys went back to their respective schools under Admiral Seldon’s escort. At least he went as far as Front Royal with Athol and Archie, leaving them at that point to go on by themselves while he accompanied Beverly to Leslie Manor. He was minded to have a few words with Miss Woodhull and know something more of the lady’s character than he already knew. The outcome of that interview left a good deal to be desired upon the Admiral’s part. He returned to Woodbine “with every gun silenced,” and the lady triumphant in her convictions thathermethods of conducting a school for girls were quite beyond criticism.It would be utterly impossible for Beverly to even think of visiting her brother at Kilton Hall, she said, nor could she consent to Athol visiting Leslie Manor. She did not wish to establish a precedent. As to Archieevercoming there,thatidea was preposterous. Why every boy for miles around would feel at liberty to call upon her pupils and they would be simply besieged. She had conducted her school successfully for many years under its present methods and until she saw more cogent reasons for changing she should continue to do so.
Had not the Admiral made arrangements for the year it is safe to surmise that Beverly would have returned to Woodbine with him, and his frame of mind, and the remarks to which he gave utterance, as he drove back to the junction, elicited more than one broad grin or chuckle from Andrew J. Jefferson as he drove. But Beverly did not know anything about it.
So the weeks sped by until the Christmas recess drew near and the girls were once more planning to scatter, far and wide, for their two-weeks holiday.
Now be it known that Petty had returnedfrom her Thanksgiving trip to Annapolis in a more sentimental frame of mind than ever, and filled as full of romance as an egg is of meat.
Each day brought a letter always addressed in a feminine handwriting, to be sure, or there would have been little chance of said letter ever reaching Petty. They were, she confided to every girl in the school under strictest promises of secrecy, re-addressed for “Reggy” by “darling mamma,” for mamma, knowing how desperate was their devotion to each other, just simply could not help acting as a go-between. And she knew very well too that she, Petty, would not have remained at school a single day unless she did this. Why, mamma, herself, had eloped with papa before she was sixteen. One whole year younger than she, herself, was at that moment. “Wasn’t that romantic?”
“Where is papa now?” asked Beverly. She had never heard him mentioned.
“Oh, why—well—he has business interests which keep him in South America nearly all the time, and—er,”
“Oh, you needn’t go into details. It doesn’t make any difference to me,” said Beverly, and walked away with Sally.
“Isn’t she odious! And so perfectly callous to sentiment,” cried Petty.
“She’s a dear, and it’s a pity you hadn’t a small portion of her common sense,” championed Aileen emphatically.
“I have sense enough to be engaged before I’mseventeen, and to know what it means to beembraced, which is more than any other girl in this school can boast,” brindled Petty.
“Well, I should hope it is!” was Aileen’s disgusted retort. “And if you don’t watch out you’ll boast just once too often and Miss Woodhull will get wise to your boasting. Then there will be something stirring unless I’m mighty mistaken.”
“Pouf! Who cares for Miss Woodhull? I don’t believe she ever had a proposal in all her life.”
“Well, you’d better be careful,” was Aileen’s final warning as she left the half-dozen girls of which Petty formed the bright particular star.
“Those three feel themselves so superior yet they are such children,” was Petty’s withering remark.
Aileen was two months her junior. Sally less than a year and Beverly exactly fifteen months. But being engaged very naturally developes and broadens one’s views of life. Dear “Reggie” was just twenty, and had his lady love but known that interesting fact, had already been “engaged” to three other susceptible damsels during his brief sojourn upon the earth. Moreover, he was openly boasting of it to his fellow midshipmen and regarding it as a good joke. Oh, Reggie was a full-fledged, brass-buttoned heart-breaker. Happily he was not a representative among his companions. Most of them are gentlemen. They can do a good bit of “fussing” as they term it, but this wholesale engagement business is the exception, rather than the rule.
Nevertheless, Petty had sang of the charms of Annapolis until all her set were wild to go there, and her enthusiasm had spread like chickenpox. If the affairs at Annapolis were all Petty pictured them and the midshipmen as fascinating, the place must, indeed, be a sort of Paradise.
Of course, all the girls knew that Beverly was a real, true Admiral’s grandniece. That hehad left Annapolis upon his graduation to take sides with his native state. So why had Beverly never been to that alluring place?
Beverly had never given Annapolis a thought. Now, however, she meant to know a few facts regarding it, and while home on her vacation learned a number. She also learned that sometime in the spring, during the Easter holiday, possibly, her uncle might take her and the boys to Washington and while stopping in the capital, visit the old town which lay adjacent to the Naval Academy Reservation.
Upon her return after the Christmas recess Beverly made some casual allusion to this fact, and at once started a new and livelier interest. Why couldn’t a party of girls be chaperoned there by one of the teachers, choosing the same time?
