ANNE
Swinging her chair sharply about to face the aisle, she met the amused
gaze of a red-haired girl of about her own age.
“Tell me,” begged Patricia impulsively, leaning forward, “was I—doing
anything—unusual while I was asleep?”
“I’ll say you were,” responded the girl, smiling broadly.
“What?”
“You—you were—stroking the ankles of that young man back of you as if
your life depended on it,” choked the stranger.
“No!” cried Patricia, in great distress.
“Yes! Then suddenly you pinched the poor fellow, and I thought I’d just
_die_!”
At that moment the man in question rose and hurried down the aisle toward
the smoker. With crimson face, Patricia watched the slight boyish figure,
with its crown of smooth yellow hair, disappear before she again
addressed her neighbor.
“I’m embarrassed to death! What _must_ he think of me? I can’t apologize
for something I didn’t know I was doing; and if I try to explain, it will
look as if we were trying to scrape up an acquaintance. What would you
do?”
“I’d just let it go, and try to forget it,” advised the other girl,
raising up in her chair to lower the shade a little; for the sun was
shining full upon her.
“Do you suppose the rest of these people saw me?” persisted Patricia,
glancing anxiously around the car.
There were not many other passengers; an old lady, apparently absorbed in
a weighty-looking volume; a couple of middle-aged men, with their heads
close together, evidently discussing some important question; a young
mother, absorbed in the baby in her arms; and a scared-looking, awkward
girl, who gazed moodily out of the window, occasionally munching a
chocolate from a box in her lap.
“I don’t think so,” replied the red-haired girl, settling herself anew in
her chair, and smoothing out the skirt of her dark green suit. “I
probably shouldn’t have, if I hadn’t been watching you.”
“Watching me?” repeated Patricia, opening her brown eyes very wide in
surprise.
“Yes; and wondering if by any chance you were going to Granard College.”
“I am, but what in the world made you think so?”
“Oh, you looked like a college girl, some way, and then being on this
train, which, this time of year, is a favorite one for the Granard
students. Don’t know where they all are today, though. Are you just
entering?”
“Yes, and no,” laughed Patricia. “I did my Freshman work at Brentwood; so
I’m entering the Soph class here.”
“Congratulations! Welcome to the class of 19—. I’m one of your
classmates-to-be. Anne Ford, at your service.”
“My name is Patricia Randall, and I’m very glad to get acquainted with
some one before I get to Granard. I confess I have stage fright at the
prospect of meeting so many strangers.”
“Don’t let that bother you. The girls are easy to get on with, and you’ll
soon feel as if you’d always been at Granard,” said Anne carelessly.
Patricia realized, however, that it would not be quite so simple to break
into a class whose cliques and customs had had a whole year’s start
before she came on the scene.
“How did you happen to choose Granard?” inquired Anne curiously. “Do you
know anyone there?”
“My cousin,” replied Patricia, breathing a prayer of thanks for the
second question which enabled her to disregard the first. “Ted Carter; do
you know him?”
“Ted Carter! I should say I do!” exclaimed Anne, adding, quickly and
somewhat possessively, “Ted’s my best boy friend.”
“How nice!” commented Patricia so heartily that all the suspicions which
had arisen in Anne’s mind as to possible claims on the fascinating Teddy
were promptly allayed.
“Come on over here,” suggested Anne, turning a vacant chair to face her;
“and we’ll have a cozy chat.”
Patricia gladly accepted the invitation, and as she settled herself with
one foot tucked under her, a habit whenever she wished to be especially
comfortable, Anne asked:
“Do you know yet where you’re to room?”
“Yes; Arnold Hall.”
“You _are_?” exclaimed Anne, gazing at Patricia in astonishment. “You
certainly must have some pull.”
“Why?” inquired Patricia, in a puzzled tone.
“Because Arnold Hall’s the best dorm at Granard, and there’s always a
waiting list for it. You’re a lucky girl to be able to break right into
it. My reservation was made while I was still in high school.”
