CHAPTER VII
A DRAMATIC CHAPTER
The Chapin house girls decided not to spend the proceeds of the dancingclass for an elaborate supper, as they had first intended, but to turntheir "spread" into the common college type, where "plowed field" andchocolate made with condensed milk and boiling water are the chiefrefreshments, and light-hearted sociability ensures a good time foreverybody.
"But do let's have tea too," Betty had proposed. "I hate the chocolatethat the girls make, and I don't believe tea keeps many of us awake. DidI tell you that mother sent a big box of cheese crackers?"
The spread was to be in Betty's room, partly because she owned the onlychafing-dish in the house, and partly because eighteen girls--the ninehostesses and the one guest asked by each--could get into it withoutuncomfortable crowding. Eleanor had lent her pile of floor cushions andher beloved candlesticks for the occasion, everybody had contributedcups and saucers. Betty and Helen had spent the afternoon "fixing up,"and the room wore a very festive air when the girls dropped in afterdinner to see if the preparations were complete.
"I think we ought to start the fudge before they come," said Betty,remembering the procedure at Miss King's party.
"Oh, no," protested Eleanor. "Half-past eight is early enough. Why, mostof the fun of a spread is mixing the things together and taking turnstasting and stirring."
"It would be awkward to finish eating too early, when that's the onlyentertainment," suggested Rachel.
"Or the candy might give out before ten," added Mary Rich.
The majority ruled, and as some of the girls were late, and one had somevery amusing blue-prints to exhibit, it was considerably after half-pasteight before the fudge was started. At first it furnished plenty ofexcitement. Betty, who had been appointed chief fudge-maker, left it fora moment, and it took the opportunity to boil over. When it had settleddown after this exploit, it refused to do anything but simmer. No amountof alcohol or of vigorous and persistent stirring had any effect uponit, and Betty was in despair. But Eleanor, who happened to be in agracious mood, came gallantly to the rescue. She quietly disappeared andreturned in a moment, transformed into a gypsy street singer. She hadpulled down her black hair and twisted a gay scarf around it. Over hershirt-waist she wore a little velvet jacket; and a short black skirt, abig red sash, an armful of bangles and bracelets, and the guitar hungover her shoulder, completed her disguise.
"Sing a lil'?" she asked, smiling persuasively and kissing her hand tothe party.
Then she sat down on the pile of cushions and played and sang, first aquaint little folk-song suited to her part, and then one or two dashingpopular airs, until the unaccommodating fudge was quite forgotten,except by Betty, who stirred and frowned, and examined the flame andtested the thickness of the rich brown liquid, quite unnoticed. Eleanorhad just shrugged her shoulders and announced, "I no more sing, now,"when somebody else knocked on the door, or rather pushed it open, and agrotesque figure slouched in.
At least half of it was head, black and awful, with gruesome greenfeatures. Short, unjointed arms came out of its waist, with green clawsdangling where the hands should have been; and below its short skirtflapped the tails of a swallow-tail coat. The girls were too muchastonished to speak, as the creature advanced silently into the room,and without a word began dancing something that, as Katherine expressedit afterward, was a cross between a double-shuffle and a skirt-dance.When it had succeeded in reducing its audience to a state of abject andtearful mirth, the creature stopped suddenly, announced, "You've seenthe Jabberwock," in sepulchral tones, and flopped on to the end of acouch, saying breathlessly, "Mary Brooks, please help me out of this.I'm suffocating."
"How did you do it, Miss Lewis?" inquired the stately senior, who wasMary's guest, wiping her eyes and gasping for breath as she spoke.
"It's perfectly simple," drawled Roberta indifferently. "The head is myblack silk petticoat. I painted on the features, because the childrenlike to have me do it at home, and it's convenient to be ready. The armsare a broom-handle, stuck through the sleeves of this old coat, which isbuttoned around my waist."
"And now you're going to do the Bandersnatch, aren't you?" inquired thesenior craftily, perceiving that the other side of the petticoat wasdecorated with curious red spots.
"I--how did you--oh, no," said Roberta, blushing furiously, and stuffingthe telltale petticoat under a convenient pillow. "I don't know why Ibrought the things for this. I never meant to do it up here. I--I hopeyou weren't bored. I just happened to think of it, and Eleanor couldn'tsing forever, and that fudge----"
"That fudge won't cook," broke in Betty in tragic tones. "It doesn'tthicken at all, and it's half-past nine this minute. What shall I do?"
Everybody crowded around the chafing-dish, giving advice and suggestingunfailing remedies. But none of them worked.
"And there's nothing else but tea and chocolate," wailed Adelaide.
"But you can all have both," said Betty bravely, "and you've forgottenthe crackers, Adelaide. I'll pass them while you and Katherine go formore cups."
"And you can send the fudge round to-morrow," suggested Mary Brooksconsolingly. "It's quite the thing, you know. Don't imagine that yourchafing-dish is the only one that's too slow for the ten-o'clock rule."
