Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College

by Josephine Chase

  CHAPTER II

  THE UNFORESEEN

  Following Elfreda, the girls ran upstairs as fast as their weight ofbags and suit cases would permit. Miriam pushed open her door, whichstood slightly ajar, with the end of her suit case. "Any one at home?"she inquired saucily as she stepped inside.

  "Looks like the same old room," remarked Elfreda. "No, it isn't, either.We have a new chair. We needed it, too. You may sit in it occasionally,if you're good, Miriam."

  "Thank you," replied Miriam. "For that gracious permission you shallhave one piece of candy out of a five-pound box I have in my trunk."

  "Not even that," declared Elfreda positively. "I said good-bye to candylast July. I've lost ten pounds since I went home from school, and I'mgoing to haunt the gymnasium every spare moment that I have. I hope Ishall lose ten more; then I'll be down to one hundred and forty poundsand--" Elfreda stopped.

  "And what?" queried Miriam.

  "I can make the basketball team," finished Elfreda. "What is going on inthe hall, I wonder?" Stepping to the door she called, "What's thematter, Grace? Can't you get into your room?"

  "Evidently not," laughed Grace. "It is locked. I suppose Mrs. Elwoodlocked it to prevent the new girls from straying in and takingpossession."

  "H-m-m!" ejaculated Elfreda, walking over to the door and examining thekeyhole. "Your supposition is all wrong, Grace. The door is locked fromthe inside. The key is in it."

  "Then what--" began Grace.

  "Yes, what?" quizzed Elfreda dryly.

  "'There was a door to which I had no key,'" quoted Miriam, as she joinedthe group.

  "Don't tease, Miriam," returned Grace, "even through the medium of OmarKhayyam. The key is a reality, but there is some one on the other sideof that door who doesn't belong there. Whether she is not aware that sheis a trespasser I do not know. However, we shall soon learn." Gracerapped determinedly on one of the upper panels of the door.

  "I'll help you," volunteered Elfreda.

  "And I," agreed Anne.

  "My services are needed, too," said Miriam Nesbit.

  Four fists pounded energetically on the door. There was an exclamation,the sound of hasty steps, the turning of a key in the lock, and the doorwas flung open. Facing them stood a young woman no taller than Anne,whose heavy eyebrows met in a straight line, and who looked ready forbattle at the first word.

  "Will you kindly explain the reason for this tumult?" she asked in afreezing voice.

  "We were rather noisy," admitted Grace, "but we did not understand whythe door should be locked from the inside."

  "Is it necessary that you should know?" asked the black-browed girlseverely.

  Grace's clear-cut face flushed. "I think we are talking at crosspurposes," she said quietly. "The room you are using belongs to myfriend Anne Pierson and to me. During our freshman year it was ours, andwhen we left here last June it was with the understanding that we shouldhave it again on our return to Overton."

  "I know nothing of any such arrangement," returned the other girlcrossly. "The room pleases me, consequently I shall retain it. Kindlyrefrain from disturbing me further." With this significant remark thedoor was slammed in the faces of the astonished girls. A second laterthe click of the key in the lock told them that force alone could effectan entrance to the room.

  "Open that door at once," stormed Elfreda, beating an angry tattoo onthe panel with her clenched fist.

  From the other side of the door came no sound.

  "Never mind, Elfreda," said Grace, fighting down her anger. "Mrs. Elwoodwill be here soon. There is some misunderstanding about the rooms. I amsure of it."

  "See here, Grace Harlowe, you are not going to give up your room to thatbeetle-browed anarchist, are you?" demanded Elfreda wrathfully.

  A peal of laughter went up from three young throats.

  "You are the funniest girl I ever knew, J. Elfreda Briggs," remarkedMiriam Nesbit between laughs. "That new girl looks exactly like ananarchist--that is, like pictures of them I've seen in the newspapers."

  "That's why I thought of it, too," grinned Elfreda. "I once saw apicture of an anarchist who blew up a public building and he might havebeen this young person's brother. She looks exactly like him."

  "Stop talking about anarchists and talk about rooms," said Anne. "I mustfind some place to put my luggage. Besides, time is flying. Remember, weare to be at Vinton's at half-past six."

  "I should say time _was_ flying!" exclaimed Grace, casting a hurriedglance at her watch. "It's ten minutes to six now. It will take usfifteen minutes to walk to Vinton's. That leaves twenty-five minutes inwhich to get ready."

  "There is no hope that the trunks will arrive in time for us to dress,"said Miriam positively. "Come into our room and we'll wash the dust fromour hands and faces and do our hair over again."

  "All right," agreed Grace, casting a longing glance at the closed door."We'll have to put our bags in your room, too. I don't wish to leavethem in the hall for unwary students to stumble over."

  "Bring them along," returned Miriam. "No one shall accuse us ofinhospitality."

  "I wish Mrs. Elwood were here." Grace looked worried. "We mustn't stayat Vinton's later than half-past seven o'clock. There are so many littlethings to be attended to, as well as the important question of ourroom."

  Arriving at Vinton's at exactly half-past six o'clock, they found ArlineThayer and Ruth Denton waiting for them at a table on which were coverslaid for six.

