THE LISTENER
Returned to Wellington, Jane and Judith both agreed that in spite of
their holiday fun, each had missed the other dreadfully. They had plenty
to talk about and much to show each other in the way of beautiful gifts
which had fallen to their lot.
Judith was jubilant over the acquisition of a knitted white silk
sweater, which she assured Jane was an exact counterpart of the one Mrs.
Weatherbee had knitted for her niece.
"My Aunt Jennie made it for me," she explained, as she proudly exhibited
it to Jane. "I bought the silk and she did the work. I told her about
the one Mrs. Weatherbee made for her niece and dandy Aunt Jennie offered
to knit one for me like it. Wasn't that nice in her? I'm going to show
it to the girls and then put it away until Spring. It will be sweet
with a white wash satin skirt. I'm going to have some made just to wear
with it. Let's give a spread, Jane, to the crowd. Then we can show them
our Christmas presents. It will give you a chance, too, to get that
great secret idea of yours off your mind. You see I haven't forgotten
about it."
Jane smilingly agreed that it would be a good opportunity and the spread
was accordingly planned for the next evening. Christine, Barbara,
Dorothy, Norma, Alicia, Adrienne, Ethel and Mary Ashton were the chosen
few to be invited.
It was not until the little feast provided by Judith and Jane had been
eaten and the ten girls still sat about the makeshift banqueting board,
that Jane, urged by Judith to "Speak up, Janie," began rather
diffidently to speak of her cherished new idea.
"I don't know whether you'll agree with me or not," she said. "If you
don't, please say so frankly, because if we should decide to do what I'm
going to propose we'll all have to be united in thinking it a good idea.
"It's like this," she continued. "We all spend a good deal of money on
luncheons and dinners and spreads. We feel, of course, that we have a
perfect right to do as we please with our allowance checks. So we have.
Still, when one stops to think about quite a number of girls at
Wellington who are straining every nerve to put themselves through
college, it seems a little bit selfish to spend so much on one's own
pleasures.
"Suppose we agreed to give only two spreads a month. There are ten of us
here. We could each put a dollar a month into a common fund. That would
give us ten dollars to spend on the two spreads, five dollars on each.
During the month we'd see how much of our allowances we could save.
Whatever we had left at the end of the month would go into the common
fund. No one of us would be obliged to give any particular sum. Whatever
we gave would be a good-will offering. One of us would be treasurer.
We'd buy a toy-bank and the treasurer would take charge of it. Whenever
one of us wanted to give something we'd go to her and drop the money in
the bank. Not even she would know what we gave. The first of every new
month she'd take the money out, count it and put it in the Chesterford
Trust company for us."
"But suppose we save quite a lot, what would we do with it?" asked
Barbara Tennant. "We wouldn't need it for ourselves. We'd have to----"
"That's what I'm coming to," interposed Jane. "We'd start a fund to help
the poorer Wellington students along. There is no College Aid Society
here. I don't know why none has ever been organized. I suppose there
haven't been so very many poor girls at Wellington. Until three years
ago there were no scholarships offered. There are only two now. There
will be three soon. My father has promised me that."
Jane's lips curved in a tender little smile, as she quietly made this
announcement. There was no hint of boastful pride in her tones; nothing
save becoming modesty and deep sincerity.
"This money we collected would be open to any student to draw upon who
made requisition for it," she explained.
"But would the girls who need it ask for it?" questioned Norma. "You see
I know how it feels to be very, very poor. If I hadn't found such a
splendid way to earn my tuition fees and board, I'm afraid I could never
bring myself to ask for help in that way. It would seem like begging."
"Oh, we'd loan the money; not give it," promptly assured Jane. "We'd
loan it without interest, to be repaid at convenience. You know the
'Beatrice Horton' books. Well, in those stories the girls at Exley
College started such a fund. They gave entertainments and shows to help
it along. Then they received money contributions from interested
persons, too.
"I don't know whether we'd ever do as they did. I like the idea of the
self-denial gifts from just the crowd of us. We could let the money pile
up this year and if we had enough by next October we could start our
Student's Aid Fund."
