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[Illustration: Under the tree was a grassy mound. On this Elaine was
invited to sit. _Page 66_]
MARJORIE DEAN
COLLEGE JUNIOR
By PAULINE LESTER
Author of
"Marjorie Dean, College Freshman," "Marjorie Dean,
College Sophomore," "Marjorie Dean, College Senior,"
and
The Marjorie Dean High School Series
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers--New York
THE
Marjorie Dean College Series
A Series of Stories for Girls 12 to 18 Years of Age
By PAULINE LESTER
Marjorie Dean, College Freshman
Marjorie Dean, College Sophomore
Marjorie Dean, College Junior
Marjorie Dean, College Senior
Copyright, 1922
By A. L. BURT COMPANY
MARJORIE DEAN, COLLEGE JUNIOR
Made in "U. S. A."
MARJORIE DEAN, COLLEGE JUNIOR.
CHAPTER I--A MUSICAL WELCOME
"Remember; we are to begin with the 'Serenata.' Follow that with 'How
Fair Art Thou' and 'Hymn to Hamilton.' Just as we are leaving, sing 'How
Can I Leave Thee, Dear?' We will fade away on the last of that. Want to
make any changes in the programme?"
Phyllis Moore turned inquiringly to her choristers. There were seven of
them including herself, and they were preparing to serenade Marjorie
Dean and her four chums. The Lookouts had returned to Hamilton College
that afternoon from the long summer vacation. This year, their Silverton
Hall friends had arrived before them. Hence Phyllis's plan to serenade
them.
Robina Page, Portia Graham, Blanche Scott, Elaine Hunter, Marie Peyton
and Marie's freshman cousin, Hope Morris, comprised Phyllis's serenading
party. The latter had been invited to participate because she was still
company. Incidentally she knew the songs chosen, with the exception of
the "Hymn to Hamilton," and could sing alto. She was, therefore, a
valuable asset.
"I hope Leila has managed to cage the girls in Marjorie's room,"
remarked Blanche Scott. "We want all five Sanfordites in on the
serenade."
"Leave it to Irish Leila to cage anything she starts out to cage," was
Robin's confident assurance. "If she says she will do a thing, she will
accomplish it, somehow. Leila is a diplomat, and so clever she is
amazing."
"Vera Mason isn't far behind her. Those two have chummed together so
long their methods are similar. They were the first girls I knew at
Hamilton. They met the train I came in on. Nella Sherman and Selma
Sanbourne were with them. Two more fine girls. Portia looked pleasantly
reminiscent of her reception by the quartette to which she now referred.
"I heard Selma Sanbourne wasn't coming back. I must ask Leila about
that." Robin made mental note of the question.
"That will be hard on Nella," observed Elaine Hunter, with her usual
ready sympathy. "They have always been such great chums."
"Sorry to interrupt, but we must be hiking, girls." In command of the
tuneful expedition, Phyllis tucked her violin case under her arm in
business-like fashion and cast a critical eye over her flock.
"Be sure you have your instruments of torture with you," she laughed.
"One time, at home, three girls and myself started out to serenade a
friend of ours. Before we started we had all been sitting on our
veranda, eating ice cream. One of the girls was to accompany us on the
mandolin. She walked away and left it on the veranda. She never noticed
the omission until we were ready to lift up our voices. So we had to
sing without it, for it was over a mile to our house and she couldn't
very well go back after it."
"Let this be a warning to you mandolin players not to do likewise."
Marie turned a severe eye on Elaine and Portia, who made pretext of
clutching their mandolins in a firmer grip.
"My good old guitar is hung to me by a ribbon. I am not likely to go
away from here without it." Blanche patted the smooth, shining back of
the guitar.
"We couldn't have chosen a better time for a serenade," exulted Robin.
"It is a fine night; just dark enough. Besides, there are not many girls
back at Wayland Hall yet. We won't be so conspicuous with our caroling."
Meanwhile, in a certain room at Wayland Hall, wily Lelia Harper was
exerting herself to be agreeable to her Lookout chums. Three of them she
had marshaled to Marjorie's room on plea of showing them souvenirs of a
trip she had made through Ireland that summer.