“Oh, then you live there? I’m _so_ glad!” There was no mistaking the note
of gratification in Patricia’s tone, nor the admiring gaze of her brown
eyes which rested somewhat shyly upon her new acquaintance.
Anne smiled in the manner of one who is so accustomed to being popular
that it has long ceased to be exciting. There was something unusual about
this new girl, evidently, or old Hattersley would never have let her get
into Arnold Hall. It evidently wasn’t money; for though Patricia’s
clothes were in good taste, they were not expensive. She had no friends
there, except her cousin. Perhaps it was scholarship, or some powerful
influence from Brentwood or high school.
Patricia, meanwhile, was wondering what Anne would say if she were to
tell her that when Dad had written for a room for Patricia, the
registrar, somebody by the name of Hattersley, had promptly replied that
one had already been reserved for her in Arnold Hall. They had speculated
on the strange fact for days, and had been forced to leave the mystery
unsolved, just as they had the arrival of the check.
“Do you know Aunt Betsy?” inquired Patricia, presently.
“Not personally,” replied Anne, smiling broadly; “but I’ve heard of her.”
“I’ll warrant you have,” giggled Patricia. “She’s as good as gold, but
most awfully funny. You never know what she’s going to say or do next. We
say she has only three interests: Ted, and Ted, and Ted. They used to
live near us in Brentwood, but when my cousin won a scholarship at
Granard, she rented her house and took an apartment down here so she
could give Ted all the comforts of home during his course. She meant
well, of course; but I feel sort of sorry for Ted. I fancy he’d rather be
a bit freer. One night during his Freshman year he stayed out to dinner
and for the evening without telling her; so she ran all over the campus
looking for him, quite sure that the terrible Sophs had imprisoned him
somewhere.”
“I have heard that story,” laughed Anne. “He was at the Zeta Omega
House—that’s right next to Arnold Hall.”
“When Aunt Betsy heard that I was coming down, she wrote Dad that she
could take me in just as well as not, and that I’d be far more
comfortable with her than in any dorm—”
“But you preferred to be less comfortable,” interrupted Anne.
“I certainly did. I’ve wanted to live in a dorm ever since I knew what
college was. Tell me something about Granard so I won’t be quite so
ignorant.”
Anne began to talk animatedly of college affairs, and Patricia’s eyes got
bigger and bigger and her cheeks redder and redder as she became more and
more interested. Neither of the girls noticed that the blond youth had
returned to his chair and was watching them intently.
“My goodness!” exclaimed Anne, glancing out of the window a couple of
hours later, as the train began to slow down. “I didn’t realize that we
were nearly in. We change to the bus here at Plainville. Come on! They
make only a two-minute stop here.”
Grabbing their bags, the two girls hurried out of the train onto a long
platform splashed with big drops of rain. At the end farthest from the
train a bus was waiting for passengers; and just as they reached it, the
rain, now driven by a brisk wind, began to fall in torrents. Laughing and
breathless, they scrambled up the steps of the bus and sank into seats
near the door.
“Here comes a friend of yours,” remarked Anne, peering out of the doorway
at other travelers, scurrying across the glistening platform.
Thinking that perhaps Ted had come that far to meet her, Patricia leaned
forward just as the young man with the light hair bounded up the steps
and collided sharply with her outstretched head.
“Oh, say—I’m awfully sorry,” he cried, flushing brilliantly. “I hope I
didn’t hurt you.”
“Not in the least!” lied Patricia curtly, trying desperately to fight
back tears. Ever since she could remember, any sudden blow or fall had
made her cry, whether she was really badly hurt or not. It was a most
embarrassing habit, now that she was grown up. As she elaborately
straightened her little brown hat which was over one ear, and tried to
recover her poise, the youth passed on to the other end of the bus.
“Wonder when and where your next encounter will be,” observed Anne, as
the driver closed the doors and started the big bus. “Three times—you
know.”