In five minutes it was all planned. But they had Miss Woodhull to reckon with, and Easter was still many weeks ahead on the calendar.
When not long after came the mid-year examinations. The girls had been working hard all the week and were tired. Examinations had ended the day before and they had about reachedthe limit for that week. February was the month most dreaded of all the eight. The last period of each day was twelve to one, the juniors had history and English literature under Miss Baylis. Now Miss Baylis at her very best was not a restful individual with whom to come in touch, and after a long morning of hard work and the growing hunger of healthy appetites for food for the body rather than for the mind, the girls did not find “a barbed tongue” and a caustic disposition soothing.
English literature as taught by Miss Baylis was not inspiring to say the least, and the half hour devoted to it had not aroused enthusiasm. Then came the second half hour for English history; Miss Woodhull believing it well to take up the kindred subject while the girl’s minds were well imbued with the first one. Just as Miss Baylis was about to begin she was summoned from the recitation room by Miss Forsdyke.
“Take your books and refresh your memories for a moment or two: I shall be back immediately, and Ihopeyou will employ this special privilege in studying diligently.Youin particular,Electra, for you certainly did not make a brilliant showing in your literature recitation. Remember I shall expect you to redeem yourself in history, for the periods are identical,” was her admonition as she went toward the door. As she was about to pass through it, she paused to repeat her words. Sally yawned behind her book. As the door closed Petty’s inevitable “tee-hee-hee” was audible. The next second the door was hastily opened.
“Ihope,” and Miss Baylis’ suspicious eyes were upon her charges. Then she vanished. Naturally someone else tittered.
Barely five minutes passed and when she returned her first words were:
“I hope—” then she paused for a smile appeared upon every face bringing the abstracted lady back to earth. It was Beverly who asked innocently: “Excuse me, Miss Baylis, but did you tell us to begin our literature papers at the ninety-fifth line of Pope’s Essay on Man: ‘Hope springs eternal’?”
“We ended our literature recitation ten minutes ago, Beverly. If you were so inattentive as to miss what I said that is your misfortune,”was the austere retort. Nevertheless, the shot had told.
Ten more minutes of the period slipped by, nay, crawled by, in which Miss Baylis darting from one victim to another bent upon reaching their vulnerable points. Then it came, Electra Sanderson’s turn to recite.
Now Electra Sanderson was distinctly of the nouveau riche. She came from an eastern city where money is the god of things. Why her father, a kindly soul who had risen from hod carrier to contractor, happened to choose Leslie Manor for his youngest daughter must remain one of the unanswered questions. Perhaps “mommer” made the selection on account of the name which had appealed to her. Manors or manners were all one to her. At any rate, Electra (christened Ellen) was a pupil at Miss Woodhull’s very select school. A big, good-natured, warm-hearted, generous, dullslouchygirl of seventeen, who never could and never would “change her spots,” but was inevitably destined to marry someone of her own class, rear a flourishing family and settle down into a commonplace, good-natured matron, LeslieManor nevertheless, and notwithstanding. Miss Woodhull and her staff might polish until exhausted. The only result would be the removal of the plating and the exposure of the alloy beneath.
Electra didn’t care a whoop for the old fogies who had lived and ruled in England generations before she was born. Indeed, she would not have wept had England and all the histories ever written about her disappeared beneath the sea which surrounded that country. What she wanted now was to get out of that classroom and into the dining room visible from the window near which she was sitting, and through which she gazed longingly, for there could be found something tangible. Her thoughts had been in the dining room for the past five minutes, consequently she was not aware that Sally had surreptitiously reached toward her from the seat behind, laid hold of about eighteen inches of the lacing of her Peter Thomson (dangling as usual) and while Petty Gaylord, sitting next Sally, was secretly reading a letter concealed behind her book, had made fast Electra’s Peter Thomson lacing to Petty’sboot lacing,likewiseadrift, and then soberly awaited developments.
Sally could manage to do more things unobserved than any other girl in the school, though she had found a fair rival in Beverly.
Thus lay the train “of things as they ought (not) to be” when Miss Baylis fired her first shot at poor Electra.
“Electra suppose you return tothisworld of facts,—you seem to be in dreamland at present—and tell me who brought a rather unpleasant notoriety upon himself at this period.”
Electra returned to England and English affairs at a bound. But to which period was Miss Baylis referring? Electra had not the ghost of an idea but would make a stab at it any way.
“Why-er-oh, it was-er-the man who made extensive use of bricks in the House of Commons,” she ventured at random.
“What?” demanded Miss Baylis, utterly bewildered.
“Yes, ma’am. I mean yes, Miss Baylis. I can’t remember his name but he did. I learned that by heart last night at study period,”staunchly asserted Electra, sure for once in her life of her point, for hadn’t shereadthose very words?
“Of ‘bricks’?” repeated Miss Baylis.
