A “QUEER CATCH”
“And from today on we shall be driven slaves, bound by the order of
good-intentioned Travelers to the ill-fare and welfare of Hamilton,”
Leila Harper proclaimed dramatically to Leslie Cairns as she entered
Room 15 at Wayland Hall in answer to Leslie’s call of “Come.”
“I can stand it if you can,” Leslie returned imperturbably as she gave a
final pat to her smartly-coiffed head and viewed the effect with
commendable satisfaction. “Thanks to a permanent wave. I’m not quite so
ugly as I used to be,” she told Leila with a half sardonic smile.
“Tell me nothing. I am admiring you more each time I see you,” Leila
spoke lightly, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in her reply
which brought a quick tinge of color to Leslie’s cheeks.
“I used to think I looked better in tailored clothes and mannish coats
and hats than in ‘girlie’ stuff.” Leslie glanced down at the soft folds
of the imported chiffon frock she was wearing. Silver gray, flowered
with twisting sprays of scarlet poppies, with here and there a touch of
scarlet satin, the dress had a peculiar individuality which was ever
noticeable in Leslie’s choice of clothes.
“It was Marjorie Dean who revolutionized my ideas of how to dress,” she
confided. “Even in the days when I couldn’t even think about her without
hating her, I was crazy about her clothes. They were just like
her—perfectly beautiful. I took a violent fancy to one dress I saw her
wear. It was a peachblow silk evening frock and I made a sketch of it
and had it duplicated as nearly as I could by a New York modiste. It was
just before I went home from my soph year here. I intended the dress for
wear at Newport. When the dress was delivered to me, in New York, I
tried it on. I looked a fright in it. I was so angry over it that I sat
down and tore it to shreds and then bundled the wreck into my waste
basket.”
“A desperate deed,” was Leila’s light comment. Her keen mind flashed her
an inkling of what Leslie was going to say next.
“I couldn’t understand then why that peachblow dress was such a frost on
me. It wasn’t either the style, or the color that was unbecoming. It was
the general effect of the confounded dress. It was not until long
afterward, when I had come to know Marjorie, and to love her, that I
found out the reason for that frock flivver. It was the combination of
dress and wearer that had caught my fancy. She had given the dress its
remarkable individuality. I was entirely out of harmony with her. You
can understand——” Leslie paused, brows drawn in a frown.
“Yes,” Leila nodded. “It would be different now, if you were to try the
same thing again as an experiment.”
“I couldn’t do that again. You see _I’m_ different now. I’m trying to be
true to myself; to express that new self even in dress. I used to think
of nothing but snatching the prettiest and best of everything that
happened to please me. I was crazy to be thought very individual, and
all the time my true individuality was being submerged fathoms deep
beneath selfishness. That peachblow dress flivver gave me a frightful
jolt, I was sore over it for weeks. But it didn’t wake me up. I only
wish it had,” Leslie finished with a rueful shrug.
“Are you ready?” Vera’s breezy entrance into the room precluded the
possibility of any further confidence that Leslie might have felt an
impulse to impart to Leila.
Leila had listened to Leslie’s unexpected revelation with inward
surprise. Leslie was inclined to be silent rather than talkative when in
her company, and usually impersonal in her conversation. She broke away
from her own surprised thoughts with a little start to answer Vera’s
question. “We are, Midget. What about the cars?”
“They’re both out on the drive; I had one of the garage men drive yours
over when I went to the garage for mine.” Vera, daintily diminutive in a
white pongee ensemble, waved a comprehensive hand in the direction of
the drive. “I saw your roadster out in front, Leslie. Good work.”
“Yes; I brought it from the garage early this afternoon. I’ve been so
busy arranging, disarranging, and then re-arranging the furniture in
this room that I haven’t felt the wheel under my fingers for the past
two days. I’m through here, at last. How do you like the lay-out?” she
asked with a touch of concern.
“It’s lovely.” Vera glanced about her with appreciative eyes: “I adore
the mulberry color scheme. Marjorie and Jerry were going to have 15 done
over in fawn and blue the last year they were here. Then they went to
the Arms to live, and it never happened.”
“Glad you like it. I’m going to leave it as it stands when I go home to
the Hedge at Christmas—as a last good-will offering to old Wayland Hall,
you know,” she explained whimsically.
