AN UNSCRUPULOUS PLOTTER
As a result of the agreement Leila, Leslie, Marjorie and Vera had made
among themselves on the night of the freshman frolic toward winning over
Stephanie Norris and her chums, Leila had decided to open the season at
the Playhouse with “Henry the Fifth,” rather than “The Merchant of
Venice.”
It was with no particular pleasure, however, that, on an evening not
long after the frolic she knocked upon Miss Norris’s door for a polite
interview with the difficult freshman, concerning the honor she proposed
to extend to her. “And if I should suddenly come flying back here, as
though blown down the hall by a strong gale, feel no surprise!” she
confided to Vera. “I am not counting upon a cordial reception.”
To her surprise, she found the arrogant freshman inclined to be
gracious. Stephanie had come into a realization of several pertinent
truths since the night of the freshman frolic. One of them was a nettled
realization that she had behaved unwisely in flying into a fit of temper
with Miss Ogden. Her own particular coterie of chums had sympathized
with her, with the exception of Laura Taylor, her roommate. Mildred
Ferguson was also on her side. She was not so sure of Mildred’s
roommate, Miss Watson, who had escorted Laura to the frolic. Laura had
voiced frank disapproval of Stephanie’s rude outburst when they had
reached the privacy of their room after the frolic was over. They had in
consequence quarreled hotly and had since been barely upon speaking
terms.
The article which had appeared in “The Campus Echo,” three days after
the frolic, relative to the “Playhouse,” had not added to Stephanie’s
peace of mind. She had not supposed “that horrid Miss Cairns” to be of
so much importance on the campus. According to Mildred Ferguson, Miss
Cairns had no right, whatever, to be on the campus. Her father’s money
alone had influenced President Matthews to overlook her many
misdemeanors. She had actually been expelled from college, then later
had been permitted to return to Hamilton as a matter of favoritism. As
Miss Ogden’s roommate, she might be expected to sympathize with “the
tiresome little creature.”
Stephanie was still brimming with rancor against the offending freshman.
Thanks to Miss Ogden’s stupid clumsiness not only her lovely important
gown, but also her high hope of winning the beauty contest had been
ruined. She had vengefully determined “to get even” with the diminutive
freshman to the point of having already considered various spiteful
schemes for humiliating the object of her spite. What she purposed to
do, when she had finally hit upon a telling plan of revenge, was to
carry it out with a secrecy that should permit of no discovery.
Leila’s unexpected call, together with the flattering import of her
errand, filled Stephanie with a sense of gratified triumph. She took
good care to hide it under a forced pretense of graciousness, however.
Her unreasoning dislike for the clever manager of the Playhouse must not
be permitted to stand in the way of her own popularity. She had “lost
out” wretchedly in the beauty contest. She could not afford any further
“flivvers.” Nevertheless, she chose to demur over the stellar role which
Leila now offered her on the plea that she would like to “think the
matter over” before coming to a decision.
Leila presently returned to her own room, not in the least deceived by
the scheming freshman, but half sorry she had asked her to take part in
the coming Shakespearean play. “The deed is done,” she dryly informed
Vera as she entered their room. “Let us hope it has not been ill done. I
am less than ever taken with Miss Norris. She has little more college
spirit than a basket of potatoes.”
“How very uncharitable you are,” Vera giggled at Leila’s disgusted
comparison.
“Am I not?” The Irish girl’s half-frowning features brightened into a
faint grin. She thereupon gave Vera a brief account of her interview
with Stephanie, ending with: “I am the willing slave of democracy, but
it is a hard master.”
With Leila’s exit from Stephanie’s room, her roommate, Laura Taylor, who
had been present during Leila’s call, broke the constraint which had
hung heavily upon the two since the night of the frolic.
“You are in luck, Steve,” she observed with quiet significance. “You can
afford to forget about the beauty contest flivver. Something much better
has come your way. Go to it. You can act. You ought to make a wonderful
King Hal.”
“Yes; I _can_ act.” Stephanie walked over to her mirror, chin raised to
a complacent angle. “I hope the costumes for the part are good. If I
don’t like them, I shall send to a New York costumer’s for others that
may suit me better.”
“Yes?” Behind Stephanie’s back Laura’s plump shoulders shrugged bored
disapproval.
“It’s exactly as I told you it would be.” Stephanie suddenly swung
around from the mirror, speaking with triumphant energy. “Those snippy
P. G.’s, Miss Harper and Miss Cairns, simply _had_ to recognize my
worth. It looks to me as though Miss Harper might be on my side, and not
on Miss Ogden’s. Perhaps Miss Cairns has had enough of her, too. Both
have no doubt heard about our fuss at the beauty contest.”
“Listen to me, Steve,” Laura burst forth impatiently, “for goodness’
sake stop kidding yourself along. You happen to be the type Miss Harper
happened to need for King Henry. _That’s_ the reason, _and the only
reason_ why she has offered you the part.”
“It is _not_,” Stephanie flared back hotly. “You are—”
“Kindly permit me to finish.” Laura spoke in a tone which Stephanie
recognized and dreaded. It meant that the wall of silence was likely to
loom again between them, to remain raised indefinitely.
