A TISSUE PAPER TEA
"What in the name of all mysterious is going on between you and
Alice-In-Wonderland Daffydowndilly Thayer?" demanded Elfreda Briggs as
she lovingly wrapped a large pasteboard box in white tissue paper and
tied it with a huge bow of scarlet satin ribbon. "This is Miriam's
present," she drawled calmly. "You will observe that she has obligingly
turned her back while I am engaged in wrestling with wrapping it. I
never could tie a bow. I have had this box in the closet for a week, and
it has fallen out every time we opened the door, but Miriam, beloved
angel, hasn't shown the slightest curiosity. You may look, my dear, the
big box is all put away," she declared, as though addressing a very
small child.
"What a ridiculous person you are, J. Elfreda Briggs," laughed Miriam.
"One might think me at the kindergarten age, instead of your guardian
and keeper."
"Tell me what it is, Elfreda," teased Grace.
"On one condition," answered Elfreda, reaching for a small square box
and beginning to wrap it in holly paper. "Tell me what you and Arline
are planning!"
"It's a secret," returned Grace. "I'd love to tell you, but I am pledged
until the day we go home. When we are all in the train and it has
started on the home stretch then you shall know."
"There is no time like the present," invited Elfreda.
"No," laughed Grace, shaking her head. "Not now. I have given my promise
to Arline."
"She won't tell even me," smiled Anne Pierson, who, with Grace, had
carried her Christmas gifts to Miriam's and Elfreda's room, in answer to
Elfreda's invitation to a tissue paper tea. "Bring all your stuff,"
Elfreda directed. "There will be plenty of paper and ribbon and twine
and tea and cakes if I have time to go for them." Cheered with the
prospect of tea and cakes, which were a certainty in spite of Elfreda's
provisional promise, the two guests had come, their arms full of
bundles.
"Well, if she won't tell _you_, the rest of us might as well save our
breath," declared Elfreda. "Never mind, we have only two more days to
wait. Oh, aren't you glad you're going home? I have been homesick for
the last three days. I'm glad we are going to stay in Fairview and have
an old-fashioned Christmas. I am going to drive to the woods and cut
down my own Christmas tree, too."
"That reminds me, Miriam, we must make up a party and go to Upton Wood
to see old Jean. We didn't see him last summer on account of his being
away up in northwestern Canada. He went as a guide. Don't you remember?
In Mother's last letter she wrote that he had been seen in Oakdale. That
means that he has come back to his cabin in Upton Wood."
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Miriam, waving a long, narrow package over her head.
"That means a winter picnic, and supper at old Jean's cabin."
"Who is old Jean?" asked Elfreda curiously.
"Come down to Oakdale between Christmas and New Year and go with us on
the picnic," teased Miriam. "You can see old Jean for yourself."
"Can't do it," responded Elfreda. "I am strictly Pa's and Ma's girl this
time. I've promised."
"Then I suppose I shall have to enlighten you," smiled Grace. "Jean is
an old Frenchman, a hunter who drifted down to Oakdale from somewhere in
Canada. He has a log cabin in Upton Wood, a forest just east of Oakdale.
To him I owe the beautiful set of fox furs, you have so often admired.
He had the skins dressed for me, and Mother sent them to a furrier's in
New York and had them made into a muff and scarf for me. I have known
him since I was a little girl."
"Lucky you," commented Elfreda. "There, I've finished my packages. I'm
going out to buy cakes. You have worked nobly. This Saturday afternoon,
at least, has been well spent, thanks to my tissue paper tea. Now we'll
have real tea." Piling her smaller packages into a neat heap, she made a
dive for her long brown coat and fur cap. "Don't dare to touch one of
those packages. You might guess what is in them. Good-bye. I'll be back
before you know it."
As the door closed after her with a resounding bang, Miriam remarked
affectionately: "Elfreda is in her element. She loves to play hostess
and give tea parties."
"She is becoming one of the important girls in college, isn't she?"
observed Anne. "I was so glad to see her rushed by the Phi Beta Gammas."
"She was more moved than she would admit over being asked to join them,"
returned Miriam. "She used to make ridiculous remarks about them and
call them the P. B. Gammas, but in her heart she looked upon them with
positive awe. Wasn't it nice to think we were all asked?"
"I should say so," agreed Grace. "It would have been dreadful if one of
us had been left out." She patted her sorority pin with intense
satisfaction. "In spite of belonging to the most important sorority in
college, there never will be another sorority like the Phi Sigma Tau,
will there, girls?"
"No," said Miriam, smiling with a reminiscent tenderness at sound of the
familiar name.
"Dear old P. S. T.," murmured Anne. "How I wish we might call a meeting
now and have every member present."
"There is bound to be one vacant place when we gather home next week,"
said Grace a trifle sadly.
