A FACE TO FACE TALK
For a week at least Alice Rawle stayed religiously away from Wayne Hall
and her idol, during which time Kathleen went serenely about her
business, apparently undisturbed by the lull in the attentions of her
one "crush." Then a certain sharp-eyed sophomore noted the fact and,
happening to run across the newspaper girl in the gymnasium one
afternoon, remarked laughingly, "I hear your little friend, Miss Rawle,
has transferred her allegiance to Miss Eliot."
"What utter nonsense," declared Kathleen. Yet she frowned her
displeasure at the intimation, and immediately held Patience responsible
for Miss Rawle's deflection. She decided to look into the matter that
very afternoon and found time to stop and see Alice on her way home from
her class. She rang the bell at Livingston Hall a little before five
o'clock, only to find that Miss Rawle had not yet come in. The newspaper
girl turned her steps toward Wayne Hall, feeling slightly disappointed
and vexed. Arrived at the Hall, she slipped upstairs with the cat-like
quiet and ease that always characterized her movements. At the door of
her room she paused for a moment, listening to the sound of voices that
came from within. Then, with a vehement exclamation, she flung wide the
door and darted into the room.
"Whatever you have to say of me you can say in my presence," she
stormed. "Do you hear? I said, 'In my presence,'" she repeated, her
voice rising.
The two astonished occupants of the room regarded the angry girl in
silent astonishment. Then the tension of the moment relaxed, and Alice
Rawle found her voice. "You are right," she said to Kathleen, with a
scornful little gesture. "We were talking of you. Evidently you heard
what we said. I am glad you did. Until this moment I liked you better
than any other girl in Overton. If you had come sooner, you would have
heard me say so. But now I think you are unjust and contemptible and I
shall never speak to you again." Turning to Patience, who had stood
impassive during this outburst, she said with sudden penitence: "I'm
sorry I lost my temper. I will come again to see you at some other time.
Good-bye."
As the door closed on Alice, Kathleen confronted Patience with blazing
eyes. "It is all your fault," she accused wildly. "I hate you! You are
one of the superior, narrow-minded sort of girls who will excuse
nothing. You imagine yourself to be perfect, but you can always discover
faults in others. You don't like me. I know it. I have those dear
friends of yours to thank for it, too. I know that Miss Harlowe has
taken particular pains to strengthen your first impression of me, which
wasn't favorable. It is very unfortunate that we are obliged to room
together. I suppose it is useless to ask you to mind your own business
and let me alone."
Kathleen walked moodily to the window and stood looking out, her
favorite attitude when greatly disturbed in spirit. Crossing swiftly to
where the newspaper girl stood, Patience laid two firm hands on
Kathleen's shoulders. She whirled at the touch, her eyes flashing.
"That's right," commented Patience. "I want you to look at me. The time
has come for you and me to have an understanding. I've been putting off
the evil day, and there have been times when I have even dreamed that we
might dispense with it altogether. But now we must face it. I am going
to tell you exactly what I think of you and why I think it, and you are
going to perform the same kind office for me. Will you please begin?"
Kathleen's face set in sullen lines. "You know what I think of you," she
muttered. "I just finished telling you. I told you last week, too."
"So you did," smiled Patience, "but surely you must think other
uncomplimentary things of me."
"Will you kindly take your hands off my shoulders and attend to your own
affairs?" Kathleen's voice choked with renewed anger.
Patience's hands dropped to her sides. "Very well. If you haven't
anything further to say on the subject of my short-comings, I'll proceed
to yours," was her brisk declaration.
"I won't listen to you," cried Kathleen passionately. "I won't stay here
and allow you to insult me."
She sprang toward the door, but Patience, divining her intention, turned
the key in the lock and calmly pocketed it. "Don't be a goose," she
advised. "You are too clever to be so childish. You are deliberately
trying to shut yourself out of all the pleasant part of college by going
about with a grievance on your shoulder. If you weren't so clever I
shouldn't take the trouble to say what I think. Why, you could be one of
the foremost girls in the sophomore class if you wished."
"I haven't seen any particular indication of admiration on the part of
my class," sneered Kathleen.
"You haven't given your class cause to admire you, have you?" asked
Patience imperturbably.
Sheer inability to reply to this unwelcome assertion held Kathleen
silent.