“Yes m—, Miss Baylis.”
Miss Baylis’ eyes snapped as much as any pair of colorless blue eyes set too close together can snap. One of the many hopeless tasks which she had undertaken with Electra had been to banish from her vocabulary that impossible “ma’am”, yet like Banquo’s ghost it refused to be laid.
“Open your book at that page and read the sentence,” commanded the history teacher.
Electra obediently did as bidden and read glibly.
“‘He made extensive use of——’” and just there came to an embarrassed halt as a titter went around the schoolroom.
“Silence!” Miss Baylis’ tone of voice did not encourage levity. “Well?” she interrogated crisply.
“It’sbribes, Miss Baylis,” said poor Electra, covered with confusion and blushes.
“Exactly. The greatest simpleton wouldunderstand that. Are you more familiar with bricks than bribes?” It was a cruel thrust under the circumstances, and Miss Baylis had the grace to blush at the look of scorn which darted from Beverly’s eyes straight into her own and the curl which Aileen’s lips held. But even a worm may turn, and for once Miss Baylis was taken off her feet by having Electra reply: “I guess it’s more honest to be.”
“Good!” came from someone, but Miss Baylis thought it wiser to ignore it.
“You may stand and read that sentence five times. Perhaps it may percolate after so doing.”
Electra, still smarting under the sting of Miss Baylis’ sarcasm rose hastily, and with her as hastily rose Petty’s foot to a horizontal position, encountering in its ascent the rung of Electra’s chair and toppling it over with a crash.
CHAPTER XIIICULINARY EXPERIMENTS
Most of the girls gave vent to startled exclamations, but Miss Baylis was speechless with rage. Electra turned and twisted in her frantic endeavors to discover the origin of the upheaval, and Petty made a mad scramble for her history book which the sudden jerk had sent flying out of her hands, the sentimental missive fluttering from its hiding place to drop at Beverly’s feet. Stooping hastily, Beverly caught it up unnoticed in the greater confusion, though she could not help seeing “Darling little sweetheart,” in a large immature hand at the heading. With a scarcely repressed laugh she hid it in her book, and turned to face the storm center, Miss Baylis.
“Who is responsible for this folly?” demanded the irate one.
There was no reply.
“I wish an answer,” reiterated Miss Baylis, turning to Beverly who sat near Petty. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
“Not exactly, Miss Baylis.”
“Are you guilty of this act?”
“No, Miss Baylis.”
“Do you know who is?”
“I could not tell if I did, Miss Baylis.”
“I shall force you to tell,” was the unguarded retort.
“It is rather hard to force an Ashby or a Seldon to do something they consider dishonorable, Miss Baylis,” was the quiet reply.
“You are insolent.”
“I did not intend to be.”
Of this Miss Baylis was quite well aware. She had begun to understand something of Beverly’s character and to learn something of the importance of this Woodbine family and their standing in the community. Consequently she turned her attention to Sally and asked:
“Is your sense of honor equally nice? Which of your classmates played this senseless trick?”
Sally remained silent.
“Did you hear my question?”
“I did, Miss Baylis.”
“Then why do you not answer me. If you are aware which girl did this silly thing why do you keep silent when you know I am sure to discover sooner or later?”
“Perhaps for the same reason Beverly has,” answered Sally. “But why don’t you ask me ifIdid it Miss Baylis? I’ve often done far worse, haven’t I?”
“You are rarely vulgar in your pranks,” was Miss Baylis’ amazing retort, which caused the class to gasp. What was back of this extraordinary hedging?
“Well Ididdo it, Miss Baylis, and I am perfectly willing to stand the punishment. Shall I go to Miss Woodhull’s office after class?”
“No, I wish to talk with you myself.”
Sally looked scornful. Well she knew that Miss Baylis had passed her vacation at Kittery Point where Uncle Tom Conant, a bachelor had also passed his. Uncle Tom was rich, good looking and dapper. A lady’s man who charmed every member of the fair sex with whom he was thrown, but with no more idea of matrimony than of murder in his heart. He was devoted to his brother’s children, as well as the fair sexin general and could no more help flattering every one of them than he could help petting the children who were always crowding about him. Some of his stories of Miss Baylis’ “shining up” to him had nearly convulsed his nieces. It was the memory of these which brought the smile to Sally’s lips at the lady’s last words. At that moment the last bell sounded and Miss Baylis was obliged to dismiss her class as quickly as possible. Miss Woodhull was very intolerant of tardiness at meals. Upon the instant the release bell sounded the classes must be dismissed and each girl must hurry to her room to make herself presentable at luncheon.
“Sally, you will come to meimmediatelyafter luncheon. I am deeply pained that you could be guilty of such deportment. I wish to talk seriously with you,” was Miss Baylis’ concluding admonition to the incorrigible one.