The souvenirs had been heartily admired, but even they could not stem
Muriel's and Jerry's determined desire to entertain. First Jerry
innocently proposed that they all walk over to Baretti's for ices. Leila
and Vera exhibited no enthusiasm at the invitation. Next, Muriel
re-proposed the jaunt at her expense. Vera cast an appealing look toward
Leila. The latter was equal to the occasion.
"And are you so tired of me and my pictures of my Emerald Isle that you
want to hurry me off to Baretti's to be rid of me?" she questioned, in
an offended tone.
"Certainly not, and you needn't pretend you think so, for you don't,"
retorted Muriel, unabashed. "Your Irish views are wonderful. So is
Baretti's fresh peach ice cream. Helen was there and had some this
afternoon. She said it was better than ever. I was only trying to be
hospitable and so was Jerry. Sorry you had to take me too personally."
Muriel now strove to simulate offense. She turned up her nose, tossed
her head and burst out laughing. "It's no use," she said, "I couldn't
really fuss with you if I tried, Leila Greatheart."
"I am relieved to hear it," Leila returned with inimitable dryness.
"Lots of time for Baretti's and ice cream yet tonight. It's only
half-past eight." Marjorie indicated the wall clock with a slight move
of her head. "We can leave here about nine. We'll be there by ten
after."
"Certainly; we have oceans of time," Leila agreed with alacrity. "The
ten-thirty rule is still on a vacation and won't be back for a week or
so."
"Oh, I haven't told you about my new car," Vera began with sudden
inspiration. "Father bought it for me in August. It is a beauty. He is
going to send James, his chauffeur, here with it. It may arrive
tomorrow. I hope it does." Vera launched into a description of her car
with intent to kill time. Phyllis had set the hour for the serenade to
the Lookouts at a quarter to nine.
"It will be good and dark then," she had told Leila and Vera. "We will
have to come as early as that, for we are going to Acasia House to
serenade Barbara Severn, and to Alston Terrace to sing to Isabel Keller.
Last, we are going to serenade Miss Humphrey. We'll have to hustle, in
order to go the rounds and get back to Silverton Hall before eleven
o'clock. I depend on you, Leila, to keep that lively bunch of
Sanfordites in until we get there."
Leila, aided by Vera, was now endeavoring to carry out Phyllis's
request. She was privately hoping that the serenaders would be on time.
Should they delay until nine or after, they were quite likely to gather
in under the window of a deserted room.
Readers of the "Marjorie Dean High School Series" have long been in
touch with Marjorie Dean and the friends of her high school days.
"Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman," recounted her advent into Sanford
High School and what happened to her during her first year there.
"Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore," "Marjorie Dean, High School
Junior," and "Marjorie Dean, High School Senior," completed a series of
stories which dealt entirely with Marjorie's four years' course at
Sanford High School. Admirers of the loyal-hearted, high-principled
young girl, who became a power at high school because of her many fine
qualities, will recall her ardent wish to enroll as a student at
Hamilton College when she should have finished her high school days.
In "Marjorie Dean, College Freshman," will be found the account of
Marjorie's doings as a freshman at Hamilton College. Entering college
full of noble resolves and high ideals, she was not disappointed in her
Alma Mater, although she was not long in discovering that an element of
snobbery was abroad at Hamilton which was totally against Hamilton
traditions. Aided by four of her Sanford chums, who had entered Hamilton
College with her, and a number of freshmen and upper class girls, of
democratic mind, the energetic band had endeavored to combat the
pernicious influence, exercised by a clique of moneyed girls, which was
fast taking hold upon other students. The end of the college year had
found their efforts successful, in a measure, and the way paved for
better things.
In "Marjorie Dean, College Sophomore," the further account of Marjorie's
eventful college days was set forth. Opposed, from her return to
Hamilton College by certain girls residing in the same house with
herself, who disliked her independence and fair-mindedness, Marjorie was
later given signal proof of their enmity. How she and her chums fought
them on their own ground and won a notable victory over them formed a
narrative of pleasing interest and lively action.
