MIDNIGHT CONFIDENCES.
On going to the office, Elizabeth found that Dr. Morgan had been called
unexpectedly to the city, and would not return for several days. She was
disappointed, as she much preferred having the thing over and done with
than hanging fire for several days. The girls crowded about her,
expressing both admiration and criticism and offering advice until
Elizabeth did not know whether she was a culprit or a heroine. The
maddening part of it was that she must wait three days to find out. Her
own opinion in regard to being "policed" into honesty had not changed. She
felt confident of the support of her father in the position she had taken.
She knew how, from the bottom of his heart, he abhorred any questioning of
one's honor. The more she listened to the talk of the other girls, the
more indignant she was at the insult.
She was not one to give expression to her feeling in words only. After her
remarks to Dr. Kitchell, the other girls did most of the talking while she
listened, turning the matter over in her mind. She had her father's way of
straightening matters out. "If a thing is wrong, make it right--if you
can," she had often heard him say to Joe Ratowsky. Her four months at
Exeter had taught her there were people of words and people of action. It
was of the last-named class she selected her helpers. Landis was not to be
considered. It is doubtful if she could have given a reason for the
feeling that she would be of no assistance in a reform movement. It was
merely intuition and could not be put into words. Min, too, who was but
the shadow of Landis, was to be barred. There was enough to begin
with--Anna Cresswell, Nancy Eckdahl, Mary Wilson, Mame Welch, Nora O'Day,
strange to say, and herself.
At the dinner table, Elizabeth passed the word around asking the girls to
come to her room immediately at the ringing of the study bell. Some of the
students were already packing to leave for the holidays; and after the
midwinter examinations, no strict observance was paid to study hours.
Miss Brosius heard the invitation and smiled. She was learning to know
Miss Hobart. After the experience of the morning, she felt these summonses
might be followed by a declaration of war. Her position in regard to
overseeing examinations was more distasteful to her than it could possibly
be to any of the students. But from time immemorial such had been the
custom of most schools. There must have been a reason for it. No doubt, it
had been forced upon the instructors by the attitude of the students
themselves. New conditions may have arisen, but the old law still held.
"There's something brewing," Miss Brosius said to Miss Watson as they
quitted the dining-hall. "If I read the stars aright, Exeter Hall will be
reformed before Dr. Morgan returns from the city."
"She comes to-morrow."
"Maybe. Reforms have started in less than twenty-four hours. The fuel has
been ready for several years, waiting for someone to apply the match."
"Who is doing that now?"
"Elizabeth Hobart, if I am not mistaken. Did you not notice the flash of
her eyes and the message she was passing about to have the girls meet in
her room?"
"Yes; but I thought it was nothing more than a taffy pull."
"It is a deep-laid plot to reform us all. I must give her credit in the
selection of her colleagues. She has picked those who will carry her plans
through if they once see fit to accept them. Oh, no, don't be alarmed," as
she noticed Miss Watson's expression, "there may come some good from it;
no evil at least, I'm sure. It may be a good thing to have them talk the
matter over." Then she related the events of the morning.
The girls did not know the reason for their being called together. Nora
O'Day, to Elizabeth's surprise, made no objections, Elizabeth having
explained fully that it was not a social but a purely business meeting.
Nora came in after the others had gathered. With a nod to them
collectively, she took her place before the grate.
Elizabeth stated the reason of the gathering. She related the scene of the
morning.
"You know I never was in an examination before," she said. "You have no
idea how it impressed me. To think of having two and three teachers in the
room to watch us! Why, it seemed to me it was the most insulting thing
possible."
"That is because it is new to you. It really was not meant that way," Miss
Cresswell explained. "But you must bear this in mind--school life is just
like outside life. There are some students who are dishonest. There's no
getting around that fact. And because of those few, we must all be put
under surveillance."
Elizabeth was not to be convinced. "I do not see why. I felt this morning
in class just as I would if I had gone into Dr. Morgan's room and she had
immediately locked up her jewelry and her purse. Surely, the teachers
themselves must have learned by this time who can be trusted and who can
not! Suppose among the fifty girls in our room this morning, there were
one or two who cheated. I think it would have been far better to allow
them to go their way than have treated us all like criminals. What great
difference would it make anyhow? They would be the only losers; and as to
being watched, how is that going to make them any better?"
