PLANNING THE CHRISTMAS DINNER
The ensuing days before Christmas were filled to the brim with business
for Grace and Arline, who had been making secret tours of investigation
about Overton with regard to the girls who were not going to their homes
or to friends for the vacation. The managers at Martell's and Vinton's
had been interviewed, and both proprietors had agreed to furnish
practically the same dinner at the same price, which was considerably
more than fifty cents, and was to be paid privately from Arline's own
pocket money.
"I feel like a conspirator," confided Arline to Grace as the two girls
sat at the library table in the living room at Wayne Hall late one
afternoon going over a long list of names and addresses which they had
obtained by dint of much walking and inquiring.
"But it is such a delightful conspiracy," reminded Grace. "One doesn't
often conspire to make other people happy. I hope the girls will fall in
readily with your plan."
"I shall have to be as wise as a serpent," smiled Arline, "and as
diplomatic as--as--Miriam Nesbit. She is the most diplomatic person I
ever knew."
"Isn't she, though?" agreed Grace smilingly. "Yes, my dear
Daffydowndilly, you have a delicate task before you. Playing Lady
Bountiful to the girls who are left behind without them suspecting you
won't be easy. There are certain girls who would languish in their rooms
all day, rather than accept a mouthful of food that savored of charity.
I don't believe our eight girls ever suspected us of playing Santa Claus
to them last year."
"Oh, I am certain they never knew," returned Arline quickly. "Of course,
there was a remote chance that they and the various girls, who
contributed might compare notes. But those who gave presents and money
were in honor bound not to ask questions or even discuss the matter
among themselves. I know the Morton House girls never said a word, too."
"Neither did the Wayne Hallites," rejoined Grace. "Even Miriam, Anne and
Elfreda asked no questions."
"Doesn't it seem wonderful to think that girls can be so splendidly
impersonal and honorable?" commented Arline admiringly. "College is the
very place to cultivate that attitude. Living up to college traditions
means being honorable in the highest sense of the word. There are plenty
of girls who come here without realizing what being an Overton girl
means, until they find themselves face to face with the fact that their
standards are not high enough. That is why one hears so much about
finding one's self. College is like a great mirror. When one first
enters it, one takes a quick glance at one's self and is pleased with
the effect. Later, when one stops for a more comprehensive survey, one
discovers all sorts of imperfections, and it takes four years of
constant striving with one's self as well as one's studies to make a
satisfactory reflection."
"What a quaint idea!" exclaimed Grace. "We might evolve a play from that
and call it 'The Magic Mirror.' That would be a stunt for a show. Miriam
Nesbit could do a college girl. She looks the part. But here, I am miles
off my subject. Suppose we go back to our girls. How are you going to
propose the dinner plan, Arline?"
"I'm going to wait until every last girl that is going home has
departed, bag and baggage; then I shall post a bulletin on the big
board, asking all the stay-heres to meet me in the gymnasium," planned
Arline. "I shall say that as I am going to stay over and didn't fancy
eating my Christmas dinner alone I thought perhaps the girls who had no
particular plans for the day would like to join me at either Martell's
or Vinton's. Then I'll explain about the price of the dinner, etc., all
in a perfectly offhand manner, and let them do the rest. There are
anywhere from one to two hundred girls who live at the various rooming
and boarding houses who will be glad to come. Many of them have never
been inside either Vinton's or Martell's. You would hardly believe it,
but it's true."
"I do believe it," said Grace soberly. "It seems a shame, too, when I
think of the amount of time and money we spend there."
"Well, I haven't grown philanthropic enough to give up going to either
one," declared Arline. "They are my havens of refuge when Morton House
cooking deteriorates, as it frequently does. Ask me for my cloak or even
my best new pumps, but don't tear me away from my favorite haunts."
"I won't," promised Grace. "I am afraid I feel the same. No chance for
reformation along that line. Shall we send the eight girls gifts or a
present of money this year, or both?"
"I suspect they have all borrowed from the Semper Fidelis fund this
year," was Arline's quick answer. "Suppose we send presents, and ask our
club girls alone to contribute toward them. If every one we asked gave
two dollars apiece, that would mean twenty-four dollars. We could invest
it in gloves, neckwear and pretty things that most poor girls are
obliged to do without. We gave money last year because those girls had
no one to help them. This year Semper Fidelis stands behind them.
Besides, some one might find it out this time. I said I was certain they
never knew, but I always had a curious idea that Miss Barlow suspected
you, Grace. Whenever I meet her she always speaks of you with positive
reverence."
A flush rose to Grace's face. "How ridiculous," she murmured. "You are
the real heroine of that adventure. Have you decided on your programme
for the week yet?"
"Only the costume party and a basketball game, if we can scare up two
teams, and a winter picnic at Hunter's Rock, if it isn't too cold. A
play, if we can gather up enough actors, and a dance in the gymnasium.
I'm going to give an afternoon tea, and that's all, I think. They will
have to amuse themselves the rest of the time," finished Arline with a
sigh. "There are so many ifs attached to my plans."
"I predict a busy two weeks for you," said Grace, "but then--"
From the room adjoining, which opened into the living room and was used
as a parlor, came the sound of a slight cough. Grace was on her feet in
an instant. With a bound she sprang toward the curtained archway and,
pushing it aside, peered sharply into the room. It was empty.
"Did you hear some one cough, Arline?" she asked anxiously.
"Yes," replied Arline, who had joined her. "The sound came from in here,
didn't it?"
"So I imagined," declared Grace in a puzzled tone. "Perhaps it came from
the hall. No one could have escaped from here before I reached the door
without my hearing them. It startled me, because we had been talking so
confidentially. I glanced in as we passed the door when we went into the
living room and there wasn't a soul in sight. Whoever coughed a few
moments ago must have slipped into the room and slipped out again."
"Then, whoever it is has heard the very things we didn't wish known!"
exclaimed Arline in consternation. "Now I can't carry out any of my
plans. How perfectly dreadful!"
"Perhaps it was Mrs. Elwood," said Grace hopefully.
"Mrs. Elwood is far too stout to walk so lightly and vanish so rapidly,"
discouraged Arline. "I--it--must have been some one who was trying to
hear."
"If that is the case, the person is in this house and must be found and
sworn to secrecy," said Grace sternly. "I am afraid we were talking too
loudly. However, the person may have only come as far as the door, then
passed on upstairs. Suppose we go up and ask all the girls. We shall
feel better satisfied, and they won't object to being interviewed."
But all efforts to locate the accidental or intentional listener failed.
Many of the girls had not yet come in from their classes, and those whom
Grace found in their rooms had evidently been there for some time.
Kathleen West was among those still out. Miss Ainslee informed her
visitors of this fact with an unmistakable sigh of relief that Grace
interpreted with a slight smile. As she went slowly down the stairs to
the living room, followed by Arline, whose baby face wore an expression
of deepest gloom, the door bell rang and the maid admitted the newspaper
girl. She swept past the two juniors who stood at the foot of the stairs
without the slightest sign of recognition, and neither girl saw the look
of triumph that animated her face the instant she had turned her back
upon them and hurried up the stairs.
"What shall we do?" asked Arline as once more they seated themselves at
the library table opposite each other.
"We can't do anything until we find the girl who listened, and the
question is how are we to find her?" Grace made a little gesture of
despair.
Arline shrugged her dainty shoulders. "I don't know. Perhaps she will
never repeat what she has heard. Curiosity alone may have prompted her
to listen. We may be agreeably disappointed."
Grace shook her head. "I wish I could believe that," she said. "I don't
wish to croak, but I have a curious conviction that the person who
listened had a motive deeper than mere curiosity."