“Yes, Miss Baylis,” replied Sally, as she scrambled up her books and joined the girls all hurrying to their rooms.
Petty lingered to glance beneath chairs and desks for the lost letter. To her dismay it had vanished completely. She never suspected thatBeverly running upstairs with the others, held it safe in her history. She would return it to Petty later. Just at present she was too much amused by Miss Baylis’ attitude toward Sally, who had told her of some of the funny scenes at Kittery Point, to think much about Petty’s love affairs, and before luncheon was over a diversion was created, which made her entirely forget it.
For some time, “Aunt Sally Jefferson,” the cook at Leslie Manor had been ailing, and had recently gone away to “res’ up.” Mrs. Bonnell knew well enough that it was useless to protest. These “res’in’ ups” were periodical. Usually she substituted a colored woman who lived at Luray, but Rebecca had taken a permanent situation and was not available.
Jefferson came to her rescue. He had a “lady frien’” who could cook nearly as well as his mother. Mrs. Bonnell was skeptical, but it was a case of “needs must when the de’il drives,” and Juno Daphne came as substitute cook. Then Mrs. Bonnell’s trials began. One morning girl after girl left her fried smelts untasted though ordinarily they were a rare delicacy in that part of the world.
Mrs. Bonnell investigated. Whatwasthe trouble? Had Juno prepared them properly?
“Yas’m I did. I just done fry ’em.”
“Did you clean and wash them carefully?” persisted Mrs. Bonnell.
“No’m. Dey’s such triflin’ fish I ain’ see no sense ’n botherin’ ter clean and wash ’em.”
The next morning such smelts as had been left uncooked for the previous breakfast, came to the table a truly tempting sight, but with the first mouthful a distinct murmur arose and Mrs. Bonnell exclaimed: “Mercy upon me!Whathas she done this time?”
Inquiries followed.
“Yasma’am. I done wash ’emgooddis time. I wash ’em wid dat sof’ soap what Aunt Sally done made befo’ she took sick!”
And then for more than a week all went serenely. Now dessert was being brought on. Mrs. Bonnell always served it. Wesley came in from the pantry bearing a large platter upon which rested a mold of pudding of the most amazing color mortal eye ever rested upon. It was a vivid beautiful sky-blue and Wesley disclosed every ivory in his ample mouth as heset the dish upon the table. Mrs. Bonnell had ordered corn-starch pudding with chocolate sauce. When she looked upon the viand before her she gave a little cry of dismay.
“Wesley what is it?”
“De Lawd on’y know, Miss. I sho’ don’. Dat Juno done sent it in.”
“Go at once and ask her what she used in making this pudding. I have never seen its equal.”
“Ner I,” chuckled Wesley as he hurried off. In five minutes he was back, his hand across his mouth and struggling manfully not to disgrace himself.
“Well?” queried Mrs. Bonnell, her lips twitching.
“She—she—” he strove to articulate. “She—she say she done got de-de-sta-sta-sta’ch in—de la’ndry, an’ she—she—taken dat fer ter be ec’nomical an’ save ’spence fer de school. It—it—wor lef’ over by Aunt Mandy f’om de washin’. She ain’ think,—ha—ha,—she ain’ think debluin’in it mak’ no diff’ence, he-he-he—. Please, ma’am, scuse me, I can’t stan’ fo’ no mo,” and Wesley beat a hasty retreat.
Juno Daphne departed that afternoon, Mrs. Bonnell wishing to avoid the services of a coroner.
As there was no study period on Friday evenings the girls were at liberty to amuse themselves as they chose. At least, within limitations, though they often miscalculated the limitations. The afternoon had been too dull and cold for much outdoor exercise, so they had spent it in the gymnasium practicing basket-ball. In March they would play a game with a team from a town a few miles from Leslie Manor.
Beverly, Sally and Aileen were all on the team, Beverly having made it through adaptability rather than knowledge, for she had never seen a basketball before coming to school, but being as quick as a cat had made good. Consequently the occupants of Suite 10 were glad to rest their weary bodies upon couch or easy chairs when dinner was over, and Sally was entertaining them with an account of her interview with Miss Baylis after luncheon.
“She makes me tired. If it had been you, Bev, she would have sent you down to Miss Woodhull’s office in jig time. But I’ve a good one for Uncle Tom,” and Sally laughed.
“I wouldn’t have cared if she had sent me. I’d rather come to an issue with the Empress anytime than with Miss Baylis. But the whole thing was funny as the mischief,” answered Beverly from her big wicker chair.
“Let’s make some fudge. I’ve got the needfuls, and it will sweeten our tempers. Such things make me cross for hours. We don’t indulge in petty squabbles at home. Mother would be disgusted if she knew of some of the things which take place here, and father would say there was something wrong with the gasoline. He’s just bought a new car so his metaphors are apt to be gasoliney,” laughed Aileen.
