CHAPTER XVIII
A PARTIAL ECLIPSE
THE wedding day was set for the second of July, and after that decisionhad been reached, Peggy professed a complete loss of interest in thesubject. When Graham consulted her on details more or less important,she gave him a reluctant attention.
"I tell you, Graham, I don't want to think about it. I never did enjoymixed flavors. I shall have years and years of being Mrs. Graham Wylie,fifty or sixty probably, and there's only a few months left of mycollege life."
"If you feel so keenly on the subject," teased Graham, "we'd betterpostpone our wedding, and let you take a post-graduate course of tenyears or so."
"That won't be necessary. I know I shall love my wedding clothes, andmy wedding day, and being married to you, and everything. But if I letmyself think of that, I'll spoil this, don't you see? It would be likeeating ice-cream with soup."
"I suppose I shall be allowed to call occasionally."
"Don't be silly! Of course I should be wretched if I didn't see youevery day. But unless you have to settle something very important aboutSouth America, don't ask my opinion. Up to the twelfth of June, I'm acollege senior, first, last and all the time."
Peggy was as good as her word. As far as her conversation revealed, shenever looked beyond Commencement Day. And if it was inevitable that herthoughts should be more unruly than her tongue, her mental excursionsinto the future were surprisingly few. Peggy had never been a girl todiscount to-day in favor of to-morrow, and this life-long habit aidedher in her determination to extract the full flavor from the present.
While Peggy had thoroughly enjoyed her college life, collegeassociations had naturally never meant to her what they mean to agirl who leaves home to complete her education. Although she waspopular in her class, her closest friends were the girls who had beenher intimates long before her high-school days, even, and she enjoyedher home so thoroughly that it never occurred to her to regret havingmissed the associations of dormitory life. But now she gave herselfso unreservedly to her college interests that no on-looker would havedreamed that any event of special importance had been scheduled forearly July.
As a matter of fact, Peggy could hardly have done justice to her variedduties in connection with Commencement, had she brought to them adivided attention. Her knack at rhyming had resulted in her election asclass poet, and the same gift, doubtless, had caused her to be chosenone of the editorial staff of the Annual, gotten out each spring by thesenior class. Moreover she had a part, though a small one, in the classplay that was to be given out-of-doors and promised to be one of themost interesting features of commencement week. Since even for seniorsthere were lessons to be learned, and examinations to be passed, itis no wonder that Peggy found herself quite occupied without givingthought to the great changes on ahead.
While she struggled with her poem, which she was determined as allclass laureates, to make a masterpiece, and scribbled off jokes for theAnnual and practised for the play, and studied in her odd minutes, thedays had a most disconcerting fashion of shooting by without regard tospeed regulations. Every Saturday night awoke in Peggy's mind the sameincredulity. Another week was gone--only it couldn't be, for it was notime at all since last Sunday morning. She had an unreasonable impulseto clutch at the flying hours and hold them fast.
But the last spring of her college life was not to be altogether aseason of flowers. One afternoon at the close of recitations, Peggyhunted up Ruth who had agreed to go with her for a call on MaryDonaldson.
"Ruth, I'm sorry, but Priscilla and I are going to be busy until afterdinner time, probably. It's the Annual again."
"That old Annual takes so much time," scolded Ruth, objecting onprinciple to anything that separated her from Peggy for these fewprecious weeks. Poor Ruth was trying to imitate Peggy's example and notlook ahead, but there were times when the coming desolation settledover her spirits like a chilling fog. With Peggy and Graham in SouthAmerica, and Nelson in Oklahoma, Ruth felt that existence would be flatand flavorless.
"Yes, I know it takes time." Peggy resolutely ignored the undertone oftragedy in Ruth's voice. "But somebody has to do it, and anyway, it'sfun."
It was due to her lingering to cheer the despondent Ruth that Peggy wasthe last of the Annual staff to reach the class room, which for thatparticular evening had been promoted to the dignity of an editorialsanctum. Peggy made her entry on a somewhat hilarious scene. Everybodywas laughing, or so Peggy thought. Had she been more observant shewould have noticed that Priscilla's face wore no smile, but a look ofanxiety, bordering on distress.
"What's the joke?" inquired Peggy, as she took her seat. Thoughthe gathering was made up of college seniors and was therefore adignified, deliberative assembly, its proceedings were sometimes asinformal as if they had been merely a group of high-school girls.
