AN INVITATION AND A MISUNDERSTANDING
The class elections went off with a snap. Grace nominated Gertrude Wells
for president. There were two other nominations, and after the three
young women had gone through the ordeal of inspection before the class,
the votes were cast. Gertrude Wells was elected president by an
overwhelming majority, and the nomination and election of the other
class officers quickly followed. The next night Grace and Miriam gave a
dinner in honor of her election at Vinton's, to which twelve girls were
invited, and for a week the new president was feted and lionized until
she laughingly declared that a return to the simple life was her only
means of re-establishing her lost reputation for study and avoiding
impending warnings.
The class of 19---- soon became used to being a regularly organized body
and held its class meetings with as much pride as though it were the
most important organization in college. Thanksgiving plans now occupied
the foreground, and as the vacation was too short even to think about
going home, the girls began to make plans to spend their brief holiday
as advantageously as possible at or at least very near Overton.
"There's a football game over at Willston, on Thanksgiving Day,"
remarked Grace, looking up from the paper on which she was jotting down
possible amusements for vacation. Miriam had run into Grace's room for a
brief chat before dinner. "We don't know any Willston men, though. I
think football is ever so much more interesting when one knows the
players. If we were nearer the boys we might attend a fraternity dance
once in a while."
"David says in his last letter that he is waiting impatiently for the
holidays. Just think, Grace, won't that be splendid to be back in dear
old Oakdale again?"
"It seems years since I kissed Mother and Father good-bye," said Grace,
rather wistfully. "How I'd like to be at home for Thanksgiving."
"Don't think about it," advised Miriam. "I was as blue as indigo last
night. Let's keep our minds strictly on what we're going to do with our
holiday. What have you put down?"
"The football game first. Then I have tickets for a play that the Morton
House girls intend to give. We might go to Vinton's for supper on
Thanksgiving night. If we have a Thanksgiving dinner here that day it's
safe to say supper won't amount to much. I think----"
Grace did not finish with what she was saying. A quick step sounded down
the hall and an instant later Anne ran into the room waving an open
letter in her hand. "Girls, girls!" she cried, "you never can guess!"
"What is it? Tell us at once," commanded Grace, springing from her
chair. "You've received good news from some one we know."
"Yes," replied Anne happily. "My letter is from Miss Southard. She
wishes us to spend Thanksgiving with her and her brother in New York
City. Isn't that glorious, and do you think we'll be allowed to go?"
"Hurrah!" cried Grace. "Since we can't go home, it's the very nicest
sort of plan. I think we'll be allowed to go. We haven't any conditions
to work off, and I haven't planned to do any extra studying either.
Thank goodness, my allowance had an extra ten dollars attached to it
this month. Mother wrote that she thought I might need the money, and I
do. I couldn't possibly have stretched my regular allowance over this
trip."
"I have money enough, I think," said Miriam. "I am a thrifty soul. I
saved ten dollars out of my last month's allowance. It was really extra
money that I had asked Mother for. I intended to buy a sweater and then
changed my mind."
"The expenses of my trip will have to come out of my college money,"
confessed Anne, a trifle soberly, "but I'd be willing to spend twice
that much to see the Southards. Mr. Southard is playing 'Hamlet' and so
we shall have the opportunity of seeing him in what the critics consider
his greatest part."
"Remember, we haven't asked permission to go, yet," remarked Grace.
"The registrar couldn't be so cruel as to refuse us," said Miriam
cheerfully. "Let's besiege her fortress in a body."
"When shall we make our plea?"
"To-morrow morning after chapel," suggested Anne. "Then we'll have more
time to plan our trip."
The registrar's office was duly besieged the next morning, as agreed,
and the three girls hurried off to their classes with beaming faces.
When they returned to Wayne Hall after recitations that afternoon it was
to find Elfreda hanging over the railing in the upstairs hall, an
unusually solemn expression on her face.
"Are you going?" she called down anxiously. "Yes," nodded Grace. "At
three o'clock Wednesday afternoon."
Elfreda gave a smothered exclamation that sounded like, "What a shame,"
and disappeared into her room, slamming the door.
"I'm coming into your room for a while," said Miriam. "Elfreda will open
the door before long."
"Yes, do," returned Grace hospitably. "Is she angry because you are
going away over Thanksgiving?"
"No, not angry, but awfully disappointed. She almost cried last night
when I told her about it. I suspect she is crying now. She's like an
overgrown child at times."
"I'm sorry we can't take her with us," deplored Grace. "Does she know
where we are going?"
"Yes," returned Miriam. "She was practically thunderstruck when she
learned we were to visit the Southards. The queer part of it is this.
She saw Mr. Southard and Anne in 'As You Like It' last year. She thinks
Mr. Southard the greatest actor she ever saw, and she even spoke of
Anne's cleverness as Rosalind; she doesn't know it was Anne who played
the part."
"Anne doesn't wish her or any one else here to know it," cautioned
Grace. "Do you suppose any other girl here saw Anne as Rosalind?"