"Please don't misunderstand me," went on Patience. "I know I have no
right to criticize you, but as your roommate, I feel a certain interest
in your welfare."
"Very kind in you, I am sure," muttered Kathleen sarcastically.
Unmindful of the sarcasm, Patience continued: "I believe your chief
trouble lies in the fact that newspaper standards are so different from
those of a college. On a newspaper it is a case of get the story and no
questions asked. It isn't honor that counts. It is shrewdness,
determination, dogged persistence, hardness of head, and deafness to
personal appeal that wins the day."
A curious light leaped into the other girl's eyes. "How do you happen to
know so much about what counts on a newspaper?" she questioned sharply.
"Because my father edited one for years. All the newspaper folks know
James Merton Eliot. You must have heard of him," replied Patience with
grim satisfaction.
"You don't mean it! I never dreamed you could be his daughter," gasped
Kathleen, regarding her tall roommate with positive awe. Then she said,
almost humbly: "Say what you like to me. I'll listen to it, no matter
how much it hurts."
"But I don't wish to hurt you," remonstrated Patience, "nor to preach. I
do wish you to know, however, that I am quite familiar with the inside
workings of a newspaper. I have haunted Father's office since I was a
little girl. I was bitterly resentful of being packed off to a
preparatory school when I yearned to be a reporter. Father didn't resign
his editorship of a Boston paper until last year. He overworked and has
been very ill since then. That is the reason I was not here when college
opened. I waited until I was sure he was really convalescent. Had my
affairs shaped themselves differently, you would not now be obliged to
endure me as a roommate."
Kathleen continued to survey Patience with wondering eyes. It was simply
incredible that this brusque, matter-of-fact young woman whom she had
held in secret contempt should be the daughter of a man whose name was
known and honored throughout the newspaper world. Sheer astonishment
tied her tongue.
"I would have told you in the beginning," continued Patience, "but I did
not wish to travel on my father's passport. When I saw what an
unfavorable impression I had made on you I was tempted to tell you. It
would at least have given me a certain prestige in your eyes. Then I
decided never to tell you. But to-day it seemed the only way. None of
the girls know it. Miss Sheldon and Miss Wilder know. They are personal
friends of Father's."
"If I had only known when first you came to Wayne Hall," was Kathleen's
regretful cry.
"But I didn't wish you to know," returned Patience. "I wished you to
like me for myself, and you wouldn't. You thought me pedantic and
narrow-minded, and set me down as a typical New England woman of the
grim, uncompromising type, who boasts of her Puritan ancestry, and goes
through life ungracious and forbidding. I don't believe I am pedantic or
narrow-minded or small-souled, but I have plenty of other faults, as
you'll learn before the year is over. I meant what I said about your
standing in your own light. You'll have to learn the difference between
college and newspaper standards, too."
Kathleen's face reddened. She understood all that the sharp criticism
implied. "I know I haven't lived up to----" she began.
Patience shook her head vigorously. "Don't tell me," she said. "Just
decide that hereafter you are going to cultivate Overton as your Alma
Mater for all you're worth. You'll find you can adapt Overton standards
to your paper more successfully than you can adapt newspaper tactics
here. At least it will do no harm to try out my suggestion and see how
far it will carry you."
"I will try," responded Kathleen with a suddenness that surprised even
herself. "Only," her eyes grew resentful, "you mustn't expect me to be
an angel all in a twinkling, or even like certain girls you and I know.
I can't, and that settles it."
"I shall have no expectations in the matter," smiled Patience. "Your
likes and dislikes concern no one save yourself. Please forgive me for
locking the door and speaking so candidly."
Patience stepped to the door and unlocked it. Kathleen took an uncertain
step forward, wavered, then, advancing almost timidly, held out her
hand.
"Will you shake hands?" she asked. "I am glad you did it, and I am going
to be different--if I can," she added moodily.
"Be fair to yourself and give the clever, capable Kathleen West a
chance," was the New England girl's advice. "This little talk of ours
has served to clear the atmosphere of this room. Let us be friends and
keep it clear."
"I will try," Kathleen repeated, but Patience was obliged to confess to
herself that she had very little faith in the newspaper girl's promise.
She felt that the fact that James Merton Eliot was her father had made
far more impression upon Kathleen than had her little lecture on
standards.