CHAPTER XVIII.ON THE ROAD TO ORCHARD INN
Mechanically, Marjorie closed the journal of Brooke Hamilton and slipped the rubber around it. She felt as though she never wished to open it again. What a tragedy lay between those black, worn, leather covers. Brooke Hamilton had suffered too greatly she thought for that which he was not really to blame.
He had not understood that Angela loved him. Still, he had upbraided himself with the remorseful thought that he might have understood, if he had tried. Angela had always loved him. She had known that she loved him. He had not in the beginning loved her, or at least he had given no thought to love. The last despairing entry in the journal held strong accusation against himself for not having given love a place in his life. Mind had dominated heart, when instead heart and mind should have gone seeking love and achievement together.
Then the thought which had been pounding atthe walls of her brain for admittance entered her consciousness. Suppose that, some day, too late, she were to discover she really loved Hal? She had the same friendly regard for Hal which Brooke Hamilton had entertained for Angela. Hal loved her truly. Angela had truly loved Brooke Hamilton.
The mere idea of such a far-fetched catastrophe filled the sober-faced, lately tearful lieutenant with panic. She took the sad little history of a man’s ambition and misunderstanding and hurriedly replaced it in the rosewood box. She turned the key, then placed the box in the cabinet. Having now read it, she could not bear to talk with Miss Susanna again about it that day. She longed to go out in the bright spring weather and walk until she had shaken off the deep-seated melancholy which had invaded her young heart. The quotation from Thanatopsis: “Go forth, under the open sky, and list to nature’s teachings,” recurred to her with force.
“It’s almost time for luncheon,” she murmured. “I can’t help it. I must go outdoors for awhile. I shan’t write a line today. Maybe not tomorrow. I’ll scribble a note to Miss Susanna and give it to Jonas to hand to her. Jerry’ll survive my desertion for once.”
Luncheon at the Arms was at one o’clock. Itlacked only a few minutes of one when Marjorie came downstairs to find Jonas and deliver her note into his hands. She had stopped only long enough to bathe her slightly pinkish eye-lids and draw on a pretty buff sports coat and hat.
She had hardly progressed the length of the long stone walk leading to the gate when her drooping spirits began to revive. She was not shallow, in that she could lightly throw off the impression of the morning’s reading. She was strong-willed enough not to allow it to gain a distressing hold upon her. Most of all she wished to forget her dejected suppositions which concerned Hal.
Outside the gates of the Arms she paused to decide on which way to go. Should she walk to the town of Hamilton, or toward the campus. A walk into staid, drowsy Hamilton meant nothing more than a lonely prowling up and down the main streets. To go toward the campus! There was no telling who she might meet. Marjorie chose the campus, and variety.
“Now by King John’s castle where may you be going?” Leila Harper called out the salutation as she swept past Marjorie in her car. A moment and it had stopped. Leila leaned far out of it, beckoning. “Have the feet to hurry,” she ordered.“I have just been to town, but I’ll take you back again in a trice, if you say.”
“I don’t want to go to town.” Marjorie shook an emphatic head. “Take me for a spin, Leila Greatheart. I’ve quit biographing for the day and I wish to be amused; wish to be, and hope to be.”
“I am that amusing! And you must have heard it. Now who told it to you?” Leila cocked her head to one side and smilingly awaited an answer.
“Leila Harper,” laughed Marjorie. “I hope she knew what she was talking about.”
“I hope so,” Leila echoed fervently. “Let us take a ride, Beauty, to Orchard Inn. I should be busy with my Irish play this afternoon. I have no thoughts for it. We are both less gifted than we might be.”
“Orchard Inn to luncheon sounds comforting.” Marjorie was settling herself beside Leila in the car. “It’s a glorious day for a drive. I’ve not seen you for more than a few minutes at a time since the Rustic Romp. I’ve only seen Robin once. She came over to the Arms the day after the Romp to tell me we made nearly a thousand dollars from it.”
“Did you not hear, Beauty? Someone dropped a hundred dollar note into the cash box. Miss Dowhad charge of the box. She had no idea who the generous rustic might be.”
“Oh-h!” Marjorie’s exclamation died in a soft breath. She had made a quick flashing guess as to the donor. Leslie Cairns, of course. What an odd proceeding on her part! Nevertheless Marjorie gave her the benefit of having been animated by a generous motive. She had undoubtedly come prepared to give such a sum. Marjorie was also of the opinion that Doris Monroe had paved the way for Leslie’s lark.
