WORRIES AND PLANS
Although the girls belonging to Julia's party were silent concerning
what happened at the Omnibus House, the story leaked out, creating
considerable discussion among the members of the two upper classes.
Julia Crosby had a shrewd suspicion that Edna Wright had been the
original purveyor of the news, and in this she was right. Edna had,
under pledge of secrecy, told it to a sophomore, who immediately told it
to her dearest friend, and so the tale traveled until it reached
Eleanor, with numerous additions, far from pleasing to her. She was
thoroughly angry, and at once laid the matter at Grace's door, while her
animosity toward Grace grew daily.
But Grace was not the only person that Eleanor disliked. From the day
that Miss Thompson had taken her to task for absence, she had
entertained a supreme contempt for the principal of which Miss Thompson
was wholly unaware until, encountering Eleanor one morning in the
corridor, the latter had stared at her with an expression of such open
scorn and dislike that Miss Thompson felt her color rise. A direct slap
in the face could scarcely have conveyed greater insult than did that
one insolent glance. The principal was at a loss as to its import. She
wisely decided to ignore it, but stored it up in her memory for future
reference.
The sorority that Eleanor had mentioned in her letter to the Phi Sigma
Tau, was now in full flower. The seven girls who had accompanied her to
the Omnibus House were the chosen members. They wore pins in the shape
of skulls and cross bones, and went about making mysterious signs to
each other whenever they met. The very name of the society was shrouded
in mystery, though Nora O'Malley was heard to declare that she had no
doubt it was a branch of the "Black Hand."
Eleanor was the acknowledged leader, but Edna Wright became a close
second, and between them they managed to disseminate a spirit of
mischief throughout the school that the teachers found hard to combat.
Grace Harlowe watched the trend that affairs were taking with
considerable anxiety. Like herself, there were plenty of girls in school
to whom mischief did not appeal, but Eleanor's beauty, wealth and
fascinating personality were found to dazzle some of the girls, who
would follow her about like sheep, and it was over these girls that
Grace felt worried. If Eleanor were to organize and carry out any
malicious piece of mischief and they were implicated, they would all
have to suffer for what she would be directly responsible. Grace's heart
was with her class. She wished it to be a class among classes, and felt
an almost motherly anxiety for its success.
"What does ail some of our class?" she exclaimed to Anne and Nora one
day as they left the school building. "They seem possessed with imps.
The Phi Sigma Tau girls and a few of the grinds are really the only ones
who behave lately."
"It's largely due to Eleanor, I think," replied Anne. "She seems to have
become quite a power among some of the girls in the class. She is
helping to destroy that spirit of earnestness that you have tried so
hard to cultivate. I think it's a shame, too. The upper class girls
ought to set the example for the two lower classes."
"That's just what worries me," said Grace earnestly. "Hardly a
recitation passes in my class without some kind of disturbance, and it
is always traced to one of the girls in that crowd. The juniors will get
the reputation among the teachers this year that the junior class had
last, and it seems such a pity. I overheard Miss Chester tell Miss Kane
the other day that her junior classes were the most trying of the day,
because she had to work harder to maintain discipline than to teach her
subject."
"That's a nice reputation to carry around, isn't it!" remarked Nora
indignantly. "But all we can do is to try harder than ever to make
things go smoothly. I don't believe their society will last long, at any
rate. Those girls are sure to quarrel among themselves, and that will
end the whole thing. Or they may go too far and have Miss Thompson to
reckon with, and that would probably cool their ardor."
"O girls!" exclaimed Grace. "Speaking of Miss Thompson, reminds me that
I have something to tell you. What do you suppose the latest is?"
"If you know anything new, it is your duty to tell us at once, without
making us beg for it," said Nora reprovingly.
"All right; I accept the reproof," said Grace. "Now for my news. There
is talk of giving a Shakespearian play, with Miss Tebbs to engineer it,
and the cast to be chosen from the three lower classes. The seniors, of
course, will give their own play later."
"How did you find out?" asked Anne.
