A CLUB MEETING AND A MYSTERY
"There!" exclaimed Louise Sampson as she succeeded in firmly
establishing at the top of the bulletin board a large white card,
bearing the significant legend, "Regular Meeting of the Harlowe House
Club. 8.00 P.M. Living Room. _Full Attendance, Please._"
A small, fair-haired girl came down the stairs and joined Louise at the
bulletin-board. She read the notice aloud. "Oh, dear, I've an engagement
with a girl at Wayne Hall to-night. I don't care to miss the meeting,
and I don't like to break my engagement," she mourned.
"I wish you would break it just this once, Hilda," said Louise
seriously. "I am anxious that every member of the club shall attend the
meeting to-night. I have something of importance to say to the girls."
Hilda Moore opened her blue eyes very wide. "What are you going to say,
Louise? Tell me, please. You see I made this engagement over a week ago.
If you'd just tell me now what it's all about, I wouldn't really need to
come to the club meeting. I could----"
"Keep your engagement," finished Louise, her eyes twinkling. "Really,
Hilda Moore, if you knew a tidal wave, or a cyclone or any other
calamity was due to demolish Overton I believe you'd go on making
engagements in the face of it."
Hilda giggled good-naturedly. She was a pretty, sunshiny girl of a pure
blonde type, and had been extremely popular during her freshman year at
Overton, not only with her fellow companions at Harlowe House, but as a
member of the freshman class as well. In spite of her round baby face,
and a carefree, little-girl manner that went with it, she was a capable
business woman and earned her college fees as stenographer to the dean.
The daughter of parents who were not able to send her to college, she
had not only prepared for college during her high-school days, but had
taken the business course included in the curriculum of the high school
which she attended, and had thus fitted herself to earn her way in the
Land of College.
Hilda's unfailing good nature was appreciated to the extent of making
her a welcome guest at the informal gatherings which were forever being
held in the various students' rooms after recitations were over for the
day. The consequence was that, as her studies and clerical duties left
her limited time for amusements, her precious recreation moments were
invariably promised to her friends many days in advance. In fact Hilda
Moore's "engagements" had grown to be a standing joke among them.
"Promise me on your bright new sophomore honor that you'll offer your
polite regrets to the other half of that important engagement of yours
and attend my meeting," appealed Louise.
"Well," Hilda looked concerned, "I _could_ see the girl this afternoon
and change the date." She smiled engagingly at Louise.
"Of course you _will_," Louise agreed, answering the smile. "You see I
know you, Hilda Moore."
"But I wouldn't do it for any one else except Miss Harlowe or Miss
Dean," was Hilda's positive assertion. "Mercy, look at the time! I'll
have to run for it if I expect to reach the office before Miss Wilder.
Good-bye."
Hilda was gone like a flash, leaving Louise to stare contemplatively at
the notice. As the president for the year of the Harlowe House Club she
felt deeply her responsibility. She had been unanimously elected at the
club's first meeting, greatly to her surprise.
Louise Sampson was perhaps better fitted to be president of the Harlowe
House Club than any other member of that interesting household. Emma
and Grace had agreed upon the point when, before the election, the
former's name had been mentioned as a probable candidate. This thought
sprang again to Grace's mind as she came from her office and saw Louise
still standing before the bulletin board, apparently deep in thought.
She turned at the sound of Grace's step.
"Oh, Miss Harlowe!" she exclaimed. "I do hope our meeting to-night will
be a success. Surely some one will have a real live idea for the club to
act upon."
"Thirty-four heads are better than one," smiled Grace. "There is
inspiration in numbers."
"We did wonderfully well with the caramels last year, and this year I
believe they will be more popular than ever. We made twice as many as
usual last Saturday, and sold them all. We were obliged to disappoint
quite a number of girls, too. Our little bank account is growing slowly
but surely. Still there are certainly other things we can do to earn
money, collectively and individually. Really I mustn't get started on
the subject. It is time I went to my chemistry recitation. You'll be at
the meeting to-night, won't you, Miss Harlowe? We couldn't get along
without you."
A faint flush rose to Grace's cheeks at Louise's parting remark. How
wonderful it was to feel that one was really useful. Yes; the
thirty-four girls under her care really needed her. They needed her far
more than did Tom Gray. Grace frowned a trifle impatiently. She had not
intended to allow herself to think of Tom, yet there was something in
the expression of Louise Sampson's gray eyes that reminded her of him.
