“‘Oh, I’m a cook and a captain bold,And a mate of the Nancy brig,And a bo’sun tight and a midshipmatemite,And the crew of the captain’s gig.’”
“‘Oh, I’m a cook and a captain bold,And a mate of the Nancy brig,And a bo’sun tight and a midshipmatemite,And the crew of the captain’s gig.’”
“‘Oh, I’m a cook and a captain bold,And a mate of the Nancy brig,And a bo’sun tight and a midshipmatemite,And the crew of the captain’s gig.’”
“Why don’t you join in, Eddie? But I forgot. It would never do for a Professor of English Literature at a girls’ college to lift his voice in ribald song.”
Some one laughed. Molly recognized the voice instantly. She knew that Professor Edwin Green was dining at Judith’s that night, and her inquiring mind reached out even further into the realms of conjecture, and she guessed who was the author of his light opera.
“Cousin Edwin, will you sit there, next to me?” said Judith’s voice.
“Cousin?” repeated Molly. “So that’s it, is it?”
Then other voices joined in—Mary Stewart, Jennie Wren and Martha Schaeffer, a rich girl from Chicago, who roomed in that house.
They gobbled down the first course as people usually dispatch relishes, and as Caroline removed the dishes, Molly appeared with the soup. None of the girls recognized her, of course, which was perfectly good college etiquette, althoughMary Stewart smiled when Molly placed her cup of soup and whispered:
“Good work.”
Molly gave her a grateful look, and Professor Edwin Green, looking up, caught a glimpse of Molly’s flushed face, and smiled, too.
“I say, Ju-ju, who’s your head waitress?” Molly could not help overhearing Richard Blount ask when she had left the room.
“Oh, just a little Southern girl named Smith, or something,” answered Judith carelessly.
“That young lady,” said Professor Edwin Green, “is Miss Molly Brown, of Kentucky.”
The young freshman’s face was crimson when she brought in the steak and placed it in front of Mr. Blount.
Then she took her stand correctly behind his chair, with a plate in her hand, waiting for him to carve.
Sometimes two members of the same family are so unlike that it is almost impossible to believe that blood from the same stock runs in their veins. So it was with Richard Blount and his sister, Judith. She was tall and dark and arrogant, and he was short and blond and full of good-humored gayety. He rallied all the girls atthe table. He teased his Cousin Edwin. He teased his sister, and then he ended by highly praising the food, looking all the time from one corner of his mild blue eyes at Molly’s flushed face.
“Really,” he exclaimed, “a French chef must have broiled this steak. Not even Delmonico, nor Oscar himself at the Waldorf, could have done it better. Isn’t it the top-notch, Eddie? What’s this? Mushroom sauce? By Jupiter, it’s wonderful to come out here in the wilds and get such food.”
Mary Stewart began to laugh. After all, it was just good-natured raillery.
“Why, Mr. Blount,” she said, “there is something to be found here that is lots better than porter-house steak.”
“What is it? Name it, please!” cried Richard. “If I must miss the train, I must have some, whatever it is—cream puffs or chocolate fudge?”
“It’s Kentucky ham of the finest, what do you call it—breed? Three years old. You’ve never eaten ham until you’ve tasted it.”
She smiled charmingly at Molly, who pretended to look unconscious while she passed the vegetables. Judith endeavored to change the subject.
She was angry with Mary for thus bringing her freshman waitress into prominence. But Molly was destined to be the heroine of the evening in spite of all efforts against it.
“Old Kentucky ham!” cried Richard Blount, starting from his chair with mock seriousness, “Where is it? I implore you to tell me. My soul cries out for old ham from the dark and bloody battleground of Kentucky!”
Everybody began to laugh, and Judith exclaimed:
“Do hush, Richard. You are so absurd! Did he behave this way at Harvard all the time, Cousin Edwin?”
“Oh, yes; only more so. But tell me more of this wonderful ham, Miss Stewart.”
Molly wondered if Professor Green really understood that it was all a joke on her when he asked that question.
Suddenly she formed a resolution. Following her assistant into the next room, she whispered:
“Which would you rather do, Miss Brinton? Go over to Queen’s and ask Nance to give you the rest of my ham or wait on the table while I go?”
“I’d rather get the ham,” replied Miss Brinton,whose proud spirit was crushed by the menial service she had been obliged to undertake that evening.
The dinner progressed. In a little while Molly had cleared the table and was preparing to bring on the grape-fruit salad when Caroline appeared with the remnants of the ham. Molly removed it from its wrappings and, placing it on a dish, bore it triumphantly into the next room.
“What’s this?” cried Richard Blount. “Do my eyes deceive me? Am I dreaming? Is it possible——”
“The old ham, or, rather, the attenuated ghost of the old ham!” ejaculated Mary Stewart.
Even Judith joined in the burst of merriment, and Professor Green’s laugh was the gayest of all.
Molly returned with the carving knife and fork, and Richard Blount began to snip off small pieces.
“‘Ham bone am very sweet,’” he sang, one eye on Molly.
“It is certainly wonderful,” exclaimed Professor Green, as he tasted the delicate meat; “but it seems like robbery to deprive the owner of it.”
“Now, Edwin, you keep quiet, please,” interruptedRichard. “I’ve heard that some owners of old hams are just as fond of things sweeter than ham bones. A five-pound box ought to be the equivalent of this, eh?”
“Really, Richard, you go too far,” put in Judith, frowning at her brother.
