THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS
Grace lost no time in putting her resolution into practice, and left no
stone unturned regarding the object of her distrust. But her efforts met
with no better success than the first time she had instituted inquiry.
"Why are you so bitter against that young man, daughter?" asked her
father rather curiously when she interviewed him as to the best means of
finding out something of Henry Hammond's past. "He seems to be a good
straight-forward young fellow."
"He's a villain, I know he is," asserted Grace, "but he's too sharp for
me."
"Nonsense," laughed her father. "Having no basketball this winter you
are bound to devote that surplus energy of yours to something. Are you
making Hammond your victim?"
"You may tease me if you like," replied Grace with dignity, "but some
day you'll acknowledge that I was right."
"All right, girlie," smiled her father. "Shall I say so, now?"
"You're a dear," laughed Grace, rubbing her soft cheek against his.
"Only you will tease."
Since the evening that Marian Barber had repudiated her sorority, none
of the members had spoken to her. She had studiously avoided going
within speaking distance of them and had divided her time after school
equally between Eleanor Savelli and Henry Hammond.
Eleanor had kept her word in reference to Edna Wright, and the two girls
exchanged only the barest civilities whenever they chanced to meet.
Eleanor had, however, gained considerable popularity with a number of
the senior class, and wielded a tremendous influence over them. She had
dropped her annoying tactics toward the teachers, and her conduct during
the year had been irreproachable.
Anne Pierson's assertion that Eleanor would be better off away from Edna
had proved true, and unconsciously the spoiled, temperamental girl was
receiving great benefit from her High School associations. She stood
next to Anne Pierson in her classes, and her aptitude for study and
brilliant recitations evoked the admiration of the entire class.
But despite these changes for the better, Eleanor still nursed her
grudge against the Phi Sigma Tau, and held to her unrelenting resolve to
be revenged upon them, individually or collectively, whenever the
opportunity should arise.
In cautioning her friends the previous year against placing themselves
in a position liable to put them at a disadvantage with Eleanor, Grace
had unwittingly divined the former's intentions.
Now that Marian had strayed away from the Phi Sigma Tau and straight to
their common enemy, Grace felt uneasy as to the result.
"I don't know what to think about Marian's sudden intimacy with
Eleanor," she confided to Anne, one day at the beginning of the new
term.
"So far nothing startling has happened," replied Anne. "Really, Eleanor
happened along at a good time for Marian."
"Why did she?" asked Grace quickly.
"Because I understand that she coached Marian in astronomy and just
simply made her cut out Henry Hammond for her books. It's due to Eleanor
that she passed," answered Anne.
"I hadn't heard that," said Grace. "Isn't Eleanor a wonder in her
studies? It's a pleasure to hear her recite."
"I do admire her ability," agreed Anne. "Perhaps she will see through
Henry Hammond and persuade Marian to drop him."
"I don't know about that," said Grace dubiously. "I saw him with Eleanor
in the run-about the other day. He was at the wheel, and they seemed to
be having a very interesting session without Marian."
"He never did give me the impression of being a very constant swain,"
laughed Anne.
"I'm so glad that mid-year exams are over," sighed Grace. "I'm a sure
enough graduate now, unless something serious happens."
"So am I," replied Anne. "If I could get clerical work to do this term
I'd recite in the morning only and give my afternoons to earning a
little money. It seems as though everything is against me. Did you know
that Mrs. Gray has postponed coming home until March?"
"Yes," answered Grace. She understood Anne's growing despair as time
went on, and the prospect of earning enough money to defray her college
expenses grew less.
"I'm afraid I'll have to give it all up for next year at least, Grace,"
Anne's voice trembled a little. "But perhaps I can enter the year after.
I can't give up the idea of being in the same college with you."
"Don't give up yet, dear," Grace pressed Anne's hand. "Maybe the
unexpected will happen."
The girls separated at the corner and went their separate ways, Anne
with the conviction that there was no use in wishing for the impossible
and Grace deploring the fact that Anne was too proud to accept any help
from her friends.
As Grace was about to curl herself up in a big chair before the fire
that night with "Richard Carvel" in one hand and a box of peanut brittle
in the other, she was startled by a loud ringing of the bell. Going to
the door she beheld Anne who was fairly wriggling with excitement. Her
cheeks were flushed and her dark eyes were like stars.
"Oh, Grace," she cried. "The unexpected has happened!"
"What are you talking about, Anne?" exclaimed Grace laughing. "Stop
dancing up and down out there. Come in and explain yourself. That is if
you can stand still long enough to do it."
"I have had the surprise of my life to-night, Grace," said Anne, as she
entered the hall, while Grace unfastened her fur collar and pulled the
pins from her hat. "I just couldn't wait until to-morrow to tell you
about it. It's so wonderful I can't believe that it has happened to
insignificant me."
"I know just as much now as I did at first, and perhaps a trifle less,"
said Grace.
Then taking Anne by the shoulders she marched her into the sitting room,
shoved her into the easy-chair opposite her own and said, "Now, begin at
the beginning, and don't leave out any details."
"Well," said Anne, drawing a long breath, "when I reached home after
leaving you, I found a letter for me postmarked New York City. For an
instant I thought it was from my father, but the hand writing was not
his. I opened it, and who do you suppose it was from?"
"I don't know, and I'm a poor guesser, so tell me," responded Grace.