Now that the Five Travelers, as the quintette of Sanford girls loved to
call themselves, were once more settled in the country of college, their
devoted friends had already planned to honor them. Leila and Vera, who
invariably returned early to college, had encountered Phyllis on the
campus on the day previous. Informing her of the Lookouts' expected
arrival on the next afternoon, Phyllis had planned the serenade and
demanded Leila's help. Leila had rashly promised to keep the arrivals at
home that evening. She was now of the opinion that a promise was
sometimes easier made than fulfilled.
"Since Vera has told you everything she can remember about her new
roadster, I shall now do a little talking myself." Leila was having the
utmost difficulty in controlling her risibles. She dared not look at
Vera; nor dared Vera look at her. "Ahem! When I was in Ireland," she
pompously announced, "I saw----"
Came the welcome interruption for which she had been waiting. Clear and
sweet under the windows of the room rose the strains of Tosti's
"Serenata." A brief prelude and voices took it up, filling the evening
air with harmony.
"Thank my stars! A-h-h!" Leila relaxed exaggeratedly in her chair, her
Cheshire-cat smile predominating her features.
"You bad old rascal!" Marjorie paused long enough to shake Leila
playfully by the shoulders. Then she hurried to one of the windows.
Jerry, Muriel and Lucy had reached one. Ronny and Vera were at the
other. Marjorie joined them. Leila made no move to rise. She preferred
sitting where she was.
"Keep quiet," Jerry had admonished at the first sounds. "If we start to
talk to them, they'll stop singing. Whoever they are, they certainly can
sing." Her companions of her mind, it was a silent and appreciative
little audience that gathered at the open windows to listen to the
serenaders.
There was no moon that night. It was impossible to see the faces of the
carolers, nor, in the general harmony of melodious sound, was it
possible to identify any one voice. An energetic clapping of hands, from
other windows as well as those of Marjorie's room, greeted the close of
the "Serenata." Then a high soprano voice, which the girls recognized as
Robin Page's, began that most beautiful of old songs, "How Fair Art
Thou." A violin throbbed a soft obligato.
The marked hush that hung over the Hall during the rendering of the song
was most complimentary to the soloist. The serenaders were not out for
glory, however. Hardly had the applause accorded Robin died out, when
mandolins, guitar and violin took up the stately "Hymn to Hamilton."
"First in wisdom, first in precept; teach us to revere
thy way:
Grant us mind to know thy purpose, keep us in
thy brightest ray.
Let our acts be shaped in honor; let our steps be
just and free:
Make us worthy of thy threshold, as we pledge our
faith to thee."
Thus ran the first stanza, set to a sonorous air which the combined
harmony of voices and musical instruments rendered doubly beautiful. It
seemed to those honored by the serenaders that they had never before
heard the fine old hymn so inspiringly sung. The whole three stanzas
were given. The instant the hymn was ended the familiar melody "How Can
I Leave Thee Dear?" followed.
"That means they are going to beat it," called Jerry in low tones. "Let
us head them off before they can get away and take them with us to
Baretti's. We'll have to start now, if we expect to catch them. They're
beginning the second stanza. We'll just give _them_ a little surprise."
With one accord the appreciative and mischievous audience left the
windows and made a rush for the stairs. Headed by Jerry they exited
quietly from the house and stole around its right-hand corner.
Absorbed in their own lyric efforts, the singers had reached the third
sentimentally pathetic stanza:
"If but a bird were I, homeward to thee I'd fly;
Falcon nor hawk I'd fear, if thou wert near.
Shot by a hunter's ball; would at thy feet I fall,
If but one ling'ring tear would dim thine eye."
Ready to leave almost on the last line, they were not prepared for the
merry crowd of girls who pounced suddenly upon them.
"How can you leave us, dears?" caroled Muriel Harding, as she caught
firm hold of Robin Page. "You are not going to leave us. Don't imagine
it for a minute."