“What will you make the fudge in? You let Hope MacLeod have the chafing dish.”
Aileen looked daunted for a moment. Then her face lighted.
“I’ve a tin pail. I can make it in that.”
“Buthow? You can’t boil it without the lamp.”
“Can’t I? Just you watch me do it.” Aileen was resourceful. In a few minutes she had the mixture in her pail, and the pail swinging by a string over the gas jet. LeslieManor was quite up-to-date. It had gas as well as electricity, though gas was not supposed to be used excepting in cases of emergency. Once or twice the electric current had failed.
Aileen had fastened the string from one side of the room to the other on a couple of picture hooks. A none too secure support. Then all three sat down to wait until the fudge gave signs of boiling and promptly became absorbed in a new interest, the Easter vacation.
In the midst of the conversation, Beverly paused. She had suddenly remembered Petty’s note.
“What’s the matter?” asked Sally.
“I’ve forgotten something,” she answered, scrambling from her chair and crossing to her desk for her history. She would take the note back to Petty. It was utter nonsense of course, but it was Petty’s and if she was pleased with such nonsense, she was welcome to it. She looked hurriedly through the book. The note was not in it. Where could she have dropped it? No, she had not dropped it, of that she was certain. She had taken pains to keep the book tightly closed. She meant to have given thenote to Petty directly after luncheon. How provoking! Maybe Petty had seen her catch it up and had come for it herself. She would go and ask her. As she turned to make her intention known to the others there was a snap overhead. The heat had burned Aileen’s string before the fudge had begun to boil and pail and contents descended upon the study table with a rattle and splash, the hot mass scattering in every direction.
For the ensuing half hour the three girls had their hands full and Petty, notes, history examination and all minor affairs were forgotten.
CHAPTER XIVCOMPLICATIONS
But Petty hadnottaken the note from Beverly’s history. It had been removed by quite a different person. In fact about the last one either Beverly or Petty would have dreamed of.
But of this a little later.
By the time the fudge had been cleaned off from everything within a radius of five feet, for a more complete splash had never been made by any descending mass, the “lights out” bells were ringing in all the corridors. Miss Woodhull had only to press a series of buttons arranged in the hall just outside her study door to produce the effect of the needle-prick in the fairy tale. Every inmate immediately dropped asleep. Every? Well, exceptions prove a rule, it is said.
The following morning Beverly told Petty the circumstances of picking up the note and of its subsequent disappearance.
Petty was in despair and scolded and wept alternately, accusing Beverly of having deliberately confiscated it, and hinting pretty broadly that she had also read it.
The moment this accusation left her lips she regretted it because she knew it to be utterly unfounded and the blaze which sprung into Beverly’s eyes warned the little shallow pate that she had ventured a bit too far. She tried to retract by saying she was “nervous and excited andperfectly miserableat the loss of the letter. It was the first of Reggie’s letters she hadeverlost, and he had written every single day for awholeyear.”
“Three-hundred and sixty-five letters, and every one mushy?” cried Beverly, incredulously. “I should think it would be worse than eating a pound of nougat every day.”
Petty alternately moped and searched all Saturday, but, of course to no purpose. When Monday morning came she was in despair, and went to her first recitation in a most emotional frame of mind.
It happened to be French, and Monsieur Sautelle had been the French instructor butfour months. Moreover, he had not yet been in America a year and American girls, and things American, were not only new but a constant source of marvel to him. He lived in a world of hitherto unknown sensations and this morning was destined to experience an entirely new one.
The period was nearly over before it came Petty’s turn to recite and Petty, as the result of having spent all her study period in a vain search for the lost letter, was totally unprepared.
“Madamoiselle Gaylor, you will be so good as to come the conjugation of the verb love, indicative mood, if you please.”
Unfortunate choice!
Petty was in a very indicative mood already. Had he chosen any other verb she might have survived the ordeal, but under the circumstances to openly affirm: “I love; Thou lovest;heloves——.”
Well, there are limits to every one’s endurance under extreme emotion.
Petty hesitated and was lost. Not a word would come. Her throat throbbed and it seemed as though that pound of nougat Beverly had alluded to must be stuck in it.
“Proceed, if you please, Madamoiselle,” urged Monsieur. Petty sat almost directly in front of him, or rather she stood—Miss Woodhull wished each pupil to stand while reciting—and upon being urged to “proceed” raised to him a pair of violet eyes swimming in tears, and a face of abject woe.
Monsieur Sautelle was not over thirty. A dapper, exquisite little man. He was distraught at the sight of this tearful damsel and, very naturally attributed her distress to unpreparedness. Petty was a pretty, inconsequential little creature born to play upon the feelings of one man or another. It did not much matter who he happened to be so long as he could satisfy the sentimental element in her makeup, and she was mostly sentimentality.