"We could keep up the good work during our vacations, too,"
enthusiastically suggested Mary Ashton. "A little self-denial then
wouldn't hurt us, I guess, I think it would be fun for each of us to
pledge ourselves to earn at least ten dollars this summer to put into
the fund. Norma and Adrienne are the only ones of us here who ever
earned a dollar. Dispute that if you can."
"I dispute it," grinned Judith. "My father once gave me a silver dollar
for keeping quiet a whole hour. I was only five at the time I earned
that fabulous sum."
"I've earned lots of dollars for churches and hospitals at bazaars,"
declared Christine. "I suppose most of us have. But that's not like
earning money for ourselves."
"Well, everybody here is going to earn _ten_ dollars this coming
summer," stated Judith positively. "It would be still more fun if we
each agreed to write a poem telling how we earned our ten dollars. We'd
have a grand reunion as soon as we were all back in college and each of
us would read her own poetic gem right out loud, so that we could all
appreciate it."
Judith's proposal was greeted with laughter and accepted on the spot.
The girls were no less enthusiastic over Jane's worthy plan and each
expressed herself as ready and willing to do her bit toward furthering
its success. Before the ten-thirty bell drove the revelers from the
scene of revelry, Adrienne had been appointed to act as treasurer. Jane
had been unanimously chosen, but declined, suggesting Adrienne in her
stead.
Thus from one girl's generous thought was presently to spring an
organization that would grow, thrive and endure long after Jane Allen
had been graduated from Wellington College to a wider field in life.
That evening's jollification was the last for the participants until
fateful mid-year, with its burden of examinations should come and go.
The nearer it approached the more devoted became the Wellingtonites to
study. Even basket-ball practice fell off considerably. The second game
between the freshmen and sophomore teams was set for the third Saturday
in February. This meant ample time for practice after the dreaded
examinations were out of the way.
On the whole January seemed fated to pass out in uneventful placidity so
far as Jane and Judith were concerned. Elsie Noble continued to glower
her silent disapproval of her tablemates three times a day, but that was
all. Since the disastrous failure of the scheme to leave Jane, Judith
and Adrienne in the lurch at the freshman frolic, she had made no
further attempts at unworthy retaliation for her supposed grievances.
Marian Seaton also appeared to be too fully occupied with her own
affairs to undertake the launching of a new offensive against the girls
she so greatly disliked. In fact, she behaved as though she had
forgotten their very existence. For this they were duly grateful.
Only one incident occurred during the month which brought Marian's name
up for discussion between Judith and Jane.
Judith arrived in her room late one afternoon with the news that Maizie
Gilbert had lost a valuable sapphire and diamond pin. Notice of the loss
had appeared on the main bulletin board at Wellington Hall. It was
worded almost precisely as had been the notice previously posted by
Marian regarding the loss of her diamond ring.
Judith again confided to Jane her sturdy disbelief concerning Maizie's
loss. As in the case of Marian, she attributed it as a silly
determination to attract undue attention. Jane frowned reflectively at
Judith's supposition, but refused to commit herself.
"I don't want to talk or even think about either Marian or Maizie," she
said shortly. "I've been living in perfect peace since Christmas and I
hate to break the spell. I'm trying to keep my mind on study just now.
Are you aware, Judy Stearns, that exams begin to-morrow?"
"I am. I am prepared--in a measure. Ahem!" Judith snickered, adding: "A
very small measure."
"Are you going to study to-night?" Jane demanded. "If you're not, then
away with you. I'm going to be fearfully, terribly, horribly busy. Don't
interrupt me. That means you. Alicia is coming in after dinner to-night.
We are going to conduct a review."
"All right, conduct it," graciously sanctioned Judith. "I'm not going to
study to-night. I never do the last evening before exams. I just try to
keep what I already know in my head and let it go at that. Guess I'll
inflict my charming self upon Adrienne and Ethel. They're not going to
study, either."
"Do so; do so," approved Jane with smiling alacrity. "I'm sure they'll
love to have you."
"Certainly they will. I am always welcome everywhere--except _here_, on
the dread eve of the stupendous ordeal which we shall presently be
called upon to endure."
Judith struck an attitude and continued to declaim dramatically.