But Richard took not the slightest notice of her, nor did he pause until he had cleaned the ham bone of every scrap of meat left on it.
“Aren’t you going to catch your train?” asked Judith.
“I think not to-night, Ju-ju,” he answered, smiling amiably. “Edwin, can you put me up? If not, I’ll stop at the inn in the village.”
“No, indeed, you won’t, Dick. You must stop with me. I have an extra bed, solely in hopes you might stay in it some night. And later this evening we might run over—er—a few notes.”
He looked consciously at Richard, then he gave Molly a swift, quizzical glance, remembering probably that he had confided to her and her alone that he was the author of the words of a comic opera.
Having cleared the table, Molly now returned with the coffee. The cups jaggled as she handed them. She was very weary, and her arms ached.When she had reached Professor Edwin Green, Richard Blount, with his nervous, quick manner, suddenly started from his chair and exclaimed:
“Now, I know whom you remind me of—Ellen Terry at sixteen.”
Nobody but Molly realized for a moment that he was talking to her, and she was so startled that her wrist gave a twist and over went the tray and three full coffee cups straight on to the knees of the august Professor of English Literature.
There was a great deal of noise, Molly remembered. She herself was so horrified and stunned that she stood immovable, clutching the tray wildly, as a drowning person clings to a life preserver. She heard Judith cry:
“How stupid! How could you have been so unpardonably awkward!”
At the same moment Mary Stewart said: “It was entirely your fault, Mr. Blount. You frightened the poor child with your wild behavior.”
And Professor Green said:
“Don’t scold, Judith. I’m to blame. I joggled the tray with my elbow. There’s no harm done, at any rate. These gray trousers will be much improved by being dyedcafe au lait.”
Then Richard Blount rose from the table and marched straight over to where Molly was standing transfixed, still miserably holding to the tray.
“Miss Brown,” he said humbly, “I want to apologize. All this must have been very trying for you, and you have behaved beautifully. I hope you will forgive me. My only excuse is that I am always forgetting my little sister and her friends are not still children. Will you forgive me?”
He looked so manly and good-natured standing there before her with his hand held out, that Molly felt what slight indignation there was in her heart melting away at once. She put her hand in his.
“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Blount,” she said, and the young man who was a musician pricked up his ears when he heard that soft, musical voice.
“And I’ve robbed you of your ham,” he continued.
“It was a pleasure to know you enjoyed it,” she said.
Presently Molly began clearing the table. Richard sat down at the piano. It was evident that he never wandered far from his beloved instrument,and the girls gathered around him while he ran over the first act of his new opera.
Professor Edwin Green said good night and took himself and his coffee-soaked trousers home to his rooms.
“You can follow later, Dickie,” he called.
As he passed Molly, standing by the door, he smiled at her again, and Molly smiled back, though she was quite ready to cry.
“The ham was delicious,” he said. “Thank you very much.”
That night, when Molly had wearily climbed the stairs to her room and flung herself on her couch, Nance, writing at her desk, called over:
“Well, how was the beefsteak?”
“I didn’t get any,” said Molly. “Even if there had been any left, I was too tired to eat anything. I’m afraid I wasn’t born to be anybody’s cook, Nance, or waitress, either.”
And Molly turned her face to the wall and wept silently.
Lest we forget, we will say now that two days after this episode of the coffee cups, there came, by express for Miss Molly Brown, a five-pound box of candy without a card, and the girls at Queen’s Cottage feasted right royally for almost two evenings.
At the first meeting of the freshman class of 19—, Margaret Wakefield of Washington, D. C., had been elected President.
Just how this came about no one could exactly say. She could not have been accused of electioneering for herself, and yet she made an impression somehow and had won the election by a large majority.
“Anybody who can talk like that ought to be President of something,” Molly had observed good naturedly. “She could make a real inauguration speech, I believe, and she knows all about Parliamentary Law, whatever that is.”
“She dashed off the class constitution just as easily as if she were writing a letter home,” said Judy.
“That’s not so easy, either,” added Nance mournfully.
The girls were silent. It had gradually leakedout as their friendship progressed that Nance’s home was not an abode of happiness by any means. And yet Nance had written a theme on “Home,” which was so well done that she had been highly complimented by Miss Pomeroy, who had read it aloud to the class. Molly often wondered just what manner of woman Nance’s mother was, and she soon had an opportunity of finding out for herself.
But the conversation about the new class president continued.
“President Wakefield wants us to have bi-monthly meetings,” continued Judy. “She wishes to divide the class into committees and have a chairman for each committee—”
“Committees for what?” demanded Molly.
“Dear knows,” laughed Judy, “but her father’s a Congressman, and she has inherited his passion for law and order, I suppose. She wants to conduct a debate on Woman’s Suffrage to meet Saturdays. It’s to be called ‘The Woman’s Franchise Club,’ and she wishes to establish by-laws and resolutions and a number of other things that are Greek to me, for ‘the political body corporate.’ She says it’s a crying shame that women know so little about the constitution of their owncountry, and in establishing a debating society, she hopes to do some missionary work in that line.”
Judy had risen and was waving her arms dramatically while her voice rose and fell like an old-time orator’s.
“I suppose we ought,” said Molly; “but I’d rather put it off a year or so. There are so many other things to enjoy first. Besides, it will be four years before I reach the voting age, and by that time I hope my ‘intellects’ will have developed sufficiently to take in the constitution of the country.”