“Madamoiselle I implore. Why these tears? You quite desolate me. It is no such crushing matter that you do not know ‘to love’.”
“But oh, I do. Ido,” sobbed Petty.
“Then you will most kindly demonstrate that fact to the class. They wait.”
If ever instructor was taken literally Monsieur Sautelle was then and there, for with anoverpowering sob she swayed forward, flung both arms about the dismayed man’s neck and burying her face against his immaculate collar, gurgled: “Oh, I love! Idolove! Thou lov-v-est! He—He—loves——me!”
It was the most astonishing conjugation the startled Professor had ever heard in all his thirty years, and he frantically strove to remove the clinging damsel, at the same time commanding: “Madamoiselle, Madamoiselle, make yourself tranquil! You will cease at once. Mees Woodhull! Mees Stetson, Mees—Mees.”
Now it so happened that Miss Stetson’s recitation room adjoined Monsieur Sautelle’s. She heard his call and responded with wingéd feet, arriving upon the scene just as Eleanor Allen, Petty’s bosom friend, had sprung to her side, and while in reality striving to untwine Petty’s clinging arms seemed also to be in the act of embracing the French teacher.
What followed is almost too painful to dwell upon, but within ten minutes, all three actors in the little drama were arraigned before Miss Woodhull and it was only Eleanor’s clever tongue which saved the situation. She statedvery emphatically that Petty had been too ill to study on Saturday evening; she did not feel it necessary to name the nature of the malady. That it had been impossible for Petty to prepare her lessons for Monday and that her act was purely the outcome of nervous excitement and held no personal demonstration toward Professor Sautelle.
This statement the Professor was more than delighted to back up and Petty’s tears clenched it. Miss Woodhull could not endure tears; she had never shed one in her life so far as she could recall—and she wished to end the scene forthwith. Consequently the Professor was politely dismissed and speedily went to procure fresh linen. Under Miss Stetson’s charge Petty was sent to the Infirmary, where she was detained a week, and Eleanor was bidden to go to her next recitation. But Eleanor, who was Petty’s confidant in all things, instantly decided to keep her trump card to be played when the moment should be ripe. Eleanor had missed her vocation in life. She should have been in the Turkish diplomatic service instead of in an American boarding school.
Eleanor had taken the note from Beverly’s history. She did so because, having seen Beverly pick it up and place it there she decided, from innate suspicion of all her fellow beings, that Beverly meant to use it to Petty’s undoing. It never occurred to her that Beverly could entertain a generous motive toward a girl whom she held in aversion if not contempt. Then the note once in her possession she wished to keep it a day or so, in the hope that Petty might discover for herself where it had gone. It never entered her head that Beverly would go straight to Petty and explain the situation, and in a reticent freak quite uncommon to her nature, Petty had not confided this fact to Eleanor. And now it was out of the question to do so for the pupils were not permitted to visit the girls in the Infirmary.
Two weeks later the basket-ball game with the rival school was imminent and the team was working like mad. Leslie Manor had been beaten the year before and a second defeat would spell disgrace. Eleanor was on the sub-team. So was Electra. The captain and one forward were seniors. Aileen center, Sally aforward, Beverly had made good as guard and was working like a Trojan for the great event.
The Friday afternoon before the game a party of girls were taken to the village to do some shopping. Nothing more diverting than purchasing new shoe ties, hairpins, bows, and various other trifles. Also to make sure that the decorations ordered for the gymnasium would be punctually sent over to the school that afternoon and last, but by no means least, to indulge in chocolate sodas etc., at the big drug store.
It so happened that Miss Forsdyke, the Latin teacher was acting as chaperone that afternoon and Miss Forsdyke was alive just exactly two thousand years after her time. She should have lived about 55 B.C., for in reality she was living in that period right in the Twentieth Century A.D. and was so lost to all things modern, and so buried in all things ancient, that she was never quite fully alive to those happening all around her. As a chaperone she was “just dead easy” Sally said. A more absent-minded creature it would have been hard to come upon.
Sally, Aileen and Beverly were lingering over the last delicious mouthfuls of nut sundaes.Electra had finished hers and gone to an adjoining counter to make a purchase. Miss Forsdyke, who had declined Sally’s invitation to have a sundae, was selecting a tooth brush at an adjoining counter when Beverly asked:
“Miss Forsdyke, why can’t we carry the flags and ribbons back with us? Then we would be sure of them.”
Miss Forsdyke laid down the tooth brush, picked it up again, hesitated, then walked toward Beverly, saying, “I am not quite sure that Miss Woodhull would approve. She does not like the pupils to carry parcels—large ones, I mean—and these would be quite large, would they not?”
“Then why not phone to her to ask if we may?” suggested Sally.
