THE SCRIBBLERS’ CLUB ORGANIZES
The box which Mrs. Sterling had sent to Ann was full of fruit, with
some other things which the girls could enjoy after Mrs. Sterling had
gone. The janitor of the Castle opened it for Ann and the fruit was
separated, to be put in one of the closets as the coolest place; for
the rooms were kept comfortably heated. But Ann did not investigate the
other packages while her mother remained, for there was much going on,
and Ann read her French to her mother, a pleasant way of studying it.
Mrs. Sterling made a fine French dictionary, Ann said, for all but some
technical terms which she had forgotten. At Mrs. Sterling’s bidding,
Ann also studied her other lessons on Friday evening, looking up once
in a while to “gloat” over her mother’s being there, and expressing her
feelings in that fashion.
“I shall never be able to complain about not being appreciated, Ann,”
said her mother.
“Indeed not, and wait till poor Dad arrives! He is just merely existing
till Christmas, I know.”
The girls, at Miss Tudor’s suggestion, hastily put together a little
entertainment for Saturday night. There were some other visitors for
the Thanksgiving week end, for whom the girls wanted to do something.
Among so many organizations it was not hard to find something to do.
One of the senior girls had written a clever one act play for her
English class. To be sure it must be committed by the actors in record
time, but what could not be remembered in the way of the speeches could
be what the girls called “faked,” by bright girls who knew the point of
their remarks. It had been done before and this was not Shakespeare,
whose lines must be just right!
Aline rushed in Saturday morning to call for Ann’s help. “Ann, _would_
your mother mind if you play for the orchestra? We’ve simply got to
have you. Our regular pianist, you know, is away, also the substitute,
and there isn’t a girl who can do it as you can!”
“Do not hesitate on my account, Ann,” promptly said Mrs. Sterling. “I
shall be glad to have you help.”
“All right, then, Aline,” Ann promised. “I am only too thankful not to
be called on to help with the play. Thank fortune there are plenty of
girls for that.”
“Don’t be too sure, Ann,” joked Aline. “I’ll remember you if they need
any one!”
“Just remember, too, please,” laughed Ann, “that I could scarcely be
in the orchestra and on the platform at the same time.”
“Will you mind, Mother?” Ann asked after Aline had gone.
“Not a bit. To tell the truth, Ann, I enjoy all this. We used to do all
sorts of things when I was in school. I remember the fun and excitement
of it all. It was different in those days, but this takes me back to
pleasant memories. Then, too, these girls are so attractive and do such
clever things that I expect to enjoy the whole thing thoroughly.”
“I think that it is Jane Price who has written the play, and if it is,
it will be too funny for words! Jane is a dear, though, and very smart!”
“Will you have anything but the play?”
“Yes; Dots showed me the program when I was around there. She is
the sophomore on the committee. First there will be an orchestral
number,--ahem! They will probably choose something hard for me to play.
Then the glee club will sing. Next comes the play, and we shall play an
‘overture.’ The girls want us to ‘jazz’ one of the real overtures to
light opera if we can, and we are to play appropriately during part of
the play it seems.”
“Soft suggestions in music,” inserted Mrs. Sterling.
“That is it,” said Ann. “We burst into melody between scenes, too, and
the Glee Club will sing again, and I think that Aline is to have a
violin solo. If we can get one of the senior girls to sing, she has a
lovely thing, with orchestral accompaniment, from one of the operas.
But she has a cold and we don’t know whether she will be equal to it
or not. There will be plenty to fill in with, I’m sure. And we’ll all
dress up in our spuzziest clothes. You will think that you are in the
Metropolitan, I know!”
“I expect to enjoy it as much,” laughed Mrs. Sterling.
“Now I wonder how she means that,” said Ann, looking off into space, a
twinkle in her eyes. “With all the practicing, I’m afraid that I shall
have to leave you a good deal to-day, Mother.”
“I will finish fixing up your clothes, child. Then I want to talk
with Miss Tudor about arranging for your studies, in case we do take
you with us to Florida. I feel sure that if your father goes, he will
refuse to go without you.”
“Good for Dad! But what a change from the stern mentor who says that
lessons must go on!”
