HOW "SMILES" WAS SCALPED.
Azzie Hogan was the last to appear at the spread. The first course had
been diverted to its proper use, and the ice which marked the manner of
both Mary Wilson and Landis Stoner because of the presence of Miss O'Day
had thawed enough to permit a feeling of ease among the girls, when Azzie
arrived.
There was a motley array of every color of kimono that the mind of girl
could conceive. Their wearers were being comfortable on chairs and stools
so far as they held out. The girls in excess of the number had curled
themselves up, Turkish fashion, on cushions on the floor.
"Smiles must have allowed Azzie to practice," said Mary Wilson, with a leg
of chicken held aloft.
"Mary looks like Liberty enlightening the world," said Elizabeth. "The
drumstick answers very well for a torch."
"Liberty _frightening_ the world," said Mame Welch. "Whatever made her do
it--get a red kimono with her hair that shade?"
"Nearest thing I could get to match," said Mary, laughing. "I got it at a
bargain. I didn't need it. I have more lounging robes than I can possibly
wear; but this piece was reduced from twenty-five cents to fifteen. I
saved one-twenty by buying it. We--"
As she was speaking her voice ascended the scale until it might have been
audible half-way down the hall. She was called to a halt by a most decided
rap upon the door. An awesome silence fell upon the room. Instantly every
girl except the rightful owners of the room disappeared. No word had been
spoken. Only the moving of the couch draperies, the gentle swaying of the
portieres, or the closing of the wardrobe door gave hint as to the places
of disappearance. Again came the knock. Mary Wilson with suspicious haste
opened the door. "He-he," giggled Azzie, entering. "You thought it was
Mrs. Smiles. Come, girls. Come out. Mrs. Schuyler will not appear this
night, or to-morrow either, if I am not mistaken."
At her invitation the girls came forth. Azzie was too tall, too long to
seat herself with any grace of body. She had the effect of sprawling. That
she did now. Her purple kimono, resplendent with green roses and bands,
caused her to look like a great rag-doll with most of the sawdust missing.
The others of the party arranged themselves on cushions and chairs about
her, ready to fall, tooth and nail, upon the remains of the roast chicken.
Azzie would not eat, but kept her hand hidden in the folds of her gown.
"You needn't be talking in stage whispers," she began, with a fine touch
of Irish in her voice. "Smiles won't hear you--or at least she won't be
coming here. Yell, if you choose, or dance a clog. You're as safe as
though Smiles was in Halifax."
"Don't be too sure. I never like to run a risk," said Landis. "I should
not like to be called into the office to-morrow."
"I have found it this way with Mrs. Schuyler," explained Mary Wilson. "The
moment you are sure she isn't about, that is the moment you can be sure
she is ready to pounce on you."
"But she won't be here now. I'll yell and see." She yelled--a yell that
must have have reached to the end of the dormitory and pierced any number
of closed doors. The girls suppressed their half-frightened giggles, and
waited. Azzie was right. Mrs. Schuyler did not appear.
"Why doesn't she come?" asked Min Kean in a whisper. "She surely heard
that."
"Because I've taken her scalp," said Azzie. So speaking, she drew forth
her hand, dangling two sets of false fronts.
"Oh, you didn't dare!"
"How could you!"
"You'll be sent home, Azzie."
"How did you ever get them?" asked Elizabeth. To her, such an act was more
than merely hazardous. It was recklessness itself.
"Oh, I got them," said Azzie coolly. "I had a bit of neuralgia. A wisdom
tooth has been bothering me for a long time, and I stopped in after the
retiring-bell rang to ask Mrs. Schuyler for a drop of medicine to put in
it. She was ready for bed. Say, girls, did you ever see her when she
wasn't rigged out? She looked like a fright. She hasn't much hair left,
but what she has was done up in curling kids. And these," dangling the
false fronts before their eyes, "these lay reposing on the top of the
dresser. I brought them along to show you girls how fine they are--two
grades, one for every day and one for dress-up days."
"Don't shake them so close over my cocoa, please," cried Landis, removing
her cup beyond the reach of Azzie's scalps.
"I felt safe about coming so long as I had these," continued Azzie. "Don't
be afraid, Landis. A few hairs more or less won't hurt your supper."
"How will you get them back?" asked Elizabeth, who was fearful for Azzie's
welfare.
"I hadn't got that far in my thinking," was the droll response. "I knew
nothing could induce her to visit us without these," with another Indian
flourish of the scalps in the air. "We are safe to-night. To-morrow Smiles
will have a headache, and will not be able to come down to breakfast, and
perhaps not during the entire day. Drop in to-morrow to ask her something
and see if you do not find her with her head tied up."