“Anyhow,” exclaimed Judy, “I’m proud to have a class president who’s such a first-class public speaker, because it takes it all off our shoulders. Whenever there’s a speech to be made or anything public and embarrassing to be done, we’ll just vote for her to do it, because she will enjoy it so much.”
“But are you going to join the debating club?” asked Nance.
“I suppose it’s our duty to,” replied Molly; “but I do hate to pin myself down. Suppose we say we’ll go to one and listen?”
“Well, you’d better settle it now, because herecomes the President sailing up the walk. She’s going the rounds now, I suppose, and in another two minutes she’ll be springing the question on us.”
Judy, who was sitting at the front window of her own room, nodded down into the yard and smiled politely, and the girls had just time to settle among themselves what they were going to say when there was a smart rap on the door and President Wakefield entered.
She wore rather masculine-looking clothes, and carried a business-like small-sized suit case in one hand and a notebook in the other.
“Hello, girls!” she began; “I’m so glad I caught you together. It saves telling over the same thing three times. I want to know first exactly how you stand on the woman’s suffrage question. Now, don’t be afraid to be frank about it, and speak your minds. Of course, I’m sure that, being women who are seeking the higher education, you are all of you on the right side—the side of the thinking woman of to-day——”
Here Judy sneezed so violently that she almost upset the little three-legged clover-leaf tea table at her elbow.
“How do you feel on the subject, Molly?”
Molly smiled broadly, while Nance cleared her throat and Judy blew her nose and exclaimed:
“I think I must be taking cold. Excuse me while I get a sweater,” and disappeared in the closet.
“I—I’m afraid I don’t know very much about the subject, Margaret. You see, I was brought up in the country, and I haven’t had a chance to go into woman’s suffrage very deeply.”
“There is no time like the present for beginning, then,” said Margaret promptly, opening the business-like little suit case. “Read these two pamphlets and you’ll get the gist of the entire subject clearly and concisely expressed. I will call on you for an opinion next week after you’ve had time to study the question a bit.”
Molly took the pamphlets and began hastily turning the leaves. She wanted to laugh, but she felt certain it would offend Margaret deeply not to be taken seriously, and she controlled her facial muscles with an effort while she waited for attack No. Two.
“Nance, have you taken any interest in this question?” continued Margaret, who seemed tohave the patience of a fanatic spreading his belief.
“I know something about it,” replied Nance quietly. “You see, my mother is President of a Woman’s Suffrage Association, and she spends most of her time going about the country making speeches for the National Association.”
“What, is your mother Mrs. Anna Oldham, the famous clubwoman?” cried Margaret.
Nance nodded her head silently.
“Why, she is one of the greatest authorities on women’s suffrage in the country!” exclaimed Margaret with great enthusiasm. “It says so here. Look, it gives a little sketch of her life and titles. She is president of two big societies and an officer in five others. It’s all in this little book called ‘Famous Club Women in America and England.’ Dear me,” continued Margaret modestly, “I think I’d better resign and give the chair to you, Nance. I’m nobody to be preaching to you when you must know the subject from beginning to end.”
Nance smiled in her curious, whimsical way.
“Have you ever eaten too much of something, Margaret,” she said, “and then hated it ever afterward?”
“Why, yes,” replied the President, “that has happened to every one, I suppose. Mince pie and I have been strangers to each other for many years on that account.”
“Well,” continued Nance, “I’ve been fed on clubs until I feel like a Strausberg goose. I’ve had them crammed down my throat since I was five years old. When I was twelve, I was my mother’s secretary, and I’ve sent off thousands of just such pamphlets as you are distributing now. I learned to write on the typewriter so I could copy my mother’s speeches. I’ve been usher at club conventions and page at committee meetings. I’ve distributed hundreds of badges with ‘Votes for Women’ printed on them. I had to make a hundred copies of mother’s speech on ‘The Constitution and By-Laws of the United States,’ and send them to a hundred different women’s clubs. So, you see,” she added, simply, frowning to keep back her tears, “I think I’ll take a rest from clubs while I’m at college and begin to enjoy life a little with Molly and Judy.”
Margaret Wakefield, who was really a very nice girl and exceedingly well-bred, leaned over and placed a firm, rather large hand on Nance’s.
“I should think you had had enough,” she exclaimed,giving the hand a warm squeeze. Seeing teardrops glistening in Nance’s eyes, she rose and started to the door. “If ever you do want to come to any of the meetings, you will be very welcome, girls,” she said; “but you don’t want to overdo anything in life, you know, and if there are things that interest you more than Woman’s Suffrage you oughtn’t to sacrifice yourselves. People should follow their own bent, I think. Good-bye,” she went on, smiling brightly, “and don’t bother to read the pamphlets, Molly, dear, if you don’t want to. It’s a poor way to carry a point to make a bugbear of the subject.”
She went out quietly and closed the door.
“I call her a perfect lady,” exclaimed Molly, trying not to look at Nance, but wishing at the same time that her friend would give way just once and have a good cry.
“Let’s cut study this afternoon and take a walk,” exclaimed Judy. “Trot along and get on your sweaters. It’s much too glorious to stay indoors. Nance, can’t you do your theme after supper? Molly, you look a little peaked. It will do you good to breathe the fresh, untainted air of the pine woods.”
Judy, it must be confessed, was always glad of a good excuse to get away from her books.
“Splendid!” cried Molly with enthusiasm.
“And I’ll bring my English tea basket,” went on Judy. “Who’s got any cookies?”