“It is not a campus performance to give such wealth,” smiled Leila. “I mean outside the Travelers and a few such princes as Gentleman Gus and her train of hearties. I thought Ronny might be the one. She accuses Vera; and so it goes.”
“Whoever gave it must have wished her identity to be a secret.” Marjorie would have liked to tell Leila of Leslie’s lark. She had made up her mind that night, however, to be silent. Three persons besides herself knew it. No, only one, Doris Monroe. Jane Everest and Julia Peyton lacked the evidence of their own eyes. Unless Julia Peyton should gossip, Leslie’s uninvited presence in the gymnasium would not be known.
“Since we have the gold, why should we seekthe miner,” Leila said genially. “‘The Knight of the Northern Sun’ is coming on grandly. Next Tuesday evening we shall give a full rehearsal. I trust our spear proof silver buckram helmets will fit our Norse warriors. Kathie is a true playwright, but I am a Celtic fake. It is hard to glorify my hero, since I am to be the hero myself. I am in a fine dilemma,” she complained drolly. “Why did I ever imagine I could write an Irish play?”
It was an hour’s run by automobile to Orchard Inn. It was the most distant from the campus of the coterie of tea rooms dear to the hearts of the Hamilton girls. The route lay for the most part over Hamilton Pike. The last three miles of the journey had to be made over a dirt road. It was fairly smooth and easily traveled except when roughened by heavy rains.
The two girls kept up a low steady stream of conversation as the car sped on toward the Inn. Both were feeling the pleasantness of a brief freedom from everything connected with even their beloved work. Neither had expected to take a trip to the Inn when she had started out. As a consequence, both were jubilant over the little excursion.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you something very important, Leila. We were so busy talking aboutthe Travelers’ stunts it almost slipped my mind. Captain’s coming to the Arms for Easter.” Marjorie’s voice rang with joy. “That means I can stay here. Jerry is going to stay, too.”
“May I ask whose marvelous managing that is?” Leila’s eyes grew starry. She adored Mrs. Dean.
“Captain’s. You see General will be away on a trip. Captain knows how much I have to do here, so she is going to help me by coming to the Arms. Miss Susanna is delighted. It’s a case of Captain Bean making Lieutenant Bean and all the Beanstalks happy.”
“We should start a Beanstalk colony here at Hamilton and remain here all our days. Would it not be a credit to the township and a satisfaction to my old age?”
“I’d love to live in Hamilton Estates, Leila,” Marjorie confessed. “I care for Sanford because of Jerry, Muriel, Lucy and a few other chums of my high school days. If Jerry, Lucy, Muriel and a few more could be transplanted to Hamilton, I’d move Castle Dean here, too. Sanford has always meant a great deal to me. Hamilton means more.”
“I understand. Midget and I have sometimes romanced of building ourselves a hut in the land of college.” Leila looked dreamily away for an instantat the peaceful spring landscape. There was a touch of home hunger in her reply. She was silent for a little, her attention riveted on picking as smooth a route as was possible on the dirt road for the car. The machine had struck a rough, narrow stretch of ground not more than wide enough for two cars to pass each other.
“Hey, ho,” she said, coming back to practicality; “I am not anxious to meet any cars on this cattle path.” The words had scarcely left her lips when a low frame, black roadster, built for speed, appeared in sight upon the brow of an incline ahead of them. “Do you see that, Beauty? I had but to speak when a listening jinxie whisked a black hob-goblin into my path,” Leila cried out in mild vexation.
Marjorie watched the approaching car with more than casual interest. A comprehensive glance at it had informed her as to the identity of the driver. A young woman was at the wheel, the car’s sole occupant. Marjorie did not miss seeing the peculiar expression which showed itself in the other’s face as she glanced at Leila’s car and prepared to keep strictly to the proper side of the narrow road.
Instead of starting down the low hill the other motorist stopped her car at the top of the little riseof ground and waited for Leila’s roadster to come up. As Leila’s car came abreast of her automobile she leaned out and cried: “Will you please stop your car? I’d like to speak to Miss Dean.”
“Has the world come to an end?” Leila muttered in Marjorie’s ear as she complied with the other girl’s request. “The Hob-goblin is no myth, as you can see for yourself, Beauty.”