“Why-er-I-suppose I-I could. Will you kindly direct me to the public tooth brush?” she turned to the clerk to ask. “Oh no, no, I mean the public telephone booth,” she corrected, coloring a deep pink.
“It’s behind you,” answered the clerk, trying not to laugh, and pointing to the booth which was exactly behind Miss Forsdyke. Still grasping her tooth brush she scuttled into the booth.
Naturally, Electra had been an interested listener and Electra’s mind did not grasp two ideas simultaneously as a rule. She had not yet made her wants known to the clerk, who stood deferentially waiting for her to do so. As the possibility seemed vague he asked politely.
“What can I do for you, Miss?” and nearly disappeared beneath the show case when Electra answered.
“Will you please give me a glass eye. No, no, I mean a glass eyecup.”
“That’s no school, it’s a blooming lunatic asylum,” clerk No. 1 declared to clerk No. 2 as the last pair of shoeheels disappeared through the door, “an’ theoldone’s the looniest of them all.”
Nevertheless, some of those “lunatics” put up a good game of basket-ball the next afternoon.
As the game progressed the school and the spectators were jubilant. At least one-half of the latter were, and none more so than two girls who had come with the rival team, as all the Leslie Manor girls believed, and, although strangers, certainly enthused more over the blue and yellow, the Leslie Manor colors, than over the green and red.
“Look at those two stunning girls in the third row on the left side, Aileen. Do you know who they are?” asked Sally, during one of the intermissions.
“Never laid eyes on them before,” replied Aileen. Isn’t the tall fair one beautiful though? I’ve never seen such eyes and skin in all my life.
“She knows how to dress too, believe me,” was Sally’s admiring comment. “That’s a stunning velveteen suit she has on, and her hat well, New York or Paris, sure.”
“The smaller one must be attractive too. But isn’t it funny that she should wear her chiffon veil under her lace one instead of outside of it? I wish she’d raise them properly; I want to get a good look at her face. Somehow she reminds me of someone I’ve met before but I can’t think of whom. We’ll ask Beverly.” But just then the whistle blew and the game was on again.
When Leslie Manor won on a score of twenty to seven, the girl in the chiffon veil jumped to her feet, pitched her muff high into the air and yelled. Then evidently overwhelmed withmortification at her wild demonstration instantly dropped back upon her chair, aided in her descent thereto by a vigorous tug from her companion.
At Beverly’s grasping, “Oh!” Aileen and Sally started. Beverly had not noticed the two girls until that instant.
“What’s the matter?” asked Sally.
“Nothing. Just a funny kink in my side. It’s all over now.”
“You’ve played too hard. I knew you would. Come quick and get a good rub-down. You’re nearly all in. Why didn’t we realize it sooner. Come on,” and full of solicitude they hurried her away to the dressing-room, her supposed indisposition driving all thoughts of the strange girls from their heads, and when the three were dressed and ready to join their companions the visitors had disappeared; gone undoubtedly with others who had come to witness the game, and they never thought to mention their presence to Beverly.
That they in common with the other guests had been ushered into Miss Woodhull’s library, where, agreeable to custom, hot chocolate wasserved, had each, by some miraculous means contrived to be servedthree times, and had held a brief but most flattering conversation with Miss Woodhull, Sally, Beverly and Aileen never suspected. When they took their departure Miss Woodhull suddenly remembered that they had not been introduced to her and that she had not the vaguest idea of their names. Which of her teachers or pupils had been so very remiss?
CHAPTER XVTHE TRUMP CARD
It so happened that the presence of the two strange girls had aroused the curiosity of someone else, and that this somebody being of a suspicious nature at all times required but little to set her fancies a-galloping. She had watched the girls all through the game, and at its end sped away to the dressing room and changed her clothes with remarkable expedition. Then, instead of joining her companions in Miss Woodhull’s reception room, where tea was to be served to pupils and guests, she hurried into her outdoor garments, and slipped out of a side door, made her way around the house to a clump of fir trees in which she could watch undetected all who left the main entrance of Leslie Manor.
She did not have to wait long. The two girls were among the first to leave, but instead offollowing the broad main walk as the other guests did, they turned into a side path as though wishing to stroll about the grounds. The moment they were out of sight the suspicious one was hot-foot upon their trail, and Miss Eleanor Allen was compelled to do some lively stepping out in order to overtake her quarry. Only they were certainly most athletic young women if one might judge from the manner in which they strode forward.
Naturally at that season of the year the outskirts of the grounds were entirely deserted. The elegantly dressed young ladies hurried toward a dense clump of cedars which grew near the prickly holly hedge, and, to Eleanor’s amazement, the wearer of the big chiffon veil began to tug and haul at it until it came loose, while the taller girl began to divest herself of her handsome fur collar and coat. Eleanor gasped, and the next moment nearly passed away, for now Miss “Chiffon-Veil’s” skirts fell from her, and Miss “Tall-Blonde” began to wriggle out ofhergarments as a boy might wriggle out of his coat and vest.... It was all Eleanor could do to repress a cry of horror.Then off fell the big hat, the hair coming with it, and before her stood a tall, fair boy in his trousers and shirt.