“I have,” said Nance, now fully recovered.
In five minutes the three girls had started across the campus to the road and presently were making for the pine woods that bordered the pretty lake. Everybody seemed to be out roaming the country that beautiful autumn afternoon. Parties of girls came swinging past, who had been on long tramps through the woods and over to the distant hills which formed a blue and misty background to the lovely rolling country. The lake was dotted with canoes and rowboats, and from far down the road that wound its way through the valley there came the sound of singing. Presently a wagon-load of girls emerged into view, followed by another wagon filled with autumn leaves and evergreens.
“It’s the sophomore committee on decoration,” Judy explained. Apparently she knew everything that happened at college. “They are getting the decorations for the gym. for the ball to-morrow night.”
Molly quickly changed the subject. She had had two invitations to go to the Sophomore-Freshman Ball since she had accepted Frances Andrews’ offer, and several of the sophomores had been to see her to ask her to change her mind, but, having given her word, Molly intended to keep it, no matter what was to pay.
“Let’s go to the upper end of the lake,” she suggested. “It’s wilder and much prettier,” and she led the way briskly along the path through the pine woods.
In a little while they came out at the other end of the small body of water where the woods abruptly ended at the foot of a hill called “Round Head,” which the girls proceeded to climb. From this eminence could be seen a widespreading panorama of hills and valleys, little streams and bits of forests, and beyond the pine woods the college itself, its campus spread at its feet like a mat of emerald green.
The girls paused breathlessly and Judy put down her tea basket.
“Here’s where a little refreshment might be very welcome,” she said, opening her basket of which she was justly proud, for not many girls at Wellington could boast of such a possession. Shefilled the little kettle from the bottle of water she had taken the precaution to bring along, and they sat down in a circle on the turf. The autumn had been a dry one, and the ground was not damp. Nibbling cookies and sweet chocolate, they waited for the water to boil.
“Look, here comes some one,” whispered Judy, indicating the figure of a man appearing around the side of the hill.
“I do hope it’s not a tramp,” exclaimed Nance uneasily.
Molly Brown hoped so, too, although she said nothing. But she felt nervous, as who wouldn’t in that lonely place? As the man came nearer, it became plain that he was making straight for them, and he did most assuredly look like a wanderer of some kind. He was dressed in an old suit of rough gray, wore an old felt hat and carried a staff like a pilgrim. The girls sat quite still and said nothing. There had been a silent understanding among them that it was better not to run. As the man drew nearer, Molly became suddenly conscious of the fact that across the gray trousers just above the knees was a deep coffee-colored stain.
The next moment the man stood before them,leaning on his staff, his hat under his arm. It was “Epiménides Antinous Green.”
“Confess now,” he said, smiling at all of them and looking at Molly, whom he knew best of the three, “you took me for a tramp?”
“Not exactly for a tramp,” answered Molly; “but for one who tramps.”
“What’s the difference, Miss Brown?” he asked laughing.
“Oh, everything. Clothes——” she paused, blushing deeply. Her eyes had fallen on the coffee stain. “Why doesn’t he have it cleaned off?” she thought, frowning slightly. “And—and looks,” she continued out loud.
“Even in the walk,” Judy finished. “Perhaps we can give you a cup of tea, Professor,” she added politely.
The Professor was only too glad for a cup of tea. He had been roaming the hills all day, he said, and he was tired and thirsty. While he sipped the fragrant beverage, he glanced at his watch.
“The truth is, I had an appointment at this spot at four-thirty,” he announced. “I was to meet my young brother George, familiarly known as ‘Dodo.’ He’s at Exmoor College, ten milesover, and was to walk across the valley to the rendezvous, and I was to conduct him safely to my rooms for supper. He was afraid to enter the college by the front gate for fear of meeting several hundreds of young women. He runs like a scared rabbit if he sees a girl a block off.”
“Won’t it give him an awful shock when he catches a glimpse of us waiting here on the hilltop?” asked Molly.
“It’s a shock that won’t hurt him,” replied the professor. “We’ll see what happens, at any rate.”
He put his cup and saucer on the ground, while his quizzical eyes, which seemed to laugh even when his face was serious, turned toward Molly. And Molly was well worth looking at that afternoon, although she herself was much dissatisfied with her appearance. Her auburn hair had almost slipped down her back. Her blue linen shirtwaist was decidedly blousey at the waist line. “It’s because I haven’t enough shape to keep it down,” she was wont to complain. Her cheeks were glowing and her eyes as calmly blue as the summer skies.
“Perhaps we’d better start on,” said Nance uneasily. She always felt an inexplicable shynessin the presence of men, and her friends had been known to nickname her “old maid.”
But before Professor Green could protest that he was only too glad to have his bashful brother make the acquaintance of three charming college girls, Judy, ever on the alert, exclaimed, “Look, there he comes around the side of the hill.”
The Professor rose and signaled with his hat, chuckling to himself, as he watched his youthful brother pause irresolutely on the hillside.
“Come on, Dodo,” he shouted, making a trumpet of his hands.
“I believe not this afternoon, thank you,” Dodo trumpeted back. “I have an important engagement at six.”
The girls could not keep from laughing.
“It’s a shame to frighten the poor soul like that,” exclaimed Molly. “We’ll start back, Professor, and leave him in peace.”
But the Professor was a man of determination, and had made up his mind to bring his shy brother into the presence of ladies that afternoon, very attractive ladies at that, of George’s own age, with simple, unaffected manners, calculatedto make a shy young man forget for the moment that he had an affliction of agonizing diffidence.
