MRS. ELWOOD TO THE RESCUE
As Grace approached the curtained archway that divided the living-room
from the hall she could not help wishing that she might have settled the
affair without Mrs. Elwood's assistance. She was not afraid to approach
Mrs. Elwood, who was the soul of good nature, but Grace disliked the
idea of the scene that she felt sure would follow. The young woman now
occupying the room that she and Anne had re-engaged for their sophomore
year would contest their right to occupy it. Mrs. Elwood would be
obliged to set her foot down firmly. It would all be extremely
disagreeable. Grace reflected. Then the memory of the Anarchist's
glaring incivility returned, and without further hesitation Grace walked
into the living-room, followed by her companions.
Mrs. Elwood, who was sitting in her favorite chair reading a magazine,
looked up absently, then, staring incredulously at the newcomers,
trotted across the room, both hands outstretched in welcome. "Why, Miss
Harlowe and Miss Nesbit, I had given you up for to-night. Here are Miss
Pierson and Miss Briggs, too. I'm so glad to see you. When did you
arrive? I thought there was no train from the north before nine
o'clock."
"Didn't Miss Dean tell you we had arrived?" asked Grace, as Mrs. Elwood
shook hands in turn with each girl.
"I haven't seen Miss Dean. She went out before I came home," replied
Mrs. Elwood.
"Wait until we catch the faithless Emma," threatened Anne. "She promised
to be our herald. We arrived here at a little after five o'clock. We did
not stay here long, for Miss Thayer, of Morton House, invited us to
dinner at Vinton's."
"How do you like the way I fixed your room this year?" asked Mrs.
Elwood.
"We haven't been in it yet," answered Grace. "That is, we went only as
far as the door."
"Oh, then you must see it at once," said Mrs. Elwood briskly. "I have
had it repapered. There is a new rug on the floor, too, and I have put a
new Morris chair in and taken out one of the cane-seated chairs."
"No wonder the Anarchist refuses to vacate," muttered Elfreda.
"What did you say, my dear?" remarked Mrs. Elwood amiably.
"Oh, I was just talking nonsense," averred Elfreda solemnly.
"I won't keep you girls out of your rooms any longer. I know you must be
tired from your long journey. Come upstairs at once."
Mrs. Elwood had already crossed the room and was out in the hall, her
foot on the first step of the stairs. The girls exchanged glances. There
was a half smothered chuckle from Elfreda, then Grace hurried after
their good-natured landlady. "Wait a minute, Mrs. Elwood," began Grace,
"I have something to tell you before you go upstairs. This afternoon,
when we arrived, we went directly to our rooms. The door of our room was
locked, however. We knocked repeatedly, and it was at last opened by a
young woman who said the room was hers and refused to allow us to enter
it."
During this brief recital Mrs. Elwood looked first amazed, then
incredulous. Her final expression was one of lively displeasure, and
with the exclamation, "I might have known it!" she marched upstairs with
the air of a grenadier, the girls filing in her wake. Pausing before the
door she listened intently. The sound of some one moving within could be
heard distinctly. Mrs. Elwood rapped sharply on the door. The footsteps
halted; after a few seconds the sound began again.
"She thinks we have come back," whispered Elfreda.
"So we have," smiled Grace, "with reinforcements."
Her smile was reflected on the faces of her friends. Mrs. Elwood,
however, did not smile. Two red spots burned high on her cheeks, her
little blue eyes snapped. Again she knocked, this time accompanying the
action with: "Open this door, instantly. Mrs. Elwood wishes to speak
with you."
"Do not imagine that you can gain entrance to this room through any such
pretense," announced a contemptuous voice from the other side of the
door. "I believe I stated that I did not wish to be disturbed."
"And I state that you must open the door," commanded Mrs. Elwood. "You
are not addressing one of the students. This is Mrs. Elwood."
