THE INTRUDER
The three P. G’s. were beginning their dessert when the freshman
invasion upon the dining room occurred. The belated twelve, seen without
motor coats and hats, were an attractive-looking lot of girls, smartly
dressed to a degree. Assigned seats at table by Miss Remson, who had
conducted the newcomers to the dining room, they made considerable noise
in the way of talk and laughter, calling back and forth to one another
across the three tables which seated them, precisely as though they
might have been the only occupants of the dining room.
“What’s overtaken their chaperon, I wonder?” Leslie surveyed the
chattering group of diners with an enigmatic face.
“Where is Jewel Marie?” counter-questioned Vera.
“Maybe taxi-cabbing it back to Hamilton town,” Leslie said ruminatively.
“I left her to learn her fate from Miss Remson. She wouldn’t take my
word for it, that the Hall was full up to the last half room. I still
feel sorry for her, somehow, thinking her over after having thankfully
passed her on to Miss Remson.”
Neither Mrs. Weatherly, nor Miss Ogden made an appearance in the dining
room before Leila, Vera and Leslie had finished dessert.
“Want to go for a ride with me?” Leslie invited as the three went
upstairs, bound for their rooms.
“We can’t. We’ve been shamefully lazy since we came to the Hall. Neither
of us are more than half unpacked. We made each other a solemn promise
to do the job up brown before going bye-bye tonight,” Vera said with a
sigh.
“And we are persons of our word. You know just how it will be if we keep
putting off unpacking. We shall be flitting gaily about, here, and
there, with our friends descending hungrily upon us, and our poor
possessions still in a fine muddle. ‘Take time by the forelock.’ So we
shall firmly grab the forelock, and give it a strenuous jerk,” Leila
finished with energy.
“Go to it! Attaboy! Maybe I’ll see you later; maybe not.” Leslie left
the industry-declared pair at the door of her room. The door closed, she
went over to a wicker chair beside one of the windows, meditatively
seating herself. She was wishing that the inquisitive little freshie she
had brought to the Hall from the station had not proposed herself as a
roommate to her.
“Nope I can’t see it that way,” she presently said aloud. “There’s no
reason why I should. Miss Remson would back me up in that.” Her eyes
roved about the luxuriously-appointed room, a gleam of pride in their
dark depths. “Some room,” she nodded, with a sigh of satisfaction. She
smiled a little, anticipating Marjorie’s friendly delight at the beauty
of her “den.” “I’ll have a ‘den-warming’ next week for the Travelers,”
she murmured.
Thought of Marjorie, and her smile vanished gradually, leaving her
rugged features darkly overcast. Marjorie, to whom she owed the change
of heart which had brought her nothing except happiness, Leslie regarded
as a guiding spirit. Given the same circumstances, it had now occurred
to her to wonder what Marjorie would do. She thereupon began arguing
with herself that even Marjorie might easily feel as she felt about
giving up the comfortable privacy of a “single” to a stranger, merely
because the stranger in question had set her mind upon living at Wayland
Hall. Yet, in her heart, she misdoubted the strength of her own
argument.
“‘Remember the stranger within the gates,’” was the final pertinent
fling of her mind at her as she left her room and went soberly down the
stairs. She was tempted to stop in Miss Remson’s office, there to
inquire what had become of her freshman “catch.” She went on out of the
house instead, deciding to seek the manager on her return from the ride.
Leslie walked past the long line of cars, temporarily deserted by their
owners, glad that she had parked her own roadster sufficiently near
enough to the gates so as to escape the string of automobiles which
extended within a few yards of it. Her knowledge of motor cars informed
her that the cars she had passed were the latest models of the most
expensive types. Her own roadster, exceptionally trim-lined, was no
better than those of the freshman twelve.
She was soon speeding along Hamilton Pike, the fresh-blowing evening
breeze in her face, the swift rush of the fleeing car filling her with
contented exhilaration. Speeding through Hamilton Estates she glimpsed
the lights of Travelers’ Rest and Hamilton Arms, happy in the knowledge
that she would be welcome at either of the stately homes, should she
choose to stop. Carden Hedge, back among the great trees, shadowed of
outline in the growing dusk, would soon be twinkling with lights. Home
was not far off. Her heart beat faster at the thought. Once she had
hated the very name of Hamilton. Now it was everything to her. Lost in
blissful musing, the half sympathetic concern she had felt for the odd
little freshman faded temporarily from her mind. Nor did it return until
she had driven past the college gates on her way to the garage.
