The approach of the Christmas holidays called a halt in the internal war
which raged between the Sans and their two betrayers. Having delivered
her ultimatum to Elizabeth Walbert, Leslie promptly proceeded to forget
her, so far as she could. As a result of the tactics she had pursued
with both Dulcie and Elizabeth, she was more at ease than for a long
time. She was confident she had bullied both to a point where they would
hesitate before doing any more idle talking about the Sans'
misdemeanors. Every day which passed over her head without mishap to
herself was one day nearer Commencement and freedom. She had no regret
for her misdeeds. She was merely in fear lest they might be brought to
light.
She had lost all interest in leadership at Hamilton. Her one idea now
was to end her college course creditably and thus earn her father's
approval. Natalie Weyman was on better terms with her than were the
other Sans. They found her moody indifference harder to combat than her
bullying. She was interested in nothing the club did or wished to do.
"Go as far as you like, but let me alone," became her pet answer to her
chums' appeals for advice or an expression of opinion.
"The Sans have become so exclusive they've nearly effaced themselves
from the college map," Jerry remarked to Marjorie several days after
their return from the Christmas vacation at home.
"They have had to settle down and do some studying, I presume," was
Marjorie's opinion. "They used to be out evenings a good deal oftener
than ever we were. I've wondered how they kept up at all."
"Leila said that Miss Vale had been conditioned two or three times, and
had to hire a tutor to help pull her through. I notice she doesn't go
around with any of the Sans. You remember I spoke of her having changed
her seat at table the next day after that fuss up in Miss Cairns' room."
"I have seen her with Miss Walbert a good deal lately. It seems odd,
Jeremiah, that, after all the trouble we had with those girls as
freshies and sophs, we should be almost free of them this year. It has
been such a beautiful, peaceful year, thus far. We've had the gayest,
happiest kind of times. If only we could keep Leila, Vera, Kathie and
Helen with us next year everything would be perfect."
"Would it? Well, I rather guess so. Gives me the blues every time I stop
to think about losing them. Just when we are traveling along so
pleasantly, too. Here we are, victorious democrats. We know Miss
Susanna, even if we don't dare boast of it. We've been entertained at
Hamilton Arms; something President Matthews can't say. You and Robin are
successful theatrical managers. Oh, I can tell you, everything is upward
striving.
"'Tis as easy now for hearts to be true,
As for grass to be green and skies to be blue.
'Tis the natural way of living"
gayly quoted Marjorie, patting Jerry's plump shoulder in her walk across
the room to find a pencil she had mislaid.
"I wish we would hear from Miss Susanna," she continued, a little
wistful note in the utterance. "Perhaps she did not like our Christmas
remembrance. She doesn't like birthday observances. She loves flowers,
though. So she couldn't really regard those we sent her as a present.
And that letter was delightful, I thought. We may have made a mistake in
sending the wreath."
The letter to which Marjorie referred was a composite. Each of the nine
girls had contributed a paragraph. They had tucked it into a box of
long-stemmed red roses which they had selected as a Yule-tide offering
to the last of the Hamiltons. With it had gone a laurel wreath, to which
was attached a large bunch of double, purple violets. They had asked
that the wreath be hung in Brooke Hamilton's study above the oblong
which contained the founder's sayings.
"I don't believe Miss Susanna is on her ear at us," observed Jerry
inelegantly. "She will write when she feels like it. Maybe she thought
it better to postpone writing until she was sure we were all back at
college after Christmas. When did you last hear from her?"
"Not since she sent me the money for the tickets for the show. I bought
those tickets for her myself. She didn't understand, I guess. I
re-mailed the money to her, explaining that they were from me. Since
then I have heard not a word from her. I should have taken the tickets
back to her instead of mailing them, but I was so busy just then.
Besides, I don't like to go to the Arms without a special invitation."
Almost incident with Marjorie's worry over Miss Susanna's silence came a
note from her new friend, appointing an evening for her to dine at
Hamilton Arms.
"I am not asking your friends this time," the old lady wrote, "as I
prefer to devote my attention to you, dear child. I could not answer the
Christmas letter for I had no medium of expression. I loved it, and the
flowers. Best of all, was the honor you did Uncle Brooke. You may show
this letter to your friends, extending to them a crabbed old person's
sincere thanks and good wishes."
Marjorie kept her dinner appointment with Miss Susanna and spent a happy
evening with the old lady. Miss Hamilton showed active interest in the
subject of the recent revue. The obliging lieutenant had brought with
her a programme which the old lady insisted in going over, number by
number, inquiring about each performer. She expressed a wish to hear
Constance Stevens sing and asked Marjorie to bring Constance to Hamilton
Arms if she should again come to Hamilton College.
"I was truly sorry to have missed that show," the last of the Hamiltons
frankly confessed. "It would never do for me to set foot on that campus.
I should be on bad terms with myself forever after; on as bad terms as I
am with the college."
"I'll tell you what we might do, Miss Hamilton," Marjorie ventured. "We
could give a stunt party here, just for you, at some time when it
pleased you to have us here. Perhaps Constance would come from New York
for a day or two. She isn't so far away. Then Ronny and Vera would dance
and Leila sings the most charming ancient Celtic songs."
Her lovely face had grown radiant as she described her chums' talents,
and again, for her sake, Miss Susanna had softened toward all girlhood.
She had assented with only half-concealed eagerness to Marjorie's plan.
