Betty Wales, Freshman

by Harriet Pyne Grove

  CHAPTER XIII

  SAINT VALENTINE'S ASSISTANTS

  If Eleanor had taken Kate's advice and indulged in a little calmreflection, she would have realized how absolutely reasonless was heranger against Betty Wales. Betty had been told of the officialobjections which made it necessary for Eleanor to be withdrawn from thedebate. Her action, then, had been wholly proper and perfectly friendly.But Eleanor was in no mood for reflection. A wild burst of passion heldher firmly in its grasp. She hated everybody and everything inHarding--the faculty who had made such a commotion about two little lowgrades--for Eleanor had come surprisingly near to clearing her record atmid-years,--Jean, who had stupidly brought all this extra annoyance uponher; the class, who were glad to get rid of her, Betty, who--yes, Jeanhad been right about one thing--Betty, who had taken advantage of afriend's misfortune to curry favor for herself. They were all leaguedagainst her. But--here the Watson pride suddenly asserted itself--theyshould never know that she cared, never guess that they had hurt her.

  She deliberately selected the most becoming of her new evening gowns,and in an incredibly short time swept down to dinner, radiantlybeautiful in the creamy lace dress, and--outwardly at least--in hersunniest, most charming mood. She insisted that the table should admireher dress, and the pearl pendant which her aunt had just sent her.

  "I'm wearing it, you see, to celebrate my return to the freedom ofprivate life," she rattled on glibly. "I understand you've found agenius to take my place. I'm delighted that we have one in the class.It's so convenient. Who of you are going to the Burton House danceto-night?"

  So she led the talk from point to point and from hand to hand. Shebantered Mary, deferred to Helen and the Riches, appealed in comradelyfashion to Katherine and Rachel. Betty alone she utterly, though quiteunostentatiously, ignored; and Betty, too much hurt to make any effort,stood aside and tried to solve the riddle of Eleanor's latest caprice.On the way up-stairs Eleanor spoke to her for the first time. She wentup just ahead of her and at the top of the flight she turned and waited.

  "I understand that you quite ran the class to-day," she said with aflashing smile. "The girls tell me that you're a born orator, as good inyour way as the genius in hers."

  Betty rallied herself for one last effort. "Don't make fun of me,Eleanor. Please let me come in and tell you about it. You don'tunderstand----"

  "Possibly not," said Eleanor coldly. "But I'm going out now."

  "Just for a moment!"

  "But I have to start at once. I'm late already."

  "Oh, very well," said Betty, and turned away to join Mary and Roberta.

  Eleanor's mind always worked with lightning rapidity, and while shedressed she had gone over the whole situation and decided exactly howshe would meet it; and in the weeks that followed she kept rigidly tothe course she had marked out for herself, changing only one detail. Atfirst she had intended to have nothing more to do with Jean, but she sawthat a sudden breaking off of their friendship would be remarked uponand wondered at. So she compromised by treating Jean exactly as usual,but seeing her as little as possible. This made it necessary to refusemany of her invitations to college affairs, for wherever she went Jeanwas likely to go. So she spent much of her leisure time away fromHarding; she went to Winsted a great deal, and often ran down to Bostonor New York for Sunday, declaring that the trips meant nothing to aWesterner used to the "magnificent distances" of the plains. Naturallyshe grew more and more out of touch with the college life, more and morescornful of the girls who could be content with the narrow, humdrumroutine at Harding. But she concealed her scorn perfectly. And she nolonger neglected her work; she attended her classes regularly andmanaged with a modicum of preparation to recite far better than theaverage student. Furthermore her work was now scrupulously honest, andshe was sensitively alert to the slightest imputation of untruthfulness.She offered no specious explanations for her withdrawal from the debate,and when Mary Brooks innocently inquired "what little yarn" she told theregistrar, that she could get away so often, Eleanor fixed her with anunpleasantly penetrative stare and answered with all her old-timehauteur that she did not tell "yarns."

  "I have a note from my father. So long as I do my work and go to all myclasses, they really can't object to my spending my Sundays as hewishes."

  Betty observed all these changes without being in the least able toreconcile them with Eleanor's new attitude toward herself. Unlike thefriendship with Jean, Eleanor's intercourse with her had beeninconspicuous, confined mostly to the Chapin house itself. Even thegirls there, because Eleanor had stood so aloof from them, had seenlittle of it, so Eleanor was free to break it off without thinking ofpublic opinion, and she did so ruthlessly. From the day of the classmeeting she spoke to Betty only when she must, or, if no one was by,when some taunting remark occurred to her.