At the garage she found the proprietor, a short, stout man with a
troubled expression, grumbling roundly at the strange ways of “them
young ladies from the college.”
“You should worry. Think of the business you’re doing,” Leslie
humorously reminded. She had noted at first glance the cars of the
twelve freshmen, arranged in a double row at the back of the roomy
garage.
“I’d as lief them girls that was just here would take their cars some
place else,” he asserted half belligerently. “They wasn’t like you, Miss
Cairns, and Miss Harper and Miss Mason, and all them young ladies you go
around with. I ain’t no time for fussers, people that treat me ’s if I
was the dirt under their feet. I told one girl, straight out, ‘I ain’t
goin’ to lose no sleep, you see, if you want to take your cars t’some
other garage. There’s a couple more up the next street, south of the
campus.’”
“Better luck tomorrow, Mr. Symes. Those girls were tired out tonight.
They drove to Hamilton from New York.” Leslie felt impelled to put in a
good word for the absent freshmen.
“It’ll take more’n a night’s rest to reform that snippy bunch,” was the
proprietor’s displeased prediction, the probable truth of which Leslie
could scarcely doubt.
Returned to the Hall she poked her head in at the half-open door of the
manager’s office with a jesting, “No ‘Busy’ sign in sight. May I come
in?”
“Of course you may.” Miss Remson looked up smilingly from the
cloth-bound, ledger-like book over which she had been poring. Leslie
recognized it at a glance as the manager’s “Room” book. In it she kept a
register of the names of students living at the Hall, together with the
numbers of the rooms and such other data as her position of manager
demanded.
“I am sorry for that little Miss Ogden, Leslie,” she began in low tones
as Leslie sat down in a chair near her. “She seems nothing but a child,
in spite of her self-assertive manner. She has set her heart upon living
at Wayland Hall, and I have nothing to offer her in the way of a room.
I’ve permitted her to use Miss Finch’s and Miss Peters’ room over night.
Neither of them will be here until next Wednesday. She has told me that
she is an orphan, and must look out for herself. She has given me as a
reference Miss Sarah Arthur, Dean of Warburton Preparatory School for
girls. She informed me with a ridiculous air of childish pride that she
had plenty of money, could afford to take the best room at the Hall,
provided she could secure it. She is nineteen, and, it seems, has no
legal guardian. She was very frank with me in some respects, and
decidedly secretive in others. She is really something of an enigma. I
could only advise her to go to the managers of the other campus houses
tomorrow and try her luck with them. It is possible she might find a
vacancy in one of the other campus houses. I understand the dormitory
has been completely filled. She is set against it, however. She is
determined to find board on the campus.”
“She applied to me on the way from the station for half of my room,”
Leslie said with a touch of humor. “I told her ‘No.’ Afterward, I
wondered if it were selfish in me to refuse her. Do you think it was?”
Leslie regarded Miss Remson with sudden gloomy gravity.
“No, Leslie: I do not,” was Miss Remson’s prompt reply. “Since you do
not desire a roommate, you are under no obligation of kindness to alter
your own arrangements on Miss Ogden’s behalf. The Hamilton bulletin,
which she admits she wrote for and received, plainly states that
arrangements for rooms must be made beforehand, and by letter, by those
desiring board at the campus houses. This young girl’s failure to be
business-like in the matter hardly calls for such a sacrifice on your
part as she has asked you to make.”
“She proudly informed us at the station that she expected to board at
Hamilton Hall.” Leslie’s features lifted in a faint grin. “We had to
explain matters to her. Then she said she’d made a stupid mistake, but
she failed to enlighten us as to how she happened to make it. We found
her more or less of a Chinese puzzle.”
“She said nothing to me of having made such a mistake.” Miss Remson
showed half smiling surprise. “How came she to make it, I wonder?”
“Hard to say. Maybe she only gave the bulletin a once-over, then threw
it away,” was Leslie’s half jesting theory.