“If you stay for any length of time, your lessons will go on. If you
are there only a short time, however, we are to let you get the benefit
of the Florida experience.”
“Well, that is pretty nice for me. I supposed that you and Father would
have our part of the affair thought out.”
“Yes,--as usual. What Aunt Sue’s family does remains to be seen. But we
have not been discussing that lately. I think that it will all turn
out for the best.”
“Bless your heart, Mother, you always say that!”
“And doesn’t it?”
“Certainly, but it takes some ‘turning,’ on our part.”
“Of course it does. ‘Even so faith apart from works is dead.’ What I
should have done, Ann, instead of worrying myself sick, during those
years, was to go to Mother and have everything explained. Instead, I
waited for my dear daughter to show me what could be accomplished in
the line of ‘works.’”
Surprised and pleased by her mother’s appreciation of her efforts and
success in uncovering the reasons for Grandmother’s misunderstanding,
Ann was rendered speechless for a moment. “Why, aren’t you nice,
Mother, to say this to me?” she finally said. “And aren’t we having a
good visit?”
“_I_ am. Come here and give me a good hug and then run off to your
practicing!”
* * * * *
All too soon the Thanksgiving vacation ended. The absent girls came
back; the places at table were all full again; Ann’s mother went home;
Suzanne, who was unable to persuade her mother to a longer visit,
appeared with the rest of the girls, and, for a wonder, in the best
of spirits. In a few days lessons and school work had assumed their
proper place and everything was in full swing. Only the weather was
depressing. It had turned a little warmer, with rain, which melted the
snow into a miserable slush. This was immediately cleaned from the
walks, but not without an interval during which careless girls without
overshoes acquired wet feet and sore throats. Ann, sad to say, was
among these. She escaped tonsilitis and going to the little hospital
which was full for a few days; but she gargled and took medicine and
had her throat swabbed, to her great disgust. One week end she spent a
great part of her time in bed and had her meals sent over.
“You never are sorry enough for people that are sick, Marta,” she
philosophized one evening, when she was sitting in her bath robe by
their table studying. “Not until you are sick yourself. And then, as
soon as you are well, you forget it! I don’t think much of human nature
myself.”
“Neither do I,” Marta agreed.
“Still, you do find out how many friends you have, and how kind people
can be. Maybe human nature isn’t so bad after all.”
“I’m sure it isn’t,” said Marta.
“Marta Ward! You would agree with anything! I believe that you don’t
know what I’m talking about!”
Marta looked at her dreamily, raising her eyes from her book.
“Something about human nature, wasn’t it?”
Ann threw back her head and laughed. “Never mind. You wanted to be
polite, but your room-mate would persist in talking about her own
experiences while you were studying. Now you will never know the wise
philosophy you have missed. Go on back, Marta. Where were you?”
“In London,” said Marta, who was reading history.
“It’s almost time for the bell. Let’s investigate the packages in that
box when you get through with your history. I don’t know what I would
have done without those oranges while I was sick. They were all I
wanted.”
“Let me finish this chapter, Ann. Then we’ll drag out the box.”
Ann, who was through with lessons, or all that she felt equal to doing,
threw her tired head back against the rocking chair in which she
sat and closed her eyes. She knew now how girls felt when they were
not strong, and she wondered if she had ever really appreciated her
health. She was feeling well now, except for a little weakness and a
“scratchy” throat. She opened her eyes a little to look at Marta, who
was concentrating on that last chapter of her lesson. Her blue eyes
were glued to the page of the book, which she held in one of the strong
hands that could do so much with the piano keys.
Finally Marta closed the book with a bang and laid it on the table.
“There!” she exclaimed. “I guess that is in my cranium, long enough to
recite it at least. I never _could_ remember history!” She ran her
fingers through her already much ruffled brown locks. “Have an orange,
Ann?”
“Thanks, Marta; I can wait on myself now, though. If you are ever sick,
Marta, I’ll show my gratitude!”
“I shall not get sick for the benefit of your gratitude, Miss Sterling.”
“I hope not, Marta. I’ll have to show it in some other way.”
“Haven’t I eaten as many oranges as you, besides all the good desserts
that they sent and you couldn’t eat?”
“I don’t know about that, Marta.”