  At first Betty tried her best to think how she could have offended, butshe could not discuss the subject with any one else and endlessconsideration and rejection of hypotheses was fruitless, so afterEleanor had twice refused her an interview that would have settled thematter, she sensibly gave it up. Eleanor would perhaps "come round" intime. Meanwhile it was best to let her alone.

  But Betty felt that she was having more than her share of trouble; Helenwas quite as trying in her way as Eleanor in hers. She had entirely losther cheerful air and seemed to have grown utterly discouraged with life.

  "And no wonder, for she studies every minute," Betty told Rachel andKatherine. "I think she feels hurt because the girls don't get to likeher better, but how can they when she doesn't give them any chance?"

  "She's awfully touchy lately," added Katherine.

  "Poor little thing!" said Rachel.

  Then the three plunged into an animated discussion of basket-ball, andRachel and Katherine, who were on a sort of provisional team thatincluded most of the best freshman players and arrogated to itself thename of "The Stars," showed Betty in strictest confidence the newcross-play that "T. Reed" had invented. "T. Reed" seemed to be thebasket-ball genius of the freshman class. She was the only girl who wasperfectly sure to be on the regular team.

  It is one of the fine things about college that no matter who of yourfriends are temporarily lost to you, there is always somebody else tofall back upon, and some new interest to take the place of one thatflags. Betty had noticed this and been amused by it early in her course.Sometimes, as she said to Miss Ferris in one of her many long talks withthat lady, things change so fast that you really begin to wonder if youcan be the same person you were last week.

  Besides the inter-class basket-ball game, there was the Hilton Houseplay to talk about and look forward to, and the rally; and, nearerstill, St. Valentine's day. It was a long time, to be sure, since Bettyhad been much excited over the last named festival; in her experienceonly children exchanged valentines. But at Harding it seemed to bedifferent. While the day was still several weeks off she had receivedthree invitations to valentine parties. She consulted Mary Brooks andfound that this was not at all unusual.

  "All the campus houses give them," Mary explained, "and the big onesoutside, just as they do for Hallowe'en. They have valentine boxes, youknow, and sometimes fancy dress balls."

  And there the matter would have dropped if Mary had not spent all hermonthly allowance three full weeks before she was supposed to have anymore. Poverty was Mary's chronic state. Not that Dr. Brooks's checkswere small, but his daughter's spending capacity was infinite.

  "You wait till you're a prominent sophomore," she said when Katherinelaughed at her, "and all your friends are making societies, and you justhave to provide violets and suppers, in hopes that they'll do as muchfor you later on. The whole trouble is that father wants me to be on anallowance, instead of writing home for money when I'm out. And no matterhow much I say I need, it never lasts out the month."

  "Why don't you tutor?" suggested Rachel, who got along easily on a thirdof what Mary spent. "I hope to next year."

  "Tutor!" repeated Mary with a reminiscent chuckle. "I
tried to tutor mycousin this fall in algebra, and the poor thing flunked much worse thanbefore. But anyway the faculty wouldn't give me regular tutoring. I looktoo well-to-do. Ah! how deceitful are appearances!" sighed Mary, openingher pocketbook, where five copper pennies rattled about forlornly.

  But the very next day she dashed into Betty's room proclaiming loudly,"I have an idea, and I want you to help me, Betty Wales. You can drawand I'll cut them out and drum up customers, and I guess I can write theverses. We ought to make our ad. to-night."

  "Our what?" inquired Betty in an absolutely mystified tone.

  Then Mary explained that she proposed to sell valentines. "Lots of thegirls who can't draw buy theirs, not down-town, you know--we don't givethat kind here,--but cunning little hand-made ones with pen-and-inkdrawings and original verses. Haven't you noticed the signs on the 'ForSale' bulletin?"

  Betty had not even seen that bulletin board since she and Helen hadhunted second-hand screens early in the fall, but the plan sounded veryattractive; it would fill up her spare hours, and keep her from worryingover Eleanor, and getting cross at Helen, so she was very willing tohelp if Mary honestly thought she could draw well enough.

  "Goodness, yes!" said Mary, rushing off to borrow Roberta's water-colorpaper and Katherine's rhyming dictionary.

  So the partnership was formed, a huge red heart covered with hastilydecorated samples was stuck up on the "For Sale" bulletin in thegymnasium basement, and, as Betty's cupids were really very charming andher Christy heads quite as good as the average copy, names began toappear in profusion on the order-sheet.