Mary Wilson shook back her hair. Her eyes were beginning to flash. As
Elizabeth discussed the question, her enthusiasm grew.
"It makes them worse--far worse. If there is anything in the world that
would make me cheat it is being watched to see that I didn't. I'd do it
then just to prove that I could be sharper than they."
They talked the matter over thoroughly, each one, with the exception of
Nora O'Day, expressing herself freely. She sat silent; but her silence did
not spring from lack of interest. She listened keenly to every word, and
weighed it fully before she accepted it. Elizabeth wondered at her, for
she was not naturally quiet. The others understood, and did not ask for
her opinion.
Elizabeth had gained one point. The girls did not treat Miss O'Day with
that studied formality which is more galling than open neglect as they had
on former occasions. Mary, in particular, was quite agreeable, and Nora
herself more at ease.
Elizabeth had a plan for this reformation. She was not attempting the
impossible. Her idea was practical. Even Miss Cresswell declared it to be
wise.
"Will you be secretary, Miss Cresswell, and jot down our plan?" asked
Elizabeth.
She moved to the study-table, taking up a pencil and tablet ready for
work. "What have you decided to do about talking with the girls?" she
asked. "Will you call them all together and present this plan to them?"
"No; my idea was to interview each one by herself. It seems so much more
personal than talking to them all together. I think they will take it so;
I'm sure I should."
"Perhaps so. But it will mean a great deal of work."
"We will not object to the work," said Mary Wilson, "if we only succeed in
carrying out Elizabeth's idea."
The details were further discussed. Then they began to apportion a certain
section of the Hall for each girl to visit.
"We need not visit them all. Each new recruit will be put to work to get
other signers."
Anna Cresswell continued her writing. At last she spoke. "We will have
this run off on the typewriter. Listen. Is this just what you intend,
Elizabeth?" She read:
"We, the undersigned students of Exeter Hall, not being contented with the
present method of conducting examinations, believing that it casts
reflections upon the honor of each student, do hereby suggest a means of
reformation. We pledge ourselves individually to receive no assistance at
such times. Furthermore, we will quietly but firmly discountenance among
the students any methods not strictly honorable.
"We respectfully request Dr. Morgan to have examinations conducted
hereafter without the presence of instructors, we pledging ourselves that
under our supervision they will reflect credit both upon Exeter and the
students."
"You have done it beautifully. My father could not have done it better,"
said Elizabeth. "Now we must get the names of the best girls at Exeter."
"Don't have a name of one who does not mean to keep her pledge," advised
Miss Cresswell. "Fifty people in earnest are worth more than an hundred,
half of whom veer with the wind."
"But as Anna Cresswell said before," began Mary Wilson excitedly, "there
will be some who will cheat. What will we do?"
"Most of the girls will agree to this, and the majority can be depended
upon to do as they pledge themselves. If you keep your eyes open in the
class-room, you can soon discover who has no sense of honor. These may be
taken quietly aside and spoken to. If they transgress a second time, we
will make the affair public." This advice came from Miss Cresswell.
At the close of her speech, Mame Welch arose. "If we don't scatter soon,
the lights will be out, and I do not care to wander down the staircase in
the dark. I did it once, and I had a bump on my head for a week. One's
head is not the best 'lighting' place. Come, Carrie Hirsch, you go my way.
If the lights go out, we will fall together." Slipping her arm through
Carrie's, and bidding the others good-night, she quitted the room.
Miss Cresswell and Nancy followed, with cheery words to encourage Mary and
Elizabeth for to-morrow's work. Nora O'Day remained. She was quite a
striking figure as she stood leaning with her elbow against the mantel,
looking down into the grate. As always, she was richly dressed. Her loose
robe of crimson silk, her dark hair hanging in a single braid, and her
olive-tinted skin presented a glowing picture.
"I waited until the others left," she said, "to speak to you alone,
Elizabeth. I have been wishing to for several days, but you were so busy,
I didn't feel that I could take you from your work."
"You can talk together here. I am going into the bedroom," said Mary,
making ready to disappear.
"No; I do not wish to disturb you. I intended asking Elizabeth to walk to
the end of the hall with me. I love to sit on the window-seat at the
landing. The campus is beautiful in the moonlight. No one is disturbed by
the talking there. I think Mrs. Schuyler will not mind late hours
to-night, since we go home to-morrow. Will you come, Elizabeth?"