“But I do. Please ‘say no more’ about gratitude. But, Ann, there is too
much in this box to drag it out without spoiling the floor or the rug
or something.” Marta was in one of the closets now.
“All right,--we’ll investigate, then.”
Ann rose and joined her room-mate, who was ready to “stagger out,” as
she said, with an arm full of bundles. “I didn’t realize myself that
there was so much. Mother said that she put in some sugar for fudge and
some other things.”
The bell was ringing for the close of study hours as the girls piled
the bundles on the table and searched, through the papers and other
material with which the articles had been packed, for any other
packages. And still those “dulcet sounds” filled the air when a series
of knocks came at their door, beating a tattoo which stopped at Ann’s,
“Come right in.”
Their guests proved to be Eleanor and Aline, now as frequent visitors
as any of the Jolly Six. “What in the world?” inquired Eleanor, as she
viewed the table covered with packages.
“That is just what we are saying,” said Ann. “We took a notion to find
out what else was in the box that mother brought, or had sent, rather.
She said that there was some sugar for fudge, and if all that is sugar
we’ll have enough for the rest of the year, I take it.”
“Those big square packages are sugar, I suspect,” said Marta, “but that
is all. Why so much conjecture? Let’s open up. Sit down, ladies, and
make yourselves at home. I strongly suspect, from the feel thereof,
that _this_ big package contains nuts.”
Eleanor and Aline sat down in the chairs that Marta and Ann had vacated
and watched while the packages were opened.
“Nuts they are,” said Ann, untying the large paper sack. “Georgia paper
shell pecans! Yum-yum!”
A large paper box, opened, disclosed English walnuts, almonds, filberts
and Brazil nuts, and a flat package within contained a nut-cracker and
nut picks. These Ann immediately passed around and offered both box and
paper sack to the guests.
“Wait till I pass around the silver dishes, Ann,” warned Marta. “They
will have to hold the nuts in something, for the shells at least.”
Hastily Marta selected clean papers, from those which had been used in
packing, and handed them, as the “silver dishes,” to the guests. “We
have some plates in the closet somewhere,” she said, “but I am sure
that they are dusty from disuse.”
“We haven’t had a feast for some time, have we?” queried Eleanor,
cracking a huge pecan.
“Scarcely since you girls were all rushing for the sororities and the
Owls.” This was Aline, who remembered several delicious feasts at that
gay time.
“That makes me think of what I came to see you about, girls,” said
Eleanor. “Ann, how would you like to be a famous authoress?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, Eleanor,” said Ann, who was struggling
with a refractory cork in a bottle of olives, contents of another
interesting package. One more tug and it was out. Ann flew to the
lavatory to get rid of the liquid and was back to answer Eleanor’s
question.
“Have an olive, Eleanor. No, I confess I hadn’t thought of entering the
field of literature. But no telling what any of us may do under Bunny’s
training. I’ll try ’most anything, Eleanor, to become famous. What is
the immediate danger?”
“Joining the Scribblers’ Club. Ever heard of such a thing?”
“No; not at Forest Hill.”
“There isn’t any; but I thought that we might organize one. Honestly,
Ann, I’d like to have one. Scribbling is the only thing outside of
singing that I really like to do.”
“You do write fine themes, Eleanor. I was quite envious when Bunny had
you read the last one and praised it so before the class.”
“You never have any reason to be envious, Ann. That is one reason that
I thought you would be a good one to start it. Getting praised for
what I’ve written, though, is what started me to liking composition, I
guess. Nothing like a little encouragement once in a while, is there?”
“No,--yes--what is the right answer to that? And it’s precious little
encouragement that Bunny ever gives. She never praised anything of
mine.”
“She probably thought that I needed it.”
“No, Eleanor. That theme deserved it.”
“And I never wrote anything so quickly. I liked the subject and
happened to know something about it. I wrote it right off, just in the
order that came to me, and then, boiled it down and corrected it and
copied it. Well, what do you say, girls, do we have a scribblers’ club
or don’t we?”
“With the Owls and the Bats,” said Marta dubiously, “I don’t see that I
have much more time for outside things.”
“But you take English, don’t you?”
“Yes, Eleanor; I have several studies this year outside of my music.”