"Who am I that I should desire for a moment to remain where I am not
desired. I will flee to the welcome haunt of my true friends. We'll make
merry and make fudge at the same time. And I sha'n't bring you a single
speck of squdgy, fudgy fudge," she ended in practical tones.
"I can live without it," informed Jane drily. "Be as merry as you
please, but be quiet about it. Remember, a lot of girls will be trying
to study."
"Oh, we won't get ourselves disliked," airily assured Judith. "We'll be
as quiet as can be. We know how to behave during such times of stress."
Jane merely smiled. Judith and Adrienne together meant much hilarity.
Dinner over, Alicia appeared to hold student vigil with Jane. Judith as
promptly betook herself to Adrienne's room for an evening's relaxation.
There she found Norma, who had also elected to eschew study for fudge.
It may be said to the quartette's credit that, though hilarity reigned
during the fudge making, it was of a subdued order. When the delicious
concoction of chocolate and walnut meats was at last ready for sampling,
the four girls sat down to eat and talk to their hearts' content.
The conversation drifting to the all-important subject of dress,
Adrienne exclaimed in sudden recollection:
"Ah, Judy, but I must show you the sweet frock which I have this day
received from _ma mère_. It is, of a truth, the dream. But wait one
moment! You shall thus see for yourself."
Springing up from her chair, the little girl darted to a curtained
doorway, the entrance to a roomy closet, containing her own and Ethel's
gowns.
It was at least five minutes when she reappeared, minus the new gown, an
angry light in her big, black eyes.
"What's the matter, Imp?" questioned Ethel concernedly.
For answer, Adrienne laid a warning finger to her lips with a mysterious
wag of her curly head toward the curtained doorway.
Her finger still on her lips, she picked up a pencil from the writing
table and scribbled industriously for a moment or two on a pad of paper.
Silently she handed the pad to Judith, who read it, opened her eyes very
wide and passed the pad to Ethel. Ethel, in turn, handed it to Norma.
Suddenly Adrienne broke the silence; speaking in purposely loud tones.
"I have the great secret to tell you, girls. It is of a certainty most
amazing. Wait until I return. I shall be absent from the room but a
moment. Then you shall hear much that is interesting."
Flashing to the door, she paused, frantically beckoning her friends to
follow her. Next instant the four had made a noiseless exit into the
hall and were grouped before the door of the next room.
Very cautiously, Adrienne's small fingers sought the door knob and
turned it. Slowly, soundlessly, she opened the door and stepped
cat-footed into the room. A little line of three, emulating her
stealthy movement, tip-toed after her into a room empty of occupants.
Straight to a curtained doorway Adrienne flitted, followed by her
faithful shadows. Sweeping the chintz curtain aside with a lightning
movement of her hand, she paused.
Looking over her shoulder, three girls saw a motionless figure lying
flat on the closet floor. In that fraction of a second the figure
suddenly acquired motion and speech. A scramble, an appalled "Oh!" and a
very angry and thoroughly frightened girl was on her feet, confronting
Adrienne. Her companions had now fallen back a little from the doorway.
The listener now made a futile attempt at composure.
"What--why----" she gasped.
"Come out of this closet, dishonorable one," commanded Adrienne sternly.
"Ah, but it is I who had the luck to discover you in the act of
listening. Had you not too hastily shut the register when you heard me
enter the closet on the other side, I should never have guessed. Come
out instantly."
The imperious repetition of the command served its purpose. Adrienne
backed out of the closet into the room, followed by Elsie Noble. The
latter's small black eyes refused to meet those of her accuser. The
blazing red of her cheeks betrayed her utter humiliation.
For a brief instant no one spoke. Then Elsie recovered speech.
"Get out--of--my--room, you--spies!" she stammered in a furious,
rage-choked voice.
"Ah, but it is you who are the great spy!" scornfully exclaimed
Adrienne. "There is no longer the mystery. So you must have listened
often to Ethel and myself as we privately talked. Have you then no shame
to be thus so small--so contemptible?"
"No, I haven't. I----"
Elsie's attempt to brazen things out ended almost as soon as it began.
