Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: "WHEW! I DIDN'T KNOW FEATHER BEDS WERE SO HEAVY."]
Janet's College Career
By
AMY E. BLANCHARD
Author of "Two Maryland Girls,"
"Thy Friend Dorothy," etc.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1904, by
George W. Jacobs & Company
Published September, 1904
Contents
—————
CHAPTER
I. PREPARATIONS
II. POOR FRESH
III. FRATERNITY GIRLS
IV. THE INITIATION
V. THE FINALS
VI. IN THE GYM
VII. THE THANKSGIVING BOX
VIII. OFF THE TRACK
IX. CARAMELS AND A CAT
X. THE HERO
XI. PRETTY POLLY PERKINS
XII. A STUDIO TEA
XIII. WHAT POLLY WORE
XIV. DRAMATICS
XV. ONE SUNDAY MORNING
XVI. CRUSHED ILLUSIONS
XVII. SNOWDRIFTS
XVIII. A STOLEN FEAST
XIX. FIELD DAY
XX. PARTINGS
Illustrations
—————
"Whew! I didn't know feather beds were so heavy." Frontispiece
"Insane, evidently insane," said the elderly man.
"I should like to keep you, baby kitty."
"That wasn't meant for the public to see," she said.
She caught the ribbons and cut them through.
Janet's College Career
CHAPTER I
PREPARATIONS
JANET stood at her window thoughtfully tapping her lips with her
forefinger. The window looked out upon the bay, but Janet was not
observant of the white sails melting into the horizon, nor of the line
of misty shore opposite. She was not unperceptive; in fact she rather
prided herself upon her love of the beautiful, but just now she was
absorbed in a problem which was one of the many that had confronted her
during the past few weeks. The day before, she had successfully settled
the question of a portiere and a couch cover by suddenly remembering
the two home-made spreads woven by her great-grandmother, which, in
their unfaded glory of blue and red, lay for years packed away in a
chest in the attic. Janet would never in the world have considered them
if she had not sat behind Martha Summers the last time she went up to
the city. Martha was never chary of her information, and had discoursed
at length, in such tones as must be overheard, upon the beauties of
an apartment just furnished by a newly-married friend of undoubted
position and wealth.
"The sweetest thing you ever saw, my dear, so artistic and so unique.
The dearest cozy corner, and the loveliest little library, and what do
you suppose she has put up as a portiere? The quaintest old spread of
her grandmother's, one of those worsted things, you know, all red and
blue. She has two of them as heirlooms. Yes, really. One can't buy an
heirloom, you see, and she has one between her sitting room and bedroom
and another on a divan. I declare they look too sweet for anything. I
am wild for some."
Having listened to all this, Janet could triumphantly drag forth the
heavy spreads, and, after airing them, could have them packed away with
the other belongings which were to go with her to her rooms at college.
"Even if I should rip open every pillow in the house, and take a
handful of feathers out of each, it wouldn't be enough," she told
herself. "Dear me, I never foresaw so many expenses." She opened a
letter which she held, and scanned its contents.
"We'll simply have to have a lot of pillows for our divan, and some
sort of cover, and we must have a portiere to hang between the two
rooms. You can furnish those, Janet, and I will promise a chafing-dish
and a samovar, a lamp, and a lot of pictures and ornaments," so the
letter ran. Janet folded it with an air of finality.
"There is no use," she said. "I will simply have to do it when Ted
takes all those expensive things, though, for that matter, feathers are
expensive. Dear me, I'll have to bother mother again, and I told myself
I wouldn't. She has all she can do to get my clothes ready. I will just
put the case before her and see what she says. She is such a dear, and
was so pleased about those spreads, though they were hers and not mine."
She ran from the room and went singing along the hall. "What is home
without a mother?" she carolled in her clear young voice as she opened
the door of the room where her mother and a seamstress were hard at
work.
"Momsey, dear," she began, "there is one more thing, just one more I
promise you. Ted says we've got to have sofa pillows. I suppose we
could have a few made of excelsior, but it would be too cheap and
common to have them all stuffed with that, but I don't know where in
the world we are to get feathers unless we have goose for dinner every
day till it's time for me to go."
"And what good would that do?" asked her mother. "As if you could use
green feathers."
"Oh, dear, I never thought of that; they would have to be cured first,
wouldn't they?" Janet sat down on a low chair and gazed absently at the
pile of gingham breadths upon the floor beside her.
The seamstress, a thin flat-faced person with wisps of dun-colored hair
sticking out from the careless twist at the back of her head, stopped
to bite off her basting thread before she said: "The sleeves are all
ready for the machine, Miss Janet. Will you take them?"