“George,” called the professor, running a little way down the hillside, “come back and don’t be a fool.”
The wretched lad turned his scarlet face in their direction and began to climb the hill. He was a tall, overgrown youth, with large hands and feet, and when he stood in their midst, holding his cap nervously in both hands, while the Professor performed the introductions, he looked like a soldier facing the battle.
It remained for Molly and Judy to put him at his ease, however, with tea and cookies and questions about Exmoor College, while the Professor conversed with Nance about life at Wellington, and which study she liked best. At last the spirit of George emerged from its shy retreat, and he forgot to feel self-conscious or afraid. They rose, packed the tea things and started back. And it was the Professor who carried Judy’s tea basket, while George, glancing from Molly’s blue eyes to Judy’s soft gray ones, strolled between them and related a thrilling tale of college hazing.
“That was a swift remedy, was it not, MissOldham?” observed the Professor, laughing under his breath.
But undoubtedly the cure was complete, for that very evening Molly received a note, written in a crabbed boyish hand, and signed “George Green,” inviting the three girls to ride over to Exmoor on the trolley the following Saturday and spend the day. Miss Green, an older sister, would act as chaperone.
And not a few thrills did these young ladies experience at the prospect.
How many warm-hearted, impetuous people get themselves into holes because of those two qualities which are very closely allied indeed; and Molly Brown was one of those people. Carried away by emotions of generosity, she found herself constantly going farther than she realized at the moment. Why, for instance, could she not have put Frances Andrews off with an excuse for a day or so? Some one would surely have asked her to the Sophomore-Freshman ball.
And if she had only liked Frances, matters would have been different. If it had been an act of friendship, of deep devotion. But in spite of herself, she could not bring herself to trust that strange girl, beautiful and clever as she undoubtedly was, and sorry as Molly was for her. After all, it was rather selfish of Frances to have obtained the promise from Molly. Did she think it would reinstate her in the affections of her classto be seen in the company of the popular young freshman?
All this time, Molly said nothing to her friends, but on the morning of the ball she could not conceal from Judy and Nance her apprehension and general depression. And seeing their friend’s lack-lustre eye and drooping countenance, they held a counsel of war in Judy’s small bedroom.
At the end of this whispered conference, Judy was heard to remark:
“I’m afraid of the girl, to tell you the truth. Her fiery eyes and her two-pronged tongue seem to take all the spirit out of me.”
“I’m not afraid of her,” said Nance, who had a two-pronged tongue of her own, once she was stirred into action. “You wait here for me, and when I come back, you can go and notify the sophomores of what’s happened. Of course, Molly will get to the ball all right. The thing is to extricate her from the situation by the most tactful and surest means.”
Judy laughed.
“No,” she answered, “the thing is not to let Molly know we have saved her life.”
“If Frances hadn’t done that witch’s stunt andsaid all those malicious things at Molly’s Kentucky spread, I don’t think I should have minded so much. And do you know, Judy, that the report has spread abroad that she and Molly had prepared the whole thing beforehand, speeches and all and were in league together? You see, Molly was the only one who wasn’t hit.”
“You don’t mean it,” cried Judy. “Then, more than ever, I want to spare the child the humiliation she might have to suffer if she went with Frances to-night. Go forth to battle, Nance, and may the saints preserve you.”
Nance girded her sweater about her like a coat of mail, stiffened her backbone, pressed her lips together and marched out to the fray. She never told even Judy exactly what took place between Frances and her in that small room, with its bewildering array of fine trappings, silver combs and brushes, yellow silk curtains at the window, Turkish rugs, books and pictures. No one had ever seen the room except Molly the night of the spread, when it was too dark to make out what was in it.
There was no loud talking. Whatever was said was of the tense quiet kind, and presently Nance emerged unscathed from the encounter.
“She made me give my word of honor not to tell what was said,” she announced to the palpitating Judy, “but she’s writing the note to Molly now; so go quickly and inform someone that Molly has no escort for the ball.”
Judy departed much mystified and Nance remained discreetly away from her own room until she perceived Frances steal down the hall, push a note under their door and then hurry back, bang her own door and lock it.
Then, after a moment’s grace, Nance marched boldly to their chamber. Molly was reading the note.
“What do you think, Nance?” she exclaimed with a tone of evident relief in her voice, “Frances Andrews can’t go to-night.”
“Indeed, and what reason does she give?” asked Nance, feeling very much like a conspirator now that she was obliged to face Molly.
“None. She simply says ‘I’m sorry I can’t go to-night. Hope you’ll enjoy it. F. A.’ How does she expect me to get there, I wonder, at the eleventh hour?”
Nance examined her finger nails attentively.
“Perhaps she’s seen to that,” she replied after a pause.
“Nance,” said Molly, presently, “I’m so relieved that I think I’ll have to ’fess up. It’s mean of me, I know, and I feel awfully ungenerous to be so glad. You see, nobody can ever tell what strange, freakish thing she’s going to do. Of course she was the witch. I knew it from the conscious look that came into her face when I told her about it afterwards.”
“The mistake she has made is being defiant instead of repentant,” said Nance. “Instead of trying to brazen it out, she ought to ‘walk softly,’ as the Bible says, and keep quiet. She is the most embittered soul I ever met in all my life. If hatred counted for much, her hatred for her own class would burn it to a cinder.”
