The mysterious Kate Ferris, who kept Priscilla on the verge of nervous
prostration for a whole semester, entered upon her college career in an
entirely unpremeditated and impromptu manner. It began one day away back
in November. Georgie Merriles and Patty had just strolled home from the
athletic field, where they had been witnessing the start of a
paper-chase cross country, in which Priscilla was impersonating a fox.
As they entered the study, Georgie stopped to examine some loose sheets
of paper which were impaled upon the door.
"What's this, Patty?"
"Oh, that's the registration-list for the German Club. Priscilla's
secretary, you know, and every one who wants to join comes here. The
study has been so full of freshmen all the time that I told her to hang
it on the door and let them join outside; it works beautifully." Patty
turned the leaves and ran her eyes down the list of sprawling
signatures. "It's a popular organization, isn't it? The freshmen are
simply scrambling to get in."
"They're trying to show Fräulein Scherin how much interest they take in
the subject," Georgie laughed.
Patty picked up the pencil. "Would you like to join? I know Priscilla
would be gratified."
"No, thank you; I pay club dues enough already."
"I'm afraid I'm not exactly eligible myself, as I don't know any German.
It's such a beautifully sharp pencil, though, that I hate not to write
with it." Patty poised the pencil a moment, and abstractedly traced the
name "Kate Ferris."
Georgie laughed. "If there should happen to be a Kate Ferris in college,
she would be surprised to find herself a member of the German Club,"
and the incident was forgotten.
A few days later the two came in from class, to find Priscilla and the
president of the German Club sitting on the divan with their heads
together, frantically turning the leaves of the catalogue.
"She isn't a sophomore," the president announced. "She _must_ be a
freshman, Priscilla. Look again."
"I've gone over this list three times, and there isn't a single Ferris
down."
Georgie and Patty exchanged glances and inquired the trouble.
"A girl named Kate Ferris has registered for the German Club, and we've
gone through all the classes, and there simply isn't any such girl in
college."
"Possibly a special," Patty suggested.
"Of course! Why didn't we think of that?" And Priscilla turned to the
list of special students. "No; she isn't here."
"Let me look"; and Patty ran her eyes down the column. "You've mistaken
the name," she remarked, handing the book back with a shrug.
Priscilla produced the registration-list, and triumphantly exhibited an
unmistakable Kate Ferris.
"They forgot to put her in the catalogue."
"I never knew them to make such a mistake before," said the president,
dubiously. "I don't believe we'd better put her in the roll-book till we
find out who she is."
"Then you'll hurt her feelings," said Georgie. "Freshmen are terribly
sensitive about being slighted."
"Oh, very well; it doesn't matter." And Kate Ferris was accordingly
enrolled in the club records.
Several weeks later Priscilla was engaged in laboriously turning the
minutes of the last meeting into grammatical German, and as she closed
the dictionary and grammar with a sigh of relief, she remarked to Patty:
"Do you know, it's very queer about that Kate Ferris. She hasn't paid
her dues, and, as far as I can make out, she hasn't attended a single
meeting. Wouldn't you take her name off the roll? I don't believe she's
in college any more."
"You might as well," said Patty, and she listlessly watched Priscilla as
she scratched out the name with a penknife. Patty never made the mistake
of over-acting.
The next morning, as Priscilla came in from a class, she found a note on
her door-block, written in the perpendicular characters of Kate Ferris.
It ran:
DEAR MISS POND: I came to pay my German Club dues,
and as you are not in, I have left the money on
the bookcase. Am sorry to have missed so many
meetings, but have not been able to attend classes
lately. KATE FERRIS.
Priscilla exhibited the note to the president as a tangible proof that
Kate Ferris still existed, and reinscribed the name in the roll-book.
A few weeks later she found a second note on her door-block:
DEAR MISS POND: As I am very busy with my class
work, I find that I have not time to attend the
German Club meetings, and so have decided to
resign. I left my letter of resignation on the
bookcase.