"Oh, I suppose so, Miss Rosy, though pillows are on my mind at present,
and I may not stitch these evenly. If any one were to ask me just now
which weighed the most, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead, I
should say feathers; they weigh me down heavily enough."
Miss Roxy paused in her swift movements, needle in mid-air. "Your Aunt
Minerva Gilpin has two or three feather beds," she said.
"But I don't want feather beds, you see," said Janet, turning half-way
around and stopping the busy wheel of the machine. "It is pillows I
want."
"There'd be enough in one of her beds to make all the pillows you'd
want for a month of Sundays," returned Miss Roxy. "It's a job to be
sure, but everybody except the old-fashioned folks like Miss Minerva is
using up their feather beds that way. I've made over at least a dozen
this last year."
"Then you could make over one for me, couldn't you? Good! I'll descend
upon Aunt Minerva this very afternoon. It's the least she can do for
the credit of the family to present me with a feather bed. I'll have
to skirmish around for covers though. Here, Miss Roxy, take these; my
interest in gingham frocks has completely vanished, and I am going to
hunt through the piece bags for possible pillow covers."
She dropped the sleeves into Miss Roxy's lap and went gaily from the
room to pull over the bags in the attic and to come down half an hour
later with pieces bright and dull which might be converted into covers
for her sofa pillows.
"There," she cried, throwing them down on the floor in a heap, "I think
these will be enough. However will I get them all packed, mother?"
"The easiest way will be to put them in a barrel."
"And they'll think I am going to set up a grocery shop. Oh, me!" She
clasped her knees, and looked off dreamily.
"Come, come, child," chided her mother, when five minutes had passed,
"you'll never get ready if you sit there dreaming the time away. If you
expect this sewing to get done you will have to lend a hand."
"Yes, and there are those pillows," put in Miss Roxy. "That will be
no small job, I tell you. I got so sick of the last that I made up my
mind I'd do no more for anybody, and I wouldn't do it for another soul,
for it certainly does make a mess about, and you feel as if you were
breathing feathers for a week afterward."
"Dear me," said Janet, jumping up and attacking the breadths of
gingham, "I am afraid I am a lot of bother, but one goes to college
only once in a lifetime and it is really more important than getting
married, for one can marry more than once, and one doesn't go to
college so often. How do these gores go, Miss Roxy? I'll be good,
mother, and work hard, for it is a shame to keep you cooped up here.
I hope I haven't made a mistake in taking Edna for a roommate, for it
seems to me my very modest array of necessities are mounting up into a
tremendous list of requirements. The sofa pillows are the last straw."
"Are you going to make them of straw?" inquired Janet's small brother,
Dicky, putting his head into the room. "I know where to get some."
"Of course not, silly," said Janet. "What are you doing here, anyhow? I
told you to keep out of the way and not bother mother."
"I don't have to," replied Dicky. "I've as much right to my mother as
you have. Say, momsey, I've torn a hole in my trousers, and I can't go
to town till they are mended unless I put on my best ones."
"Oh dear, Dicky, you are such a destructive child," Janet remarked. "It
is a shame when mother is so busy to give her anything extra to do."
"Well, I'd like to know who it is that is keeping her busy. She's been
sewing for you all week. If you're so particular, I'll bring them to
you and you can mend them yourself."
Janet looked decidedly put out. "I'll do no such thing. When I am so up
to my eyes in work I think it is very inconsiderate in you to say such
things. Why you have to go to town anyhow, I don't see. Hooker can get
the mail and do any errands that are necessary."
Dicky made a face at her and began to joggle the back of his mother's
chair so that its occupant in self-defense said: "Oh, Janet, do let him
go. I'd rather mend the trousers ten times over than have him around
here bothering everybody. Go get them, Dicky, and put on your old ones
till these are mended."
Dicky scrambled from the room in tumultuous boy fashion, returning in a
moment with the unlucky trousers which were speedily mended and he was
sent off forthwith.
"I wish I had gone, too," said Janet after watching the light wagon
disappear down the lane. "I might have stopped at Aunt Minerva's and
have had them pick me up on the way back. Never mind, I'll get this
done and go there this afternoon."
She worked away with a will, saying little for the next hour. Her
thoughts were busy with the future, for these were exciting times
for Janet Ferguson. She had been prepared for college at a small
boarding-school where life had not offered many sensations. One of her
fellow students, who had been graduated at the same time as herself,
was to enter college with her and would be her roommate. Edna Waite's
circle of friends included a number who were college girls and these
she had considered her authority in all matters. In consequence,
every few days she dashed off a letter to Janet with some new item of
information, and with some necessity added to the list which at first
had seemed a sufficiently long one.
