Betty Wales, Freshman

Home > Childrens > Betty Wales, Freshman > Page 14
Betty Wales, Freshman Page 14

by Harriet Pyne Grove


  CHAPTER XIV

  A BEGINNING AND A SEQUEL

  "I shan't be here to dinner Sunday," announced Helen Chase Adams with anodd little thrill of importance in her voice.

  "Shan't you?" responded her roommate absently. She was trying to decidewhich dress to wear to the Hilton House play. Her pink organdie wasprettiest, but she really ought to save that for the Glee Club concert.And should she ask her cousin Jack Burgess up from Harvard for theconcert, or would it be better to invite Mr. Parsons? These absorbingquestions left her small attention to bestow on so comparativelycommonplace a matter as an invitation out to Sunday dinner.

  "I thought you might like to have some one in my place," continuedHelen, moving the pink organdie waist on to the same chair with thebatiste skirt.

  Betty came to herself with a start. "I beg your pardon. I didn't seethat I had taken up all the chairs. I was trying to decide what to wearto the dramatics."

  "And I was thinking what I'd wear Sunday," said Helen.

  It was so seldom nowadays that she obtruded her affairs upon any one'snotice that Betty glanced at her wonderingly. Her eyes had their starrylook, and a smile that she was futilely endeavoring to keep in thebackground played around the corners of her mouth.

  "I'm glad she's got over the blues," thought Betty. "Why, where are yougoing?" she asked aloud.

  "Oh, only to the Westcott House," answered Helen with an assumption ofunconcern. "Would you wear the blue silk waist or the brown dress?"

  "Well, the Westcott is the swellest house on the campus, you know. WhenI go there I always put on my very best."

  "Yes, but which is my best?"

  Betty considered a moment. "Why, of course they're both pretty," shebegan with kindly diplomacy, "but dresses are more the thing thanwaists. Still, the blue is very becoming. But I think--yes, I'm sure I'dwear the brown."

  "All right. If you change your mind before Sunday you can let me know."

  "Yes," said Betty briefly. She was examining the batiste skirt to see ifit would need pressing for the dramatics. After all, Jack was more fun,and probably Mr. Parsons was invited by this time anyhow--he knew lotsof Harding girls. What was the name of Jack's dormitory house? She wouldask the Riches; they had a brother in the same one. So she strolled offto find the Riches, and incidentally to get the latest basket-ball newsfrom Rachel and Katherine. At nine o'clock they turned her out; theywere in training and supposed to be fast asleep by nine-thirty. When sheopened her own door, Helen was still sitting idly in the wicker rocker,looking as if she would be perfectly content to stay there indefinitelywith her pleasant thoughts for company.

  Betty had quite lost interest in Helen lately; she had small patiencewith people who moped, and besides, between Eleanor and the valentineenterprise, her thoughts had been fully engrossed. But this new moodmade her curious. "She acts as if she'd got a crush," she decided."She's just the kind to have one, and probably her divinity has askedher to dinner, and she can't put her mind on anything else. But who onearth could it be--in the Westcott House?"

  She was on the point of inquiring, when Helen diverted her attention tosomething else. "I made a wonderful discovery to-day," she said."Theresa Reed and T. Reed are the same person."

  Betty laughed. "They might easily be," she said. "I don't see that itwas so wonderful."

  "Why, I've known Theresa all this year--she was the one that asked me togo off with her house for Mountain Day. She's the best friend I havehere, but she never told me that she was specially interested inbasket-ball and I never thought--well, I guess I never imagined that adear friend of mine could be the celebrated T. Reed," laughed Helenhappily. "But all sorts of nice things are happening to me lately."

  "That's good," said Betty. "It seems to be just the opposite with me,"and she plunged into her note to Jack, which must be ready for the nextmorning's post.

  All that week Helen went about fairly wreathed in smiles. Her shynessseemed to have vanished suddenly. She joined gaily in the basket-ballgossip at the table, came out into the hall to frolic with the rest ofthe house at ten o'clock, and in general acted as a happy,well-conducted freshman should.