  Mary had written two sample verses with comparative ease, and in thefirst flush of confidence she had boldly printed on the sign: "Rhymedgrinds for special persons furnished at reasonable rates." But later,when everybody seemed to want that kind, even the valuable aid of therhyming dictionary did not disprove the adage that poets are born, notmade.

  "I can't--I just can't do them," wailed Mary finally. "Jokes simply willnot go into rhyme. What shall we do?"

  "Get Roberta--she writes beautifully--and Katherine--she told me thatshe'd like to help," suggested Betty, without looking up from the chubbycupid she was fashioning.

  So Katherine and Roberta were duly approached and Katherine was added tothe firm. Roberta at first said she couldn't, but finally, afterexacting strict pledges of secrecy, she produced half a dozen daintylittle lyrics, bidding Mary use them if she wished--they were nothing.But no amount of persuasion would induce her to do any more.

  However, Katherine's genius was nothing if not profuse, and shepreferred to do "grinds," so Mary could devote herself to sentimentaleffusions,--which, so she declared, did not have to have any specialpoint and so were within her powers,--and to the business end of theproject. This, in her view, consisted in perching on a centrally locatedwindow-seat in the main building, in the intervals between classes, andsoliciting orders from all passers-by, to the consequent crowding of thenarrow halls and the great annoyance of the serious-minded, who wishedto reach their recitations promptly. But from her point of view she wasstrikingly successful.

  "I tell you, I never appreciated how easy it is to make money if youonly set about it in the right way," she announced proudly one day atluncheon. "By the way, Betty, would you run down after gym to get ourold order sheet and put up a new one? I have a special topic inpsychology to-morrow, and if Professor Hinsdale really thinks I'm cleverI don't want to undeceive him too suddenly."

  Betty promised, but after gym Rachel asked her to stay and playbasket-ball with "The Stars" in the place of an absent member. Naturallyshe forgot everything else and it was nearly six o'clock when,sauntering home from an impromptu tea-drinking at the Belden House, sheremembered the order sheet. It was very dusky in the basement. Betty,plunging down the steps that led directly into the small room where thebulletin board was, almost knocked down a girl who was curled up on thebottom step of the flight.

  "Goodness! did I hurt you?" she said, a trifle exasperated that any oneshould want to sit alone in the damp darkness of the basement.

  There was no answer, and Betty, whose eyes were growing accustomed tothe dim light, observed with consternation that her companion was doingher best to stop crying.

  As has already been remarked, Betty hated tears as a kitten hates rain.Personally she never cried without first locking her door, and she couldimagine nothing so humiliating as to be caught, unmistakably weeping, bya stranger. So she turned aside swiftly, peered about in the shadows forthe big red heart, changed the order sheet, and was wondering whethershe would better hurry out past the girl or wait for her to recover hercomposure and depart, when the girl took the situation out of her handsby rising and saying in cheery tones, "Good-evening, Miss Wales. Are yougoing my way?"

  "I--why it's Emily--I mean Miss--Davis," cried Betty.

  "Yes, it's Emily Davis, in the blues, the more shame to her, when sheought to be at home getting supper this minute. Wait just a second,please." Miss Davis went over to the signs, jerked down one, and pickingup her books from the bottom step announced without the faintest traceof embarrassment, "Now I'm ready."

  "But are you sure you want me?" inquired Betty timidly.

  "Bless you, yes," said Miss Davis. "I've wanted to know you for ever solong. I'm sorry you caught me being a goose, though."

  "And I'm sorry you felt like crying," said Betty shyly. "Why, MissDavis, I should want to laugh all the time if I'd done what you did theother day. I should be so proud."

  Miss Davis smiled happily down at her small companion. "I was proud,"she said simply. "I only hope I can do as well week after next. But MissWales, that was the jam of college life. There's the bread and buttertoo, you know, and sometimes that's a lot harder to earn than the jam."

  "Do you mean----" began Betty and stopped, not wanting to risk hurtingMiss Davis's feelings.

  "Yes, I mean that I'm working my way through. I have a scholarship, butthere's still my board and clothes and books."

  "And you do it all?"

  Miss Davis nodded. "My cousin sends me some clothes."

  "How do you do it, please?"

  "Tutor, sort papers and make typewritten copies of things for thefaculty, put on dress braids (that's how I met the B's), mend stockings,and wait on table off and on when some one's maid leaves suddenly. Wethought it would be cheaper and pleasanter to board ourselves and earnour money in different ways than to take our board in exchange forregular table-waiting; but I don't know. The other way is surer."