It was impossible not to laugh at Azzie. There was such a droll dryness to
her humor, a peculiar touch to her way of saying things which made her
most ordinary expressions masquerade as wit. At times she lacked tact
which caused her companions no little embarrassment. This trait was made
evident by her turning to Miss O'Day with the remark:
"And, Nora, are you here? I'm as surprised to see you as I am to be here
myself." Then turning to Elizabeth, she added as an explanation, "The
'Exclusives' had no time for Miss O'Day last spring, and I was always too
much wrapped up in my music to be good company. So we were not invited to
the spreads in the hall. I'm glad, Elizabeth, you broke over and invited
us."
Miss O'Day's face grew crimson. Elizabeth, too embarrassed to respond,
remained silent. Miss Wilson arose to the occasion, changing the subject
with the question, "When is Miss Kronenberg going back?"
"Not until Monday," replied Landis, who was rarely embarrassed. These two,
with the assistance of Mame Welch and Carrie Hirsch, diverted the
attention from Miss O'Day.
"I do not German lessons take. Fraulein is not my instructor."
"Well, she is mine," responded Mary Wilson with a sigh. "As in a dream I
hear her say, 'Fraulein Wilson, you have it unright.' I've taken lessons
from her for three years, and that is the only remark she has ever made to
me."
"She will be giving examinations soon," said Mame. "The Seniors and
Middlers finish her work fully a week before the midwinter holiday. It
gives us time to cram on something else. It won't be long now."
"Last year, indeed for several years, she has asked the class to write in
German a description of a walk in the woods, or our Christmas at home, or
what our college life has done for us. It is always the same. She lets you
choose one of the three, but you must write a certain amount before she
will accept it."
"Landis and I are ready for it," began Min Kean placidly. "We have ours
written ready for her. I took a 'Walk in the Woods,' for my subject. I did
want to take 'What Exeter has Done for Me,' but Landis persuaded me out of
it. Of course, she was right about it. No one expects me to write on
subjects as deep as Landis. We have ours all finished and ready."
"Nonsense, Min," cried her roommate. "One would think to hear you talk
that we were expecting to pony through. You know such an idea is the one
furthest from our minds. You leave such false impressions." Then turning
to the girls, she explained, "I knew Fraulein Kronenberg was in the habit
of asking for such work in the examinations, so I told Min there would be
no harm in our practicing at this work. It would be quite the same thing
as though we were reviewing our lessons. Of course, we had no intention of
handing them in." Landis always appeared several inches taller when she
sought to justify herself.
"The day we are free of German, that day will Miss Brosius put us to extra
work in elocution and oratory. If I read the stars right, I discovered a
play in the corner of her eye when I saw her last. She has already begun
to estimate each one of us, to see who will best serve her purpose. Anna
Cresswell is already doomed. She is always dragged in for the beautiful,
calm creature who doeth and thinketh no evil. I wonder why she is always
selected when I----"
"I suppose they know you'd overdo it," suggested Azzie, lazily. "Thank
goodness, there are some things I escape by not being quick to learn my
part. They never tried me but once."
"But you always play. I'd rather any day get up and strut over the stage,
shrieking 'Is that a dagger that I see before me?' than sit down and keep
my fingers on the right keys," said Mame Welch.
"It is certainly wonderful how Azzie can play," said Min. "Every one seems
to enjoy it; but, do you know, just for myself, I like popular airs best?
Beethoven and Mozart may be fine, but I like the kind that the newsboys
whistle and all the hurdy-gurdies play."
"Wouldn't Mozart turn in his grave if he heard her?" asked Mame. "Speak to
her, Azzie. Reason with her. You are the only one who has artistic sense
enough to be shocked. Tell her to keep quiet, like the others of us do,
and pretend to revel in delight at Wagner."
"Will the Middlers be in it, too?" asked Elizabeth. Her heart failed at
the thought.
"Yes," said Mary, seeing that Elizabeth was really concerned at the
prospect of appearing in public. "Yes, they give the Middlers several
parts. You see, their idea is to get the Middlers used to public speaking
so that they will appear well when they are Seniors. All the experiences
or lessons Middlers ever get are given them in order to fit them to be
Seniors."
The lunch had been progressing during the chatter. A few drumsticks and
several slices of cake remained to show what had been. Elizabeth and Mary,
with true housewifely instinct, put away the remnants of the feast after
their guests had finished.
"How economical you are becoming!" said Mame Welch. "If I become hungry
to-morrow, I will visit while you are not here. If you miss anything, I
think you may give Landis the credit of taking it."