  The Chapin house brought its amazement over the "dig's" frivolity toBetty, but she had very little to tell them. "All I know is that she'sawfully pleased about being a friend of T. Reed's. And oh yes--she'sinvited out to dinner next Sunday. But of course there must be somethingelse."

  "Perhaps she's going to have a man up for the concert," suggestedKatherine flippantly.

  "Are you?" inquired Mary Rich, and with that the regeneration of Helenwas forgotten in the far more absorbing topic of the Glee Club concert.

  Sunday came at last. "I'm not going to church, Betty," said Helen shyly."I want to have plenty of time to get dressed for dinner."

  "Yes, indeed," said Betty carelessly. She had just received an absurdletter from Jack. He was coming "certain-sure"; he wanted to see herabout a very serious matter, he said. "Incidentally" he should bedelighted to go to the concert. There was a mysterious postscripttoo:--"How long since you got so fond of Bob Winchester?"

  "I never heard of any such person. What do you suppose he means?" Bettyasked Mary Brooks as they walked home from church together. Mary hadalso invited a Harvard man to the concert and Dorothy King had foundthem both seats, so they were feeling unusually friendly andsympathetic.

  "I can't imagine. Do let me see his letter," begged Mary. "He must be noend of fun."

  "He's a worse tease than you," said Betty, knocking on her door.

  "Come in," called Helen Chase Adams eagerly. "Betty, would you pleasehook my collar, and would one of you see what time it really is? I don'tlike to depend too much on my watch."

  "She'll be at least ten minutes too early," sighed Betty, when Helen hadfinally departed in a flutter of haste. "And see this room! But Ioughtn't to complain," she added, beginning to clear up the dresser."I'm always leaving it like this myself; but someway I don't expect itof Helen."

  "Who asked her to dinner to-day?" inquired Mary Brooks. She had beensitting in a retired corner, vastly enjoying the unusual spectacle ofHelen Adams in a frenzy of excitement.

  "Why, I don't know. I never thought to ask," said Betty, straighteningthe couch pillows. "I only hope she'll have as good a time as sheexpects."

  "Poor youngster!" said Mary. "Wish I'd asked Laurie to jolly her up abit."

  It is to be presumed that these fears were groundless, since the bellwas ringing for five o'clock vespers when Helen came back. Betty wassitting at her desk pretending to write letters, but really trying todecide whether she should say anything to Eleanor apropos of her remarksabout Emily Davis, and if so, whether she should do it now. Mary Brookscurled up on Betty's couch, dividing her attention between JackBurgess's picture and a new magazine.

  "Had a good time, didn't you?" she remarked sociably when Helenappeared.

  "Oh, yes," said Helen happily. "You see I don't go out very often. Wereyou ever at the Westcott House for dinner?"

  "Once," chuckled Mary. "But I found they didn't have ice-cream, becausethe matron doesn't approve of buying things on Sunday; so I've turnedthem down ever since."

  Helen laughed merrily. "How funny! I never missed it!" There was abecoming flush on her cheeks, a pretty new confidence in her manner.

  "Helen, who did you say asked you to the Westcott?" inquired Betty.

  "I didn't say, because you didn't ask me," returned Helen truthfully,"but it was Miss Mills."

  "Miss Mills!" repeated Mary. "Well, my child, I don't wonder that youwere rattled this noon, being invited around by the faculty. Gracious,what a compliment to a young freshman!"

  "I should think so!" chimed in Betty eagerly.

  In spite of her embarrassment Helen evidently enjoyed the sensation shewas producing. "I thought it was awfully nice," she said.

  "Why didn't you tell us sooner?" demanded Mary. "Why, child, you must bea bright and shining shark in lit."

  Helen's happy face clouded suddenly. "I'm not, am I, B
etty?" she askedappealingly.

