Black Danger
Rather timid, diffident, and certainly not as self-confident as they had
been when the sneering sophomores had invaded their room, Arden, Terry,
and Sim stood looking at one another outside the hall. Finally Arden
broke the portentous silence by saying:
"Well, I suppose we had better go in."
"No help for it," voiced Sim.
"Oh, it may not be as bad as we think," consoled Terry. "It's like going
in for a swim the first day of the season. The first is always the
worst."
"Don't talk to me about dives and swimming!" snapped Sim. "I'm cheated,
and I resent it!"
"Oh, Sim!" murmured Arden helplessly.
"I don't mean you, my dear. It's just hard times and whoever is
responsible for storing vegetables in the pool that I'm sore against!"
"Well, come on!" urged Terry. "Let's get it over with."
With hearts momentarily beating faster, the three stepped into the
recreation hall on their floor. It was a big room that was rapidly
filling with girls, girls, and more girls.
"Just group yourselves about, young ladies. I shall not detain you very
long," said Miss Tidbury Anklon, the dean, with a half smile as she stood
teetering upon her toes on the platform at the end of the room. Miss
Anklon was a small woman, dark of complexion, and thin. This intermittent
raising of herself on her toes as she talked seemed to be an effort to
make herself taller and more impressive. Her severity and keen words at
times, however, made her sufficiently respected and not a little feared.
She was now trying to bring about some semblance of order in the
inevitable chaos of the first assembly of new pupils.
"Quiet, please!" Miss Anklon tapped her knuckles on a convenient table.
"There are a few things I must explain to you freshmen girls on your
first night in Cedar Ridge."
But, in spite of her promise, the dean did keep them rather long, until
Sim found herself standing first on one foot and then on the other. Arden
leaned quite frankly on Terry, who in turn rested herself against the
nearest wall. It hadn't seemed worth while to sit down at first. Now it
was too late to take chairs. The dean generalized.
The freshmen must always "sign in and out" when leaving the college
grounds and returning. They would find the registry book in the lower
vestibule hall. They might go to town, if the time of their classes would
permit. But if in going to town a class period was missed, the offending
ones would be "campused" for a week.
"Not allowed to leave the college precincts," Miss Anklon took pains to
translate.
Arden, her chums, and the others were told of the "honor system," of
"upper classmen" and "lower classmen," and of rules and regulations,
until many of the girls began to wonder how they could possibly remember
it all.
One thing was deeply impressed upon them. Here, at Cedar Ridge, they
were, for the time being, freshmen. However great had been their standing
at their local high or preparatory schools, now they were the lowest of
the low. The dean didn't say that in so many words, but this was the
impression she created.
Miss Anklon, "Tiddy" to the initiated, implied that as far as
instructions along those lines went, the sophomores would not be long in
making such matters clear to the freshmen. But it was all to be taken in
a sporting manner and in the end would do much to cement friendships and
foster school spirit, smiled Tiddy.
Terry was busy looking about the room, selecting girls who, she thought,
looked like her friends at home. Arden was wondering what Sim was going
to do now that there was no pool, and Sim, while also looking about, was
debating with herself just how much the loss of the swimming she had
counted on was going to mean to her.
Arden Blake, Theodosia (Terry) Landry and Bernice (Sim) Westover had been
chums through their primary, grammar, and Vincent Prep days. Their
friendships began very early, when all three, living near one another in
the small city of Pentville, found themselves in the same class. Their
association was further cemented when all three graduated at the same
time from Vincent, which was an unofficial "feeder" for Cedar Ridge
College.
Addison Blake, the father of Arden, was a prosperous automobile dealer in
Pentville. Terry was the daughter of Mrs. Nelson Landry, a widow with a
fairly good income even through the depression. Sim had for her parents
Mr. and Mrs. Benson Westover. Mr. Westover owned a large department
store, with branches in several cities. Mr. Westover had wanted a boy and
his wife a girl, when the daughter was born, and Sim's nickname was a
combination of She and Him. It fitted her perfectly. She was clever and
popular in the trio and outside of it, more especially as she was in a
position to obtain from the grocery department in her father's store many
good things to eat--food more or less forbidden at surreptitious school
feasts.
"There's Mary Todd," whispered Arden as the talk of the dean was
obviously drawing to a close.
"Yes, and Ethel Anderson and Jane Randall," added Sim.
These were three other girls from Vincent, but they lived in a New York
suburb. They were friends with but not exactly chums of Arden and her two
close companions. They had not made up their minds to come to Cedar Ridge
until after the three inseparables had made their announcement.
"Now, my dear young ladies," Miss Anklon finally concluded, "you will go
to the dining room and be assigned your tables for the term."