  "We've been waiting for ages!" exclaimed Arline.

  "But you said half-past six, and it is only one minute past that now,"reminded Grace, showing Arline her watch.

  "Of course, you are on time," laughed the little girl. "I should haveexplained that I'm hungry. That is why I speak in ages instead ofminutes."

  "Your explanation is accepted," proclaimed Elfreda, screwing her faceinto a startling resemblance to a fussy instructor in freshmantrigonometry and using his exact words.

  The ready laughter proclaimed instant recognition of the unfortunateprofessor.

  "You can look like any one you choose, can't you, Elfreda?" said Arlineadmiringly. "I think your imitations of people are wonderful."

  "Nothing very startling about them," remarked the stout girl lightly."I'd give all my ability to make faces to be able to sing even 'America'through once and keep on the key. I can't sing and never could. When Iwas a little girl in school the teachers never would let me sing withthe rest of the children, because I led them all off the key. It wasvery nice at the beginning of the term, and I sang with the otherchildren anywhere from once to half a dozen times, never longer thanthat. I had the strongest voice in the room and whatever note I sang therest of the children sang. It was dreadful," finished Elfredareminiscently.

  "It must have been," agreed Miriam Nesbit. "Can you remember how youlooked when you were little, Elfreda?"

  "I don't have to tax my brain to remember," answered Elfreda. "Ma hasphotographs of me at every age from six months up to date. To satisfyyour curiosity, however," her face hardened until it took on the stonyexpression of the new student who had locked Grace out of her room, "Iwill state that--"

  "The Anarchist! the Anarchist!" exclaimed Ruth and Miriam together.

  "What are you two talking about?" asked Ruth Denton.

  "About the Anarchist," teased Miriam. "Wait until you see her."

  "You have seen her," laughed Grace. "Elfreda just imitated her toperfection." Thereupon Grace related their recent unpleasant experienceto Arline and Ruth.

  "What are you going to do about it?" asked Arline.

  "We will see Mrs. Elwood as soon as we return to Wayne Hall, and ask herto gently, but firmly, request the Anarchist to move elsewhere."

  "Why do you call her the Anarchist?" asked Arline.

  "Elfreda, please repeat your imitation," requested Miriam, her blackeyes sparkling with fun.

  Elfreda complied obediently.

  "You understand now, don't you?" laughed Grace.

  "I should be very stup
id if I didn't," declared Arline.

  "Of course she's dark, with eyebrows an inch wide. You can't expect meto give an imitation of anything like that," apologized Elfreda.

  "I think I should recognize her on sight," smiled Ruth Denton.

  "We are miles off our original subject," remarked Grace. "Elfreda hasn'ttold us how she looked as a child."

  "All right. I'll tell you now," volunteered J. Elfreda graciously. "Ihad round, staring blue eyes and a fat face. I wore my hair down my backin curls--that is, when it was done up on curlers the night before--andit was almost tow color. I had red cheeks and was ashamed of them, andmy stocky, square-shouldered figure was anything but sylphlike. I wasnot beautiful, but I was very well satisfied with myself, and to call me'Fatty' was to offer me deadly insult. That is about as much as I canremember," finished the stout girl.

  "Really, Elfreda, while you were describing yourself I could fairly seeyou," smiled Arline.

  "Now it's your turn," reminded Elfreda. "I imagine you were a cunninglittle girl."

  Arline flushed at the implied compliment. "Father used to call me'Daffydowndilly,'" she began. "My hair was much lighter than it is now,but it has always been curly. I am afraid I used to be very vain, for Iloved to stand and smile at myself in the mirror simply because I likedmy yellow curls and was fascinated with my own smile. No one told me Iwas vain, for Mother died when I was a baby, and even my governesslaughed to see me worship my own reflection. When I was twelve yearsold, Father engaged a governess who was different from the others. Shewas a widow and had to support herself. She was highly educated and oneof the sweetest women I have ever known. When she took charge of me Iwas a vain, stupid little tyrant, but she soon made me over. Sheremained with me until I entered a prep school, then an uncle whom shehad never seen died and left her some money. She's coming to Overton tosee me some day. Overton is her Alma Mater, too."

  "You are next, Grace," nodded Ruth.

  "There isn't much to tell about me," began Grace. "I was the tomboy ofOakdale. I loved to climb trees and play baseball and marbles. I wasthin as a lath and like live wire. My face was rather thin, too, and Iremember I cried a whole afternoon because a little girl at schoolcalled me 'saucer-eyes.' There wasn't a suspicion of curl in my hair,and I wore it in two braids. I never thought much about myself, becauseI was always too busy. I was forever falling in with suspicious lookingcharacters and bringing them home to be fed. Mother used to throw up herhands in despair at the acquaintances I made. Then, too, I had apropensity for bestowing my personal possessions on those who, in myopinion, needed them. Mother and I were not always of the same opinion.I wore my everyday coat to church for a whole winter as a punishment forhaving given away my best one without consulting her. With me it was acase of act first and think afterward. I don't believe I wasparticularly mischievous, but I had a habit of diving into things thatkept Mother in a state of constant apprehension. Father used to laugh atmy pranks and tell Mother not to worry about me. He used to declare thatno matter into what I plunged I would land right side up with care. Iwas never at the head of my classes in school, but I was never at thefoot of them. I was what one might call a happy medium. My little-girllife was a very happy one, and full to the brim with all sorts ofpleasant happenings."