“A plausible guess.” Miss Remson’s eyes twinkled. “Well, I have done the
best I can for her, poor child. I hope she will be able to find campus
accommodations. Did you see her again at dinner? I lost track of her
after I had shown her to Room Fourteen. I had my hands full with that
crowd of freshmen. I grew quite out of patience with Miss Norris. She
ordered me about as though I were a maid. A very arrogant young woman.
Her treatment of Mrs. Weatherly, the chaperon, was really insufferable.”
“What became of the chaperon? I didn’t see her at dinner,” Leslie asked
with a touch of curiosity.
“She saw her charges safely into the Hall, then telephoned for a taxicab
to take her to the station. She said she wished to catch the eighty
forty-five train to New York. I asked her to remain to dinner, but she
declined my invitation. She complained of having a bad headache. It was
hardly to be wondered. From the way her charges treated her, I judged
her to be a paid chaperon.”
“I think she was,” Leslie nodded her conviction of the surmise.
“Professional chaperons are quite the go in New York among society
hounds. Papa is too busy playing the market, mamma, auntie and big
sister can’t leave the social whirl. Enter the long-suffering chaperon.
All on account of daughter, who regards her as a tiresome necessity, and
bosses her to a standstill. I know. I used to boss poor Mrs. Gaylord
unmercifully. I’ll say Mrs. Weatherly must have been glad to see the
station taxi at the door.”
“I hope you won’t mind my saying it, Leslie, but these New York freshmen
seem to me perilously like the Sans,” the manager observed soberly.
“Perhaps I formed the impression simply because they came to the Hall
together in a seemingly chummy crowd. They may turn out to be of an
entirely different sort. Miss Norris was the only one among them who
annoyed me.”
“They reminded me of the Sans in some respects,” Leslie replied after a
moment of reflective silence.
“Deliver me from any more such experiences as I had with the Sans.” The
little manager raised her hands in a prohibitive gesture.
“I will. I promise faithfully to deliver you from this freshie
aggregation, if they should start any trouble.” Leslie laughed, but
there was a ring of resolution in her words. She rose with: “I must go
upstairs and write to Peter the Great. He’ll be leaving London soon for
home, and I’d like him to have one more letter from me before he sails.
Don’t lose any sleep over the freshie invasion. Just leave it to Leila,
Vera and me to keep the democracy plant growing at the Hall.”
“Thank you, my dear. I shan’t run out to meet calamity. Speaking of
democracy reminds me of Marjorie. When did you last see her? I have been
looking for a visit from her. I was so sorry I couldn’t attend Jerry’s
wedding. I’ve not seen Marjorie since her return from Sanford. Tell her,
when you see her again, to come over soon.”
“I’m going over to Travelers’ Rest tomorrow. I’ll bring her back with
me, if I can. She and Miss Susanna have begun re-arranging Mr. Brooke’s
library, and they are not yet through with the job. Good night, Miss
Remson.” Leslie was now at the door.
“Good night, Leslie.” The manager nodded affectionately to the girl who
had once been a sore trial to her.
Leslie went slowly up the stairs and down the hall toward her room,
overtaken by a sudden sense of loneliness. She missed Doris Monroe.
“Goldie,” as Leslie liked to call Doris, was always a good pal. Too, she
missed the merry camaraderie of the Sanford group of girls now scattered
to the four winds. Of them, Marjorie and Lucy still remained to her, but
Lucy was staying with Lillian Wenderblatt for a few days before the
opening of college, and Marjorie was still deep in love’s young dream.
Vera and Leila had turned industrious for the evening. She wouldn’t
“butt in” upon them. Leslie sighed faintly as her hand closed on the
knob of her door. Remembering the letter she must write, she brightened,
shook off her wistful mood and opened her door with an energetic swing.
She was about to close it when the sound of a sob broke upon the dark
stillness of her room. Slightly startled, her fingers found the light
switch at the left of the door casing. Came a flood of light—
“What?” Leslie’s favorite ejaculation fell from her lips. Inquiry, not
displeasure, was in the glance she turned upon the small weeping figure,
huddled on the floor beside one of the windows. Advancing toward it she
said not ungently, “What’s the trouble?”
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