  "You mean you don't find work enough?"

  Miss Davis nodded. "It takes a good deal," she said apologetically, "andthere isn't much tutoring that freshmen can do. After this year it willbe easier."

  "Dear me," gasped Betty. "Don't you get any--any help from home?"

  "Well, they haven't been able to send any yet, but they hope to later,"said Miss Davis brightly.

  "And does it pay when you have to work so hard for it?"

  "Oh, yes," answered Miss Davis promptly. "All three of us are sure thatit pays."

  "Three of you live together?"

  "Yes. Of course there are ever so many others in the college, and I'msure all of them would say the same thing."

  "And--I hope I'm not being rude--but do girls--do you advertise thingsdown on that bulletin board? I don't know much about it. I never wasthere but once till I went to-day on--on an errand for a friend," Bettyconcluded awkwardly. Perhaps she had been an interloper. Perhaps thatbulletin board had not been meant for girls like her.

  Miss Davis evidently assumed that she had been to leave an order. "Youought to buy more," she said laughingly. "But you want to know what Iwas there for, don't you? Why yes, we do make a good deal off thatbulletin board. One of the girls paints a little and she advertisespicture frames--Yale and Harvard and Pennsylvania ones, you know. I sellblue-prints. A senior lends me her films. She has a lot of the facultyand the campus, and they go pretty well. We use the money we make fromthose things for little extras--ribbons and n
ote-books and desserts forSunday. We hoped to make quite a bit on valentines----"

  "Valentines?" repeated Betty sharply.

  "Yes, but a good many others thought of it too, and we didn't get anyorders--not one. Ours weren't so extra pretty and it was foolish of meto be so disappointed, but we'd worked hard getting ready and we didwant a little more money so much."

  They had reached Betty's door by this time, and Miss Davis hurried on,saying it was her turn to get supper and begging Betty to come and seethem. "For we're very cozy, I assure you. You mustn't think we have ahorrid time just because--you know why."

  Betty went straight to Mary's room, which, since she had no roommate toobject to disorder, had been the chief seat of the valentine industry.

  "You're a nice one," cried Katherine, "staying off like this when to-dayis the eleventh."

  "Many orders?" inquired Mary.

  Betty sat down on Mary's couch, ruthlessly sweeping aside a mass of halffinished valentines to make room. "Girls, this has got to stop," sheannounced abruptly.

  Mary dropped her scissors and Katherine shut the rhyming dictionary witha bang.

  "What is the trouble?" they asked in chorus.

  Then Betty told her story, suppressing only Emily's name and mentioningall the details that had made up the point and pathos of it. "And justthink!" she said at last. "She's a girl you'd both be proud to know, andshe works like that. And we stepped in and took away a chance of--ofribbons and note-books and dessert for Sunday."

  "May be not; perhaps hers were so homely they wouldn't have soldanyway," suggested Katherine with an attempt at jocoseness.

  "Don't, please," said Betty wearily.

  Mary came and sat down beside her on the couch. "Well, what's to be doneabout it now?" she asked soberly.

  "I don't know. We can't give them orders because she took her sign down.I thought perhaps--how much have we made?"

  "Fifteen dollars easily. All right; we'll send it to them."

  "Of course," chimed in Katherine. "I was only joking. Shall we finishthese up?"

  "Yes indeed," said Mary, "they're all ordered, and the more money thebetter, n'est ce pas, Betty? But aren't we to know the person's name?"

  Betty hesitated. "Why--no--that is if you don't mind very much. You seeshe sort of told me about herself because she had to, so I feel as if Ioughtn't to repeat it. Do you mind?"

  "Not one bit," said Katherine quickly. "And we needn't say anything atall about it, except--don't you think the girls here in the house willhave to know that we're going to give away the money?"

  "Yes," put in Mary, "and we'll make them all give us extra orders."

  "We will save out a dollar for you to live on till March," said Betty.

  "Oh no, I shall borrow of you," retorted Mary, and then they all laughedand felt better.

  On St. Valentine's morning Betty posted a registered valentine. Theverse read:--

  "There are three of us and three of you, Though only one knows one, So pray accept this little gift And go and have some fun."

  But if the rhyme went haltingly and was not quite true either, as Bettypointed out, since Adelaide and Alice had contributed to the fund, andthe whole house had bought absurd quantities of valentines because itwas such a "worthy object" ("just as if I wasn't a worthy object!"sighed Mary), there was nothing the matter with the "little gift," whichconsisted of three crisp ten dollar bills.

