THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM
On our second evening in Columbus my companion and I returned to the
house, near our domicile, to which we had been sent by Mrs. Eichelberger
for our meals; but owing to a misunderstanding as to the dinner hour we
found ourselves again too late. The family, and the teachers from the
I.I. and C. who took meals there, were already coming out from dinner to
sit and chat on the steps in the twilight.
We were disappointed, for we were tired of restaurants, and had counted
on a home meal that night; nor was our disappointment softened by the
fact that the lady whom we interviewed seemed to have no pity for us,
but dismissed us in a chilling manner, which hinted that, even had we
been in time for dinner, we should have been none too welcome at her
exclusive board.
Crestfallen, we turned away and started once more in the direction of
the Belle Café. In the half light the street held for us a melancholy
loveliness. Above, the great trees made a dark, soft canopy; the air was
balmy and sweet with the scent of lilacs and roses; lights were
beginning to appear in windows along the way. Yet none of it was for
us. We were wanderers, condemned forever to walk through strange streets
whose homes we might not enter, and whose inhabitants we might not know.
When we had proceeded in silence for a block or two, we perceived a
woman strolling toward us on the walk ahead. Nor was it yet so dark that
we could fail to notice, as we neared her, that she was very pretty in
her soft black dress and her corsage of narcissus--that, in short, she
was the young lady whom, though we were indebted to her for our rooms at
Mrs. Eichelberger's, we had not been able to thank.
Now, of course, we stopped and told her of our gratitude. First my
companion told her of his. Then I told her of mine. Then we both told
her of our combined gratitude. And after each telling she assured us
sweetly that it was nothing--nothing at all.
All this made quite a little conversation. She hoped that we were
comfortable. We assured her that we were. Then, because it seemed so
pleasant to be talking, on a balmy, flower-scented evening, with a
pretty girl wearing a soft black dress and a corsage of narcissus, we
branched out, telling her of our successive disappointments as to meals
in the house up the street.
"Which house?" she asked.
We described it.
"That's where I live," said she.
And to think we had twice been late!
"_You_ live there?"
"Yes. It was my elder sister whom you saw." Then we all smiled, for we
had spoken of the chill which had accompanied the rebuff.
"Do you think your sister will let us come to-morrow for breakfast?"
ventured my companion.
"If you're there by eight."
"Because," he added, "breakfast is our last meal here."
"You're going away?"
"Yes. About noon."
"Oh," she said. And we hoped the way she said it meant that she was just
the least bit sorry we were going.
With that she started to move on again.
"We'll see you at breakfast, then?"
"Perhaps," she said in a casual tone, continuing on her way.
"Not surely?"
"Why not come and see?" The words were wafted back to us provocatively
upon the evening air.
"We will! Good night."
"Good night."
We walked some little way in silence.
"Eight o'clock!" murmured my companion presently in a reflective, rueful
tone. "We must turn in early."
We did turn in early, and we should have been asleep early was it not
for the fact that among the chief wonders of Columbus must be ranked its
roosters--birds of a ghastly habit of nocturnal vocalism.
But though these creatures interfered somewhat with our slumbers, and
though eight is an early hour for us, we reached the neighboring house
next morning five minutes ahead of time. And though the manner of the
elder sister was, as before, austere, that made no difference, for the
younger sister was there.
After breakfast we dallied, chatting with her for a time; then a bell
began to toll, and my companion reminded me that I had an engagement to
visit the Industrial Institute and College before leaving.
It was quite true. I had made the engagement the day before, but it had
been my distinct understanding that he was to accompany me; for if
anything disconcerts me it is to go alone to such a place. However sweet
girls may be as individuals, or in small groups, they are in the mass
diabolically cruel, and their cruelty is directed especially against
men. I know. I have walked up to a college building to pay a call, while
thirty girls, seated on the steps, played, sang, and whistled an inane
marching tune, with the rhythm of which my steps could not but keep
time. I have been the only man in a dining-room full of college girls. A
hundred of them put down their knives and forks with a clatter as I
entered, and a hundred pairs of mischievously solemn eyes followed my
every movement. Voluntarily to go through such experiences alone a man
must be in love. And certainly I was not in love with any girl at the
Industrial Institute.
"We both have an engagement," I said.
"I can't go," he returned.
"Why not?"
"I have two sketches to make before train time."
"You're going to make me go over there _alone_?"
"I don't care whether you go or not," he replied mercilessly. "You made
the engagement. I had nothing to do with it. But I am responsible for
the pictures."