“_Oh, pardon me_,” she apologized with covert sarcasm.
“Neither Miss Harper nor Miss Cairns are the sort to ‘take sides’ in the
way you seem to believe they might. If they were, they would certainly
not be on yours. You were far more to blame the other night at the
frolic than was Miss Ogden. If you had spoken to me, as you spoke to
her, I should have been tempted to make more trouble for you than she
made.”
“I was _not_ to blame. She ruined my gown, then flew at me like a—a
tiger,” stormed Stephanie.
“But not until you had called her a clumsy idiot, a bounder and various
other uncomplimentary names,” Laura stolidly reminded. “You owe that
girl an apology.”
“_I_,” Stephanie indicated herself with an outraged fore finger,
“_apologize to that miserable little upstart_? I’ll never forgive her
for having put me in such a humiliating position. I’ll find a way to get
back at her for it, too. Remember what I say.”
“Oh, drop it,” Laura commented wearily. “The sooner you live down your
part of that fuss, the better off you’ll be. And don’t come to me with
any of your ridiculous revenge schemes. Nothing doing.”
“You talk like a prig—like one of those silly dormitory students,”
Stephanie threw back with supreme contempt. “What has come over you,
Laura Taylor? You act entirely different from the good pal you used to
be to me.” Stephanie cunningly appealed to Laura from a standpoint of
loyalty. Laura hated disloyalty.
“I’ve been loyal to you, if that’s what you mean.” Laura turned a coolly
level gaze upon her friend’s petulant features. “Everything at Hamilton
is so different from the way things were at prep school—more inspiring,
and—” Laura paused, then added reflectively, “worth while.”
“Horrors! I hope you haven’t enlisted under the reform banner,”
Stephanie sneered. “It looks fatally like it.”
“Don’t let it worry you.” A quick flush rose to the stout girl’s plump
cheeks. “Watch your own step. I mean that in good part, Steve.”
“_Thank you_,” came the disdainful retort. “I _hope_ I am capable of
managing my own affairs.”
“I hope so, too,” Laura returned with a gravity of tone that made
Stephanie feel vaguely uncomfortable.
Three days later she wrote Leila a formal note containing her acceptance
of the Shakespearean part. Rather to her disappointment, Leila promptly
responded with an equally formal note of thanks, and a brief request
that she report at the theatre at one o’clock the following Saturday
afternoon for a reading of the drama to be later enacted. Stephanie had
hoped that Leila would again come to her room, having decided upon a
certain lofty pose which she intended to assume during the call. She was
also desirous of learning whether Miss Ogden had been included in the
cast, an inclusion against which she had determined politely to protest.
She had resolved to make life miserable for the offending freshman to
the point of driving her from Hamilton College, provided she could
accomplish such a revenge. If she could not, it would not be from lack
of trying. A pampered only child, Stephanie had grown to young womanhood
with a fixed idea of her own importance. Nor was anyone permitted long
to stand in her way, whom she could succeed in ousting from it.
Her attendance of the reading of the play at the Playhouse on the
following Saturday afternoon revealed to her the not unwelcome fact that
Miss Ogden was missing from the cast. It would save her the necessity of
a protest, which, she had sulkily reflected, might have reacted to her
disadvantage. She was full of secret satisfaction over the good fortune
that had visited her, vanity prompting her to repudiate Laura’s blunt
surmise of how it had come about.
The swift passing of the autumn days found her strictly upon her most
gracious behavior toward Leila, Vera and the other members of the cast.
Leslie she could not endure. Fortunately for her she seldom came into
contact with the busy, reserved manager. Leslie had become everything to
the charming little theatre from manager to property man. While Leila
directed and rehearsed the actors with unfailing patience and good
nature, Leslie was frequently a silent observer at rehearsals. Seated
far back in the auditorium little that went on on the stage escaped her
critical eyes.
There had been no need for Stephanie to be dissatisfied with her several
costumes. In presenting the theatre to the campus Peter Cairns had shown
lavish generosity in the matter of wardrobe. He had also placed a
costume fund at Leila’s disposal to be used at her discretion. The love
of acting being a part of Stephanie’s vain make-up, she did well in the
stellar role of king. She had every reason to be happy, in the new
pleasant environment which the rehearsals furnished, but was not. She
continued to nurse her grudge against Jewel Ogden, never, for a moment
relenting toward the despised freshman.
As a result of the quarrel at the frolic Jewel was still very sore at
heart. She had girlishly admired Stephanie for her good looks and
imperial manner, and had been cut to the quick by the latter’s harsh
treatment of herself. She had mentally dwelt upon the disaster to
Stephanie’s hopes, that she had grown pitifully sensitive. She kept it
well hidden, however, under her usual brisk, out-spoken manner. Leslie
alone understood that the little girl had not yet emerged from her
valley of humiliation. Following her vehement grief on the night of the
frolic she had afterward become mute on the subject of her wrongs,
refusing to volunteer another word relative to them. Leslie,
sympathetically silent, had asked no question.