Instantly a flood of conversation was loosed. Arden and Sim clung
together, and Terry, who had been momentarily separated from them, pushed
her way through a throng of strange girls to reach her two friends.
Dean Anklon led the way, and all the freshmen followed down the five dark
flights of stairs to the large dining room that was brilliantly lighted.
At the door the dean was called aside by one of the teachers, and the
bewildered freshies, swarming in, were left huddled together like a troop
of new soldiers whose commander had deserted them.
Terry, at this point, took matters into her own hands, and, motioning to
her chums to follow, selected a chair at a pleasant table about halfway
down the length of the dining room and near a window. Some other freshies
followed the lead of the more bold three, and the chairs were all quickly
filled.
Terry looked at Arden, obviously well pleased with herself at so soon
having become a class leader. Her joy was short-lived, however. A none
too gentle tap on her shoulder caused her to look up.
"You freshies! What do you mean by sitting at our table?"
It was Toots Everett, with Jessica Darglan and Priscilla MacGovern
standing behind her. All were glaring at the offending freshmen.
"A pretty good start, I must say!" sneered Jessica. "Your table is down
there!" Dramatically she pointed to the far-distant lower end of the
room.
"Go down there," Priscilla said a little more gently. "You know you
freshmen will have to think, now that you are in college. I'm afraid this
means, for you three, the picking of lots of apples."
Without a word, but deeply humiliated, the freshmen all rose and followed
the lead of Terry, Arden, and Sim to their own proper table. Other
freshmen, who had not made this social error, as well as the assembled
sophomores, juniors and seniors, looked on, smiling.
"What did she mean--picking a lot of apples?" whispered Arden.
"How do I know?" gasped Sim. "Oh, is my face red!"
The three and the other freshmen quickly seated themselves in the proper
chairs, and a chatter of conversation, more or less coherent, began. Most
of the girls were strangers among strangers, but, realizing that they
were all under the same roof and would be for some time to come, they
soon began talking together, introducing themselves and a friendly spirit
was quickly engendered.
"Oh, Arden! What a dreadful thing to do!" gasped Terry. "Wouldn't you
know I'd start something like that!" She was greatly embarrassed.
"It's all right, Terry," soothed Arden. "If only, though, it didn't have
to be our own particular sophomores whose seats we took."
"Our fruit-cake hasn't a chance now, and I'm afraid we shall be really
well hazed," said Sim as she looked sadly at Terry. Then she glanced down
at her plate, adding: "This cold ham with sliced tomatoes doesn't help to
raise my spirits any. Poor fruit-cake! Not a chance!"
"Yes, it has a chance, Sim!" excitedly whispered Terry. "I have an idea!
If that fruit-cake is to be eaten we had best do it ourselves. There are
twelve of us at this table. I'm afraid it doesn't mean much cake each,
but we must stick together in times like these."
"What is it, Terry? What are you going to do?" Sim wanted to know.
"Now, just listen, and you'll find out." Getting the attention of the
other girls at the table, Terry continued in a tragic whisper: "As soon
as you can, after we three leave, all of you here come to our room. It's
513." She indicated Arden and Sim with herself. "Knock twice, a
pause--another knock. Those sophs will never taste that fruit-cake!"
"It's a grand idea!" declared Arden.
After this, amid bubbling talk, the meal was quickly finished. The
students began filing out of the dining hall. Old friends greeted one
another with open arms and in a surprisingly short time most of the
talking, laughing groups had disappeared into various rooms where, behind
closed doors, they still talked and talked and talked.
Arden, Sim, and Terry hurried to 513 to get it ready for visitors. It was
not long before the first "tap-tap--tap," sounded and the first visitors
were admitted. Others followed until the window seat and the beds, to say
nothing of the chairs, were all much sat upon until, as Sim whispered to
Arden, it was almost necessary to put out a sign of S. R. O.
The fruit-cake was brought out from hiding, was much admired, and then
went the way of all good fruit-cakes; a nail file being used to cut it
into slices, and handkerchiefs serving as plates.
In the intervals of eating, the girls found out much about one another
and vowed to stick together during the hazing, the prospects of which had
really frightened some. Voices rose hilariously higher and higher, and
laughter became more frequent. They were having a fine time. It was good
to be thus sitting around in a college room, talking to interesting
girls, thought Arden and her two chums, and planning future fun. Studies
were momentarily pushed into the mental background.
Now and again someone would inquire about "math" or "English lit." Girls
whose older sisters had been to Cedar Ridge before them were somewhat
well informed as to which of the instructors were "easy" and those for
whom students must really make adequate preparation.
"I don't worry much about English lit, though," Arden remarked, brushing
crumbs from her lap. "But math I'll never get through. I just can't do
it!"