Two days after Marjorie's visit to her, she sent her a check for five
hundred dollars, asking that it be placed with the money earned from the
revue. The youthful managers had charged a dollar apiece for tickets
with no reservations. To their intense joy and amusement, the gross
receipts amounted to six hundred and seventy-two dollars. Their only
expenses being for printing and lighting the gymnasium, they had,
counting Miss Susanna's gift, a little over one thousand dollars with
which to start the beneficiary fund.
Anna Towne had done good work among the girls off the campus. Due to her
efforts they had been brought to look upon the new avenue of escape from
signal discomfort, now open to them, as an opportunity to be embraced.
Marjorie had said conclusively that the funds at their disposal were to
be given, not lent. She argued on the basis that money thus easily
gained should be distributed where it would benefit most, then be
forgotten. The girls who were struggling along to put themselves through
college would have enough to do to earn their living afterward without
stepping over the threshold of their chosen work saddled with an
obligation.
It took tact, delicacy and more than one friendly argument to establish
this theory among the sensitive, proud-spirited girls for whose benefit
the project had been carried out. Gradually it gained ground and a new
era of things began to spring up for those who had sacrificed so much
for the sake of the higher education. The money so easily earned by
Ronny's nimble feet, Constance's sweet singing and the talent of the
other performers revolutionized matters in the row of cheerless houses,
in one of which Anne Towne resided. Ability to pay a higher rate for
board brought better food and heat. The drudgery of laundering was
lifted, the work being intrusted to several capable laundresses in the
vicinity. Those who had kept house abandoned cooking and took their
meals at one or another of the boarding houses. According to Anna Towne,
the restfulness of the changed way of living was unbelievable.
As successful theatrical managers, Robin and Marjorie had rosy visions
of a dormitory built where several of the dingy boarding houses now
stood. Perhaps by next year they would have the means to buy the
properties. They purposed agitating the subject so strongly, during
their senior year, that, at least, a few of the students among the other
three classes would be willing to go on with the work.
Both had agreed that they had set themselves a hard row to hoe, yet
neither would have relinquished the self-imposed task. In the first
flush of their ambition they had asked Miss Humphrey to ascertain, if
she could, whether the regulations of the college forbade the erection
of more houses on the campus. She had returned the answer, that, owing
to a peculiar will left by Mr. Brooke Hamilton, the consent to build on
the campus would have to come from Miss Hamilton, who had been
prejudiced against Hamilton College for many years.
This was a disturbing revelation to Marjorie. She was fairly certain
that Miss Susanna would never give any such consent. She therefore
promptly abandoned the idea and laid her plans for the outside
territory.
As the winter winged away Marjorie made more than one visit to Hamilton
Arms. Occasionally her chums accompanied her. The Nine Travelers gave
their stunt party at the Arms on Saint Valentine's eve. To please their
lonely hostess they dressed in the costumes they intended wearing at the
masquerade the next evening. Constance and Harriet managed to get away
from the conservatory for three days, and a merry party ate a six
o'clock dinner with Miss Susanna so as to have plenty of time for the
stunts afterward.
Discreet to the letter, their visits to Hamilton Arms were known to no
one outside their own group. Over and over again, when alone with the
old lady, she would say to Marjorie: "I had no idea girls could be
honorable. I had always considered boys far more honest and loyal."
"You and Miss Susanna Hamilton are getting very chummy, aren't you?"
greeted Jerry, as Marjorie sauntered into their room one clear frosty
evening in March, after having had tea at Hamilton Arms.
"I don't know whether we are or not." A tiny pucker decorated Marjorie's
forehead. "I always feel a little uncertain of how to take her. She is
kindness itself, then, all of a sudden, she turns crotchety and says she
hates everything and everybody. Then she generally adds, 'Don't take
that to yourself, child.'"
"She thinks a lot of you or she wouldn't be so friendly with you. She
looks at you in the most affectionate way. I've noticed it every time we
have been to the Arms with you."
"I am glad of it. I was fond of her before I met her. Captain would like
her. So would your mother, Jeremiah. Next year when our mothers come to
Hamilton to see us graduate, I hope Miss Susanna will like to meet them.
Only one more year after this. Oh, dear! I do love college, don't you?"
Marjorie began removing her hat and coat, an absent look in her brown
eyes.
"I have seen worse ranches," Jerry conceded with a grin. "Speaking of
ranches reminds me of the West. The West reminds me of Ronny. Ronny
promised to help me with my French tonight. Mind if I leave you? Such
partings wring the heart; mine I mean. You go galavanting off to tea
with no regard for my feelings." Jerry gave a bad imitation of a sob,
giggled, and began gathering up her books.
"I'll try to have more consideration for your feelings hereafter,"
Marjorie assured, a merry twinkle in her eyes.
"I'll believe that when I see signs of reform," Jerry threw back over
her shoulder as she exited.
Left alone, Marjorie tried to shut out the memory of Hamilton Arms and
settle down to her studying. The fascination the old house held for her
remained with her long after she had left it behind her on her now
fairly frequent visits there. Nicely launched on the tide of psychology,
an uncertain rapping at the door startled her from her absorption of the
subject in hand. It flashed across her as she rose to answer the
knocking that it had been done by an unfamiliar hand. None of the girls
she knew rapped on the door in that weak, hesitating fashion.
As she swung open the door she made no effort to force back the
expression of complete astonishment which she knew had appeared on her
face. Her caller was Dulcie Vale.