Her guilty, shifting gaze had come to rest on Norma's grave, sweet face.
It wore an expression of wondering pity. Elsie turned and bolted
straight for her couch bed. She threw herself downward upon it, beating
the pillows with her clenched fists, in a fury of tempestuous chagrin.
"I think we'd best go, girls." It was Norma who spoke. "Alicia will soon
be in. I don't believe we'd care to have even her know about this.
Perhaps it would be just as well for us to forget that it's happened."
This charitable view of the matter brought Elsie's head from the pillow
with a jerk. She sat up and stared hard at Norma, as if unable to credit
the latter's plea for clemency in her behalf.
"I am satisfied to have thus solved a mystery. Now I wish to forget it."
Adrienne made a sweeping gesture, as though to blot out the disagreeable
incident with a wave of her hand.
"It certainly wouldn't be a pleasant memory," dryly agreed Judith.
"Anyhow, we know now something we've wanted to know for a long time.
That's about all that one feels like saying, except that one hopes it
won't happen again."
"I guess it won't. Let's go, girls," was all that Ethel said.
Without another word the quartette turned to the door, leaving Elsie to
her own dark meditations. She could hardly believe that she had thus
easily escaped. It appeared that these girls whom she had been so sure
she despised, had no mind for retaliation. They were simply disgusted
with her. For the first time, a dim realization of her own unworthiness
forced itself upon Elsie.
It was not strong enough to impel her to run after those who had just
disappeared and apologize for her fault. Nevertheless, Adrienne's
accusing question, "Have you then no shame to be thus so small; so
contemptible?" rang in her ears. It dawned painfully upon her that she
_was_ ashamed of herself. More, that she was done with eavesdropping for
good and all.
Early in the year she had stumbled upon the discovery that the register
in the dress closet could be efficiently used as a listening post. Its
position, low in the wall between the two closets, made it possible for
her to hear plainly the conversation of those in the next room when both
sides of the register stood open. This state of matters had existed when
first she made the discovery. More, the side opening into the dress
closet belonging to Adrienne and Ethel had remained open.
This proved conclusively to Elsie that she was alone in her discovery.
Fearful lest Alicia should note the sound of voices proceeding from the
next room, she had been careful to keep the register closed whenever
Alicia was present in their room. At times when the latter was absent,
Elsie had noiselessly opened it and taken up her position in the closet
as an eavesdropper. Now she began miserably to wish that she had never
done it.
Meanwhile, Adrienne's first move on re-entering her room was to dash
into the adjoining closet and close the treacherous register with an
energetic hand. To block further listening, she promptly stowed a
suitcase on end against it.
"_Voila!_ I have now remedied the trouble," she announced, as she
emerged from the closet. "We shall not need that register to give the
heat to us. I have closed it and placed against it the suitcase. Strange
we never before noticed."
"Better late than never," commented Judith. "Funny the way our little
mystery was solved, wasn't it?"
"I should never have known, had she not made the noise in closing the
register on her side," explained Adrienne. "I had but bent over to lift
the box containing my new gown when I noticed the register, heard the
sound and, of a sudden, grew suspicious. I recalled that it could not be
Alicia. So I was most determined to know if my suspicion was the idle
one. It was not. You saw for yourselves. It was all most disagreeable. I
had the feeling of shame myself to thus discover this girl listening."
"So had I," echoed Ethel.
"It _was_ rather horrid," declared Judith. "Maybe it will teach her a
much-needed lesson. The ignoble Noble is a splendid name for her. I'm
proud of myself for having thought of it."
"I think she was really ashamed of herself," Norma said quietly. "I
couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for her. She pretended to be
very defiant, when all the time she looked humiliated and miserable. I
believe she was truly sorry, but couldn't bring herself to say so."
"She will too soon forget," shrugged Adrienne. "A few minutes with her
cousin, that most detestable Seaton one, and her regrets will vanish.
Once you said, Judy, that we should solve our little mystery when we
least thought. So you are indeed the prophet. We can expect no gratitude
from this girl, because we have thus overlooked her fault. Still, I have
the feeling that she will trouble us no more. _Voila!_ It is
sufficient."