“GERRY”
The three ranch girls had their set of apartments toward the front of
the house on the second floor at Primrose Hall, so in order for Olive to
reach her room it was necessary that she should pass along a long
corridor into which various other apartments opened. She was not
interested in anything but the one thought of finding Frieda and Jean,
and yet, hurrying by an open door, she was obliged to overhear a
conversation between two girls who were talking in rather loud tones.
“I don’t care, Winifred Graham, whether you like it or not,” one of the
voices asserted, “but I certainly intend to be as nice to these new
Western girls as I know how. They are strangers and I think it horrid to
try to snub them just because you think perhaps they are not so rich and
fashionable as the rest of the Primrose girls. I suppose you will try to
turn as many of the other Juniors against them as you can twist around
your finger, but kindly don’t include me in your list. Perhaps you think
I don’t know why you have had me for one of your chums for so long.
Goodness, child, I am not so foolish as I look; it is because I am
homely as a mud fence, so when I’m around you’re more the stately beauty
than ever in contrast with poor little me. But maybe you won’t always be
thought the prettiest girl in the school, for this queer looking Olive,
what’s her name, is as good looking as you are in an odd, foreign way,
and the brown-eyed one named Jean Bruce goes you a close second. If you
are angry with me, why you need not have me for a roommate, for I am
going this very second to call on the new ranch girls and welcome them
to Primrose Hall.” And with a flounce the same short-haired girl who had
stopped to tease Olive earlier that morning, now ran along the hall
after her, slipping her arm through hers in the friendliest of fashions.
“Please’m, may I come and make you a call?” she inquired, “for I have
been several years at Primrose Hall and know the place like an old shoe.
Besides, I think that you and the older one of your sisters or friends,
I can’t guess your relation, must be going to be in our Junior class,
and I tell you we Juniors have to stick close together these days.”
By this time the two girls had arrived before Olive’s door, but hearing
queer noises in another room, they followed the sounds, discovering Jean
and Frieda in the adjoining chamber, which was to be the ranch girls’
sitting room. An immediate introduction was difficult because both Jean
and Frieda were apparently standing on their heads inside the trunk of
their Indian curios. They were not alone, for two sisters, Mollie and
Lucy Johnson, from across the hall, had come in to lend them hammer and
nails and were now watching them with deep absorption.
“Jean, Frieda,” Olive exclaimed, “this is—” and then she stopped in some
confusion, remembering that she had not yet heard their new friend’s
name.
The two ranch girls came forth from the trunk in time to see their new
visitor smiling at them. “I am Geraldine Ferrows, at your service,” she
explained, “but I’m better known to the world as Gerry. See I have
brought your Olive safe back from the lion’s den and, as she is no more
eaten up than was the prophet Daniel, why it proves that she’s a saint
to start with. I wonder if you would care to have me tell you about
Primrose Hall and what we are expected to do and what not to do?”
Olive, Frieda and Mollie and Lucy Johnson nodded thankfully, but Jean
closed her lips and hardly appeared to have heard the question. She was
not accustomed to feeling out of things as she had this morning and was
not sure she cared to have strangers making an effort to be kind.
Suppose this Geraldine Ferrows was one of the old students and said to
be one of the cleverest if not the cleverest of the girls, well even
that gave her no right to be patronizing to them!
But Gerry, apparently not observing Jean’s unfriendliness and having
already taken a fancy to her, as strangers usually did, now seated
herself cross-legged on the floor, beckoning to the others to follow
suit. “All Gaul, my children, is divided into three parts, as we learn
in our Latin book,” she said gayly, “but Primrose Hall, I regret to say,
is divided into only two parts, the girls Winifred Graham likes and the
girls she docs not. I used to belong to the first class, but now I
probably belong to the second. I was kind of in love with Winifred last
year and let her boss me around, but during the summer I thought things
over and decided to strike. When she was so horrid to a stranger this
morning it seemed to me the time was ripe. She won’t care a snap about
my desertion, for she never cares for people unless they are rich and
I’m not a bit, only my father is a famous surgeon in New York and I’m
going to be a doctor myself some day, since I’m too homely for any kind
gentleman to marry. I suppose it is because Winifred thought you girls
didn’t look rich that—” And instantly Gerry bit her lively tongue,
pretending not to be able to say anything more, although Jean was gazing
at her in a more encouraging fashion than she had worn at the beginning
of her speech.