Resolving to put him completely out of her mind, Grace went into the
kitchen to consult with the cook concerning the day's marketing. The
postman's ring, however, caused her to hurry back to her office where
the maid was just depositing her morning mail on the slide of her desk.
Her letters were from Anne, Elfreda and her mother, and they filled her
with unalloyed pleasure. Her mother's unselfish words, "I hope my little
girl is finding all the happiness life has to offer in her work,"
thrilled her. How different was her mother's attitude from that of Tom
Gray. Surely no one could miss her as her mother missed her, yet she had
given her up without a murmur, while Tom had protested bitterly against
her beloved work and prophesied that some day she would realize that
work didn't mean everything in life.
All that day the inspiring effect of her mother's letter remained with
Grace. Her already deep interest in her house and her charges received
new impetus, and when evening came, she felt, as she entered the big
living room where the thirty-four girls were assembled, that she would
willingly do anything that lay within her power to forward the
prosperity and success of Harlowe House.
After the usual preliminaries, Louise Sampson addressed the meeting in
her bright direct fashion. "Ever since we came back to Harlowe House
this year I've felt that we ought to do something to increase our
treasury money. If the club had enough money of its own, then the
Harlowe House girls wouldn't need to borrow of Semper Fidelis. That
would leave the Semper Fidelis fund free for other girls who don't live
here and who need financial help. Of course we couldn't do very much at
first, but if we could get up some kind of play or entertainment that
the whole college would be anxious to come to see, as they once did a
bazaar that the Semper Fidelis Club gave, the money we would realize
from it would be a fine start for us. Now I'm going to leave the subject
open to informal discussion. Won't some one of you please express an
opinion?"
"Don't you believe that some of the students might say we were selfish
to try to make money for our own house instead of for the college?
Semper Fidelis was organized for the benefit of the whole college, but
this is different," remarked Cecil Ferris.
A blank silence followed Cecil's objection. What she had just said was,
in a measure, true.
Louise Sampson looked appealingly at Grace. She had been so sure that
her plan of conducting some special entertainment on a large scale would
meet with approval. Cecil's view of the matter had never occurred to
her.
"I am afraid that Miss Ferris is right," Grace said slowly. "Much as I
should like to see the Harlowe House Club in a position to take care of
its members' wants I am afraid we might be criticized as selfish if we
undertook to give a bazaar."
"Why couldn't we give one entertainment a month?" asked Mary Reynolds
eagerly. "I am sure President Morton would let us have Greek Hall. We
could give different kinds of entertainments. One month we could give a
Shakespearean play and the next a Greek tragedy; then we could act a
scenario, or have a musical revue or whatever we liked. We could make
posters to advertise each one and state frankly on them that the
proceeds were to go to the Harlowe House Club Reserve Fund. We wouldn't
ask any one for anything. We wouldn't even ask them to come. We'd just
have the tickets on sale as they do at a theatre. If the girls liked the
first show, they'd come to the next one. We'd ask some of the popular
girls of the college who do stunts to take part, and feature them. I
think we'd have a standing-room-only audience every time."
Mary paused for breath after this long speech. The club, to a member,
had eyed her with growing interest as she talked.
"I think that's a splendid plan," agreed Evelyn Ward. "I'm willing to do
all I can toward it. I've had only a little stage experience, but I'd
love to help coach the actors for their parts."
For the next half hour the plan for increasing the club's treasury was
eagerly discussed. A play committee, consisting of Mary Reynolds, Evelyn
Ward, Nettie Weyburn and Ethel Hilton, a tall, dark-haired girl, noted
for making brilliant recitations, was chosen.
"Has any one else a suggestion?" asked Louise Sampson, when the first
excitement regarding the new project had in a measure subsided.
"Why couldn't we have a Service Bureau?" asked Nettie Weyburn. "I mean
we could post notices that any one who wishes a certain kind of work
done, such as mending, sewing or tutoring, could apply to our bureau.
Every one knows that the students of Harlowe House are self-supporting.
We wouldn't be here if we weren't. Some of us have a very hard time
earning our college fees. Some of us have been obliged to borrow money,
and comparatively few of us ever have pocket money. If the girls who
don't have to do things for themselves found that we could always be
depended upon for services I imagine we would have all the work we could
do."
"Hurrah for Nettie!" exclaimed Cecil Ferris. "I think that's a fine
idea."
"So do I," echoed several voices.