"The Lady Eleanor," sighed Miriam. "I hope we'll see her some time next
year."
The arrival of Elfreda, her arms filled with bundles, cut short Miriam's
reflections. One by one Elfreda calmly laid down her packages and began
preparations for her tissue paper tea. The stout girl's mood seemed to
have changed, however. She answered her companions' gay sallies rather
abstractedly, with the air of one whose thoughts were anywhere but on
her guests. Several times Grace glanced up to find Elfreda's eyes fixed
reflectively upon her.
When, at five o'clock, she announced her intention of going for a walk
before dinner, Elfreda gave her another peculiar look and announced her
intention of accompanying her. Anne and Miriam, who had elected to
occupy the time before dinner in writing to the Southards, declined
Grace's invitation, and as the two girls walked briskly down the street,
Elfreda breathed a deep sigh of relief. "With all due respect to Miriam
and Anne, I am glad they didn't join us," she said coolly.
"What is on your mind now?" asked Grace shrewdly.
"So you realize at last that there is something on my mind, do you!"
retorted Elfreda grimly. "I began to think you never could. I made all
kinds of signals to you with my eyes."
"I thought they were signals, but wasn't sure," said Grace quickly.
"Well, you can be sure now. I don't want you to think me a Paul Pry, but
I know all about that Christmas business last year."
"What 'Christmas business'?" asked Grace sharply.
"You know very well what I mean, the eight girls and all that."
"Why--who----" began Grace in displeased astonishment.
"No, I didn't try to find out," interrupted Elfreda. "You know me better
than that. No one told me, either. I just put two and two together. I
could see last year that----"
"Is there anything you can't see?" exclaimed Grace.
"Not much," responded Elfreda modestly. "I knew, of course, you would do
something for those girls this year."
"You could see that, I suppose," said Grace satirically.
"Exactly," nodded Elfreda with an irresistible grin. Their eyes meeting,
both girls laughed. Elfreda's face sobered first. "My news isn't
pleasant, Grace. Read this." Slipping her hand into her coat pocket she
drew forth a half sheet of paper partly covered with writing. Grace
received it wonderingly:
"Two Overton College Girls Play Lady Bountiful to Their Needy
Classmates," she read. The words were arranged to form headlines, and
below was written: "The latest whim of two wealthy students of Overton
College has taken the form of Sweet Charity, and impecunious students of
Overton whose finances will not permit of their making long railway
journeys home for Christmas are to be the object of these young women's
solicitude. Their less fortunate classmates will be their guests at a
dinner on Christmas which by special arrangement will be served
at----" The writing ended with the bottom of the sheet.
"What do you think of that?" demanded Elfreda laconically.
A tide of crimson rose to Grace's face. "I think it is contemptible,"
she cried. "When and where did you find it, Elfreda?"
"Just outside the door of the room at the end of the hall," replied
Elfreda. "I picked it up as I was coming back from the delicatessen
shop."
Grace's eyes flashed. "I suspected as much," she said shortly. "What
does this look like to you, Elfreda?"
"Newspaper copy," replied Elfreda promptly. "It isn't the first, either.
I happen to know she writes college stuff and sends it to her paper
every week. I knew that long ago. I subscribed to the Sunday edition of
her paper on purpose. I know her articles, too. She signs them
'Elizabeth Vassar.' I have been quietly censoring them all along, ready
to object if she once overstepped the line. So far she hasn't. I didn't
know this was her copy until I had read it. Then it dawned upon me what
the whole thing meant. This is the beginning of an article designed
purely for spite. It is a direct stab at you and Arline. I suppose
certain other people have influenced her against you, Grace. These very
people will see to the circulation of the paper here at Overton, too,
when the article appears, or I'm no prophet."
"I suppose so," assented Grace almost wearily. "I am sure I can't think
of any reason other than spite for this." She took a few steps in
silence, her eyes bent on the sheet of paper.
"You had better hurry and do something about this," advised Elfreda,
lightly touching the paper with her forefinger, "or it will be too
late."
Grace glanced up with a slight start.
"Once she finds the first of her copy missing it won't take her long to
rewrite it," reminded Elfreda. "She may have mailed it by this time,
although I hardly think so. I am afraid you will have trouble with her.
She looks like one of the do-as-I-please-in-spite-of-you kind. What's
the matter, Grace? What makes you look so funny?"
"I know where I saw it!" exclaimed Grace enigmatically, apparently deaf
to Elfreda's questions. "It was in the note. She wrote it. Strange I
never thought of that."
"Grace Harlowe," demanded Elfreda with asperity, "have you suddenly
taken leave of your senses?"
"No," returned Grace, her gray eyes gleaming wrathfully, her lips set in
a determined line as she faced about. "I've just found them. Yes,
Elfreda, I shall certainly call on Miss West, and at once."