All the way across the continent from Wyoming to New York City the four
ranch girls, Ruth, and their English friend, Frank Kent, had discussed
this question: Should the girls on arriving at boarding school speak of
their new-found gold mine to their new acquaintances? Ruth and Jack
advised against it, Olive had no pronounced opinion, Frieda and Frank
thought they might as well mention it now and then, while Jean was
determined to speak of their gold mine whenever the chance offered and
to make the biggest impression she possibly could. So now it was
surprising to hear Jean say with a slight flush in the healthy pallor of
her clear skin: “No, we wouldn’t wish any one at Primrose Hall to care
for us because of our wealth—or lack of it,” she answered demurely; “so
I am afraid Miss Graham and her friends will not like us any too well.
You see, we are simply ranch girls and will have to stand or fall by
that. I suppose this Miss Graham decided that we were poor because our
clothes are so simple and we haven’t thirteen trunks apiece as most of
the girls here have. Olive and I were laughing yesterday because on our
arrival we were given United States lock boxes for our jewels. Jewels!
why we haven’t any except a few trinkets and two or three keepsakes that
belong to Olive!” And Jean frowned and shook her head warningly at
Frieda, whose eyes were bigger and bluer than ever and whose lips were
about to form the name of the Rainbow Mine. Jumping up in order to
divert her attention, Jean ran across to their trunk of Indian relics
and diving down into it again, came forth with three pretty Indian
baskets. “Won’t each one of you take one of these baskets to remind you
that you were our first callers at Primrose Hall and we hope our first
friends,” she said prettily, handing a basket to Gerry and then the
others to the two sisters. But all the while Jean was talking and acting
this little pantomime, inside of her something kept repeating: “Jack was
right and we don’t want to be liked for our money. We will find out who
the really nice girls are at Primrose Hall and then—” Well, it was
comfortable to recall that in Jim’s last letter, written after they had
left the ranch, he had said the pot of gold from the end of their
Rainbow Mine had yielded five thousand dollars within the month just
past and that there appeared to be plenty more gold where that had come
from.
Suddenly a great bell sounded close by and five girls started with
surprise, only Geraldine Ferrows remaining perfectly calm. Getting up
from the floor, however, she stuck her Indian basket on her head for a
hat, using the handle as a strap.
“Tidy your hair, young women, and come along over to the recitation
hall. That was not an alarm of fire that just sounded, only a gentle
reminder that we are to assemble within the next ten minutes to meet our
teachers and to get ready our schedules of work for the next quarter. I
can only hope that all of you are as wise as you are beautiful, for
Primrose Hall is no cinch.” Gerry was marching out of the room to the
tune of “Tommy Atkins,” when Jean called after her: “You were awfully
good to come in to see us and we are obliged to you, so please help us
out whenever you can. I am afraid that the things we know, such as
riding bareback and raising cattle and shooting straight, won’t be
considered accomplishments at boarding school.” And Jean looked
unusually humble and particularly pretty.
Gerry laughed. “Don’t worry, we are none too learned ourselves at
Primrose Hall, for we keep all varieties of insects here, butterflies as
well as bookworms. But I will say for Miss Winthrop, that though this is
a fashionable school, she does try to make us mind our Q’s as well as
our P’s.”
Frieda was never born to understand a joke. “Please, what does it mean
‘To mind our P’s and Q’s?’” she inquired solemnly.
“Oh, P’s stand for parties and politeness and primping and how to enter
a room and what to say when you get there and all the things that mean
Society with a big S, Miss Frieda Ralston,” Gerry returned. “But Q’s,
Q’s are dreadful things called Quizzes, and you will pretty soon find
out what quizzing means, particularly if you happen to be in the
mathematics class taught by the female who rejoices in the delicious
name of Miss Rebecca Sterne. But really, Frieda, if you want to know the
truth about the meaning of the old expression, ‘mind your P’s and Q’s,’
the Century Dictionary tells us that the expression alluded to the
difficulty in the early days of discerning the difference between the
two letters.” And with this last bit of wisdom and a shake of her curly
head, Gerry really vanished from the ranch girls’ room.