BAD NEWS
"Oh, girls, it's good to be back!"
Surrounded by a welcoming trio of white-gowned girls, Jane Allen clung
affectionately to them.
All along the station platform, bevies of merry-faced, daintily dressed
young women were engaged in the joyful occupation of greeting classmates
who had arrived on the four o'clock train. Here and there, committees of
upper class girls were extending friendly hands to timid freshmen just
set down in the outskirts of the land of college.
Stepping down from the train Jane had been instantly seized by her
energetic chums and smothered in a triangular embrace. A mist had risen
to her gray eyes at the warmth of the welcome. She was, indeed, no
longer the lonely outlander. It was all so different from last year and
so delightful.
"It's good to have you back, perfectly dear old Jane!" emphasized
Judith, giving Jane an extra hug to measure her joy at sight of the girl
she adored.
"What happiness!" gurgled Adrienne. "We had the g-r-r-r-eat anxiety for
fear that you would perhaps not come on this train."
"Oh, I telegraphed Judy from St. Louis on a venture," laughed Jane. "I
knew she'd be here ahead of me."
"Then you did receive my letter," Judith said with satisfaction. "I was
afraid you mightn't."
"I didn't answer it because I was coming East so soon," apologized Jane.
"I took your advice, though, about the eats. There was a stop over at
St. Louis, so I went out and bought a suitcase full of boxed stuff.
Maybe it isn't heavy! We'll have a great spread in our room to-night.
Who's back, Judy? Have you seen Christine Ellis or Barbara Temple yet?
Is Mary Ashton here? I know Dorothy isn't or she'd be here with you."
As Jane rattled off these lively remarks, her three friends exchanged
significant eye messages.
"Then--why--you----" stammered Judith, a swift flush rising to her
cheeks.
"What's the matter, Judy?"
Jane regarded her roommate in puzzled fashion. She wondered at Judith's
evident confusion.
"Nothing much. I mean something rather queer." Judith contradicted
herself. "Let's take a taxi, girls, and stop at Rutherford Inn for tea.
We can talk there."
"But why not go straight to Madison Hall?" queried Jane, in growing
perplexity. "I'm anxious to get rid of some of the smoke and dust I've
collected on my face and hands. We can have tea and talk in our own room
and be all by ourselves."
"I wish we could, Jane, but we must have a talk with you before you go
to the Hall," returned Judith, her merry features now grown grave.
"What is it, Judy?"
All the brightness had faded from Jane's face. Her famous scowl now
darkened her brow. She cast a quick glance from Adrienne to Ethel. Both
girls looked unduly solemn.
"Girls, you're keeping something from me; something unpleasant, of
course," Jane accused. "I must know what it is. Please tell me. Don't be
afraid of hurting my feelings."
"We're going to tell you, Jane," Judith said reassuringly. "Only we
didn't want to say a word until--until we found out something. But this
isn't the place to talk. Let's hail the taxi, anyway. Then he can stop
at the Inn or not, just as you please. We'll tell you on the way there."
"All right."
Almost mechanically Jane reached down to pick up the suitcase she had
placed on the station platform in the first moment of reunion. All the
pleasure of coming back to Wellington had been replaced by a sense of
deep depression. In spite of the presence of her chums she felt now as
she had formerly felt when just a year before she had stood on that same
platform, hating with all her sore heart its group of laughing, chatting
girls.
"Do not look so cross, _cherie_." Adrienne had slipped a soft hand into
Jane's arm. "All will yet be well. Come, I, your Imp, will lead you to
the taxicab."
"And I'll help do the leading," declared Judith gaily, taking hold of
Jane's free arm. "Ethel, you can walk behind and carry Jane's traveling
bag. That will be some little honor."
Knowing precisely how Jane felt, Judith affected a cheeriness she was
far from feeling. She heartily wished that she had not been obliged to
say a word to rob her roommate of the first joy of meeting.
While traversing the few yards that lay between the station and the
point behind it where several taxicabs waited, both she and Adrienne
chattered lively commonplaces. Jane, however, had little to say. She was
experiencing the dazed sensation of one who has received an unexpected
slap in the face.
What had happened? Why had Judy insisted that they must have a talk
before going on to the Hall? Surely some very unpleasant news lay in
wait for her ears. But what? Jane had not the remotest idea.
"Now, Judy," she began with brusque directness the instant the quartette
were seated in the taxicab, "don't keep me in the dark any longer. You
must know how--what a queer feeling all this has given me."
Seated in the tonneau of the automobile, between Adrienne and Judith,
Jane turned hurt eyes on the latter.
"Jane," began Judith impressively, "before you went home last year did
you arrange with Mrs. Weatherbee about your room for this year?"
"Why, yes."
A flash of amazement crossed Jane's face.