Landis shrugged her shoulders. "To see how careful they are, one would
think they never had much to eat before and don't expect much again. Now,
I'd throw the whole lot of it into the scrap-basket and let Jimmy Jordan
carry it off with the refuse. You bring to my mind that woman we met the
day we came back to Exeter. She was horrified because I didn't take what
was left of our lunch and run about offering it to some people who did not
have any with them. She went outside and shared hers with such a
common-looking woman and two dirty, crying babies."
"And me, too," said Elizabeth, not a whit abashed that she had been one of
the party which Landis saw fit to criticise.
"Oh, yes," was the reply, "But I suppose you were forced into it."
"I wasn't forced into it," Elizabeth replied. "Indeed, I was glad to go.
It was like a little picnic out there under the tree--"
"With two crying babies?"
"They did not cry after we went out. And the woman whom you laugh at was
very agreeable. The wait did not seem at all long. It was rather like a
pleasant party."
"Well, tastes differ," was the reply. "I am glad you enjoyed it. I'm sure
I should not. Come, Min, don't you think we had better pick our steps
back?"
"Walk as you please. The great Hokee Bokee Chief of the Night Hawks has
taken the scalp of the pale-faced scout," shouted Mary Wilson, jumping to
her feet and, seizing the false fronts, she waved them madly in the air
while she executed a war-dance.
"Give them back to Azzie," said Mame. "Sometime early to-morrow morning
you will find that the pale-faced scout is close on Azzie's trail."
Azzie took the trophies in her hand, examining them critically. "To-morrow
I intend to go in and call upon her. I know she'll have a towel bound
around her head."
The girls were about to depart when Mame Welch exclaimed, "There, I almost
forgot! Anna Cresswell has been invited down to Gleasonton to visit at the
Senator's. Mrs. Gleason is arranging quite a party of Exeter girls as soon
as they can have a free Saturday."
"Elizabeth and I were invited to-day," said Mary. "We were to let Mrs.
Gleason know what Saturday we would have free."
"They have fine times there--so they tell me," Azzie said. "I've never
been invited to see for myself."
"I do not know Mrs. Gleason personally," remarked Landis, "but we have the
same set of friends. No doubt if I should tell her that I'm Robert
Stoner's daughter, she'd out-do herself to be kind to me."
"Why," said Elizabeth guilelessly, "was she such a friend of your
father's?"
Landis shrugged her shoulders. "My father was a man of some prominence,"
was the response. "But how is it that she invited you? Did you not tell me
that you did not know her?"
"I don't. I have never so much as seen her."
"She's very philanthropic--always trying to help people who need it. I
suppose she knew you were a new student, and perhaps hadn't a wide
acquaintance here, so she invited you that you might not find life too
dull."
"Perhaps," was the reply, with a smile of amusement. Elizabeth was
learning a great deal, not less important that it lay outside of classes
and books.
The other girls had departed. Only Landis and Miss O'Day remained. Then
the former with a whispered "good-night" went tip-toeing down the hall.
Miss O'Day lingered.
Much to Elizabeth's surprise she bent her head to kiss her. "It was very
kind of you, Elizabeth, to ask me to come this evening. But the other
girls did not like it. Come to see me. You and I will grow chummy over my
tea-table. But you do not need to ask me again when you entertain. I will
not feel hurt. If you persist in being good to me, they will drop you and
you will find it very lonely."
"They may do as they see fit," she responded with determination. "I will
entertain whom I wish. If they do not choose to come, then they have the
alternative. Good-night! Don't worry about me, Miss O'Day. I'm learning to
take care of myself." Then she put up her lips to be kissed again.
The following morning the preceptress did not appear at breakfast, as
Azzie had predicted. The dinner hour, according to the custom for all
holidays, had been postponed until two o'clock. Devotional exercises were
held in the chapel at ten o'clock. Mrs. Schuyler's place on the rostrum
was vacant.
"She's been in her room all morning," giggled Min to Landis on their way
to their rooms.
"I hope Azzie will see the error of her ways before dinner time," Mary
Wilson said. "I should not like to miss a Thanksgiving dinner."
As though Mary's words had power to call her, Azzie at that moment came
down the corridor, swinging herself lazily along.
"This is the sixth time I've started for Mrs. Schuyler's room," she began
at the sight of the girls. "But the moment I reach the door, my heart
drops down into my shoes, and it's so heavy, I can't move my feet an
inch."
"Taking scalps is not all the fun it's supposed to be, is it?" asked Mame
Welch.
"The taking is all right. The taking _back_ is what hurts my feelings."