So now Janet was beginning to feel that the burden of her preparations
would soon threaten to swallow up not only her every moment, but every
penny which the resources of the family could furnish. Janet was also
beginning to have misgivings. If difficulties arose thus early in her
career what would happen later when all sorts of unexpected expenses
might drain her pocketbook to the last penny of her allowance, for Edna
discoursed at length upon the various directions in which, as college
girls, they would be expected to make a showing.
She looked so serious, as she pulled out the basting threads from the
hem of one of her frocks, that her mother said, in the absence of Miss
Roxy in the kitchen: "Not homesick already, Janet?"
The girl smiled. "No, momsey, not that; I was only wondering if I
should find it hard to get through on my allowance."
"You thought it ample when your father suggested it."
"Yes, I know, but Edna keeps adding some new expense to the list till I
get fairly swamped in trying to figure it all out."
"Well, my dear, perhaps you will find that you will do better to
establish your own standard rather than to accept Edna's. You will not
have to do as any special girl prefers to do, but as you find all the
girls must do. If you find there is really no need of every expenditure
which Edna thinks necessary, simply lop that off, and go without it."
Janet did not reply, for experience at boarding-school had taught
her that this was an easier proceeding in theory than in practice.
However, her spirits were of an elastic quality, and she did not allow
forebodings to trouble her long, and when she came back that afternoon
from her Aunt Minerva's, a feather bed stuffed in behind her in the
buggy, she was in such a state of hilarity that she could hardly manage
her new possession.
"Dicky," she called. "Dick, come help me. This is the most elusive
thing I ever got hold of. It is so yielding that when I pull it in one
direction it heaves up in a great billow in the other. It is the most
resistless thing for anything so seemingly responsive that I ever saw."
Seeing fun ahead, Dicky answered her call, and while she pushed, he
pulled, till finally the feather bed rolled out and buried Dick under
its unwieldy bulk.
The boy emerged laughing. "Whew!" he cried. "I didn't know feather beds
were so heavy."
"It is over forty pounds' weight, Aunt Minerva was careful to tell me,
and if I hadn't interrupted her, I think she would have informed me
that feathers were—I don't know how much—a pound. But I was so voluble
in my thanks, and so appreciative that she couldn't get a word in
edgewise. Dicky, do you suppose we shall ever be able to get this into
the house? Did you ever see anything act so? Just as if it were trying
on purpose to get away from us. There, that's it—"
As Dicky gave a mighty tug and moved the bed a few feet, but the next
minute, he lost his purchase and fell sprawling into its midst, amid
shouts of laughter.
"We'll have to leave it," said Janet, with a long drawn sigh, plumping
herself down by Dicky. "We'll wait till Stuart comes home and he will
help us. Let's leave it, Dicky. I'm quite worn out with tugging. You
can drive Dolly around to the stable and this can stay right here. Let
us hope that no strangers will call this afternoon to see the family
feather bed airing on the front porch. There are some advantages in
living a distance from town; one can be independent."
She watched Dicky drive away with the buggy, but retained her seat in
the middle of the feathers, till suddenly remembering that time was
short, she sprang up and ran to the room where her mother and Miss Roxy
still sat.
"I've got it," she exclaimed.
"Got what?" asked her mother.
"The feather bed. A great big fat one. It's down on the front porch.
Where do you want it, Miss Roxy?"
"If it doesn't rain, it may as well stay where it is. I can begin on
the pillows in the morning. I hope you remembered to get some new
ticking."
"Yes, I did; a whole lot. I left it under the seat of the buggy, but
I'll get it. How are you going to trim that waist, Miss Roxy?"
"With this lace." The seamstress laid strips of the trimming on the
material and noted the effect with appreciative eye.
"Feather beds are very much like some people," said Janet, watching
Miss Roxy's deft fingers.
"How do you make that out?" asked the needlewoman.
"Oh, they are lumpy and heavy and soft, and you think you can manage
them till you try, and then you find they are so obstinate that you
can't budge them, and if you insist on having them do your way, the
first thing you know you are completely overwhelmed."
Miss Roxy laughed. "I reckon you are thinking of your Aunt Minerva. Was
she hard to move?"
"No, she really wasn't to-day. You read my simile at once, didn't you,
Miss Roxy? She is feather-beddy at times, but to-day she happened to be
very amiable. I think my practical use of her feather bed appealed to
her, though she didn't see how I could want such a raft of pillows,"
she said. "You are ready to have me try that on?"
She stood up while the seamstress, with her mouth bristling with pins,
snipped here and pinched in there, till Janet sighed from the enforced
position of standing still.