"Yes; wait one minute until I get a wrap. That window-seat is full of
drafts, I know. I have sat there before."
Taking down a golf cape, she wrapped it about her. "Come," she added,
drawing Miss O'Day's arm through her own. "We will be night-hawks until
Mrs. Schuyler finds us. Don't lock the door, Mary. I'll slip in later."
A delightfully broad window-seat filled with cushions was at the turn of
the stairway, where one had a view of the campus, now snow covered,
beautiful in the glimmer of the moonlight.
Arranging the cushions here to her satisfaction, Nora began the
conversation. "I heard you talk in the meeting yesterday, Elizabeth, and I
wish to thank you."
"Why thank me? I only said what I thought."
"Some girls might have done considerably less--to my knowledge some of
them have. You ran the risk of being unpopular, and yet you were willing
to take that risk because you were my friend. That is the kind of
friendship that is worth having. You do not know how pleased, how glad I
was! Why, I had not been so happy for months."
"Take the risk! Because I was your friend! Well, I must be awfully dense,
but really, Nora, I haven't the faintest idea what you are trying to
say."
"You say that to escape my thanks--my gratitude. That is just your way. I
might have expected as much. You do a generous, noble deed and then slip
away from the gratitude that follows."
"Well, it may be my way, and it may not. I do not know what you are
talking about. If I have done what you call a generous, noble deed, this
is the first I have heard of it. If your mind is still upon the speech I
made yesterday, you may be sure there was nothing noble about that. Why,
you have no idea how angry I was! It made me so indignant to hear some
explain what should be done and how. I didn't approve of their plans at
all, so the only thing left for me to do was to say what I thought about
it. It is news to me that being indignant and expressing yourself
rather--well, rather forcibly, is noble and generous. Though," dryly, "I'm
rather glad it is so, for it will be easy for me to be noble in that
fashion."
Miss O'Day turned to look closely at her.
"Really, Elizabeth, upon your honor now, did you really not have me in
mind when you made that speech yesterday?"
"I did not, 'pon honor," she laughed softly. Then she gave Miss O'Day's
hand a very loving squeeze to mitigate the hurt her next words might
contain. "It may be rather galling to your pride, but I did not even think
of you after we entered the meeting, although I suppose you must have been
sitting by me. I was all eyes and ears for what was going on up front. I
suppose you might add all mouth, too, for that matter."
"Then you did not know what happened here last spring? Did none of the
girls tell you?"
"I do not know what particular happenings you have in mind. But no one
told me of anything that was unusual."
"Well, then I shall tell you. It was not until last evening that I felt
that I could talk the matter over with any one; but after you spoke as you
did, I knew that you could understand. I have borne it so long without
letting any one know, that it is a relief to think I can tell just how I
feel, and how awful these months at Exeter have been. I might have gone
somewhere else this fall and not returned at all; but when I thought it
over, it seemed to me that it would be cowardly to slip away like that.
Last summer I wrote to Dr. Morgan that I intended returning. Then I made
up my mind that I would stay here until I made every one at Exeter, from
Dr. Morgan down to the dining-hall girls, respect me." She paused, then
added slowly, "But I don't seem to have made much headway yet."
There was a sadness in the girl's voice which embarrassed Elizabeth. She
knew that Nora O'Day was sad--had known that for a long time. She would
have been glad to express sympathy, say some word which would show
confidence in her companion, but she was so new to anything of this sort
that she could do nothing but sit silent and look at her. Then she
suddenly blurted out:
"I do not know what you are talking about! Tell me, Nora. I fancy it is
not really so bad as you think."
"I do not see how it could be worse! Perhaps, when I tell you, you will
feel as the others. If you do, don't stop to explain and give all kinds of
reasons for your actions. Just walk off, and I will understand that you do
not care to be friends with me. I'll not be surprised. Indeed, I rather
expect you to do just that thing--yet, after all, you have always been
different."
"Well, wait until I walk off. I may not. Dollars to doughnuts, the 'awful'
thing you have done is partly imaginary. The girls are all right, and I
love _some_ of them; but even that doesn't make me think them infallible.