There was a sound of hurrying footsteps on the stairs and Judy burst into the room. Her face was aflame and she flung herself into a chair panting for breath.
“What’s your hurry?” asked Molly, slipping on her jacket. “Excuse me, I must be chasing along to French. Tell her the news, Nance.”
No need to tell Judy news, who had news of her own.
“I tell you, Nance,” she exclaimed, “there are times when I think the position of a freshman isone of the lowliest things in life. The first sophomore I met was Judith Blount. I did feel a little timid, but I told her what had happened. ‘You can tell your friend,’ she said, ‘that we sophomores are not so gullible as all that, and if her nerve has failed her at the last moment, it’s her fault, not ours.’”
“Why, Judy,” exclaimed Nance, “you didn’t know you were jumping from the frying pan right into the fire when you told that to Judith Blount, who has never liked Molly from the beginning. It’s jealousy, pure and simple, I think; although there almost seems to be something more behind it sometimes. She takes such pains to be disagreeable. Was anyone else there to hear you?”
“Oh, yes. She was surrounded by her satellites, Jennie Wren and a few others.”
The two girls sat in gloomy silence for a few minutes. After that rebuff, they hardly cared to circulate the bit of news any further in the sophomore class, which, it must be confessed, had the reputation of being run by a clique of the most arrogant and snobbish set of girls Wellington College had ever known.
“Let’s go and tell our woes to nice old SallyMarks,” suggested Judy, and off they marched in search of the good-natured funny Sally, whose room was on the floor below.
“Come in,” she called at their tap on the door, and noticing at once their serious faces, she exclaimed:
“I declare, I am beginning to feel like the Oracle at Delphi. What’s the trouble, now, my children?”
“You ought never to have gone to Judith Blount,” she continued after they had unburdened their secrets. But having gone to her, “it would be well,” so spake the Oracle, “to sit back and hold tight. The news is certain to spread, and of course only Judith and her ring would believe that Molly sent you out to find her an escort. There is one thing sure: Molly is obliged to go to the dance, not only because she has so many friends, but because she figures, I am told, so largely in ‘Jokes & Croaks,’ and it would be sport spoiled if she wasn’t there when the things are read out. Now, trot along, children, I’m cramming for an exam., and I’m busier than the busiest person in Wellington to-day.”
The afternoon dragged itself slowly along. Nance took her best dress out of its wrappings,heated a little iron and smoothed out its wrinkles. She lifted Molly’s blue crepe from its hanger and laid it on the couch.
“It was made in the simplest possible way out of the least possible goods in the least possible time,” she informed Judy, who had wickedly cut a class and sat moping in her friend’s room. “Isn’t it pretty? We made it together, and I’m really quite puffed up about the result. It’s Empire, you know,” she added proudly.
The dress did indeed show the short Empire waist. The round neck was cut out and finished with a frill of creamy lace which Molly happened to have, and there had not been much of a struggle with the sleeves, which came only to the elbow and were to all intents and purposes shapeless. But the color was the thing, as Molly had said.
“I’d be willing to drown in a color like that,” Judy observed. Judy was quite aposeuseabout colors and assured her friends that she could never wear red because it inflamed her temper and made her cross; that violet quieted her nerves; green stirred her ambitions, and blue aroused her sympathies. While they were looking at the dress, Margaret Wakefield and JessieLynch, her roommate and boon companion, after rapping on the door, sailed into the room.
“We came to consult about clothes,” they announced. “Is this to be an evening dress affair, or what’s proper to wear?”
“The best you have,” replied Judy, “at least that’s what I was told by the oracular Sally below stairs.”
“For the love of heaven, don’t tell that to Jessie,” cried Margaret. “If you give her so much rope, she’ll be wearing purple velvet and cloth of gold.”
Jessie laughed good-naturedly. She was already considered the best dressed and prettiest girl in the freshman class, and it was a joke at Queen’s Cottage that she had been obliged to apply to the matron for more closet room, because the large one she shared with Margaret Wakefield was not nearly adequate for her numerous frocks. It had been a constant wonder to the other girls in the house that these two opposite types could have become such intimate friends; but friends they were, and continued to be throughout their college course, although Jessie never could rake up an interest in the U. S. Constitution or woman’s suffrage, either.
The two girls really formed a sort of combination of brains and beauty, and it became generally known that Jessie would hardly have pulled through the four years, except for the indefatigable efforts of her faithful friend, Margaret.
Mabel Hinton, a Queen’s Cottage freshman, now popped her head in at the door, which was half open. She was a very odd character, but she was popular with her friends, who called her “The Martian,” probably because she had a phenomenal intellect and wore enormous glasses in tortoise shell frames which made her eyes look like a pair of full moons.
“I thought I heard a racket,” she said in her crisp, catchy voice. “I suppose you are all discussing the news.”
“News? What news?” they demanded.
She closed the door carefully and came farther into the room.
“Gather around me, girls,” she said mysteriously, enjoying their curiosity.
“But what is it, Mabel? Don’t keep us in suspense,” cried Judy, always impatient.
“Well, there is evidence that someone was going to set fire to the gym. to-night,” she began, in a whisper. “This morning a bundle of oil-soakedrags was discovered in a closet, and then they began to search and found several other bundles like the first. There was a lot of excitement, and the Prex came over. They tried to keep it quiet, but the story leaked out, of course, and is still leaking——” she smiled.
The girls exchanged horrified glances. What terrible disaster might not have befallen them if the rags had not been discovered?