  Betty laughed. "Why no, since you ask me. No, she isn't, Mary. She sitson the back row with me and we don't either of us say an extra word.It's math, and Latin and Greek that Helen shines in."

  "Well, are you awfully devoted to Miss Mills?" pursued Mary. "Is thatwhy she asked you?"

  Helen shook her head. "I like her. She reads beautifully and sometimesshe says very interesting things, doesn't she, Betty?"

  "I hadn't noticed," answered her roommate hastily.

  "Well, I think she does, but I never told her I thought so. It couldn'tbe that."

  "Then why did she ask you?" demanded Mary.

  "I suppose because she wanted me," said Helen happily. "I can't think ofany other reason. Isn't it lovely?"

  "Yes indeed," agreed Mary. "It's so grand that I'm going off this minuteto tell everybody in the house about it. They'll be dreadfully envious,"and she left the roommates alone.

  Helen pulled off her best gloves carefully, and laid them neatly away,then she put up her hat and coat and sat down in her favorite wickerchair. "I guess I left the room in a dreadful muss this noon," she saidapologetically. "I guess I acted silly and excited, but you see--I saidI hadn't been out often--this is the very first time I've been invitedout to a meal since I came to Harding."

  "Really?" said Betty, thinking guiltily of her own multitude ofinvitations.

  "Yes, I hoped you hadn't any of you noticed it. I hate to be pitied. Nowyou can just like me."

  "Just like you?" repeated Betty vaguely.

  "Yes. Don't you see? I'm not left out any more." She hesitated, thenwent on rapidly. "You see I had a lovely time at first, at the sophomorereception and the frolic and all, but it stopped and--this was a goodwhile coming, and I got discouraged. Wasn't it silly? I--oh, it's allright now. I wouldn't change places with anybody." She began to rockviolently. Betty had noticed that Helen rocked when other girls sang ordanced jigs.

  "But I thought--we all thought," began Betty, "that you had decided youpreferred to study--that you didn't care for our sort of fun. Youhaven't seemed to lately."

  "Not since it came over me why you girls here in the house were nice tome when nobody else was except Theresa," explained Helen with appallingfrankness. "You were sorry for me. I thought it out the day after yougave me the violets. Before I came to Harding," she went on, "I didthink that college was just to study. It's funny how you change yourmind after you get here--how you begin to see that it's a lot biggerthan you thought. And it's queer how little you care about doing well inclass when you haven't anything else to care about." She gave a littlesigh, then got up suddenly. "I almost forgot; I have a message forAdelaide. And by the way, Betty, I saw your Miss Hale; she and somebodyelse were just going in to see Miss Mills when I left."

  She had scarcely gone when Mary sauntered back as if by accident. "Well,have you found out?" she asked. "As a student of psychology I'm vastlyinterested in this situation."

  "Found out what?" asked Betty unsmilingly.

  "Why Miss Mills asked her, and why she is so pleased."

  "I suppose Miss Mills asked her because she was sorry for her," answeredBetty slowly, "and Helen is pleased because she doesn't know it. Mary,she's been awfully lonely."

  "Too bad," commented Mary. Unhappiness always made her feel awkward.

  "But she says this makes up to her for everything," added Betty.

  "Oh, I've noticed that life is a pretty even thing in the end," returnedMary, relieved that there was no present call on her sympathies, "but Imust confess I don't see how one dinner invitation, even if it isfrom----"

  Just then Helen tapped on the door.

  Down in Miss Mills's room they were discussing much the same point.

  "It's a shame for you to waste your Sundays over these children," saidMiss Hale.

  Miss Mills stopped her tea-making to dissent. "It isn't wasted if shecared. She was so still that I couldn't be sure, but judging from thelength of time she stayed----"

  "She was smiling all over her face when we met her," interrupted MissMeredith. "Who is she, anyway?"

  "Oh, just nobody in particular," laughed Miss Mills, "just a forlornlittle freshman named Adams."