But you sit there and hint about a dreadful deed you have done. One would
think you were little less than a female Captain Kidd. There are cold
chills running up and down my spine now, so begin quick and tell me
everything."
"Last spring, I went into the geometry examination and took my book with
me. I copied three theorems, letter for letter, right out of the book. A
half-dozen girls saw me--Mary Wilson, Nancy, Carrie Hirsch, Mame Welch,
Landis and Min. That same evening the girls met and decided to cut me. We
had all been friends."
"I didn't think Mary or Nancy would have done that--meet and talk over
such a matter in public."
"They didn't. Neither would Carrie or Mame. I know none of the four were
at the meeting. I think each one of them thought the matter over and
decided for herself. They speak to me at the table and any school
meetings. But that is a small part of Exeter life. They never enter my
room or invite me into theirs."
"Who called the meeting of the girls?" Elizabeth asked.
"Min Kean. I am positive of that, because the notices were signed by her.
That is required before any meeting can be held. Then Dr. Morgan knows
where to place the responsibility."
Elizabeth gave a gesture of disapproval. She was about to speak, but
checked herself, deciding that criticism was not going to help the matter.
Nora noticed her hesitancy, and attributed it to a different motive.
"What were you going to say? Do not hesitate. I deserve criticism. I am
not afraid to hear it."
"It was not a criticism of you. I was thinking that Min Kean must have
been a different person last term. I could not, although I stretched my
imagination to its limit, think of her as taking the lead in any matter.
What part did Landis take?"
"I do not know. No one ventured to tell me and I would not ask. Before we
left Exeter in the spring, she came into my room and stayed almost all of
the evening. She told me that she thought the girls acted impulsively, and
that she had done what she could to have them wait and consider; but she
was only one among many. She was acting-president at that meeting."
"Where was Anna Cresswell?"
"She was here, but would not attend. Someone told me that she refused to
be present."
"Did Landis ever come again to see you?"
"Very often this semester. I have all the essays and papers my mother
wrote when she was a student at Arlington Seminary. People who remember
her say she was gifted in that line. Of course, I do not know, for she
died when I was a baby. Somehow I never had the heart to read them,
although I have saved every one. Landis says they are quite good, and
Landis, you know, has some ability in that line herself."
Elizabeth smiled. She was beginning to understand. New ideas burst upon
her suddenly. Unconscious of the meaning which might be given to her
words, she said, "I'm just beginning to learn that it is not wise to take
any one's opinion in regard to any one else. You must trust and be
deceived, and trust again, and just go on learning people for yourself.
Did Anna Cresswell never come to see you? I should think she would since
she refused to attend the meeting."
"She came twice to ask me to go somewhere with her, once for a drive, and
once to walk, but each time I refused. I felt so badly that I had no
courage to go out among the girls. It was only a few weeks before we were
to go home. I made up my mind to bear it until school was out and then not
come back. But I changed my mind, as I told you. She did not ask me again.
But I did not expect that for she is very busy with extra work. I suppose
she thinks it has all passed away. She doesn't run about to spreads and
high teas, so she may not have discovered that I am not among those
present."
Elizabeth was silent. She was thinking, not of her companion's misdeed,
but of the part which Landis had probably played throughout the affair.
Nora waited for her to speak, but receiving no answer put another
question.
"Are you, too, so disgusted with me that you can't bear to speak of it?"
"No," slowly, "I am not disgusted. But you certainly cannot expect me to
grow enthusiastic or praise you for cheating. I don't like dishonesty in
any form; but I do not know that it is my place to pass judgment on you. I
may criticise that in you; someone else will find something to criticise
in me. One thing I am quite sure of. You are sorry as sorry can be that
you did it; and you will never be guilty of cheating again, even if you
know that you will fail and be compelled to go to school here forever."
"You may be sure of that. One experience ended such methods for me." There
was nothing conciliatory in her tone.
"I will be honest with you, Nora. I am disappointed in you, but I'm glad
you told me. You may be quite sure this will make no difference in our
friendship."
Much to Elizabeth's surprise, Nora, instead of replying, began to sob, and
it was some minutes before she could speak.