Perceiving that it was useless to argue with him, I reluctantly departed
and, not without misgivings, made my way to the Industrial Institute.
I am thankful to say that there matters did not turn out so badly for me
as I had anticipated. I refused to visit classrooms, and contented
myself with gathering information. And since the going to gather this
information cost me such uneasiness, I do not propose to waste entirely
the fruits of my effort, but shall here record some of the facts that I
collected.
The Industrial Institute and College is for girls of sixteen years or
over who are graduates of high schools. There are about 800 students
taking either the collegiate, normal, industrial, or musical courses, or
combination courses. This college, I was informed, was the first in the
country to offer industrial education to women.
Most of the students come from families in modest circumstances, and
attend the college with the definite purpose of fitting themselves to
become self-supporting. The cost is very slight, the only regular
charge, aside from board and general living expenses, being a nominal
matriculation fee of $5. There is no charge for rooms in the large
dormitories connected with the college. Board, light, fuel, and laundry
are paid for coöperatively, the average cost per student, for all these,
being about ten dollars a month--which sum also includes payment for a
lyceum ticket and for two hats per annum. Uniforms are worn by all,
these being very simple navy-blue suits with sailor hats. Seniors and
juniors wear cap and gown. All uniform requirements may be covered at a
cost of twenty dollars a year, and a girl who practices economy may get
through her college year at a total cost of about $125, though of course
some spend considerably more.
Many students work their way, either wholly or in part. Thirty or forty
of them serve in the dining room, for which work they are allowed
sixty-five dollars a year. Others, who clean classrooms are allowed
fifty dollars a year, and still others earn various sums by assisting in
the library or reading room or by doing secretarial work.
Unlike the other departments of the college, the musical department is
not a tax upon the State, but is entirely self-sustaining, each girl
paying for her own lessons. This department is under the direction of
Miss Weenonah Poindexter, to whose enthusiasm much if not all of its
success is due. Miss Poindexter began her work in 1894, as the college's
only piano teacher, giving lessons in the dormitories. Now she not only
has a splendid music hall and a number of assistants, but has succeeded
in making Columbus one of the recognized musical centers of the South,
by bringing there a series of the most distinguished artists:
Paderewski, Nordica, Schumann-Heinck, Gadski, Sembrich, Bispham, Albert
Spaulding, Maud Powell, Damrosch's Orchestra, and Sousa's Band.
So much I had learned of the I.I. and C. when it came time for me to
flee to the train. My companion and I had already packed our suitcases,
and it had been arranged between us that, instead of consuming time by
trying to meet and drive together to the station, we should work
independently, joining each other at the train.
I left the college in an automobile, stopping at Mrs. Eichelberger's
only long enough to get my suitcase. As I drove on past the next corner
I chanced to look up the intersecting street. There, by a lilac bush,
stood my companion. He was not alone. With him was a very pretty girl
wearing a soft black dress and a corsage of narcissus. But the corsage
was now smaller, by one flower, than it had been before, for, as I
sighted them, she was in the act of placing one of the blooms from her
bouquet in my companion's buttonhole. Her hands looked very white and
small against his dark coat, and I recall that he was gazing down at
them, and that his features were distorted by a sentimental smile.
"Come on!" I called to him.
He looked up. His expression was vague.
"Go along," he returned.
"Why don't you come with me now?"
"I'll be there," he replied. "You buy the tickets and check the
baggage." And with that he turned his back.
"Good-by," I called to the young lady. But she was looking up at him and
didn't seem to hear me.
* * * * *
My companion arrived at the station in an old hack, with horses at the
gallop. He was barely in time.
When we were settled in the car, bowling along over the prairies toward
the little junction town of Artesia, I turned to him and inquired how
his work had gone that morning. But at that moment he caught sight,
through the car window, of some negroes sitting at a cabin door, and
exclaimed over their picturesqueness.
I agreed. Then, as the train left them behind, I repeated my question:
"How did your work go?"
"This is very fertile-looking country," said he.
This time I did not reply, but asked:
"Did you finish both sketches?"
"No," he answered. "Not both. There wasn't time."
"Let's see the one you did."
"As a matter of fact," he returned, "I didn't do any. You know how it
is. Sometimes a fellow feels like drawing--sometimes he doesn't. Somehow
I didn't feel like it this morning."
With that he lifted the lapel of his coat and, bending his head
downward, sniffed in a romantic manner at the sickeningly sweet flower
in his buttonhole.