Azzie sighed deeply as she began to unwrap the paper about the false
fronts. "I don't know whether I'll have the courage to lay them inside her
door or not. I'd put it off until to-morrow if it wasn't for the
Thanksgiving dinner. Well, there's luck in odd numbers."
"To me there would be something too subtle, too sly, in slipping them in
at the door." The remark was from Landis.
As usual, Mary Wilson was the one quick to reply. "Then Azzie will not do
it if there be but a suspicion of subtleness about it. Do you not know her
well enough, Landis, to know when she is jesting and when she is not?"
"Oh, well, let us hope she was jesting then," was the reply.
The seventh venture had carried a charm for Azzie. Her heart did not go
thumping to her heels again. She knocked at Mrs. Schuyler's door and then
entered without waiting for permission.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Schuyler," she cried gayly. "I was sorry not to see
you down to breakfast, though to be honest I did not expect you. Did you
miss anything last evening after I was in? It was too good a chance--there
they were lying right under my eyes. I'll leave them here," laying the
budget on a table near her, "so you can come down to dinner."
Her manner was not that of one who merited or expected a rebuke. There was
such a big-hearted friendliness in her voice that Mrs. Schuyler's heart
responded. She smiled in spite of the feeling of vengeance she had been
cherishing against her tormentor. Before she could regain her austerity of
manner, Azzie had departed and was half way down the dormitory hall, on
her way to the music-room for an hour's practice before dinner.
Thanksgiving was not a day of unalloyed happiness to Elizabeth. The
afternoon's mail brought her letters and papers from Bitumen. Her father
wrote the home news with the same gaiety which marked his conversation. He
mentioned, as though it were a subject to be lightly treated, that there
was some talk of the miners "going out." He thought their grievance might
be adjusted without resorting to extreme measures--a week or so would
tell. Then he took up the little matters of the house.
The letter was remarkably cheerful. Yet Elizabeth was disturbed in spirit.
She had never lived through a strike; but she had heard the miners' wives
tell of the dreadful happenings. So far she thought only of the suffering
of the miners' families, with no money, starving and freezing in their
little shanties. She had never heard how the lives of the operators and
men in the position of her father hung in the balance at such times.
After reading the letter again, she mechanically took up the newspaper.
The black headlines heralding the coming strike were before her. She read
column after column hurriedly. The newspaper attached greater importance
to the rumors than her father. They recounted the horrors of strikes past,
and presaged them for strikes to come. No definite reasons had been given
for the miners going out. The article hinted that only the grossest
imposition of the operators had led them to consider a strike. The names
of two men appeared frequently--Dennis O'Day and Ratowsky--who were
opposed to each other. Strange to say, neither was a miner. Ratowsky could
influence the men because he was foreign-born, a Pole, as the majority of
them were. On the other hand, Dennis O'Day was a native American, a class
of which the foreign element is suspicious. Yet at his instigation the
miners had arisen.
The article caused Elizabeth some uneasiness. She looked forward to the
following day's paper, hoping it might contain a brighter outlook. But on
the next day when she went to the reading room, she failed to find the
papers. For many successive days the same thing occurred. Then at length,
she gave up looking for them. It was not until a month later that she
learned that they had disappeared at Dr. Morgan's suggestion, and the
girls were aiding her in keeping the worrisome news from Elizabeth.
The letters from home came at their usual times, but neither her father
nor mother mentioned the trouble at the mines. Elizabeth, believing that
no news was good news, took it for granted that the difficulty had been
amicably settled.
A week later, in company with Mary Wilson, she set forth to visit Mrs.
Gleason. From Exeter to Gleasonton is only an hour's ride. At the station,
they found a sleigh with a coachman and footman waiting to convey them to
Senator Gleason's home.
"It is the prettiest place in summer," said Mary, as they went flying over
the snow-packed roads. "Everything is so beautiful that you can really
believe it is fairyland."
On their way, they passed several stately country residences, closed for
the winter. Then came acres and acres of bark-sheds filled with bark for
the tanneries; then the tanneries themselves. Then, at a distance, upon
the brow of the hill were seen the stone walls of Senator Gleason's home.
"Isn't it beautiful?" whispered Elizabeth, as though should she speak
aloud the spell would be broken, and the place, like Aladdin's palace,
vanish in the air.
"Wait until you see it in summer, with all the vines and beautiful trees,"
was the response.
They turned into the driveway, and in a few minutes were brought to the
front entrance. At the sound of the bells, the door opened and Senator
Gleason appeared, smiling and affable, to welcome them, and following him
was his wife.
Elizabeth gave a start of surprise. Although more richly dressed than when
she had seen her before, Elizabeth recognized in her the plain little
woman with whom she had eaten lunch on her journey to Exeter.