By way of answer, a sheet of card-board that evidently had made therounds was put in her hand. Peggy looked at it curiously. At the top,under the heading, "The Misfit," was a clever caricature representing asmall man attired in garments much too large for him. His broad-brimmedhat came down over his ears, his overcoat trailed on the ground, whilethe umbrella he carried was more than double his height. But the artisthad avoided giving the impression that he was a masquerading child bybringing into prominence a somewhat scraggly mustache.
Peggy smiled appreciatively at the undoubted humor of the drawing andgave her attention to the verses below. But though they showed quiteas much ability as the illustration, the effect of reading them wasto erase the smile from her lips, leaving her gravely attentive. Thelaughter had quieted. She was aware that the girls were all watchingher, and though she did not raise her eyes, she knew instinctivelythat Priscilla's face wore a look of apprehension.
The previous spring, one of the most popular men in the Englishdepartment had resigned to devote himself to literary work, and hisplace had been nominally filled by a young man with good credentialsbut no experience. He had proved a great disappointment, for whateverhis attainments, he lacked the ability to impart; while in contrast tothe enthusiasm which Professor Baer's lectures had aroused, his classesseemed veritable refrigerating plants. Peggy knew that the seniors whohad taken his courses were complaining bitterly that they had been"stung," and had congratulated herself that her own work in English hadbeen continued with another member of the faculty.
In the verses before her, all the resentment of the students toward anincompetent teacher, following an able and popular one, was expressedwith diabolical cleverness. The fact that the present incumbent wasnamed Fox, and that he followed Professor Baer, had already been thetheme of innumerable jokes, and the author of the verses had used itas the motive of her lines, so that there was no chance that even theoutsider would remain ignorant of the instructor satirized.
Peggy read the verses over more than once in order to gain time.She was sorely tempted to say nothing. Peggy was under no illusionsregarding the path of the reformer. It was vastly easier, vastlypleasanter, to let things go. It was not that she had any cowardlyshrinking from hard knocks, but now, almost at the close of hercollege life, she was not in the mood to antagonize any one. Sheloved everything about the college, its gray stone buildings drapedin ivy, its campus dotted with stately trees, the class-rooms andthe laboratories, the dignified president, the professors and thegirls--oh, most of all, the girls. She loved to believe in theiraffection, their admiration. Never in her life had popularity meant asmuch to her as now. And yet in spite of her distaste, she knew she hadno choice. She must disagree, antagonize, anger.
When she lifted her eyes, the room was very quiet, almost as if everyone knew what she was going to say. "Awfully clever, aren't they?"Peggy spoke very deliberately. "What are they for?"
A dark-eyed girl across the room took it on herself to answer, and assoon as her lips parted, Peggy knew her for the author.
"I'd intended it for the _Atlantic Monthly_," she smiled with franksarcasm. "But I think perhaps it's better suited to the Annual. What d
oyou say?"
"I'm afraid I don't think it's at all suited to the Annual."
There was a little chorus of protests. "You never were in his classes,Peggy," cried some one from the rear seat. "If you'd endured what wehave at the hands of that man, you'd love every line."
A burst of approving laughter showed how completely the sympathies ofthis group of girls were with the speaker. Half-whispered commentswere being exchanged. "The stupidest lectures!" "The greatest waste oftime!" Peggy was perfectly able to understand this point of view. Shestruggled to make the girls see hers.
"Of course that's not right. If I had been in his class I'd havebeen perfectly ready to go to President Eaton, and tell him howunsatisfactory everything was. But to take this way of doing it--" shelooked down at the mocking lines and said with a visible effort, "Don'tyou think it seems a little bit cowardly--and cruel, too?"
Priscilla came to her friend's assistance. "If the faculty knew aboutthose verses, I'm sure we'd never be allowed to put them in the Annual."
"How's the faculty to know?" demanded the criticized author, Ida Craig,with much asperity.
"Don't you think," suggested Peggy with all the diplomacy she couldmuster, "that since they leave it all to us, we're put on our honor tosee that nothing gets in that they could object to?"
Ida smiled disagreeably. "After all," she said, "you're not theeditor-in-chief, you know."
The rudeness gave Peggy the courage that she needed. "No, of course.I haven't any more voice than any of the rest of you. But if the poemgoes in, I shall ask you to accept my resignation."
"In other words," exclaimed Ida, "If you can't have your own way,you'll take your dolls and go home."
"No indeed," Peggy was trying to speak calmly, but her voice shook,"But if my name appears among the editors of the Annual, it'll be takenfor granted that I approve of all that is in it. I'm not willing tostand for anything like this."