“Very well, then. If you’d like to belong, you can offer anything that
you have ever written for English. Those things go for the Owls, and
the Scribblers’ Club, too. I’ll tell you more about our plans when--and
if--we organize.”
Ann was doing some quick thinking. It would be an encouraging thing
for Eleanor, who was taking a new interest in her work, if this went
through. It would also be good for any one who took part. If the things
one had to write in class could be used, well and good.
“I’ll join, Eleanor,” said Ann, “if you will be content with my feeble
efforts in the literary line. Suppose we have the organization here
tomorrow some time. I’ll make some nut fudge to celebrate, or we can
have whatever else there is here.” Ann, who had stopped unwrapping to
eat nuts, now investigated a heavy rectangular package. “Hurrah! Boxes
of sardines! Imagine, _Mother_! But Mother is thinking of the days of
her youth!”
“I’ll bring the bread, Ann,” Eleanor offered, “and we’ll have
sandwiches.”
“Butter, also, is necessary,” Aline reminded Eleanor, who added that to
her charge.
“You have some baker’s chocolate there, Ann,” said Marta, pointing to
where torn paper revealed the edges of several cakes. “I will sacrifice
myself to the occasion and make chocolate for the crowd. What is the
hour, Eleanor?”
“I’m free after my practice hour, which ends at three.”
“I have a last hour class,” said Ann.
“Say four o’clock, then. We are always starved at that hour and never
can wait for dinner. Let me take the sardines, then, Ann, and I’ll have
the sandwiches made by the time you come from class. It won’t take long
to make the fudge and chocolate.”
“All right, Eleanor.” Ann handed over the boxes of sardines, while
Marta, who would be at the suite before Ann, said that she would have
the fudge made without waiting for her.
“Then we’ll all be here at four sharp, or as near to that as possible?”
queried Eleanor.
“Oh, yes, Eleanor,” called Marta, “how many shall we prepare for?”
“Six or eight, I think.”
* * * * *
On the following afternoon, Ann was delighted when her teacher
dismissed the last class a little early. She hurried to the Castle and
her suite, where she found Marta busy, having the fudge done and the
materials for the chocolate ready. “I’ll go to make that while you are
talking over everything,” said Marta. “Eleanor has made a dandy lot of
sandwiches. She got some cold boiled ham, too, for some, and I made
a few peanut butter sandwiches out of that jar that we found in the
box. If you will crack a dish of nuts, I think that the feast will be
complete.”
“I wish that there were some of those grapes left.”
“They would not have kept, even if we had not eaten them.”
Scarcely had Marta said this when with a warning rap, Aline appeared
bearing a china dish heaped with white and red grapes. This she
deposited upon the table and sat down to help Ann with the nuts; for
there were both the nut-cracker and the little hammer that accompanied
the wooden nut bowl in which Ann was putting the nuts.
“The organization of the Scribblers’ Club,” said Aline, “will be quite
eclipsed by the celebration.”
“We shall be able to give our minds to it much better for not being
starved,” said Ann. “Don’t those grapes look delicious! Where did
Eleanor get them?”
“She ordered the things sent out, bread and butter and ham and grapes.”
“Let’s make her the president of it.”
“She ought to be. She has splendid ideas for it. I saw her a little
while at noon.”
“Here they come!” Ann rose, looked around to see that there were enough
chairs and that the cushions were properly beautiful upon the couch.
From the hall came sounds of talking and laughter from several girls
who were approaching the suite. Marta threw open the door as they
reached it, saying, “Welcome to the Sterling-Ward.”
“Sterling ward, indeed?” queried Jane Price, senior, who was in the
lead. “Is this where they welcome the insane followers of the pen?”
“No,” said Ann, “this is the convalescent ward, where they serve all
the delicacies of the season.”
There were several more girls than Ann had thought might come. It was
evident, then, that Eleanor had been able to interest the older girls.
Having borrowed chairs from the other Jolly Six suite, there were
places for all to sit, and they settled down with gay chat as usual.
“This looks more like a spread,” said Jane, “than the literary
atmosphere we were led to expect.”