Betty insisted upon sitting up to finish the fudge, but she ended bygetting up before breakfast the next morning to cook it on Mrs. Chapin'sstove.
"Nobody seemed to care much about its being so slow, except me," shesaid to Helen, as they did it up in neat little bundles to be handed tothe guests of the evening at chapel. "Weren't Eleanor and Roberta fine?"
"Yes," agreed Helen enthusiastically. "But isn't it queer that Robertawon't let us praise her? She seems to be ashamed of being able to be sofunny."
Betty laughed. "That's Roberta," she said. "It will be months beforeshe'll do it again, I'm afraid. I suppose she felt last night as if shehad to do what she could for the honor of the house, so she came out ofher shell."
"She told Rachel that she did it on your account. She said you looked asif you wanted to cry."
Betty flushed prettily. "How nice of her! I did want to cry. I felt asif I was to blame about the fudge. I wish I had a nice stunt like thatof Eleanor's to come to people's rescue with."
"Were those what you call stunts?" inquired Helen earnestly. "I didn'tknow what they were, but they were fine."
"Why, Helen Chase Adams, do you mean that you've been in college twomonths and don't know what a stunt is----" began Betty, and stopped,blushing furiously and fearing that she had hurt Helen's feelings. Forthe reason why she did not know about stunts was obvious.
Helen took it very simply. "You know I'm not asked to things outside,"she said, "and I don't seem to be around when the girls do things here.So why should I know?"
"No reason at all," said Betty decidedly. "They are just silly littleparlor tricks anyway--most of them--not worth wasting time over. Do youknow Miss Willis told us in English class that a great deal of slangoriginated in college, and she gave 'stunt' as an example. She said ithad been used here ever so long and only a few years outside, in quite adifferent meaning. Isn't that queer?"
"Yes," said Helen indifferently. "She told my division too, but shedidn't say what it meant here. I suppose she thought we'd all know."
Betty, stealing a glance at her, saw her wink back the tears. "She doescare about the fun," thought Betty. "She cares as much as Rachel or I,or Eleanor even. And she is left out. It isn't a bit fair, but what's tobe done about it?"
Being young and very happy herself, she speedily forgot all about theknotty problem of the unequal distribution of this world's goods,whether they be potatoes or fudge parties. Occasionally she rememberedagain, and gave Helen a helping hand, as she had done several timesalready. But college is much like the bigger world outside. The fittestsurvive on their own merits, and these must be obvious and welladvertised, or they are in great danger of being overlooked. And it issafer in the long run to do one's own advertis
ing and to begin early.Eleanor understood this, but she forgot or ignored the other rules ofthe game. Betty practiced it unconsciously, which is the proper method.Helen never mastered its application and succeeded in spite of it.
* * * * *
Several evenings after that one on which the fudge had refused to cook,Alice Waite was trying to learn her history lesson, and her "queer"roommate, who loved to get into her bed as well as she hated to make it,was trying to go to sleep--an operation rendered difficult by the factthat the girl next door was cracking butternuts with a marblepaper-weight--when there was a soft tap on the door.
"Don't answer," begged the sleepy roommate.
"May be important," objected Alice, "but I won't let her stay. Come in!"
The door opened and a young gentleman in correct evening dress, with anulster folded neatly over his arm, entered the room and gazed, smilingand silent, about him. He was under average height, slightly built, andhad a boyish, pleasant face that fitted ill with his apparent occupationas house-breaker and disturber of damsels.
The roommate, who had sat up in bed with the intention of repellingwhatever intruder threatened her rest, gave a shriek of mingled terrorand indignation and disappeared under the bedclothes. Alice rose, withas much dignity as the three heavy volumes which she held in her lap,and which had to be untangled from her kimono, would permit. She movedthe screen around her now hysterical roommate and turned fiercely uponthe young gentleman.
"How dare you!" she demanded sternly. "Go!" And she stamped her footsomewhat ineffectively, since she had on her worsted bedroom slippers.
At this the young gentleman's smile broke into an unmistakably femininegiggle.
"Oh, you are so lovely!" he gurgled. "Don't cry, Miss Madison. It's nota real man. It's only I--Betty Wales."
"Betty!" gasped Alice. "Betty Wales, what are you doing? Is it reallyyou?"
"Of course," said Betty calmly, pulling off her wig by way of furtherevidence, and sitting down with careful regard for her coattails in thenearest chair. "I hope," she added, "that I haven't really worried MissMadison. Take the screen away, Alice, and see what she's doing."
"Oh, I'm all right now, thank you," said Miss Madison, pushing back thescreen herself. "But you gave me an awful fright. What are you doing?"
"Why, we're going to give a play at our house Saturday," explainedBetty, "and to-night was a dress rehearsal. I wanted to bring Alice aticket, and I thought it would be fun to come in these clothes andfrighten her; so I put on a skirt and a rain-coat and came along. I leftmy skirt in your entrance-way. Get it for me please, Alice, and I'll putit on before I send any one else into hysterics."