  "I never heard you say so much about yourself before, Grace," observedElfreda.

  "I'm usually too much interested in other people's affairs to think ofmy own," laughed Grace. "I have never heard Anne say much about herchildhood, either. She must have had all sorts of interestingexperiences."

  "Mine was more exciting than pleasant," returned Anne. "Practicallyspeaking, I was brought up in the theatre and knew a great deal moreabout things theatrical than I did about dolls and childish games. I wasa solemn looking little thing and wore my hair bobbed and tied up with aribbon. I never cried about the things that most children cry over, butI would stand in the wings and weep by the hour over the pathetic partsof the different plays we put on. Father was a character man in a stockcompany. We lived in New York City and I used to frequently go to thetheatre with him. My father wished me to become a professional, but mymother was opposed to it. When I was sixteen I played in a company for ashort time. Then mother and sister and I went to Oakdale to live, andthe nicest part of my life began. There I met Grace and Miriam and twoother girls who are among my dearest friends. Nothing very exciting hasever happened to me, and even though I have appeared before the public Ihaven't as much to tell as the rest of you have."

  "But countless things must have happened to you in the theatre,"persisted Arline, looking curiously at Anne.

  "Not so many as you might imagine," replied Anne. Then she said quickly,"Miriam must have been an interesting little girl."

  "I was a very haughty young person," answered Miriam. "In the OakdaleGrammar School I was known as the Princess. Do you remember that,Grace?"

  Grace nodded. "Miriam used to order the girls in her room about asthough they were her subjects," she declared. "She had two long blackbraids of hair and her cheeks were always pink. She was the tallest girlin her room and the teachers used to say she was the prettiest."

  "I was a regular tyrant," went on Miriam. "I had a frightful temper. Iwas a snob, too, and looked upon girls whose parents were poor with theutmost contempt."

  "Miriam Nesbit, you can't be describing yourself!" exclaimed Arlineincredulously.

  "Ask Grace if I am not giving an accurate description of the MiriamNesbit of those days," challenged Miriam.

  "It isn't fair to ask me," fenced Grace. "You always invited me to yourparties."

  "There, you can draw your own conclusions," retorted Miriamtriumphantly. "I don't object to telling about my past shortcomings as Ihave at last outgrown a few of my disagreeable traits."

  "Were you and Grace friends then?" asked Arline.

  "We played together and went to each other's houses, but we were neververy chummy," explained Grace. "We were both too headstrong and too fondof our own way to be close friends. It was after we entered high schoolthat we began to find out that we liked each other, wasn't it, Miriam?"

  "Yes," returned Miriam, looking affectionately at her friend. In twosentences Grace had effectually bridged a yawning gap in Miriam's earlyhigh school days of which the latter was heartily ashamed.

  "Every one has told a tale but Ruth," declared Elfreda. "Now, Ruth, whathave you to say for yourself?"

  "Not much," said Ruth, shaking her head. "So far, my life has been toogray to warrant recording. That is, up to the time I came to Overton,"she added, smiling gratefully on the little circle. "My freshman yearwas a very happy one, thanks to you girls."

  "But when you were a child you must have had a few good times that standout in your memory," persisted Elfreda.

  Ruth's face took on a hunted expression. Her mouth set in hard lines."No," she said shortly. "There was nothing worth remembering. PerhapsI'll tell you some day, but not now. Please don't think me hateful anddisobliging, but I don't wish to talk of myself."

  Arline Thayer eyed Ruth with displeasure. "I don't see why you shouldsay that, Ruth. We have all talked of ourselves," she said coldly.

  Ruth flushed deeply. She felt the note of censure in Arline's voice.

  "I think we had better go," announced Grace, consulting her watch. "Itis now half-past seven. We ought to be at Wayne Hall by eight o'clock.You know the Herculean labor I have before me."

  "Herculean labor is a good name for our coming task," chuckled Anne."The Anarchist will make Wayne Hall resound with her vengeful cries whenshe is thrust out of the room with all her possessions."

  Jesting light-heartedly over the coming encounter, the diners strolledout of Vinton's and down College Street in the direction of the campus.Arline was the first to leave them. Her good night to the four girlsfrom Wayne Hall was cordial in the extreme, but to Ruth she was almostdistant. A little later on they said good night to Ruth, who lookedready to cry.

  "Cheer up," comforted Grace, who was walking with Ruth. "A
rline will beall right to-morrow."

  "I hope so," responded Ruth mournfully. "I did not mean to make herangry, only there are some things of which I cannot speak to any one."

  "I understand," rejoined Grace, wondering what Ruth's secret cross was."Good night, Ruth."

  Elfreda, Miriam and Anne bade Ruth goodnight in turn.

  "Now, for the tug of war," declared Elfreda as they hurried up the stepsof Wayne Hall. "On to the battlefield and down with the Anarchist!"