Leila had already approached Jewel on the subject of her new play, “The
Leprachaun,” to be enacted later in the college year. This with a view
toward “making honors even” and as an indication to Miss Ogden of the
impartiality of her policy, germane to matters theatrical. The freshman
had accepted the stellar part in the new play which was still engaging
Leila’s serious literary effort. The Irish girl had determined to make
the fanciful drama the best she had yet written. She had carefully
explained to Jewel how much the quaint Irish play meant to her, and
Jewel had, for the time, emerged from under her secret cloud to brighten
over the flattering prospect ahead of her. Later, she dropped again into
her former half despondent mood, a change which Leslie quickly noted.
“Cheer up, Jewel, and come on over to Baretti’s to dinner. I feel like
changing my eats tonight. You eata da spaghet?” She paused before Jewel
in droll imitation of Signor Baretti, the friendly proprietor of the
restaurant.
“Yes, I do. I love Italian cooking.” Jewel’s sober face lightened.
“Fine business.” Leslie whisked the little girl into her coat before she
had time to change her mind, dropping her small felt hat gently on the
curly black head.
They were presently seated at an alcove table of the quaint inn,
ordering a full Italian dinner that began with Baretti’s special snappy
relish and would end with Spumoni ice cream and delicious Italian cake.
It was still early for the usual nightly throng of college diners at the
inn. Besides Leslie and Jewel the tables showed not more than a
sprinkling of students, none of whom either girl knew other than by
sight. They had just begun their dessert when a party of students
entered the restaurant to an accompanying ripple of noise and laughter.
“Oh.” Jewel’s dessert spoon struck her plate with a nervous little clang
as she recognized in the entrants a part of Stephanie Norris’s pals,
together with Mildred Ferguson. Stephanie, however, was not among them.
They seated themselves at a not far distant table in a laughing flutter,
their eyes busily roving the great room.
“I’ve finished my dessert,” Jewel’s face had suddenly lost its
brightness. “Let’s go, Leslie,” she entreated.
“We will soon,” Leslie nodded, “but we are not going to run away because
of that crowd. I refuse to be cheated of my coffee, and you haven’t yet
taken a sip of yours.”
“I don’t want it. I’d rather go. Those girls—you don’t understand,” she
declared sadly. “They—that Miss Ferguson—she has said hateful things
about me. If we stay she will begin talking about me, and the others
will stare at me, and laugh among themselves. I can’t bear it.” Her red
underlip had begun to tremble.
“Steady, kid. Pay no attention to them.” Leslie sent a coolly appraising
glance at the tableful of girls that was not without its effect. The
staring process had already covertly begun, but more than one pair of
eyes wavered from the challenging inquiry of her black eyes. The group
turned attention to the ordering of their dinner with a promptness that
brought the semblance of a grim smile to Leslie’s lips.
“What has Miss Ferguson been saying about you?” was Leslie’s first
question, when ten minutes later, the two girls had stepped out into the
soft fall darkness.
“The same sort of things Miss Norris said to me in the gym when I
spoiled her dress,” quavered Jewel.
“You are positive that she has said them? You know, don’t you, that
campus gossip is anything but reliable? Remarks often become badly
twisted on the way around,” Leslie made dry assertion.
“Yes; I know she has. Miss Felton heard her say something unkind about
me to Miss Mayhew the other day and censured her for it. I’ve heard of
things she has said from two other freshmen, too. They advised me to go
to her and have it out with her. I’d rather not do it. I’m not afraid,
but it seems more dignified to ignore her hatefulness, if I can. I made
one mistake in answering Miss Norris on the night at the frolic, I don’t
care to make a second.”
“You have the right idea. Stick to it. No one but yourself can make, or
mar you.” Unconsciously Leslie repeated the very words she had said on a
certain spring night of the previous year when a bevy of girls, headed
by Mildred Ferguson, had arrayed itself against her.
“That’s the way I think, too. You can see for yourself how much better
it was not to let it be known on the campus that I used to be a trapeze
performer,” Jewel said soberly. “I’d have been talked over and sneered
at until I’d have been glad to leave Hamilton.”
“Not by the girls who count as representative of Hamilton,” Leslie
sturdily disagreed. “You’ve lost your nerve. Find it again, and don’t
let the hissing of these geese worry you.”
“I’ll try to find it again.” Jewel gave a little half-hearted laugh.
“Just the same I’m glad only you know about my stage days. You—you’re
sure you never mentioned it, even to Miss Harper?” Jewel’s voice rose
anxiously.
“Certainly not; even though I had, you’d still be safe,” Leslie
humorously assured. “She’s an even better secret-keeper than I.”
Long after lights were out that night and Jewel slept, vastly comforted
by Leslie’s kindly effort to cheer her up, Leslie lay wide-awake,
pondering a summary method of interference in the freshman’s behalf
against the persecution of Mildred Ferguson’s gossiping tongue. She
finally dropped to sleep without having hit upon a decided scheme of
action, though daylight and waking would again renew her thoughtful
consideration of the problem.
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