"Nor I," said Priscilla. "I agree with Peggy."
Ida Craig leaned toward the girl nearest her. "Miss Combs is nothing ifnot original," she said in an echoing stage-whisper audible to everyone in the room. But the editor-in-chief, dismayed at the prospect oflosing two of her most reliable aides, hastily interposed.
"Now we mustn't get personal, girls," she said. "You know how thenewspapers are always trying to make out that the members of women'sorganizations do nothing but quarrel. I think college graduatesought to disprove that sort of thing." She looked at Peggy ratherappealingly. "I suppose you're willing to abide by the will of themajority," she said.
"If the majority vote to include 'The Misfit,'" returned Peggy, "Ofcourse that settles it." And then as the face of the editor-in-chiefbrightened, she added, "But I shall have to resign, because the vote ofthe majority can't decide a question of right and wrong for me."
"Oh," said the editor-in-chief rather blankly, and then she quicklyrallied. "We'll decide that question when we come to it," she said."Will the meeting please come to order."
The mooted question was not put to vote till the end of the hour."All in favor of including 'The Misfit' in the Annual," said theeditor-in-chief, after the motion had been duly made, "please signifyit by saying 'aye.'"
"Aye," chimed two defiant voices, that of the author and her dearestfriend in the class.
"Those opposed, 'No.'"
There was a murmur of 'noes,' indicating that Peggy had won her fight,but she had none of the elation of the victor. She realized thatseveral had not voted, and that those who had espoused her side hadacted from motives of policy rather than conviction. Ida Craig wasplainly offended, and as for the rest, Peggy suspected that they failedto make the fine distinction between standing up for one's principlesand being determined to have one's way.
Those closing weeks of college life were not all she had hoped. Peggyfancied a reserve in the friendliness of her friends. She becameunnaturally sensitive, imagining slights where none existed. She wastroubled by the thought that Priscilla shared in her partial eclipse ofpopularity, and inclined to regard her uncompromising conscience as adecided inconvenience, if nothing worse.
But Peggy's stand was to have a tragic justification. Three weeksbefore Commencement the Annual came from the binders, looking veryattractive in its cover of blue and white, the college colors. Theeditorial force had been called together to make the necessaryarrangements for placing it on sale. Peggy and Priscilla had an earlyclass Wednesday morning, and as they entered the hall on their wayto the cloak-room, they encountered Phyllis Riordan, the Annual'seditor-in-chief. Phyllis' greeting was more than cordial, but Peggyhardly noticed that, in her concern for the girl herself.
"Why, Phyllis," she cried. "What's the matter? You're as white as asheet."
Phyllis looked from one to the other. "You haven't heard about Mrs.Fox?"
"What about her?" The question came simultaneously from two pairs oflips.
"She died last night."
Peggy and Priscilla uttered a shocked exclamation. They were both butslightly acquainted with the girlish wife of the unpopular professor ofEnglish, but intimacy was not needed to point the tragedy of the news.Her voice curiously tense, Phyllis continued.
"It seemed she had serious heart trouble, and the doctor thought sheought to live in a milder climate. Professor Fox has resigned, and theywere to locate in southern California. And Oh, Peggy Raymond--"
She turned suddenly toward Peggy, and caught both of her hands. "SinceI heard the news last evening, I haven't been able to think of anythingelse. Peggy, do you realize what it would have meant if we had letthat poem of Ida's go in? We'd have had to destroy the whole edition ofthe Annual. We couldn't have done anything else."
Peggy changed color slightly, but did not speak.
"You've saved our lives," declared Phyllis, her eyes bright with tears."If it hadn't been for you, we'd have been in the worst box of anyclass since the college was founded. And when I think how brave youwere, standing out against us all--"
"Why, Phyllis," Peggy interposed, "I wasn't brave at all. This--thisdreadful thing that has happened doesn't make me a bit more right thanI was in the beginning. And I knew it, too, and yet I wasn't satisfied.I've been ready to wish I hadn't done it a hundred times. And when youcall me brave, you make me desperately ashamed, for nobody knows aswell as I do what a coward I've been."
"If you're cowardly, Peggy," cried Priscilla, up in arms at once, "I'msorry for the rest of us."
"Heavens, I should say so," agreed Phyllis. And then as the signalbell sounded, the girls rushed for the cloak room. Blended with Peggy'ssorrow and her sense of humility, was a gratifying certainty that thelast three weeks of her college life would be all she had dreamed.
Peggy Raymond's Way; Or, Blossom Time at Friendly Terrace Page 18