“Of course it was the work of an insane person,” said Margaret Wakefield.
“Of course, but who? Is she one of the students or some outside person?”
With a common instinct, Judy and Nance looked up at the same moment. Their glances met. Without making a sound, Judy’s lips formed the word “Frances.”
“Is the dance to take place, then?” asked Jessie.
“Oh, yes. It’s all been hushed up and things will go on just as usual. I’m going to look on from the balcony. I shan’t mingle with the dancers, because they knock off my spectacles and generally upset my equilibrium.”
The door opened and Molly appeared in their midst like a gracefully angular wraith, for her face looked white, her shoulders drooped and herlong slim arms hung down at her sides dejectedly.
“Why, Molly, dear, has anything happened to you?” cried Nance.
“No, I won’t say that nothing has happened,” answered Molly, sinking into a chair and resting her chin on her hand. “I have been put through an ordeal this day, why, I can never tell you, but I am glad you are all here so that I can tell you about it.”
They pressed about her, full of sympathy and friendliness, while Judy, who loved comfort and recognized the needs of the flesh under the most trying circumstances, lit Nance’s alcohol lamp and put on the kettle to make tea.
“But what is it?” they all demanded, seeing that Molly had fallen into a silence.
“I’ve been with the President for the last hour,” she said, “though for what reason I can’t explain. I can’t imagine why I was sent for and brought to her private office. She was very nice and kind. She asked me a lot of questions about myself and all of Queen’s girls. I was glad enough to answer them, because we have nothing to be ashamed of, have we, girls?” Molly rose and stood before them, spreading out her hands with a kind of deprecating gesture. The circleof faces before her almost seemed abashed under the steady gaze of her clear blue eyes. “It was a pleasure to tell her what nice girls were stopping at Queen’s Cottage.”
“Did she mention?” began Judy and pointed to the dividing wall of the next room.
“Oh, yes, I was coming to that. But what do I know about——” Mollie stopped short and caught her breath. Her eyes turned towards the door, which was opened softly. There stood Frances Andrews.
She had evidently just come in, for she still wore her sweater and tam o’ shanter, and brought with her the smell of the fresh piney air.
“It’s all right about your escort for to-night, Miss Brown. You are to go with Miss Stewart, who has got special privilege from the sophomore president to take you. Good-bye. I hope you’ll have a ripping time. I shan’t see you at supper. I’m going off on the 6.15 train and won’t be back until Sunday night.”
There was such a tense feeling in the circle of freshmen as Frances stood there, that, as Judy remarked afterwards, they almost crackled with electricity.
It was quite late, and as most of the girls intendedto dress for the party before supper, they took their departure immediately without any comment.
“Is anything special the matter?” asked Molly, after they had gone and she was left alone with her friends.
They told her the strange story which Mabel Hinton had reported to them a little while before.
“But that is the work of a lunatic,” exclaimed Molly, horrified.
“And I suppose,” went on Nance, “that the reason Prexy sent for you was that she suspected a certain person, who shall be nameless, and she was told that you were the only person who had ever been nice to her, and furthermore that you were going to the dance with her.”
“Of course that must be the reason,” said Molly, “and of course it’s absurd, I mean suspecting Frances Andrews. She might be accused of many things, but she is certainly in her right mind. She’s much cleverer than lots of the girls in her class.”
“Clever, yes. But should you call her balanced?”
Molly did not answer. She felt anxious and frightened, and a rap on the door at that momentmade her jump with nervousness. It proved to be one of the maids of the house with two boxes of flowers, both for Molly. One was pink roses and contained the card of Mary Stewart, and the other was violets, and contained no card whatever.
She divided the violets in half and made her two friends wear them that night to the dance.
“I’m beginning to feel that we shall issue happily out of all our troubles,” cried Judy Kean, bursting into her friends’ room without knocking, “and the reason why I feel that way is because when I am clothed in silk attire my soul is clothed in joy. Especially when there’s dancing to follow. Button me up, someone, please, so that I may take a good look at my resplendent form in your mirror. I can’t see more than a square inch of neck in my own two by four.”
The girls stood back to admire their friend, who indulged her artistic fancy in rather theatrical clothes much too old for her, but who usually succeeded in gaining the effect she sought.
“Dear me, ‘she walks in beauty like the night,’” said Molly laughing. “You look like a charming and very youthful widow-lady, Judy, but how comes it you are wearing black?”
“Black is for certain types,” replied Judysagely, “and I am one of them. Next to black my bilious skin takes on a dazzling, creamy tint and my mouse-colored hair assumes a yellow glint that is not its own.”
The girls laughed at their erratic friend, who was, indeed, dressed in black chiffon, from the fluffy folds of which her vivacious young face glowed like a flower.
“If you object to me, wait until you see Jessie,” cried Judy. “She might be going to the opera, she is so fine. She is wearing pink satin that glistens all over like a Christmas tree with little shiny things.”
As a matter of fact, Nance, whose well balanced and correct tastes in most things rarely failed her, was the most suitably dressed of our girls, in her pretty white lingerie frock.
At eight o’clock that evening Molly rolled away luxuriously in a village hack with Mary Stewart, holding her roses tenderly and carefully under her gray eiderdown cape, so as not to crush them.
“I’m awfully glad I was so lucky as to draw you this evening, Molly,” the older girl was saying.
“I’m the lucky one,” answered Molly, her thoughts reverting to the strange discovery ofthe morning. “Oh, Miss Stewart, what did Frances Andrews do last year to get herself into such a mess and be frozen out by all her class this year?”