"Miss Thompson herself told me about it," replied Grace. "She called on
mother yesterday afternoon, and, for a wonder, I was at home. She said
that it was not positively decided yet, but if the girls did well with
the mid-year tests, then directly after there would be a try out for
parts, and rehearsals would begin without delay."
"How splendid!" exclaimed Anne, clasping her hands. "How I would love to
take part in it!"
"You will, without doubt, if there is a try out," replied Grace. "There
is no one in school who can recite as you do; besides, you have been on
the stage."
"I shall try awfully hard for a part, even if it is only two lines,"
said Anne earnestly. "I wonder what play is to be chosen, and if it is
to be given for the school only?"
"The play hasn't been decided upon yet," replied Grace, "but the object
of it is to get some money for new books for the school library. The
plan is to charge fifty cents a piece for the tickets and to give each
girl a certain number of them to sell. However, I'm not going to bother
much about the play now, for the senior team has just sent me a
challenge to play them Saturday, December 12th. So I'll have to get the
team together and go to work."
"We're awfully late this year about starting. Don't you think so?" asked
Nora.
"Yes," admitted Grace. "I am just as enthusiastic over basketball as
ever, only I haven't had the time to devote to it that I did last year."
"Never mind, you'll make up for lost time after Thanksgiving," said Anne
soothingly. "As for me, I'm going to dream about the play."
"Anne, I believe you have more love for the stage than you will admit,"
said Grace, laughing. "You are all taken up with the idea of this play."
"If one could live in the same atmosphere as that of home, then there
could be no profession more delightful than that of the actor," replied
Anne thoughtfully. "It is wonderful to feel that one is able to forget
one's self and become some one else. But it is more wonderful to make
one's audience feel it, too. To have them forget that one is anything
except the living, breathing person whose character one is trying to
portray. I suppose it's the sense of power that one has over people's
emotions that makes acting so fascinating. It is the other side that
I hate," she added, with a slight shudder.
"I suppose theatrical people do undergo many hardships," said Grace,
who, now that the subject had been opened, wanted to hear more of Anne's
views of the stage.
"Unless any girl has remarkable talent, I should advise her to keep off
the stage," said Anne decidedly. "Of course when a girl comes of a
theatrical family for generations, like Maud Adams or Ethel Barrymore,
then that is different. She is practically born, bred and brought up in
the theatre. She is as carefully guarded as though she lived in a little
village, simply because she knows from babyhood all the unpleasant
features of the profession and how to avoid them. There is some chance
of her becoming great, too. Of course real stars do appear once in a
while, who are too talented to be kept down. However, the really great
ones are few and far between. When I compare my life before I came here
with the good times I have had since I met you girls, I hate the very
idea of the stage.
"Only," she concluded with a shame-faced air, "there are times when the
desire to act is irresistible, and it did make my heart beat a little
bit faster when I heard about the play."
"You dear little mouse," said Grace, putting her arm around Anne. "I
was only jesting when I spoke about your love for the stage. I think
I understand how you feel, and I hope you get the best part in the play.
I know you'll make good."
"She certainly will," said Nora. "But, to give the play a rest and come
down to everyday affairs, where shall we meet to go to the football
game?"
"Let me see," said Grace. "The game is to be called at three o'clock.
I suppose we shall all be through dinner by half past two. You had better
bring your girls to my house. Each of you is to have two and Jessica has
one besides Mabel. I am to have three; I found another yesterday. David
promised to get me the tickets. I wonder how he and Hippy will enjoy
chaperoning thirteen girls?"
"I won't have the slightest chance to talk to Hippy," grumbled Nora,
"and he has neglected us shamefully of late, too."
"Never mind, you can have him all to yourself at my party," consoled
Grace. "By the way, girls, do you think it would be of any use to invite
Eleanor?"
"Eleanor?" exclaimed Nora. "After what she has said to you! You might as
well throw your invitation into the fire, for it's safe to say that she
will do so when she receives it."
Nevertheless, Grace wrote a cordial little note to Eleanor that evening,
and two days later she received Eleanor's reply through the mail. On
opening the envelope the pieces of her own note fell out, with a half
sheet of paper containing the words, "Declined with thanks."