"Of course I did," she went on. "Mrs. Weatherbee understood that I was
coming back to Madison Hall."
"Humph!" ejaculated Judith. "Well, there's just this much about it,
Jane. About nine o'clock this morning a little, black-eyed scrap of a
freshman marched into my room and said Mrs. Weatherbee had assigned her
to the other half of my room. I told her she had made a mistake and come
to the wrong room. She said 'no,' that Mrs. Weatherbee had sent the maid
to the door with her to show her the way."
"Why, Judy, I don't see how----" began Jane, then suddenly broke off
with, "Go on and tell me the rest."
"I didn't like this girl for a cent. Her name is Noble, but it doesn't
fit her. She has one of those prying, detestable faces, thin, with a
sharp chin, and she hates to look one straight in the face," continued
Judith disgustedly. "I went over to see Adrienne and Ethel and told
them. Then we all went downstairs to interview Mrs. Weatherbee. She said
you weren't coming back to Madison Hall this year."
"Not coming back to Madison Hall!" exclaimed Jane, her scowl now in
fierce evidence. "Did _she_ say it in just those words?"
"She certainly did," responded Judith. "I told her that I was sure that
you were and she simply froze up and gave me one of those Arctic-circle
stares. All she said was, 'I am surprised at you, Miss Stearns. I am not
in the habit of making incorrect statements.' Adrienne started to ask
her when you had given up your room and she cut her off with: 'Young
ladies, the subject is closed.' So that's all we know about it, and I
guess you don't know any more of it than we do."
"So _that_ was why you didn't want me to go on to the Hall until I
knew," Jane said slowly. "Well, I know now, and I'm going straight
there. Mrs. Weatherbee has never liked me. Still it's a rather
high-handed proceeding on her part, I think."
"If she did it of her own accord, I don't see how she dared. I'm not
going to stand for it. That's all," burst out Judith hotly. "Miss Howard
won't either. As registrar she'll have something to say, I guess. If she
doesn't, then on to Miss Rutledge. That's going to be my motto. I won't
have that girl in your place, Jane. I _won't_."
"I won't let her stay there if I can help it," was Jane's decided
answer. "I'd rather the affair would be between Mrs. Weatherbee and me,
though. If she has done this from prejudice, I'll fight for my rights.
It won't be the first time she and I have had words. It seems hard to
believe that a woman of her age and position could be so contemptible."
"That's what I thought," agreed Judith. "Well, we'll soon know. Here we
are at the edge of the campus. Doesn't old Wellington look fine, though,
Jane?"
Jane merely nodded. She could not trust herself to speak. The gently
rolling green of the wide campus had suddenly burst upon her view. Back
among the trees, Wellington Hall lifted its massive gray pile, lording
it in splendid grandeur over the buildings of lesser magnitude that
dotted the living green.
She had longed for a sight of it all. It was as though she had suddenly
come upon a dear friend. For a moment the perplexities of the situation
confronting her faded away as her gray eyes wandered from one familiar
point on the campus to another.
"It's wonderful, Judy," she said softly, her tones quite steady. "Even
with this horrid tangle staring me in the face I can't help being glad
to see Wellington again. Somehow, I can't help feeling that there's been
a mistake made. I don't want to pass through the gates of Wellington
with my heart full of distrust of anyone."
"You're a dear, Jane!" was Judith's impulsive tribute. "Adrienne says
Mrs. Weatherbee may turn out to be 'the grand villain.' Let's hope she
won't. Anyway, if things can't be adjusted, wherever you go to live I'll
go, too. I won't stay at the Hall without you."
"Thank you, Judy." Jane found Judith's hand and squeezed it hard. She
had inwardly determined, however, that her roommate should not make any
such sacrifice. It would be hard to find a room anywhere on the campus
to take the place of the one the two had occupied at Madison Hall during
their freshman year.
"I'm glad there's no one on the veranda," presently commented Jane.
Having dismissed the taxicab, the three girls were now ascending the
steps of the Hall.
"Better wait here for me, girls, I'd rather have it out with Mrs.
Weatherbee alone," she counseled. "I hope I sha'n't lose my temper," she
added ruefully.
Mentally bracing herself for the interview, Jane crossed the threshold
of the Hall and walked serenely past the living-room to the matron's
office just behind it. She was keeping a tight grip on herself and
intended to keep it, if possible. She knew from past experience how
greatly Mrs. Weatherbee's calm superiority of manner had been wont to
irritate her.
Jane loathed the idea of having a dispute with the matron the moment she
entered Madison Hall. She had begun the first day of her freshman year
in such fashion. Afterward it had seemed to her that most of the others
had been stormy, as a consequence of a wrong start.
She reflected as she walked slowly down the hall that this new trouble,
was, at least, not of her making. She had the comforting knowledge that
this time she was not at fault.