  "Oh, if they should feel hurt!" thought Betty anxiously, and dodgedEmily Davis so successfully that until the day of the rally they did notmeet.

  That week was a tremendously exciting one. To begin with, on thetwentieth the members of both the freshman basket-ball teams wereannounced. Rachel was a "home" on the regular team, and Katherine aguard on the "sub," so the Chapin house fairly bubbled over with prideand pleasure in its double honors. Then on the morning of thetwenty-second came the rally with its tumultuous display of class andcollege loyalty, its songs written especially for the occasion, itsshrieks of triumph or derision (which no intrusive reporter should makebold to interpret or describe as "class yells," since such masculinemodes of expression are unknown at Harding), and its mock-heroic debateon the vital issue, "Did or did not George Washington cut down thatcherry-tree?"

  Every speaker was clever and amusing, but Emily Davis easily scored thehit of the morning. For whereas most freshmen are frightened and appearto disadvantage on such an occasion, she was perfectly calm andself-possessed, and made her points with exactly the same irresistiblegaucherie and daring infusion of local color that had distinguished herperformance at the class meeting. Besides, she was a "dark horse"; shedid not belong to the leading set in her class, nor to any other set,for that matter, and this fact, together with the novel method of herelection made her interesting to her essentially democratic audience. Sowhen the judges--five popular members of the faculty--announced theirdecision in favor of the negative, otherwise the junior-freshman side ofthe debate, 19--'s enthusiasm knew no bounds, and led by the delightedB's they carried their speaker twice round the gym on theirshoulders--which is an honor likely to be remembered by its recipientfor more reasons than one.

  As the clans were scattering, it suddenly occurred to Betty that, ifEmily did not guess anything, it would please her to be congratulated onthe excellence of her debate; and if, as was more likely, she hadguessed, there was little to be gained by postponing the dreadedinterview. She chose a moment when Emily was standing by herself in onecorner of the gymnasium. Emily did not wait for her to begin her speechof congratulation.

  "Oh, Miss Wales," she cried, "I've been to see you six times, and youare never there. It was lovely of you--lovely--but ought we to take it?"

  "Yes, indeed. It belongs to you; honestly it does. Don't ask me how, forit's too long a story. Just take my word for it."

  "Well, but----" began Emily doubtfully.

  At that moment some one called, "Hurrah for 19--!" Betty caught up thecry and seizing Emily's hand rushed her down the hall, toward a group offreshmen.

  "Make a line and march," cried somebody else, and presently a long lineof 19-- girls was winding in noisy lock-step down the hall, threading inand out between groups of upper-class girls and cheering and gainingrecruits as it went.

  "Hurrah for 19--!" cried Betty hoarsely.

  "Take it for 19--," she whispered to Emily, as the line stopped with ajerk that knocked their heads together.

  "If you are sure---- Thank you for 19--," Emily whispered back.

  "Here's to 19--, drink her down! Here's to 19--, drink her down!"

  As the chorus rose and swelled Betty felt, as she never had before, whatit meant to be a college girl at Harding.

  As Betty was leaving the gymnasium she met Eleanor face to face in thehallway.

  "Wasn't it fun?" said Betty, shyly. Perhaps, now that the debate wasover, Eleanor would be ready to make friends again.

  "Patronizing the genius, do you mean?" asked Eleanor slowly. "I hope shedidn't buy that hideous salmon-pink waist with your money."

  "Oh, Eleanor, how did you ever find out?" cried Betty, deeplydistressed. Only a few of the Chapin house girls knew anything about thedisposition of the valentine money, and not even the rest of the firmhad been told who had received it. So Betty had thought the secretperfectly safe.

  "No one told me about your private affairs," returned Eleanorsignificantly. "I guessed and I congratulate you. The genius will be auseful ally. She will get all the freaks' votes for you, when----"

  "Eleanor Watson, come on if you're coming," called a voice from the footof the stairs, and Eleanor marched blithely off, without finishing hersentence.

  Betty stared after her with unseeing eyes. So that was it! She was toblame because Jean had told her of Eleanor's predicament--told heragainst her wish. And now she was supposed to be trying to get votes.

  "Votes for what, I wonder? How perfectly absurd!" said Betty to thebrick wall she was facing. But the appropriate smile would not come, forthe absurdity had c
ost her a friend whom she had loved dearly in spiteof her faults.