  "But I don't quite see how----" began Miss Hale.

  "Oh, you wouldn't," said Miss Mills easily. "You were president of yourclass when you were a freshman. I was nobody in particular, and I knowwhat it's like."

  "But why not leave it to her friends to hearten her up?"

  "Apparently she hasn't any, or if she has, they're as out of things asshe is."

  "Well, to the other girls then."

  "When girls are happy they are cruel," said Miss Mills briefly, "orperhaps they're only careless."

  Betty, after a week's consideration, put the matter even morespecifically. "I tried to make her over because I wanted a differentkind of roommate," she said, "and we all let her see that we were sorryfor her. Miss Mills made her feel as if----"

  "She had her dance card full and was splitting her waltzes," suppliedMary, who was just back from an afternoon at Winsted.

  "Exactly like that," agreed Betty, laughing. "I wish I'd done it," sheadded wistfully.

  "You kept her going till her chance came," said Mary. "She owes a lot toyou, and she knows it."

  "Don't," protested Betty, flushing. "I tell you, I was only thinking ofmyself when I tried to fix her up, and then after a while I got tired ofher and let her alone. I was horrid, but she's forgiven me and we'rereal friends now."

  "Well, we can't do but so much apiece," said Mary practically. "And I'venoticed that 'jam,' as your valentine girl called it, is a mighty hardthing to give to people who really need it."

  Nevertheless the gift had been managed in Helen's case; she had gottenher start at last. Miss Mills's tactful little attention had furnishedher with the hope and courage that she lacked, had given her back theself-confidence that Caroline Barnes had wounded. Whatever the girlsmight think, she knew she was "somebody" now, and she would go ahead andprove it. She could, too--she no longer doubted her possession of thecollege girl's one talent that Betty had laughed about. For there wasTheresa Reed, her friend down the street. She was homely and awkward,she wore dowdy clothes and wore them badly, she was slow and plodding;but there was one thing that she could do, and the girls admired her forit and had instantly made a place for her. Helen was glad of a secondproof that those things did not matter vitally. She set herself happilyto work to study T. Reed's methods, and she began to look forward to thefreshman-sophomore game as eagerly as did Betty or Katherine.

  But before the game there was the concert. Jack Burgess, having missedhis connections, arrived in Harding exactly twenty-seven minutes beforeit began. As they drove to the theatre he inquired if Betty had receivedall three of his telegrams.

  "Yes," laughed Betty, "but I got the last one first. The other two wereevidently delayed. You've kept me guessing, I can tell you."

  "Glad of that," said Jack cheerfully, as he helped her out of thecarriage. "That's what you've kept me doing for just about a month. ButI've manfully suppressed my curiosity and concealed the wounds in mybleeding heart until I could make inquiries in person."

  "What in the world do you mean, Jack?" asked Betty carelessly. Jack wassuch a tease.

  Just then they were caught in the crowd that filled the lobby of thetheatre, and conversation became impossible as they hurried through itand into the theatre itself.

  "Checks, please," said a businesslike little usher in pink chiffon, andJack and Betty followed her down the aisle. The theatre was alreadynearly full, and it looked like a great flower garden, for the girls allwore light evening gowns, for which the black coats of the men made amost effective background; while the odor of violets and roses from thegreat bunches that many of the girls carried strengthened the illusion.

  "Jove, but this is a pretty thing!" murmured Jack, who had never been inHarding before. "Is this all college?"

  "Yes," said Betty proudly, "except the men, of co
urse. And don't theyall look lovely?"

  "Who--the men?" asked Jack. Then he gave a sudden start. "BobWinchester, by all that's wonderful!"

  "Who is he?" said Betty idly. "Another Harvard man? Jack"--with suddeninterest, as she recognized the name--"what did you mean by thatpostscript?"

  "Good bluff!" said Jack in his most tantalizing drawl.

  "Jack Burgess, I expect you to talk sense the rest of the time you'rehere," remonstrated Betty impatiently.

  "Well, I will on one condition. Tell me why you sent it to him."

  "Sent what to whom?" demanded Betty.

  "Oh come," coaxed Jack. "You know what I mean. Why did you send Bob thatvalentine? It almost crushed me, I can tell you, when I hadn't evenheard from you for months."

  Betty was staring at him blankly, "Why did I send 'Bob' that valentine?Who please tell me is 'Bob'?"

  "Robert M. Winchester, Harvard, 19--. Eats at my club. Is sitting at thepresent moment on the other side of the aisle, two rows up and over bythe boxes. You'll know him by his pretty blush. He's rattled--he didn'tthink I'd see him."

  "Well?" said Betty.

  "Well?" repeated Jack.

  "I never saw Mr. Robert M. Winchester before," declared Betty withdignity, "and of course I didn't send him any valentine. What are youdriving at, Jack Burgess?"

  Jack smiled benignly down at her. "But I saw it," he insisted. "Do youthink I don't know your handwriting? The verses weren't yours, unlessthey turn out spring poets amazingly fast up here, but the writing was,except that on the envelope, and the Cupids were. The design was thesame as the one on the picture frame you gave me last winter. Beginningto remember?" he inquired with an exasperating chuckle.

  "No," said Betty severely. Then a light broke over her face. "Oh yes, ofcourse, I made that. Oh Jack Burgess, how perfectly rich!"

  "Don't think so myself, but Bobbie will. You see I told him that I couldput up a good guess who sent him that valentine, and that I'd find outfor sure when I came up. But evidently he couldn't wait, so he's madehis sister ask him up too, in the hope of happening on the valentinelady, I suppose. Know his sister?"

  "No," said Betty, who was almost speechless with laughter. "Oh, Jack,listen!" and she told the story of the valentine firm. "Probably hissister bought it and sent it to him," she finished. "Or anyway some girldid. Jack, he's looking this way again. Did you tell him I sent it?"

  "No," said Jack hastily, "that is--I--well, I only said that the girl Iknew up here sent it. He evidently suspects you. See him stare."

  "Jack, how could you?"

  "How couldn't I you'd better say," chuckled Jack. "I never heard of thisvalentine graft. What should I think, please? Never mind; I'll undeceivethe poor boy at the intermission. He'll be badly disappointed. You see,he said it was his sister all along, and----"

  The curtain rolled slowly up, disclosing the Glee Club grouped in arainbow-tinted semicircle about the leader, and the concert began.

  At the intermission Jack brought Mr. Winchester and his sister to meetBetty, and there were more explanations and much laughter. Then Jackinsisted upon meeting the rest of the firm, so Betty hunted up Mary. HerHarvard man knew the other two slightly, and the story had to bedetailed again for his benefit.

  "I say," he said when he had heard it, "that's what I call enterprise,but you made just one mistake. Next year you must sell your stock to us.Then all of it will be sure to land with the ladies, and your cousin'sfeelings won't be hurt."

  "Good idea," agreed Jack, "but let's keep to the living present, as thepoets call it. Are you all good for a sleigh ride to-morrow afternoon?"

  "Ah, do say yes," begged Mr. Winchester, looking straight at Betty.

  "But your sister said you were going----"

  "On the sleeper to-morrow night," finished Mr. Winchester promptly. "Andmay I have the heart-shaped sign?"

  Betty stopped in Mary's room that night to talk over the exciting eventsof the evening. "Betty Wales, your cousin is the nicest man I ever met,"declared Mary with enthusiasm.

  Betty laughed. "I shan't tell you what he said about you. It would makeyou entirely too vain. I'm so sorry that Katherine wasn't there, so shecould go to-morrow."

  "It was too bad," said Mary complacently. "But then you know virtue issaid to be its own reward. She'll have to get along with that, but I'mglad we're going to have another one. Those valentines were a lot ofwork to do for a girl whose very name I don't know."

 

‹ Prev