"Math is easy for me," declared Mary Todd, a really lovely-looking girl,
wearing a simple, well-cut sports dress of the "shirtmaker" type. "I'll
help you, Arden."
"Thanks a lot, Mary," Arden responded gratefully.
"I have to study hard for everything," lamented Sim. "I'm not a bit
clever that way."
"Well," began Terry, "I think----"
But she never had a chance to say what she thought. Suddenly, before any
of the convivial little party realized what was happening, the door of
513 was pushed open and the "Terrible Three," as Arden later nicknamed
them, stood within the room.
"What's this? Freshmen meeting in your room, Miss Blake!" Toots Everett
was very stern. "You girls who don't belong here will go at once to your
own rooms and don't do any more of this visiting. Jessica, confiscate the
fruit-cake!"
Jessica made a noble attempt, but there was no fruit-cake. The red and
gold box was empty. All that remained were a few crumbs for the mice.
Arden smiled sweetly at Pips MacGovern, Terry was grinning most
enjoyably, and Sim's round eyes outdid themselves in roundness.
The offending freshmen quickly vanished to their own rooms, while the
three sophomores were speechless with indignation. Toots finally found
her voice to say frostily:
"This is the third time we have met, Miss Westover, Miss Blake and Miss
Landry. This meeting is somewhat to your advantage. But we sophomores
will not forget. You three will report to me, Miss Everett, in my room
tomorrow after classes. The program has been changed. Hazing will begin
officially tomorrow!"
Waiting an ominous moment to see if the threatening words had any actual
effect, the three sophomores then silently left the room.
"Well, that's that!" remarked Sim.
"Wasn't she dreadful!" murmured Terry.
"It's going to be fun, girls!" Arden exclaimed. "I'm not a bit afraid of
being hazed. Now, let's unpack the rest of our things, and then we must
write some letters home. They will all be so anxious to know what
happened on our first day at Cedar Ridge."
"Such a lot has happened," murmured Sim, looking doubtful. "I'm afraid we
haven't exactly endeared ourselves to those sophs."
"Who cares?" laughed Terry.
"After hazing is over they'll be our good friends," declared Arden. "It's
part of their stock in trade to seem very gruff and terrible now, but we
needn't worry about that. Let's get at our letters. You'll have to lend
me something to write on, Sim. I don't seem to have any paper in my
suitcase. There's some in my trunk. I suppose that'll be up tomorrow."
"I expected this, Arden," Sim laughed. "I brought some extra stationery
for you. See that you write your mother a nice long letter. No more
ten-word telegrams."
The room was soon quiet except for the scratching of pens on paper. It
was very serene around Cedar Ridge College now, and quiet in the farm and
orchard grounds that formed part of the old estate which had been
transformed into a seat of learning.
The girls had been told that night letters might be placed on a table at
the end of their corridor, whence they would be taken up by one of the
porters or janitors in time for the early morning mail.
"Well, I've finished!" said Terry, sealing her last envelope.
"So have I," said Arden.
"Let's take them out and leave them on the table," suggested Sim. "The
folks will get them tomorrow night."
As the three walked down the dimly lighted corridor, they saw two other
freshmen going back to their room after having deposited their mail on
the table over which glowed a small light.
This table was at the end of the corridor nearest the old apple orchard,
which formed part of the college farm. The girls had heard something of
the college farm, and there had been a veiled threat that the freshmen
had to gather apples for their sophomore hazers.
The big window in the corridor was open. And as Arden and her two chums
dropped their letters upon the table they thrust their heads out for a
breath of the fresh night air.
"I wonder what sort of apples grow in that orchard?" mused Sim.
"They must be very choice," suggested Arden.
"How do you know?" asked Terry.
"Don't you remember, that good-looking porter with the cute little
mustache who took up our bags, was gazing so soulfully out of the window
into this same orchard?" suggested Arden. "There was such a queer, rapt
look on his face, I'm sure, though I could see only the back of his
head."
"Oh, my word!" mocked Sim. "Aren't we getting poetical and humorous all
of a sudden!"
"Hark!" cautioned Terry in a whisper.
From the dark orchard below them and to the northeast of the college
building sounded a cry of alarm and fright floating through the murky
blackness. It was a cry as if someone was in danger.
"Oh!" gasped Sim. "Whatever was that?"
Then, with one accord, she and her chums ran back to their room and
closed the door but did not lock it. For it was against the rules of
Cedar Ridge to lock bedroom doors. Miss Anklon had impressed this on the
freshmen. Terry, however, insisted on dragging a chair against the
portal, bracing the back of it under the knob so it would be difficult to
gain access.
The three girls gazed at one another with fear in their eyes.
Was there danger abroad in the blackness of the night?