"Oh, not yet," begged Miss Madison. "I want to look at you. Please standup and turn around, so I can have a back view."
Betty readjusted her wig and stood up for inspection.
"What's the play?" asked Alice.
Betty considered. "It's a secret, but I'll tell you to pay for givingyou both such a scare. It's 'Sherlock Holmes.' Mary Brooks saw the realplay in New York, and she wrote this, something like the real one, butdifferent so we could do it. She could think up the plot beautifully butshe wasn't good at conversation, so Katherine helped her, and it'sfine."
"Is there a robbery?" inquired Alice.
"Oh, yes, diamonds."
"And a murder?"
"Well, a supposed murder. The audience thinks it is, but it isn'treally. And there's a pretend fire too, just as there is in the realplay."
"And who are you?"
"I'm the villain," said Betty. "I'm to have curling black mustaches anda fierce frown, and then you'd know without asking."
"I should think they'd have wanted you for the heroine," said Alice, whoadmired Betty immensely.
"Oh, no," demurred the villain. "Eleanor is leading lady, of course. Shehas three different costumes, and she looks like a queen in every one ofthem. Katherine is going to be Sherlock Holmes, and Adelaide Rich is Dr.Watson and--oh, I mustn't tell you any more, or Alice won't enjoy itSaturday."
"We had a little play here," said Miss Madison, "but it was tame besidethis. Where did you get all the men's costumes?"
"Rented them, and the wigs and mustaches and pistols," and Bettyexplained about the dancing-school money which the house had voted toRoberta's project instead of to the spread.
"I wish I could act," said Alice. "I should love to be a man. But mymother wouldn't let me, so it's just as well that I'm a perfect stick atit."
"Roberta's father wouldn't let her either," said Betty, "but motherdidn't mind, as long as it's only before a few girls. I presume shewouldn't like my coming over here and frightening you. But I honestlydidn't think you'd be deceived."
"I'm so glad you came," said Miss Madison lying back luxuriously amongher pillows. "Does the story of the play take place in the evening?"
"Yes, all of it. I'm dressed for the theatre, but I'm detained by therobbery."
"Then I have something I want to lend you. Alice, open the washstanddrawer, please--no, the middle one--in that flat green box. Thank you.Your hat, sir villain," she went on, snapping open an opera hat andhanding it to Betty with a flourish.
"How perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Betty. "But how in the world did youhappen to have it?"
"Why, I stayed with my cousins for two weeks just before I came up here,and I found it in their guest-chamber bureau. It wasn't Cousin Tom's norUncle Dick's, and they didn't know whose it was; so they gave it to me,because I liked to play with it. Should you really like to use it?"
"Like it!" repeated Betty, shutting the hat and opening it again with alow bow. "Why it will be the cream of the whole performance. It wouldmake the play go just of itself," and she put it on and studied theeffect attentively in the mirror.
"It's rather large," said Alice. "If I were you, I'd just carry it."
"It is big," admitted Betty regretfully, "or at least it makes me lookvery small. But I can snap it a lot, and then put it on as I exit. MissMadison, you'll come to the play of course. I hadn't but one ticketleft, but after lending us this you're a privileged person."
"I hoped you'd ask me," said Miss Madison gratefully. "The play doessound so exciting. But that wasn't why I offered you the hat."
"Of course not, and it's only one reason why you are coming," said Bettytactfully. "Now Alice, you must bring in my skirt. I have to walk soslowly in all these things, and it must be almost ten."
When Sir Archibald Ames, villain, had been transformed into a demurelittle maiden with rumpled hair and a high, stiff collar showing aboveher rain-coat, Betty took her departure. A wave of literary and dramaticenthusiasm had inundated the Chapin house. The girls were constantlysuggesting theme topics to one another--which unfortunately no one butMary Brooks could use, at least until the next semester; for in theregular freshman English classes, subjects were always assigned. Andthey were planning theatre parties galore, to see Jefferson, MaudeAdams, and half a dozen others if they came to Harding. Betty, who had ahappy faculty of keeping her head just above such passing waves, smiledto herself as she hurried across the dark campus.
"Next week, when our play is over it will be something else," shethought. Rachel was already interested in basket-ball and had prospectsof being chosen for the freshman class team. Eleanor had been practicinghard on her guitar, hoping to "make" the mandolin club; and wasdreadfully disappointed at finding that according to a new rule freshmenwere ineligible and that her entrance conditions would have excluded herin any case.
"So many things to do," sighed Betty, who had given up a hockey gamethat afternoon to study history. "I suppose we've got to choose," sheadded philosophically. "But I choose to be an all-around girl, likeDorothy King. I can't sing though. I wonder what my one talent is.
"Helen," she said, as she opened her door, "have you noticed that allcollege girls have one particular talent? I wonder what ours will turnout to be. See what I have for the play."
Helen, who looked tired and heavy-eyed,
inspected the opera hatlistlessly. "I think your talent is getting the things you want," shesaid, "and I guess I haven't any. It's quarter of ten."
Betty Wales, Freshman Page 7