"Just the skirt measure now," said Miss Roxy. "Forty-two, no, I think
we'd better say forty-three, Mrs. Ferguson." Miss Roxy looked up from
her kneeling posture. "She's grown an inch, I do believe." She measured
Janet's slim form, running her fingers along the tape measure. "Now you
may go. I'm through with you for to-day. Suppose you get that ticking
and measure off the pillows the size you want them, and stitch them up,
so I can get to work at them first thing in the morning."
Janet obeyed and was soon clacking away at the machine, her cheek
glowing and her soft hair curling around the nape of her neck as she
grew warm from the exercise. "These are strenuous times," she remarked
as she tossed the last square of ticking on a chair. "I will leave the
covers till to-morrow. In a week—a week, momsey, I shall be ready to
go. Please stop now. You've been driving ahead all day. I should think
you would be thankful to see the last of me, for it means a little more
rest for you. Now Stuart doesn't need half this fussing over. He gets
his clothes at his tailor's, you see that his stockings have no holes
in them, and there he is, while I am an eternal nuisance. Here, put
that away. You'll go till you drop, and you won't drop till I go—that's
a queer sort of sentence—anyhow, I'd rather go without that shirtwaist
than have you make another buttonhole this day. Come, I want to talk to
you."
She drew her mother from her chair and led her down to the porch where
the feather bed still lay. "Let's turn our backs on fussinesses and go
out to see if there are any peaches ripe on that tree by the hen-house.
You know we always liked those better than any. Oh, dear momsey, it's
going to be a long pull, isn't it? Four years of it before I can come
home to stay. There'll be the holidays, though, and maybe I shall not
be so very homesick between whiles. It will be fine to have Stuart
within a couple of hours' ride of me. That counts for a great deal,
doesn't it? I don't believe I could stand being so many miles away from
everybody. It was very different at Oak Hill, where I could come home
every Friday, for no matter how badly things went, there were always
the Friday afternoons to think of, and by training oneself, it could be
made to seem near even on Mondays."
She kept her arm around her mother's waist as she led her down the
garden walk and through a little gate to the hen-house. There she
released her hold and climbed on top of the building, feeling among
the leaves for a ripe peach. "The best ones are always on top," she
remarked. "Here are two beauties. Take them, mother." She crouched on
the roof and held out the downy fruit, then clambered easily to the
ground demanding her share of the spoils.
"It's a wonder Dicky didn't get them," she said, "but they were a
little beyond his reach. Now come, let us go somewhere by ourselves
and enjoy them like two nice complacent greedy-gluts. Don't you love
to be that once in a while? One gets so tired of virtuously sharing
all the good things, and I think it is really a necessary part of our
development to indulge our appetites sometimes to the exclusion of our
friends."
"That is a very Epicurean philosophy," returned her mother.
"Perhaps, but one should test all philosophies before settling down
on any special one. Now, I know if you had your way, you'd save both
of these peaches and give one to—let's see—Miss Roxy, and the other
to father. I am just reveling in your not doing it. We will gorge
ourselves and be wicked and selfish for once."
"On one peach apiece?" laughed her mother.
"Never mind, it is the principle of the thing which I am encouraging.
If you do this to-day, maybe in time you will be shutting yourself up
in the pantry and gobbling down all those delicious conserves you are
so choice with. I'd love to think of your doing that while I am at
college."
"Janet, you ridiculous child, what utter nonsense you do talk," said
her mother. "One would suppose I lived the life of an anchorite and
never allowed myself any luxuries."
"I know that it isn't exactly that way, but you are so exactly like the
person who said somebody had to eat the drumsticks. You like white meat
but you always refuse it, if you think any one else would like it. Dear
oh me, I wonder if I shall ever develop such a self-sacrificing spirit.
It doesn't look like it now, does it?"
"Appearances are sometimes deceitful," returned her mother with a smile.
"So cautious? Well, I don't deserve much encouragement yet, I admit.
Finished your peach? Then I suppose we shall have to go in."
Another week saw Janet departing, her pillows stowed into a barrel and
her trunks stuffed to overflowing with the paraphernalia which she had
decided to take with her for her first year at college. Everything
appeared very smart and sufficient, and she drove away complacently,
feeling that there were no wants unfilled. She was also not ill pleased
with herself, and felt the importance which is generally a part of a
student's equipment when he or she first enters college. There came a
rush of emotion when she bade her mother good-bye, but there were too
many novel experiences facing her for her to remain long in a depressed
or regretful mood, and she arrived in a tremor of excitement, a little
shy, a little happy, wholly expectant.