A grating of the key in the lock followed, then the door was cautiously
opened far enough to allow a scowling head to be thrust out. The instant
the Anarchist's narrowed eyes rested on Mrs. Elwood her belligerent
manner changed. She swung the door wide, remarking in cold apology;
"Pray, pardon me, Mrs. Elwood. I believed that a number of rude,
ill-bred young women whom I had the misfortune to encounter earlier in
the day were renewing their attempts to annoy me."
"There are no such young women at Wayne Hall," retorted Mrs. Elwood, who
was thoroughly angry. "The majority of the young women here were with me
last year, and not one of them answers your description. Really, Miss
Atkins, you must know that you are trespassing. This room belongs to
Miss Harlowe and Miss Pierson. It was theirs last year and they arranged
with me last June to occupy it again during their sophomore year. How
you happened to be here is more than I can say. I believe I gave you the
room at the end of the hall."
"The room to which you assigned me did not meet with my approval," was
the calm reply. "I prefer this room."
"You can't have it," returned Mrs. Elwood decisively.
"But I insist upon remaining where I am," persisted the intruder. "If
necessary, I will allow Miss Harlowe or her roommate to occupy the other
half of the room."
"I have told you that you can not have the room," exclaimed Mrs. Elwood,
eyeing her obstinate antagonist with growing disfavor. "If you do not
wish to take the room at the end of the hall, then I have nothing else
in the house to offer you. No doubt you can find board to suit you in
some other house."
"I wish to stay here," returned the Anarchist stubbornly. "Let Miss
Harlowe have the room at the end of the hall."
Sheer exasperation held Mrs. Elwood silent for a moment. The Anarchist
peered defiantly at her from under her bushy eyebrows. She made no move
toward vacating the room of which she had so coolly taken possession.
"We'll go for our bags and suit cases, Mrs. Elwood," suggested Grace
wickedly. "We left them in Miriam's room."
"Very well," returned the intrepid landlady. "Your room will be ready
for you when you return."
"That is what I call a stroke of genius on your part, Grace," remarked
Miriam, as they entered her room. "Mrs. Elwood can deal with the
Anarchist more summarily without an audience."
"It must be very humiliating for that Miss Atkins," mused Anne, "but
it's her own fault."
"Of course it's her own fault," emphasized Elfreda. "She doesn't appear
to know when the pleasure of her company is requested elsewhere."
"Shall we go now?" asked Anne, lifting her heavy suit case preparatory
to moving.
"Not yet," counseled Grace. "We must give her time enough to get out of
sight before we appear."
Elfreda boldly took up her station at the door and reported faithfully
the enemy's movements. After a twenty minutes' wait, the stout girl
closed the door with a bang, exclaiming triumphantly: "She's gone! She
just paraded down the hall carrying her goods and chattels. Mrs. Elwood
stalked behind carrying a hat box. She looked like an avenging angel.
Hurry up, now, and move in before the Anarchist changes her mind and
comes back to take possession all over again."
Grace and Anne lost no time in taking Elfreda's advice. Five minutes
later they were back in their old room. "Stay here a while, girls,"
invited Grace. Miriam and Elfreda had assisted their friends with their
luggage.
"How nice your room looks," praised Miriam. "I like that wall paper. It
is so dainty. Your favorite blue, too, Grace. I wonder if Mrs. Elwood
knew that blue was your color?"
"I suppose so," returned Grace. "Two-thirds of my clothes are blue, you
know. I must run downstairs and thank her for championing our cause. I
won't be gone five minutes."
"We must go," declared Miriam. "We are going to begin unpacking
to-night."
Running lightly down the stairs, Grace thrust her head between the
portieres that separated the living-room from the hall. Mrs. Elwood sat
reading her magazine as placidly as though nothing had happened within
the last hour to disturb her equanimity.
"Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Elwood," said Grace gratefully, walking up
to the dignified matron and shyly offering her hand.