"But we'd have to put some one in charge of the bureau, and no one of us
could afford to spend much time looking after it," reminded Louise.
"Oh, we could take turns," was Nettie's prompt reply. "Then, too, we
could have certain hours for business, say from four o'clock until six
on every week day, except Saturday and from two o'clock until five on
Saturday afternoons."
"But where would we receive the girls who came to see about having work
done?" asked Alice Andrews, a business-like little person who roomed
with Louise Sampson.
"I will see that the Service Bureau has a desk installed in one corner
of the living room," offered Grace, who had, up to this point, listened
to the various girls' remarks, a proud light in her eyes. She loved the
sturdy self-reliance of the members of her household. "And there will
also be times when I can do duty on the Bureau, too," she added.
"No, Miss Harlowe, you mustn't think of it," said Louise Sampson. "You
do altogether too much for us now."
"I am here to take care of my household," smiled Grace. "Besides, it
will be a pleasure to help a club of girls who are so willing to help
themselves."
"Miss Harlowe is really and truly interested in the girls here, isn't
she?" Jean Brent commented to Evelyn Ward in an undertone. Having passed
her examinations Jean was now a full-fledged freshman.
"Yes, indeed," returned Evelyn, with emphasis. "She has done a great
deal for me. More than I can ever hope to repay."
"What--" began Jean. Then she suddenly stopped and bent forward in a
listening attitude. The electric bell on the front door had just
shrilled forth the announcement of a visitor. A moment and the maid had
entered the room with, "A lady to see you, Miss Harlowe. I didn't catch
her name. It sounded like Brant."
Jean Brent grew very white. Turning to Evelyn she said unsteadily, "I
don't feel well. I think I will go up stairs." Without waiting for
Evelyn to reply, she rose and almost ran out of the living room ahead of
Grace. As she stepped into the hall she darted one lightning glance
toward the visitor, then she stumbled up the stairs, shaking with
relief. She had never before seen Grace's caller.
"How do you feel?" was Evelyn's first question as she entered their room
fully two hours later. "You missed a spread. We had sandwiches and cake
and hot chocolate."
"I can't help it," muttered Jean uncivilly. Then she said
apologetically, "I'm much better, thank you. Please forgive me for being
so rude."
While in the next room Grace was saying to Emma, who, owing to an
engagement, had not attended the meeting, "Really, Emma, the name
'Riddle' certainly applies to Miss Brent. She came to the meeting with
the others, and when it was only half over she bolted from the living
room and upstairs as though she were pursued by savages. I wouldn't have
noticed her, perhaps, but I had been called to the door. Mrs. Brant came
to see me about my sewing. Miss Brent hurried out of the living room
ahead of me. I saw her give Mrs. Brant the strangest look, then up the
stairs she ran as fast as she could go."
"Grace," Emma looked at her friend in a startled way. "You don't suppose
Miss Brent has run away from home do you? The names Brant and Brent
sound alike. She may have thought that some member of her family had
followed her here."
It was Grace's turn to look startled. "I don't know," she said
doubtfully. "I hope not. I should not like to harbor a runaway unless I
knew the circumstances warranted it, as was the case with Mary Reynolds.
I didn't think of Miss Brent's secret as being of that nature. Surely
Miss Lipton would not countenance a runaway. Still I don't wish to try
to force this girl's confidence. I prefer to let matters stand as they
are, for the present, at least. I've promised to respect her secret,
whatever it may be, and I am going to do so."
Emma shook her head disapprovingly.
"I don't like mysteries, Grace. When we talked Jean Brent over a few
days ago I told you that I didn't think it mattered if she choose to
wrap herself in mystery. But I've changed my mind. I believe you owe it
to yourself to insist on a complete explanation from her. Suppose later
on you discovered that you had been deceived in her, that she was
unworthy. Then, again, she might put you in a disagreeable position
with President Morton or Miss Wilder. You remember the humiliation you
endured at Evelyn's hands. I, who know you so well, understand that your
motive in trusting Miss Brent unquestioningly is above reproach. But
others might not understand. If she proved untrustworthy, _you_ would be
censured far more than she." Emma's tones vibrated with earnestness.
Grace sat silent. She realized the truth of her friend's words. Emma
rarely spoke seriously. When she did so, it counted. Still, she had
given her promise to this strange young girl, and she would keep her
word. After all Jean Brent's secret might be of no more importance than
that of the average school girl.