FIRST IMPRESSIONS
When the train pulled out of the station Nancy Nelson noticed for the
first time that the sky had become overcast and the clouds threatened
rain. Scorch O'Brien, the odd new friend she had made, was so sprightly
a soul that she really had not observed the change in the weather.
"Oh! I'd like to have a brother like him," she thought. "I don't care if
he _is_ slangy--and fresh. I guess he wouldn't be so if--as he
says--everybody didn't try to poke fun at his red hair. And how homely
he is!"
She smiled happily over some of Scorch's sayings and his impish doings;
so they were some miles on the journey before she began to look about
the car.
Her ticket had called for a chair in the parlor-car; and she immediately
discovered that she was not the only girl who seemed to be traveling
alone.
At least there were half a dozen girls not far from her own age who were
chattering together some distance forward of her seat. When the
conductor came along he smiled down upon Nancy and asked, as he punched
her ticket:
"You going to Pinewood, too?"
"Yes, sir."
"Your first term there?"
"Oh, yes, sir."
"Then you don't know these other girls?" and he nodded to the group
further up the car.
"No, sir. Are _they_ going there, too?" asked Nancy, eagerly.
"Yes. I've been carrying a lot of them to Clintondale this week. The
Hall opens day after to-morrow. Anybody to meet you, Miss?"
"I telegraphed on from Cincinnati," said Nancy.
"That's all right, then. One of the 'bus men will be on the lookout for
you."
"But are those all new girls, too?" asked Nancy, earnestly, as the
conductor was about to pass on.
"No. But most of them have been there only one term. That tall girl is
named Montgomery. Her father's a State Senator--guess you've heard of
Senator Montgomery? Go up and speak to them," and the conductor passed
on.
But Nancy did not have the courage to take his advice. She, however,
observed the girls with renewed interest.
The tall one--the Montgomery girl--was very richly dressed, and she
seemed to think a good deal of what she wore. She was always arranging
her gown, and looking in the glass to see if her hat was on
straight--and occasionally Nancy caught her powdering her nose.
There was a black-haired girl, too, with very sharp eyes and a lean
face, who laughed whenever the Montgomery girl said anything supposed to
be funny, and seemed to ape the Senator's daughter in other ways, too.
The other girls called her "Cora."
Once Nancy went forward to get a drink of water. She passed the group of
her future schoolmates slowly, hoping that some of them would speak to
her. But none did, and when she came back down the aisle, the tall girl
eyed her with disdain.
Nancy flushed and hurried by; but not too quickly to hear the Montgomery
girl say:
"Trying to butt in, I guess."
The girl called Cora laughed shrilly.
"I guess I'm not going to like _those_ girls," sighed Nancy. And then
she shivered as she thought of how mean they might be if they ever found
out that she was "Miss Nobody from Nowhere."
The rain began to slant across the open fields and trace a pattern upon
the broad, thick, glass beside her so that she could no longer see out.
Besides, it was growing dark early.
The train passed through towns that seemed all gloomy, smoky brick
buildings, or shanties clinging like goats to the sides of high bluffs.
A pall of dun vapor hung over these towns, and the lonely Nancy was glad
when the train did not stop.
Sometimes they dashed into a tunnel, and a cloud of stifling smoke
wrapped the cars about and the cinders rattled against the ventilators
and roof.
On and on swept the train, and at last the brakeman, as they left one
station, announced:
"Next stop Clintondale!"
Nancy began to gather her things together and put on her coat long
before the train slowed down. Then the other girls got ready leisurely,
still chatting.
The rain beat harder against the window. It was after seven o'clock.
They passed a block-tower with its lights and semaphore. Then the
grinding brakes warned her that her destination was at hand.
The end of the wet platform flashed into view. There were dazzling
lights, rumbling hand-trucks, and people running about.
As she came to the door of the car--she did not go out by the one
chosen by the Senator's daughter and her friends--the roar of voices
burst upon her ear:
"Clinton Hotel! This way!"
"Pinewood Hall! This is the 'bus for the school! Pinewood Hall!"
"Carriage, Miss! Private carriage, Miss!"
"Pinewood Hall! Pinewood Hall!"
"Clinton House! Come on, here, you that want the hotel."
"'Bus for Pinewood. That you, Miss Briggs? Going with me? Where's yer
check?"
"This way for the school. Pinewood Hall! Hi, there, Jim! Found that
other one? Miss Nelson! Miss Nelson! Who's seen Miss Nelson?"
Suddenly Nancy realized that the big man in front of her was roaring her
name in stentorian tones.
"Oh, oh!" she gasped. "_I'm_ Miss Nelson."
"All right. Here she is, Jim! Right this way to the 'bus. Where's your
check, Miss? All right. Have the trunk and bag up some time to-night--if
they are here."
"They should have come on the earlier train," explained Nancy.
"All right. Then you'll git 'em on this load. There's the 'bus, Miss.
Yes! there's room for you in there."
The omnibus was backed up against the platform under the hood of the
station. There was a crowd of laughing, chattering girls before her in
the vehicle.
"Now, Jim! you can't put another livin' soul in this 'bus--you know you
can't," cried one, to the driver.
"Boss says so, Miss," growled Jim.
"What do you think we are--sardines? Oh! my foot!" shrieked another
girl.
"And she's a greeny, too. Any of you ever see her before?" demanded one
of the girls nearest the half-closed door.
"Say! what's your name?" asked another girl, leaning out to speak to
Nancy.
Nancy told her.
"She's green--what did I tell you? And we're all sophs here. Say,
Freshie! don't you know you don't belong in here?"
"She'll have to ride with you, Jim, on the front seat."
"Now! you know what the Madame would say to _that_, Miss," growled Jim.
"Here!" interposed Nancy herself. "I don't want to ride with you any
more than you seem to want me. But it's raining, and I don't propose to
get wet," and she sturdily shouldered her way past the driver and into
the 'bus between the knees of the girls on either hand.
"I can stand," she said, grimly.
"But don't stand on my foot, please, Miss!" snapped a girl she was
crowding. "Haven't you any feet of your own?"
"Oh, cracky, Bertha! you know she's got to stand somewhere. And your
feet----"
"Ouch! who are _you_ shoving?"
"Step forward, please!"
"Plenty of room up front!"
"Why, Belle Macdonald's piled her bags up in the corner and has gone to
sleep on 'em!" shrieked somebody from ahead, as the 'bus lurched
forward.
Nancy was confused, hurt, and ashamed. The horse splashed through the
puddles and the 'bus plunged and shook over the cobbles.
There were few street lights, and such as there were were dim and
wavering in the mist and falling rain. She could see nothing of
Clintondale, except that huge trees lined the streets.
The girls were cross, or loud. Not one spoke to her kindly. She was
shaken about by the 'bus, and scolded by those whom she was forced to
trample upon when she lost her footing.
The new girl from Higbee was much depressed. All her pride and
satisfaction in being sent to such a popular school as Pinewood had
oozed away.
Her experience with Mr. Gordon added to her unhappiness. She had learned
nothing by going to him. He had even called her disobedient.
If these girls were a sample of Pinewood Hall pupils, Nancy knew that
she had a hard row to hoe ahead of her. And she had not liked the
appearance of those other girls in the train, either.
It was a hopeless outlook. She would have cried--only she was ashamed to
do so in the sight of these sharp-tongued, quarreling sophomores. Poor
Nancy Nelson's introduction to Pinewood Hall seemed a most unfortunate
one.