"Nonsense, child!" was the reply. "You have nothing for which to thank
me. You don't suppose I would allow a new boarder to infringe upon the
rights of my old girls, do you?"
"No," admitted Grace. "I'm sorry that things had to happen that way,"
she added regretfully.
"Don't you worry about it any more, Miss Harlowe," comforted the older
woman. "It's nothing you are to blame for. You had the first right to
the room. I gave this girl Miss Gaines's old room. Her roommate is to be
a freshman, too. She hasn't arrived yet. Miss Atkins decided to pick out
her own room, I imagine. Evidently she took a fancy to yours. As soon as
you girls had gone, she gave me one awful look, gathered up her
belongings, and went to the other room without another word. I picked up
two or three things she dropped and carried them down for her. I
wouldn't be sorry if she went to some other house to board. She looks
like a trouble maker."
Grace was of the same opinion, but did not say so. Always eager to
excuse other people's shortcomings, she found it hard to account for the
feeling of strong dislike that had risen within her during her first
encounter with the young woman Elfreda had laughingly named the
Anarchist. She had hoped that the four freshmen at Wayne Hall would be
girls whom it would be a pleasure to know. She had looked forward to
meeting these newcomers and to assisting them in whatever way she could
best give help. Now at least one of her castles in the air had been
built in vain.
"Perhaps we may like Miss Atkins after we know her better," she said,
trying hard to keep the doubt she felt out of her voice.
Mrs. Elwood shook her head. "I hope she will improve on acquaintance,
but I doubt it. It isn't my principle, my dear, to speak slightingly of
any student in my house, but I am certain that this is not the last time
I shall have to lay down the law of Wayne Hall to Miss Atkins."
At this plain speaking Grace flushed but said nothing. She understood
that Mrs. Elwood's words had been spoken in confidence.
"I'm so glad to see you again, Mrs. Elwood," she smiled, bent on
changing the subject.
"And I to see you, my dear," was the hearty response. "I have missed my
Oakdale girls this summer."
After a few moments' conversation Grace said good night and went slowly
upstairs. In spite of her satisfaction at being back at Overton she
could not repress a sigh of regret over the recent unpleasantness.
"The unforeseen always happens," she reflected, pausing for a moment on
the top step. "I hope the Anarchist will 'stay put' this time." She
laughed softly at the idea of the Anarchist standing stiff and
stationary in her new room. Then the ridiculous side of the encounter
dawning on her, she sat down on the stairs and gave way to sudden silent
laughter.
"What did Mrs. Elwood say?" asked Anne as Grace entered the room.
"I am afraid Mrs. Elwood is not, and never will be, an admirer of the
Anarchist," said Grace. "Seriously speaking, she is half inclined to ask
her to leave Wayne Hall. She believes she will have further trouble with
her. Perhaps we should have waited. We might have tried, later, to gain
possession of our room," added Grace doubtfully.
Anne shook her head. "We would be waiting still, if we had attempted to
settle matters without Mrs. Elwood."
"But it seems too bad to begin one's sophomore year so unpleasantly. All
summer I had been planning how helpful I would try to be to entering
freshmen, and this is the way my splendid visions have materialized."
Grace eyed Anne rather dejectedly.
"Never mind," soothed Anne. "By to-morrow this little unpleasantness
will have completely blown over. Perhaps the Anarchist," Anne smiled
over the title Elfreda had bestowed upon the disturbing freshman, "will
discover that she can make friends more quickly by being pleasant. She
may reform over night. Stranger things have happened."
"But nothing of that sort will happen in her case," declared Grace. "You
said just a moment ago if it hadn't been for Mrs. Elwood we would still
be out in the hall clamoring for a room, didn't you!"
"I did," smiled Anne.
"That was equivalent to accusing the Anarchist of stubbornness, wasn't
it?"
"It was."
"Very well. If she is half as stubborn as I believe her to be, she won't
be different to-night, to-morrow or for a long time afterward."