“It’s by far the grandest room in the house now,” Leila said with an
approving glance about her. The thick velvet rug, painted willow study
table with its oval glass top, the silk-cushioned wicker chairs had all
been done in a rich mulberry color. The chiffonier, dressing table and
day bed were of Circassian walnut. The bed was upholstered in the same
soft silk as the chairs and piled with mulberry silk cushions, corded
and embroidered in dull gilt. The effect of luxurious grandeur of the
rehabilitated room, however, was pleasingly lessened by the wealth of
college banners and trophies, framed photographs of classmates and other
treasured college souvenirs which decked the pale tan, mulberry-bordered
walls.
“The Wayland Hallites will all be tumbling over one another in a
wholesale rush upon Miss Remson for 15 when you are through with it,”
Vera made laughing prophesy.
“I shan’t be here to see it,” Leslie commented with a faint smile. “When
I leave the Hall for the Hedge I’m going to do the Arab tent-folding
stunt. Nobody except you two, Doris and Miss Remson, will be in the
know. Maybe I’ll will the stuff in this room to some one. Don’t know. It
will all depend upon what may happen. Let X, the redoubtable sign of the
unknown quantity, stand for this year’s college madness. Who knows the
answer?” Leslie made a gesture of light futility.
“Who, indeed? I am no sooth-sayer of such mysteries, but I know this,”
Leila pointed significantly to Leslie’s chiffonier clock, “it is twenty
minutes past five, and the five-fifty train is on time. Come, let us be
up, and at it.” She cast a quick appraising glance in the long wall
mirror near her at the smart figure in white wash satin reflected there,
then walked toward the door.
Five minutes later the three cars of the self-constituted
freshie-welcoming committee were eating up the few miles of smooth pike
that lay between them and the railroad station of the town of Hamilton.
“Five minutes to spare, and an almost empty platform.” Vera scanned the
station platform the trio had just gained with a half disappointed
pucker of brows. “I had hoped we’d see some of the old guard from Acasia
House, or Silverton Hall.”
“Too early in the game. These freshies we are here to meet are early
birds. I’ve been wondering, whether or not, they constitute a gang; on
the order of the Sans, you know. Miss Remson showed me the list of
names. I noticed that ten of the addresses were New York suburban, and
two Philadelphia suburban. That looks rather pally. What?”
“That is something I gave little thought to.” Leila looked interested.
“I saw the list, and jotted down the freshies’ names, but paid small
attention to the addresses. Then, too, I am not familiar with New York
City as you know it, Leslie.”
“Let us hope——” Vera checked herself, coloring.
“That this new aggregation won’t turn out to be a second edition of the
Sans,” Leslie finished the sentence for her.
“Yes, that is what I half said,” Vera admitted, laughing.
“Go as far as you like. You won’t ruffle my feelings,” Leslie assured
with an air of amusement. “If history should repeat itself, it would be
one on me. Now wouldn’t it?”
“It’s far more likely to be the other way. None of the twelve may ever
have heard of one another.” Vera took an optimistic view of the matter.
“Hamilton has always had a large enrollment from New York City.”
“We shall soon know.” The long, sharp, echoing whistle of the incoming
train from the East shrilled out upon the still afternoon air. Far down
the track the five-fifty New York express shot into sight from around a
curve.
Three pairs of alert eyes roved quickly up and down its length as it
came to a final jarring stop in front of the station. The few persons
issuing from the train were a signal disappointment to the welcoming
delegation. No one of them could possibly be hailed as even an arriving
student to Hamilton.
“Flop! Just like that!” Leslie simulated disappointed collapse. “Nary a
freshie in sight, and the train’s getting ready to shoot.”
“Wait a minute. There’s a girl coming down the train steps, away up
front.” Vera had spied a possible “catch.” “Oh, no, it isn’t,” she went
on half dejectedly. Second glance had revealed the traveler as a
youngster of presumably thirteen, or fourteen. “She’s just a little
girl.”
In the instant of Vera’s exclamation the small figure had skipped nimbly
down the last two steps of the car to the platform, laden though it was
with a leather dressing-case and a good-sized black leather traveling
bag.
“Upon my word! What?” broke in low, surprised tones from Leslie. “Give
her another once-over, and walk out of the midget class, Vera. You have,
at last, a deadly rival.”
“Why, the very idea!” Vera exhibited signal amazement. “You’re right,
Leslie. She’s not a child, and she must be at least _two inches_ shorter
than I.”
Down the platform toward the astonished trio of post-graduates the
diminutive figure of a girl was advancing at a brisk walk. Dressed in a
pleated frock of bright green pongee which missed her knees by at least
an inch, a close-fitting green hemp hat pulled down over her ears, she
came on, confidently, surveying the three Hamilton girls with a pair of
bright, jet-black eyes.