"Goodness knows," replied Miriam, with a shrug. "There's an old saying
that 'murder will out.' If any one here did see her, sooner or later
she'll be identified and lionized."
"That's just why I don't wish the girls here to know," protested Anne,
who had been listening to the conversation of her friends, a slight
frown puckering her smooth forehead. "I don't care to be patronized and
petted, but secretly held at arms' length because I am a professional
player. If the girls find out that I played Rosalind in Mr. Southard's
company I'll never hear the last of it." In her anxiety Anne's voice
rose above its customary low key. In fact, all three had been talking
rather loudly, and the entire conversation had been carried straight to
the ears of the girl who stood outside the almost closed door. Elfreda
had come across the hall to hear the details of the proposed visit, but
had remained outside the door transfixed at what she heard. Then she
found her voice.
"So that's your idea of true friendship, is it?" demanded an angry,
choking voice that caused the surprised young women to start and look
toward the door. Elfreda stepped into the room, her face flushed with
anger, her blue eyes fairly snapping. "You make a great fuss over me
when there's nothing going on, but none of you would invite me to go
with you to New York, when you know I'm crazy to go. And that's not
enough, you can't get along without talking about me. I heard every word
Anne said. I know now that it was she who played Rosalind in 'As You
Like It' last winter, because I saw her with my own eyes. If you girls
had been as honorable as you pretend to be you'd have told me about it
and I never would have said a word. But, no, Anne was afraid to tell,
for fear she'd 'never hear the last of it,'" sneered Elfreda, mimicking
Anne. "She's right, too. She never will. I'll not stop until I tell
every girl at Overton the whole story. When you come back," she went on,
turning to Miriam, "you'll find that I've moved. I thought you were nice
and I tried to be like you, but now I don't care to live in the same
house with you, and I don't intend ever to notice any of you again. With
that she rushed across the hall, slammed the door, and turned the key.
"Locked out," said Miriam grimly. "I hope she'll let me in before the
dinner bell rings. I'd like to change this grimy blouse for a clean one.
I'll try to reason with her, once she opens the door."
"Shall we go in, too, and try to explain matters?" asked Anne. "I didn't
say that she would tell the girls about my stage work. Surely, she
understands, too, that we are not at liberty to invite her to go with
us. I'll tell you what I will do. I'll telegraph the Southards and ask
permission to invite her. They will be perfectly willing for us to bring
her."
"That might be a good plan," reflected Grace. "Don't waste another
minute, Anne, but telegraph Miss Southard at once."
"Yes, go ahead," counseled Miriam, "and while you're gone I'll try to
pacify Elfreda."
But all Miriam's efforts to restore peace failed. When a little later
she knocked gently on the door, Elfreda unlocked it, but received her
roommate's friendly overtures in sulky silence. After dinner, for the
first time since the sophomore reception, she spent the evening in
Virginia Gaines's room and that night the two girls prepared for sleep
without exchanging a word.
Meanwhile Anne telegraphed, "May we bring friend? Will explain later.
Anne," and was anxiously awaiting a reply. It came the next morning
while they were at breakfast and read: "Your friends always welcome.
Telegraph train you will arrive. Mary Southard." Anne passed the
telegram to Grace, who sat next to her. After one quick glance at it
Grace passed it to Miriam. Elfreda, who sat directly opposite her,
watched the passing of the telegram with compressed lips. Miriam,
raising her eyes from the yellow slip, found those of her angry roommate
fixed on her in mingled curiosity and disdain. Ignoring the look she
said quietly, "I should like to see you for a moment after breakfast,
Elfreda. I have something to tell you."
The stout girl's eyes narrowed. She glanced about the table and saw
Virginia Gaines watching her with a disagreeable smile. The sophomore
raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders as though to say, "So,
you are going to allow her to order you about." Elfreda's face grew dark
with angry purpose. She leaned well forward across the table and said in
a tone of suppressed fury: "Kindly keep your remarks to yourself. I
don't care to hear them."
"Very well," replied Miriam coldly, although her eyes flashed and the
temper that had been all but uncontrollable in days gone by threatened
to burst forth in all its old fury. Several girls smiled, and Virginia
Gaines laughed aloud.
"A new declaration of independence has evidently been signed," she
jeered. "Too bad, isn't it, Miss Harlowe? You'll have to begin all over
again on some one else."
"I am not likely to trouble you, at any rate, Miss Gaines," returned
Grace pointedly.
This time the laugh was at Virginia's expense. A dull flush overspread
her plain face. Her angry eyes met Grace's steady gray ones, then fell
before the honest contempt she read there. During that brief instant she
saw herself through Grace's eyes and the sharp retort that rose to her
lips remained unuttered.
In the next instant Grace was sorry for her rude retort. It would have
been far better to remain silent, she reflected. By answering she had
shown Virginia that the latter's taunt had annoyed her.
"I wish I hadn't answered Miss Gaines," she confided to Miriam as they
were leaving the dining room. "It doesn't add to one's freshman dignity
to quarrel."
"I am glad you did," returned Miriam. "It was a well-merited snub, and
she deserved it."