“Gee Whiz! Ath, pitch me my coat quick! Those girl’s togs nearly smothered me and now I’m freezing,” he cried.
The garments desired were picked out of a bundle of things hidden in the cedars, and flung at the shivering blonde, who promptly scrambled into it, and drew from one of the pockets a cap, which he jammed down upon his curly pate. Then swooping down he caught up the feminine gear lying upon the ground, jammed it pell mell into a laundry bag, and heaved it over the hedge into the road beyond, his companion, now having cast his outer raiment, doing precisely the same thing. Then both shinned up a tall tree whose branches overhung the road, walked like rope-walkers along a branch which topped the hedge, and dropped lightly to the ground. Eleanor ran to the hedge in time to see the laundry bags pitched upon the backs of two waiting horses, the boys scramble upon their mounts and with a whoop of triumph go pelting off down the road.
“Well, I never! Well, I never!” gasped Miss Paulina Pry, which was unquestionably the absolute truth, though not characteristic. “That was Beverly Ashby’s brother and her beau!” Eleanor’s selection of common nouns was at times decidedly common. “Now, Miss High-and-Mighty, we will see what happens to girls who are so very superior to other girls but can read their letters and sneak boys into our school against rules,” and back she sped to the house, filled to the brim with knowledge, but with such a paucity of wisdom in her brain that it was a wonder she kept to the path. It was a pity that no one was at hand to quote for her benefit: “Knowledge is haughty that she knows so much, but Wisdom is humble that she knows no more.”
From the moment Eleanor Allen entered Leslie Manor, she had been Petty Gaylord’s slave, and a more complete “crush” never was known. Flowers, candy, books, and what not were lavished upon her adored one. Everything that Petty would accept, and since Petty’s discrimination was not of the nicest order all proved fish which fell into her net. Eleanorlived in the atmosphere of Petty’s thrilling romance until she almost felt it to be her own. She had seen the lost letter flutter to the schoolroom floor, and had also seen Beverly pick it up. Her first impulse was to run and tell Petty, but had no opportunity to do so in the classroom. Then she decided to effect its rescue herself, and while the others were at luncheon had slipped into Beverly’s room and extracted the note from her history. She never dreamed that Beverly meant to return it to Petty and did not know that she had gone to her the following morning to explain its loss as well as she was able. Eleanor intended to give Petty the note at once, but when circumstances had prevented her from doing so for several hours, she made up her mind to keep it in her own possession in order to use it to Beverly’s undoing. Just how this was to be compassed she had no very clear idea, andnowhad come a fine opening. She hated Beverly because she had laughed at Petty’s love affair, and ignored completely the one who worshipped at Petty’s shrine. The scene in Professor Sautelle’s room had nearly thrown Beverly into hysterics, and Eleanorhad also witnessed that. Oh, she had a long score against Beverly Ashby.
That evening as Miss Woodhull sat by her study table reading a tap came upon her door and Eleanor entered at the word “Come.”
Miss Woodhull was not over-pleased at being interrupted in the midst of a thrilling article on the Suffrage question and the militant doings of her wronged sisters in England. “Well?” she queried crisply.
“I would like to speak to you, Miss Woodhull.”
“Very well, speak,” was the terse reply.
This was somewhat disconcerting. Eleanor coughed.
“Will you be good enough to state your errand without further peroration. I do not relish being interrupted in my reading.”
“I—I—thought I ought to tell you,—to show you—I mean you ought to see this note which I found,” and Eleanor crossed the room to Miss Woodhull’s side, the note held toward her.
She took it, asking as she did so: “Why come to me about so trivial a matter? What is it? Where did you find it?”
“I didn’t think it trivial and that is why I came right to you,” Eleanor replied, ignoring the embarrassing questions.
Miss Woodhull opened the note. The first line acted like a galvanic shock. She sat up rigid as a lamp post. The words were “Darling Little Sweetheart:—” Then she read on:
“When I close my eyes I can still feel your soft arms about my neck and your kisses upon my lips. I can’t wait much longer for you, darling. Something must be done. I just can’t stand it. I’ve got to see you before Easter. It’s no use to say I can’t, because I’m going to—somehow. So don’t be surprised at anything. Leslie Manor is not so many miles away and ways and means can be contrived in spite of all the old maid guardians that ever lived. Wonder if the old lady knows how it feels to have a man kiss her? I bet she don’t! I’ve never seen your Suffragette queen, but I don’t need to after all you’ve told me about her. She must be a cuckoo.
“So keep your weather eye piped, sweetness and leave the rest to your