“Never, I hope,” replied Patricia emphatically, little dreaming what the
future held in store for her. “Does this bus take us right to college?”
“No, only to the foot of the hill about one-half mile from the campus.
We’ll be there in an hour.”
“Have you a room mate?” inquired Patricia, a few minutes later.
“No, I have one of the three singles on the first floor. Where are you to
be?”
“I don’t know, but I hope that it will be near you, and that I’ll have a
room mate.”
“Why?” asked Anne, idly tracing designs on the steamed window beside her.
“Because I’ve always wanted one. It’s a bit lonesome, being an only
child.”
“Sometimes you’d wish you were,” laughed Anne, “if your sister tried to
boss you as mine frequently does. Joan and I are usually pretty good
friends, but once in so often we have a flare-up.”
“Oh, I hope I’ll be able to get along peaceably with a room mate, if I
have one,” said Patricia earnestly. “Maybe I wouldn’t though. I guess I
must be pretty well spoiled.”
“Don’t look so worried!” ordered Anne. “And, by the way, don’t take to
heart everything the girls may say. Living all together, as we do, we are
pretty frank at times, but everybody takes it in good part.”
When the bus stopped, it was still raining, and the two girls ran hastily
across the muddy road to a small rustic shelter.
“Well!” said Anne, shaking her wet umbrella. “Evidently none of the girls
have come down to meet the bus. Don’t blame ’em much on such a ‘nausty’
day. So we’ll have to climb the hill by ourselves and take our own bags.”
“Bags!” exclaimed Patricia, clutching Anne’s arm, as she opened her green
umbrella preparatory to starting up the hill.
“Yes, bags; what about them?”
“I—I haven’t mine! I must have left it on the bus.”
“Good night!” ejaculated Anne forcefully.
“What shall I do?”
“You can’t do a thing but wait and see if the driver finds it, and brings
it back on his next trip. Is your name on it?”
“Yes.”
Anne closed her umbrella again, set her own bag in a corner, and loosened
her jacket. “Might as well sit down, I suppose,” she commented, leading
the way to a bench across the back of the shelter. “There won’t be
another bus for an hour.”
“Oh, but you needn’t stay,” offered Patricia heroically. “I can wait
alone.”
“Yes, if I’ll let you; but I won’t,” replied Anne, pushing back some
little red curls which had escaped from under the brim of her smart green
hat.
“It’s mighty good of you,” said Patricia gratefully; for she had hated to
think of staying here all alone for a full hour.
“I never desert a friend in distress.”
“‘A friend in need,’” quoted Patricia.
“Speaking of friends,” interrupted Anne, “what became of the blond youth?
I didn’t see him get off the bus; did you?”
“No, but he might have just the same. I was too excited over my bag to
think of anything else.”
“He may have gone on to Mendon, but I doubt it. I’ve never seen him
before, but he looked to me like a college fellow.”
“Just as I did,” began Patricia.
“You never looked like a college fellow in your life!” retorted Anne,
laughing.
“Well, I mean,” said Patricia, flushing.
“I understand what you mean; but, just the same, I am curious to know
what became of the boy.”
The time passed more quickly than they thought it would, and both were
surprised when a grey bus loomed up in the distance. As soon as it came
to a stop, Patricia ran out in the rain to question the driver.
“Did you find a bag?” she demanded eagerly.
The fat, good-natured driver wrinkled up his forehead thoughtfully and
then nodded.
“It’s mine,” she declared, with relief. “Please give it to me.”
“Sorry, Miss; but I can’t.”
“Why not?” inquired Patricia, a bit impatiently.
“Because it’s back at the station. I didn’t know whose it was, and we
have to turn everything in. Then it has to be identified by its owner.”
At this point Anne, who had been the center of a group of girls who had
gotten off of the bus, left her friends and came to Patricia’s rescue.
“Mike,” she said, smiling sweetly up at the big driver, “couldn’t you
bring Miss Randall’s bag down on your next trip? We don’t want to go all
the way back to town now.”