"It was from Mr. Everett Southard."
"No! Really?" cried Grace. "How nice of him to write to you."
"But I haven't told you the nicest part," continued Anne. "He wants me
to go to New York to play a six-weeks' engagement in his company."
"Anne Pierson, you don't mean it," ejaculated Grace in intense
astonishment.
"Grace Harlowe, I do mean it," retorted Anne. "Why it's the very
opportunity that I've been yearning for, but never expected to get. Let
me read you his letter."
Unfolding the letter that she had been holding in one hand, Anne read:
"MY DEAR MISS PIERSON:
"Remembering your exceptionally fine work as 'Rosalind' in the
production of 'As You Like It,' given at your High School last
year, I now write to offer you the same part in a six weeks'
revival of the same play about to be presented in New York. Your
acceptance will be a source of gratification to me, as it is very
hard to engage actors who are particularly adapted to Shakespearian
roles. The salary will be one hundred dollars per week with all
traveling expenses paid.
"My sister extends a cordial invitation to you to make our home
yours during your stay in New York, and will write you at once.
I have already written Miss Tebbs regarding my offer. Hoping to
receive an affirmative answer by return mail, with best wishes,
I remain
"Yours sincerely,
"EVERETT SOUTHARD."
"Well, I should say the unexpected had happened," said Grace, as Anne
finished reading. "One hundred dollars a week for six weeks! Why, Anne,
think of it! You will have six hundred dollars for six weeks' work. I
had no idea they paid such salaries."
"They pay more than that in companies like Mr. Southard's," replied
Anne. "If I had acquired fame I could command twice that sum. I can't
imagine why he ever chose me. Suppose I should fail entirely."
"Nonsense," retorted Grace. "You couldn't fail if you tried. The only
thing that I am afraid of is that you'll be so carried away with the
stage that you'll forget to come back to us again."
"Don't say that, Grace," said Anne quickly. "I never shall. I am wild to
play this engagement, because it means that I am sure of at least two
years in college, and I think if I can get tutoring to do, I can pull
through the whole four. Aside from that, the stage is the last career in
the world that I should choose. You know my views on that subject."
"I was only jesting, dear," Grace assured her, seeing the look of
anxiety that crept into Anne's eyes. "I know you'll come back. We
couldn't graduate without you. When shall you write to Mr. Southard?"
"I have already written," replied Anne gravely. "I knew that nothing
could induce me to refuse, so I settled the matter at once."
"Confess, you bad child," said Grace, rising and putting one finger
under Anne's chin. "Look me straight in the face and tell the truth. You
thought I'd be shocked."
Anne colored, laughed a little and then said frankly, "Yes, I was afraid
you wouldn't look at the matter in the same light. Now, I must go,
because it is after nine and sister worries if I stay out late."
"Wait, I'll go to the corner with you," said Grace.
Slipping into her coat, and throwing a silk scarf over her head. Grace
accompanied Anne into the street.
"Come as far as the next corner," begged Anne, and the two girls walked
slowly on.
"Now I must go back," said Grace, as they neared the corner.
Just then Anne exclaimed very softly, "Look, Grace, isn't that Marian
and her cavalier?"
"Where!" asked Grace, turning quickly.
"Across the street, coming in this direction. I do believe Marian is
crying, too. They are crossing now, and will pass us. I don't think
they've seen us yet."
Completely absorbed in their own affairs the approaching couple had not
noticed either Grace or Anne.
"How could I have been so foolish!" the two girls heard Marian say
tearfully.
"Don't be an idiot," her companion answered in rough tones. "You may win
yet. I had inside information that it was safe to put the money on it.
You act like a baby." Then he muttered something that was inaudible to
the listeners.
"You are very unkind, Henry," wailed Marian.
But in the next instant Henry Hammond had seen the two girls. With a
savage "cut it out, can't you! Don't let every one know your business,"
his scowling expression changed to the polite smiling mask that he
habitually wore.
But Grace, who in spite of her former disagreement with him, had for
Marian's sake favored him with a cool bow when he happened to cross her
path even after Marian had stopped speaking, was up in arms at his
display of rudeness to the girl who had cut herself off from her dearest
friends to please him.
Marian averted her face as they passed opposite the chums, but her
companion, who was preparing to bow, became suddenly disconcerted by the
steady, scornful gaze of two pairs of eyes, that looked their full
measure of contempt, and hastily turning his attention to Marian passed
by without speaking.
"Contemptible coward!" raged Grace. "Did you hear what he said, Anne?"
"I should have cut his acquaintance on the spot."
"There is something queer about all this," mused Grace. "This is the
second conversation of the sort that has taken place between those two
that I have overheard. I wonder if he has persuaded Marian to put money
into his real estate schemes, for I believe they are nothing but
schemes."
"But Marian has no money of her own," protested Anne. "Don't you
remember how delighted she was when she deposited the judge's check and
received her first check book?"
"I wonder--"
Grace paused. A sudden suspicion entered her mind, that she instantly
dismissed.
"You don't believe--" began Anne, but Grace stopped her.
"No, dear," she answered firmly. "We mustn't ever allow ourselves to
entertain such a thought. Marian may have foolishly risked money of her
own that we know nothing of, but as for anything else--Marian is still a
member of our sorority and the honor of the Phi Sigma Tau is above
reproach."