“Our guests this afternoon, supply the literary atmosphere,” Ann
replied, bowing to Jane in mock dignity, her hand on her heart. Ann had
grown well acquainted with Jane in sorority affairs this year.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” laughed Jane, looking around the circle.
Katherine Neville was the only one of the other Jolly Six suite
present. Eleanor and Aline represented their suite, making five
sophomores in all. Jane Price and a bright “Sig-Ep,” called Betty
Howard, were seniors whom Eleanor had interested, and two juniors, Alys
Little and Natalie Perkins completed the number.
It is curious how little girls think of some of the enterprises which
they launch, and yet, of how much influence upon them they often prove
to exert, either as organizations, or because of the friendships formed
in them. This new Scribblers’ Club was to become quite an important
part of Ann Sterling’s school life, existing apart from any social ties
like those of the sororities, and based upon ability, in its functions.
“If you girls think that business matters can proceed just as well,”
said Ann, “I think that we are all quite ready for a little lunch to
tide us over that barren period between classes and dinner.” Ann stood
by the table and looked around inquiringly, to find out how the girls
felt about it.
“I am sure that I don’t know when anything has looked so good to me as
that table,” sighed Jane, clasping her hands and looking at the nuts
and fudge. Marta had disappeared at once upon the arrival of the girls
and Ann knew that the chocolate was in process of preparation.
“By your leave, then,” said Ann, “we will serve at once. Eleanor was
good enough to make us some sandwiches. Marta is making the chocolate;
so will you help me, Aline?”
Ann passed a little tray, from which each girl took a paper napkin, a
plate, a spoon and a nutpick. The sandwiches were passed next, and it
was not long before Marta came in with the chocolate.
Steaming hot, a cup of chocolate on each plate made the first course
complete and sandwiches were passed more than once. The weather had
suddenly changed to icy blasts, which made the walks a glare of ice and
started the Forest Hill girls to planning for skating, when the lake
should at last freeze over. It was pleasant to sip the hot chocolate
and look out upon the wintry landscape.
Not until the dessert, of nuts, grapes and fudge, was offered, did the
girls begin upon the main issue. Then it was put through quickly.
“Who shall be the chairman of this meeting?” asked Eleanor. “I nominate
Jane Price.”
Unanimously Jane was put into the chair. Without preface, she asked
Eleanor to present her proposition, the organization of a literary club
called the Scribblers’ Club. “Please tell how it is to differ from a
society like the Owls or the Addisons,” Jane requested.
“There are similar clubs in different schools,” said Eleanor, “and
it was because I heard about one of them that I wanted one for us.
The idea is that only people especially interested shall belong and
that each one shall present some good piece of writing, passed on by
a committee or the officers of the club, to make her eligible for
membership. It may be something written for class or not. Many of us
have little time to write outside of what we do for English, so I
thought that it would be fair to accept anything original that is
considered worthy. It should at least draw a B from Bunny!”
The girls laughed at that. “I’m not so sure,” said Jane. “I presented a
gem of literature to Bunny, in my sophomore year, that carries a C, and
I know that she begrudged that. Suppose that we leave acceptance to the
officers of the society, irrespective of what the teachers think?”
“That is what I say,” said Katherine, “verses, for instance. Any
verse handed in to Bunny would be graded according to the standard of
Tennyson or Browning,----”
“Oh, no, Kit,” said Aline. “Browning never would get by Bunny. She
could find flaws in any of ’em!”
This conclusion seemed to be unanimous, laughingly conceded by the
present or former pupils of Miss Bunn, the unpopular English teacher.
Eleanor went on to explain that it would be best, in all probability,
to have most of the officers from the two upper classes and that after
this, sophomores could only enter after the first semester, when it
would be supposed that they could produce something worthy of admitting
them. They were to be encouraged to apply.
After some discussion, following a motion to organize, Eleanor, with
the two seniors and the two juniors, were appointed as a committee to
draw up a constitution and select a list of officers to be presented
at the next meeting. When these girls asked for instructions, it
was generally agreed that a senior should be president and that the
committee to pass on members should be composed of juniors and seniors.
“And sorority or society matters are never to be considered!” added Ann.
“We can make that clear in the constitution,” said Eleanor, “that
nothing but merit and interest counts.”