“Good afternoon,” she saluted with an air of calm assurance. Her bright,
bird-like eyes continued to rove from one to another of the three
post-graduates. “You are upper-class students, aren’t you? Awfully sweet
in you to come to meet me.”
“Thank you.” Leila became spokesman, her face a courteous mask. “We
are——”
“Seniors,” interposed the little girl eagerly with a quick nod of her
green-capped head.
“No.” Leila’s “No” was enigmatic. “We are post-graduates. We are from
Way——”
“Oh, that’s better still.” The black-eyed girl dropped her luggage to
the station platform and shot forth a small deeply-tanned hand. “Shake,”
she said. “Glad to meet you, I’m sure.”
“Thank you.” Leila tried to put friendliness into the handshake. Her
canny Irish nature had already arrayed itself against the tiny freshman,
and her too-assured manner. On the other hand, she could not help
feeling amused by the newcomer to Hamilton College. “I am Miss Harper,
of 19—. This is Miss Mason, also of 19—, and Miss Cairns of 19——”
“Why, you and Miss Mason have been graduates from college for _three
whole years_, haven’t you?” exclaimed the girl, her black eyes rounding
in a kind of condescending surprise. “Oh, I know. You are both of the
faculty. Some honor for me, to be met at the train by faculty.” This, as
she nodded acknowledgment of Leila’s introduction, shaking hands in turn
with Vera and Leslie. “Pardon me, I didn’t catch your name,” she said as
her hand dropped away from Leslie’s light clasp.
“I am Miss Cairns,” Leslie returned imperturbably, “but we are not——”
“My name is Jewel Marie Ogden, and I’m entering the freshman class at
Hamilton College from Warburton Prep. It’s a toppo prep school not far
from New York City,” interrupted the girl. “You must have heard of it.”
“I know Warburton.” Leslie’s tone was pleasantly enigmatic.
“Do you know any girls from there?” Miss Ogden asked eagerly.
“I have met a few Warburton girls.”
“Tell me their names,” persisted the curious freshman.
Leslie mentioned the names of three girls, New York acquaintances whom
she had known in the old, more lawless days of her college career. She
was relieved when her persistent questioner indifferently declared,
“I’ve never even heard of them.”
“You would hardly know any of them, as they were graduated from
Warburton several years ago.”
“How many years ago?”
“At least five, or six.” Leslie made her answer politely evasive. She
was self-vexed at having unthinkingly mentioned her former Warburton
acquaintances.
“Let us help you with your bags.” Leila came to Leslie’s rescue. She
picked up the heavier of the freshman’s two leather bags.
“Oh, all right. So kind in you, I’m sure. I appreciate your interest in
me. How far is it from the station to the campus?”
“Three miles. I must explain to you——” Leila began.
“Do you drive your own car?” calmly pursued Miss Ogden.
“Yes.” Leila’s vague sense of irritation at the inquisitive newcomer
disappeared in a wild desire toward laughter. The confident assurance of
this newest stranger within the gates of Hamilton challenged her ever
ready sense of humor.
“We’ll have to draw lots to see with which of us Miss Ogden will ride,”
Vera said gaily. To Miss Ogden she said: “We three drove to the station
in separate cars. We expected to meet a crowd of twelve freshmen who
were due to arrive here on the five-fifty express. They certainly failed
to arrive.” She waved a significant hand at the station platform,
deserted now of persons other than themselves and two or three station
employes, methodically going about their business.
“Twelve freshmen. Mm-m-m. Where were they to come from?”
“Ten of them from New York, or near New York; two from Philadelphia,”
Leila patiently informed.
“Let’s move on.” Leslie had possessed herself of the freshman’s other
bag. She spoke with a touch of impatience. “Too bad the freshies didn’t
arrive. Miss Remson will be disappointed. She——”
“Is Miss Remson the registrar?” quizzed Miss Ogden.
“No-o.” Leslie could not repress a chuckle.
“Why do you laugh?” The freshman’s tone was decidedly nettled.
“I beg your pardon,” Leslie apologized. “If you knew Miss Remson as we
do you would comprehend the joke. She is the manager of Wayland Hall,
and——”
“I’m going to live at Hamilton Hall,” Miss Ogden interrupted. “I gave
the Hamilton bulletin a once-over, and decided that much, first thing.
From the picture of it, it looked far more toppo to me than any of the
other campus houses; really swagger, you know. I’ve brought myself up to
believe in choosing the best, and that the best is none too good for
me.”
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