"I appreciate this, Elizabeth. I know I did wrong, and I have spent six
months in being sorry. Yet I do not believe I should be censured so much
as some of you if you had done the same thing. That is rather an odd thing
to say, I know. But when I tell you all, you will understand just what I
mean. My mother died when I was a few weeks old. She belonged to an
excellent family, an only child. Somehow," the girl hesitated. It was
difficult to explain without seeming critical of one parent. "Somehow, my
father never cared much for what mother cared for most. He could not see
anything wrong in cards, and wine-parties, and things like that. When
mother died grandmother Loraine took me. But she did not live long. Then I
went back home and lived with a housekeeper and the servants. Sometimes
they were honest and sometimes not. Mrs. Gager took charge of me. She was
a very clean old German woman and not afraid of work, but was not refined.
She couldn't even read. I am not complaining, for she was as good to me as
she knew how to be. Nothing that I wanted was too much trouble. She was
really my slave, and made every one around the house step when I spoke.
"I was a little tyrant. Father spent a great deal of time from home, for
he was a very busy man. But he spoiled me, too. I had but to stamp my foot
and he would let me do what I wished. He really could not deny me
anything, and he doesn't yet. You see, I am the only person in the world
he has left, and he thinks I am simply wonderful." She laughed lightly. "I
am always amused when I hear him talk to anyone of me. It is nice, though,
to have someone think of you in that way. He is wholly sincere. He really
believes I'm the brightest and most attractive girl at Exeter.
"Mrs. Gager used to drink occasionally. At such times--I must have been
eight years old--she told me what excuses to make to father for her and
how to keep Maggie, the second maid, from knowing it. Strange as it may
seem, this old woman was my ideal. I never hesitated to carry her false
messages, and there was a constant succession of small deceptions. When I
was able to fool Maggie, I was commended.
"When I grew older, I met a great number of business men--some of whom
were my father's traveling salesmen. And they always made a point of
telling how sharp they had been in their transactions. I know now that
they were merely dishonest. I do not know whether father approved or not.
They told these stories to entertain me and not when they were talking
business with him.
"Father was always liberal. I spend as much as I wish. He never questions
how, but gives me whatever I ask.
"The conversation I generally heard among the servants--and I spent most
of my time with them--was comments on how well or how shabby some one
dressed, and how much or how little money people had. Don't blame my
father for neglecting me. He hired the best servants he could, and did
what he thought was for my good. I was well clothed and fed; and Mrs.
Gager took excellent care of my health. His business kept him away from
home. And, anyhow, men are not like women. A woman would have understood
at once that I needed something more than clothes and food."
"I suppose we can't understand," said Elizabeth. "I'm sure I don't. I've
always had a mother. She would punish me severely if I ever deceived
anyone. My father, too, and Miss Hale are the same way. I was brought up
to abhor anything that wasn't honest. But, then," reflectively, "I'll not
take much credit to myself for that. It was my training--not me. If I'm
truthful and all that, it's because of my parents."
"If I saw no great harm in copying my examinations, it is because I had
been no better taught. It was a surprise to learn that every one looked
upon such an act with contempt. I would not do such a thing now. Not
because I wish to curry favor with Mary Wilson and her set, but because I
feel it is wrong." She paused awhile and then continued, "I think I am
like the Loraines in that. My mother would have died before she would have
knowingly done wrong."
The talk went on in this strain for some time. Then Elizabeth spoke of the
telegram she had received and suggested that she might not go home during
the holidays.
Nora offered her sympathy. She did not ask Elizabeth where she lived. It
was odd that, although they were friends, she never knew until the close
of school that Joseph Hobart, the expert mining engineer of Bitumen, was
Elizabeth's father.
It was quite late when Elizabeth slipped back into her bedroom. She
undressed in the dark so that she might not waken her roommate, but Mary
heard her and spoke:
"You and Nora O'Day must have had a great deal to say. 'Smiles' has
trotted down here twice inquiring for you."
"What did you tell her?"
"That I was not your keeper. I think she will interview you privately
to-morrow."
"Mary, there's something I wish to ask you. At the meeting last spring,
who was it that worked up the case against Nora O'Day?"
"Landis. Why?"
"Oh, because. Are you sure? Did she take an active part?"
"Yes; I'm sure. Could you imagine a meeting where Landis didn't put in her
oar? Why do you ask?"
"Because I wanted to know."
"An excellent reason," was the sleepy response.
"But, Mary--" But Mary was asleep.