“I’ll tell you perhaps some day, but not to-night. We want to enjoy ourselves to-night. Can you guide, Molly?”
“Like a streak. I always guided at home at the school dances, because I was the tallest girl in my class.”
“I’m a guider, too,” laughed Mary, “and when two guiders come together, I imagine it’s a good deal like a tug of war.”
During the ride over to the gymnasium, neither of the girls mentioned the thing uppermost in their minds: the attempt to set the gymnasium on fire that night. Nor was the rumor referred to by anyone at the dance later. It was a strictly forbidden topic, the President herself having issued orders.
The great room was a mass of foliage and bunting, Japanese lanterns and incandescent lights in many colors, and it was really quite a brilliant affair according to Molly’s notions, who had never seen anything but small country dances usually given at the schoolhouse several milesfrom her home. Lovely music floated from behind a screen of palms and lovely girls floated on the floor in couples, to the strains of the latest waltz.
“I’m afraid I’m going to be an awful wallflower,” thought Molly, feeling suddenly overgrown and awkward in the midst of this swirling mass of grace and beauty. “I can’t help feeling queer and I don’t seem to recognize anybody.”
But Molly had plenty of partners that evening, and after that first delightful waltz, it was nearly an hour before she caught a glimpse of Mary Stewart again in the crowd of dancers.
“Isn’t it jolly?” called Judy, as they dashed past each other in a romping barn dance.
“I never thought I could have such a good time at a manless party,” Jessie Lynch confided to Molly while they rested against the wall later. “But, really, it’s quite as good fun.”
“Isn’t it?” replied Molly. “I think I never had a better time in my life. But I’m afraid our roommates and friends are not enjoying it very much,” she added ruefully, pointing to the gallery, where seated in a silent bored row were Margaret Wakefield, Nance Oldham and Mabel Hinton.
“Of course,” said Jessie, “you would never expect Mabel to join this mad throng, but I’m surprised at Nance and Margaret.”
“Margaret prefers conversation parties, I suppose, and Nance is not fond of dancing, either. She would always rather look on, she says.”
The two girls were standing near the musicians and from the other side of the screen of palms they now heard a voice say:
“Have you danced with the fantastic Empress Josephine as yet?”
“Not as yet,” came the answer with a laugh. “But be careful, she is near——”
Molly moved away hastily, her face crimson.
Jessie had heard the question also and recognized the voice of Judith Blount.
“Why, Molly,” she exclaimed, glancing at her face, “you don’t think they meant——”
“Yes,” said Molly, trying to smile naturally, “I do.”
She glanced down at her home-made dress. Perhaps it did look amateurish. She and Nance had worked very hard over it, but, after all, they were not experienced dressmakers.
“Why, you look perfectly charming,” went onJessie generously. “The color is exactly right for you——”
“Yes, color,” answered Molly, “but there ought to be something besides color to a dress, you know. Never mind, I shouldn’t be such a sensitive plant, Jessie. One ought not to mind being called fantastic. It’s not nearly so bad as being called—well, malicious—cruel. I’d rather be fantastic than any of those things. But I did think the dress was pretty when we made it.”
“Come along, and let’s get some lemonade, Molly. Your dress is sweet and suits you exactly, so there.”
Then someone came up and claimed Jessie for the next dance, but Molly was grateful to the pretty butterfly creature for her assurances and she resolved to forget all about her dress. As she lingered in the corner, uncertain whether to stay where she was or join her friends in the gallery, Mary Stewart made her way through the crowd and called:
“Oh, here you are. Some of the seniors are just outside and want to meet you. Will you come?”
“I should think I would,” replied Molly, joyfully.Fantastic, or not, she had one good friend among the older girls.
“This is Miss Molly Brown of Kentucky,” announced Mary Stewart presently to a dozen august seniors who shook her hand and began asking her questions.
“We had two reasons for wanting to meet you, Miss Brown,” here put in a very handsome big girl, who spoke in an authoritative tone, which made everybody stop and listen. (She was, in fact, the President of the senior class.) “One of course was just to make your acquaintance, and the other was to ask if you would do us a favor. We are going to have a living picture show Friday week for the benefit of the Students’ Fund, and we wondered if you would pose in one of the pictures, maybe several, we haven’t decided on them yet. But that dress must be in one of them, don’t you think so, Mary? One of Romney’s Lady Hamilton pictures for instance, with a white gauze fichu; or a Sir Thomas Lawrence portrait——”
“You don’t think it’s too fantastic?” asked Molly.
“What, that lovely blue thing? Heavens, no! it’s charming——”
Molly had barely time to thank her and accept the invitation, when she and Mary were dragged off to make up the big circle of “right and left all around,” which wound up the dance. After this whirling romp, three loud raps were heard and gradually the noise of talking and laughter subsided into absolute silence. A girl had mounted the platform. She carried a megaphone in one hand and a book in the other. She was the official reader of her class, and now proceeded to recite through the megaphone all the best and most amusing material from “Jokes & Croaks.” According to time honored custom, the jokes were greeted with applause and laughter, and the croaks with groans and laughter, and anybody who groaned at a joke or applauded a croak, if she happened to be caught, was publicly humiliated by being made to stand up and face the jeers of the multitude. The girls finally decided, after many ludicrous mistakes, that the jokes were on the sophomores and the croaks were on the freshmen. For instance, here was a croak: