Beatrice Leigh at College

by Frank Cobb

  CHAPTER XV

  VICTORY

  At her escape into the corridor Berta paused for a moment in the shadowof the staircase to brush the excitement from her glowing face. Shewinked rapidly once or twice in hopes of smothering the sparkle in hereyes, but succeeded only in nicking a happy tear drop from her lashes.Then she smoothed the dimple from her cheek and tried to straighten herlips into the sober dignity proper for a senior who was on the honor listand had just come from an interview with the critic of her commencementessay.

  Her efforts were all in vain, however, for at the very minute that thedimple came dancing out again and the rebellious mouth quivered back intoits joyous curves, somebody with a swift tap-tap-tap of light heels flewdown the stairs in a rustle and a flutter and darted toward Berta.

  "They've come! They're here! The Board of Editors is going to meet in thelecture room immediately to open the boxes. Four big beautiful boxes fullof splendid great books all in green with gilt lettering. Hurry! Hurryquick yourself! You're head literary editor. It's really your book--theideas, editorials, verses, farce, everything! The sale opens at five.Everybody's crazy to see the new senior Annual. Our Annual! Oh, Berta!"She seized the taller girl around the waist and whirled her down the halltill loose sheets of paper from her dangling note-book flitted merrilyhither and yon.

  "Bea, take care! You're crumpling my essay."

  "Your essay? Oh, that's so! Senior president, Annual editor, honor girl,commencement speaker, graduate fellow-heigho! She 'bore her blushinghonors thick upon her.' No wonder you look uplifted. Listen! Behold! Tellme, do her little feet really touch the solid humble earth?"

  As mischievous Bea stopped, with anxiety and awe written large on hersaucy features to investigate Berta's shoes, a door near them opened anda slender woman with fast-graying hair and a curiously still faceemerged. There was the ghost of a twinkle in her gray eyes. The transomhad not been entirely closed.

  "Miss Abbott, may I take that essay again, for a few minor suggestions?If you will drop in after chapel I shall have it ready for you. Permit meonce more to congratulate you on its excellence and originality. It hasnever been my pleasure to read any undergraduate work of greaterpromise." She withdrew after the nicker of a quizzical smile in Bea'sdirection.

  That young lady gasped and then happening to notice that her mouth wasajar carefully closed it with the aid of both hands.

  "Berta Abbott! To have your essay praised by Miss Thorne the terrible,who never approves of anything, and yet you stand there like a commonmortal! You live, you breathe, you walk, you talk, just the same as youused to do! She says it has promise. I do believe that she never said asmuch before about anybody except maybe Shakespeare when he was young. Oh,just wait until she sees the Annual!"

  Berta had colored hotly. "Bea, don't tell anybody, please. Of course, Icare what she says. I care most of all--I care heaps--about her opinionthat the qualities are--are promising. But if I should fizzle out andnever amount to anything! It's all in the future, you see, and I'd be soashamed to have the girls quoting her now. If I shouldn't win thefellowship, if I had to go to teaching next year and give it up----"

  Bea pounced upon her. "You're a nice sweet girl, and I love you todistraction. Don't you worry about that fellowship, but trot up-stairswith me this instant and help hammer the covers off those boxes. You'llbe surprised!"

  "Shall I?" said Berta idly, as she followed in Bea's eddying wake, "Idon't see how, since I read the proof and corrected the lists of names."

  "Hm!" Bea turned confidentially and shot an alarming sentence toward hercompanion. "Well, I'll tell you; everything you wrote is signed. Theother editors did it last thing--sometimes your initials, sometimes yourname. It's for the sake of your reputation."

  "My reputation!" exclaimed the victim. "Oh," she groaned, "they did that?Oh, my land! My name on everything. I shall sink through the floor. Run,run quick!"

  The corridors were almost deserted during that recitation period. Therewas no stray freshman in sight to gaze scandalized at the vision of tworeverend seniors racing toward the lecture room door. Berta dashed injust as the chairman of the board, with hair flying and cheeks flushedfrom the exertion, was brandishing a hatchet in one hand and a splinteredfragment of wood in the other. The business editor hammered away withcharacteristic energy at the ragged remnants. The rest stood aroundwaiting as patiently as possible in their weaponless zeal. Severalglanced up and grinned provokingly at the appearance of their headliterary editor.

  "So you've heard the news, have you?" began the artist, "you look wild.We knew you'd never consent to sign the things yourself, and it was rankinjustice to let you do the work and receive no special credit. Even theideas are yours, but we couldn't tag a name to them. Wish we could. Thatone for the main feature--the pictures of distinguished alumnae----"

  "Hold on!" the chairman backed into a convenient corner before Berta'sfrenzied reproaches, "it's all right. We added a note of explanation.Nobody will blame you for writing so well. And the initials are verysmall anyhow. Here, look!" She made a dive for the box, ripped off asecond board with quick blows, snatched away the wrapping paperunderneath, and dislodged a handsome green volume from its snug nest. Shethrust it into Berta's hands. "It's your book really more thananybody's--your first published book."

  Berta took it, sat down in a desk-chair near by, and turned the leavesslowly with fingers that trembled from nervousness.

  Bea bent over her shoulder. "It seems as if that name of yours is onevery page," she teased, "pretty name, don't you think? And isn't it abeautiful, beautiful book! Wide margins, heavy paper, clear print, finereproductions. Won't the girls be delighted with those pictures of thebasket ball teams! See, ah, there is the page of photographs. Yousuggested that the editors should appear as the babies they used to beforty years or so ago. What a dear little curly-head you were at the ageof two, Berta! I want to hug you."

  The embarrassment began to fade from Berta's expression as she gazed atthe baby faces before her. "That's the great thing I miss at college,don't you, Bea? There aren't any babies here. We ought to borrow someonce in a while to vary the monotony of books. I have three little niecesat home, you know. Such darlings! I wish I had one here now this minute."

  "Which do you choose--the baby or the book? Oh, Berta! Would yousacrifice this book for a mere child? This beautiful, splendid, greenbook with gilt lettering and your name scrawled everywhere?"

  "The oldest baby looks a good deal like that photograph of me," continuedBerta softly, "she is named after me, too. I wish you could see her. Theway she holds up her little arms and clings to you! I haven't seen hersince last September."

  "Hark!" Bea sprang from her perch on a desk-arm. "There are the girls nowclamoring for admission. It must be the hour for the sale to begin. Isn'tit fun! Fly, Berta Abbott, flee and bury your blushes. The play is nowon."

  Berta fled. She felt an impulse to creep away into some dark corner tillall the excitement--and criticism--had subsided. Of course, it was ratherpleasant, she acknowledged reluctantly to her candid self. There wassomething down underneath tingling and glowing. Very likely it wasgratified vanity. Everybody liked to be praised and admired, but not toomuch, for that was uncomfortable. It was like being set upon a pinnacleand stared at. And she did care. She had worked hard and long forsuccess. She had proved that she could work. Now if she should be grantedthe foreign fellowship, she could go on and on, step by step, till someday perhaps she might become a famous college professor or maybe thepresident of a university. That would be accomplishing a career worthwhile.

  Berta never quite remembered how she screwed up resolution enough toenter the dining-room that night and face the storm of congratulations,affectionate jests, and laughing taunts over her eminence. The last copyof the Annual had been sold before the gong whirred out its summons todinner; and dozens of dilatory students were already besieging thechairman for an extra edition. After dinner Berta was captured for adance in parlor J till chapel time. The lilt of the mu
sic was stillechoing in her ears, her heart beating in happy rhythm to its harmony,when at last she slipped into the back pew and leaned her head againstthe wall, her lips relaxing in happy curves, her hands lying idle in herlap.

  Prexie's voice sounded soothingly far away. Generally he read a chapterfirst, then gave out the hymn, and after the singing he always led inprayer. It hardly seemed worth while to listen when one's own thoughtswere so pleasant. Berta dropped her lashes to hide the shining light ofgladness. Weren't they dear, dear unselfish girls to rejoice with her andfor her! She loved them and they loved her. The best part of any triumphwas the consciousness that victory would please her friends and herfamily. Her mother would be glad, and her father, the small brothers andsisters, and even the pretty little sister-in-law. Eva would notunderstand entirely, for she hated to read and cared about nothing butthe babies since Robert had died. Robert would have sympathized, since hehad loved study almost as much as he had loved Eva. When he decided tomarry, he gave up his science and went into a bank. He chose a wife andchildren instead of congenial ambition. If he had lived, he would havebeen glad in Berta's success. Maybe when the baby nieces grew old enoughto understand, they would be proud of their famous aunt. It was very,very sweet to feel that people were proud of her.

  Listen! Berta straightened suddenly and then leaned forward. What wasPrexie saying? Why, he hadn't even opened the Bible yet. "--and so, asthe essays submitted in competition were all remarkably good, the judgeswould have experienced great difficulty in reaching a decision if it hadnot been for one exceptional even among the dozen most excellent papers.The prize for the best Shakespearean essay has been unanimously awardedto Miss Roberta Abbott."

  A low murmur swept over the bright-hued congregation. Several faces inthe pew before her turned to smile at Berta. She smiled back halfinvoluntarily and gripped her fingers together, conscious only of asmothering sensation and a wonder that her chest kept heaving faster andfaster. It frightened her to have things happen like this one afteranother. She had won the Shakespearean prize. How much was it? Thirtydollars? Fifty? It didn't matter. She could take baby Berta to theseashore with her. She had won. The girls would get tired ofcongratulating her.

  Hark! Prexie had gone on speaking.

  "Accordingly," he was saying as Berta braced herself once more toattention, "I am sure you will agree with me that the faculty actedjustly and wisely this afternoon in electing Miss Roberta Abbott to holdthe European Fellowship this coming year."

  The murmur this time swelled to a soft tumult of fluttering andwhispering, which broke here and there into a muffled clapping, foreverybody liked Berta. But when more faces turned in joyous noddingtoward the back pew they found no answering smile. Berta in panic hadslipped down the aisle and vanished through the swinging doors into thedusky corridor.

  "Ah, Miss Abbott!" The messenger girl overtook her at the foot of thebroad staircase. "Here is a special delivery letter for you. It wasbrought from town five minutes ago."

  Berta glanced at the address. Yes, it was from her sister-in-law as shehad expected. Eva was always falling into foolish little flurries andrushing to consult friends and relatives by mail or wire or word ofmouth. Possibly this important communication was a request for adviceabout the babies' pique coats. It could wait for a reading till Berta hadfound a safe refuge from the girls who would certainly surround her assoon as chapel was over. They would follow Robbie and Bea.

  Where could she go to escape the enthusiasm? Her room would be the firstpoint of attack, and Bea's the second. Ah, now she recalled Miss Thorne'sspeech about calling for the commencement essay at this hour. She mightas well go there now and wait till her critic should return fromservices, if indeed she had attended them to-night.

  At the door Berta knocked and bent her head to listen, then knockedagain. Still no answer. She waited another minute, her eyes absentlyhovering over the plants that banked the wide window there at the end ofthe transverse corridor. The evening breeze sweet from loitering inclover fields drifted in through the open casement. Miss Thorne was veryfond of flowers. That was a queer trait in a person who seemed to care solittle for persons. There always seemed something frozen about thisgray-haired, immobile-faced woman with her stern manner and steely eyes.Sometimes Berta thought of her as like a dying fire that smoldered undersmothering ashes.

  Berta turned the knob gently and entered. A faint rosy glow from thelowered drop-light shone on the piles of papers and scattered books onthe library table. The curtains rippled in the sudden draught caused bythe opening of the door, and a whiff of fragrance from a jar ofapple-blossoms on the bookcase floated past the visitor. Berta glancedaround with a little shrug that was half a shiver. A room frequentlypartakes of the nature of its occupant; and the atmosphere of this onealways made her heart sink with a quiver of loneliness over the strangechill of lifelessness there in spite of the rosy drop-light, thefluttering curtains, and the drifting breath of flowers. It was a largeroom with many easy chairs in it--and they were all empty. Even when MissThorne was there it seemed lonesome, perhaps because she was such aslender little woman and so icily quiet.

  Berta chose one of the empty chairs and read the letter. Then she let thesheets fall loose in her lap and sat there without moving while theminutes went creeping by and the transparent curtains rippled now andthen in the evening breeze. Through the window she could see a great starhanging above the peak of a shadowy evergreen that stirred softly to andfro against the fading sky. Once the twilight call of a distant robinsounded its long-drawn plaintive music, and Berta felt her lip tremble.She raised her hand half unconsciously to soothe the ache in her throat.

  Miss Thorne glided in. "Good evening, Miss Abbott. May I add mycongratulations, or am I right in concluding that you have taken refugehere from the persecutions of your friends? It is a great pleasure to meto know that you will have the opportunity to keep on with your studyingthis next year. You must allow me to say so much at least. And now, withregard to the essay----"

  Berta watched the slight figure move noiselessly about in the act ofmaking tea.

  "I wished to call your attention particularly, Miss Abbott, to thequalities which strike me as most promising. A vast amount of futileeffort is wasted every year by workers who have not yet recognized theirspecial talents. There is continual friction between the round peg andthe square hole, and vice versa. Now in your case, when you are ready toplan your course of study for your graduate work abroad----"

  "Don't!"

  The tone was so sharp that Miss Thorne lifted her head quickly and shot akeen glance at the girl before her. The attractive face had grownstrained and the eyes were burning restlessly.

  "What is it, Berta?" No student had ever heard her voice so soft before."You are in trouble."

  Berta looked at her for a moment without replying. Then she picked up herletter, folded it carefully in its original creases, and fitted it intothe envelope. "Yes," she said at last, "I am in trouble. My sister-in-lawhas lost her income from a foolish investment, entirely her own fault,and she is utterly helpless. My parents have no money to spare. There isnobody else but me to support her and the three babies. She writes that aposition in the high school will be vacant next year and I ought to applyat once."

  Miss Thorne sat silent. "And there is no other way?" she asked after whatseemed a long, long time.

  "None," answered Berta.

  "You will give up the fellowship, your hopes of doing exceptional work?You will sacrifice all your ambition and take up the drudgery of teachingin an uncongenial sphere for the rest of your life?"

  "Well, I can't let the babies go to an orphan asylum, can I?" demandedthe girl brusquely to conceal the pain, "there is no one else, I tellyou."

  The woman rose and put both arms around the girl. "Berta, dear," shesaid, "you are right. Once I hesitated at the point where you are now. Ihad to choose between the demands of home and the invitation of ambition.I let the home-ties snap, and--here is my empty room. Now there is nobodythat cares." />
  Berta glanced around again with a little shiver. "There isn't anyquestion about it for me," she said, "I've got to take care of thebabies. And"--she straightened her shoulders suddenly as if throwing offa weight, "it won't be so hard when I get used to the idea, because, yousee, I--love them."

  Faithful Robbie Belle had found out her refuge somehow and was waiting inthe corridor. With that comforting arm across her shoulders, Berta pouredout the story of her sudden disappointment.

  At first Robbie was silent. Then she spoke gently: "But, Berta, you havehad the four years at college, you know, and four years are a good deal.There are thousands and thousands of girls who never have even that."

  "I know," answered Berta, her voice smothered against the convenientshoulder. "And that thought helps--at least, I think it will helpto-morrow."

  Robbie's strong, warm hand sought and clasped Berta's nervous fingers."All right," she acquiesced cheerily. "Now who do you suppose wrote thatepilogue in last year's Annual?

  "'We go to meet the future, strong of soul, In sunlight or in shadow, holding fast The inviolable gift the years enroll; The Past is ours; nothing can change the Past.'"