“Oh, I am too excited for words!” exclaimed Clare Bradley. “Have you
heard the news?”
“I may have,” replied Judith, with her old-time drollery. “What
particularly choice crumb have you reference to, Clare?”
“Oh, Marion Seaton is perfectly wild. Threatens to leave college if we
are not all disciplined. She won’t even come to her classes. Judy,
dear, do you think we—will catch it?”
She was a dear little freshman, and while she loved the fun of real
trouble, especially when some one other than herself was more seriously
involved, she did have a little fear of reported college pranks
reaching the ears of her ministerial father. He was a good sort (not
sport) himself—was Rev. Clarence Bradley, and he had experienced his
own college fun, no doubt; but Claire promised, on leaving home, she
would never bring disgrace to his curly blond head, with any “bad
reports” from school, and the pretty little black-eyed, light
curly-haired girl fervently hoped to keep her promise.
“I am not a bit afraid of Marian’s threats,” answered Judith boldly.
“In fact, I rather think she will be the one to call halt, when we ask
for a report of the doings of election night. Marian is not living in a
stone house. I fancy there are lots of windows in it, if it is not
entirely made of glass, to speak metaphorically.”
“And another thing, a lot of the girls are turning against Helen,” went
on the communicative Clare. “They say she—is—a free scholar.”
“Free scholar!” Judith repeated. “Where have I heard that term before?
Oh, yes, it was Poor Scholar in some old book. But free scholar is
entirely new. How could one get into Wellington free, may I ask? Have
you heard, Clare?”
“Oh, you know what I mean. They say she is a scholarship girl and that
Jane has adopted her. But you know all that nonsense was exploded
before the election,” Clare made haste to add, as she noted the black
frown steal over Judith’s face.
“Yes, it was, Clare, and I don’t think it ought to be resurrected
again,” said Judith, with a show of severity. “However, we will have a
pow-wow to-night in the big study room. We got permission to use it to
finish up our election work, and if any one wants to ask questions they
may do so there. Good bye, Clare, and be sure to come to the pow-wow,”
and with a reassuring smile Judith glided away to meet Jane and Helen
who were on a bench near the lake.
“Rumors, always rumors,” Judith told herself, “but I must keep them
from Jane and Helen, if possible. I suppose, as Drusilla said, we will
have to pay for our victory.”
“Oh, hello, Judy Stearns!” called Jane before the girl with the
shifting frown came within talking earshot. “How do you do! I had been
planning to send you a wire, or a special, or some sort of message to
find out if you were still at Wellington. I scarcely ever see you. Of
course, when you are due to sleep you may come in, but by that time I
am unconscious. How is the brave warrior?” and Jane swung her free arm
around her chum.
“I, too, thought our Judy was escaped,” said Helen. “I have so seldom
seen her—pretty face.”
“It is well worth while to make one’s self scarce when it inspires such
sentiments,” said Judith. “I am very well, thank you, and just help
yourself to yeses, for any of the other questions. Jane, you look
wonderful, after your practice. Did they threaten to expel me for not
being on hand?”
“Where were you? I was afraid we would lose our end without our trusty
forward.”
“I fully expected to get to the gym in time, Jane, but I was detained,”
she finished with a comical twist of the last word showing how utterly
meaningless it was intended to be.
“Oh!” said Jane, displaying a similar lack of intelligence.
“But it was very wonderful,” contributed Helen, her deep blue eyes
(tabulated as violet) fairly melting into a sweetness that made itself
felt with returned affection by her friends. “Jane—was—the star.”
“Mercy, friends, mercy!” exclaimed Jane, in mock alarm. “If I receive
any more compliments I shall expect to go up in smoke. It ‘ain’t
natural nor human,’ as old Uncle Todd would say,” and she slipped down
in a pretty heap on the lawn now hidden under the last fall of autumn
leaves. “What do you think a girl is made of, really? Am I bomb proof,
and air tight, and warranted not to go up, or go off? You should have
seen me shirr a big hole in my best stocking this morning, to know how
weakly and sickeningly human I am.”
“Oh, the shame!” exclaimed Helen. “I should have fixed that——”
“Oh, never, Helen!” and Jane spoke with newly assumed asperity. “You
remember you are not to do a single thing for me or Judith. Those
gossipy girls must have none of that sort of thing to fall back on. I
shirr my own socks and wear my own blisters, thank you just the same.”
Helen’s face fell, and she kicked at her heels in the new girl fashion.
All the girls did that, and she unconsciously had acquired the trick.
Judith picked up the cue, and presently all three were kicking their
own flat shoed heels.
“I said my own blisters,” put in Jane. “This is not a contest,” and she
patted the heel supposed to be affected from the rosetted stocking.
“Judy, I had a lovely letter from Aunt Mary,” and the soft gray eyes
went dewy. “It is wonderful at El Capitan just now——”
“Jane Allen, you stop this very minute. Do you want me to run away? I
was dreaming of Fedario. I heard your old uke so late last night, it
went into my sleeping brain, and Jane Allen, I simply can’t bear to
think of Montana these days. I would have one of the boys send me a
false alarm wire, if I thought dear little Aunt Mary would take me in.”
Judy was snivelling and sobbing in the most woebegone manner. That El
Capitan was glorious in autumn was not to be denied, and both girls
looked rather wistfully toward the setting sun.
“There’s Drusilla Landers and Norma Travers!” exclaimed Jane, happily
breaking in on Judith’s dirge. “Let’s overtake them, and have company
to the post office. I want to walk so fast I shall not be able to
think. I feel exactly like giving my head a real rest, Judy.”
“You have been cramming. I know it. And I saw you with the pretty
red-headed soph. I understand that you could not avoid falling in love
with her. Your hair is auburn, and hers is the very next station—red.
But, Jane, remember your responsibilities and keep fit. We need you in
our office, and we are going to run a basketball try-out next week. You
are to be Center, you know. There is positively no chance of bolting
that, even if the honors do rather overburden you. I don’t notice any
flying at my own poor head.”
“More’s the pity. You would make a wonderful Center, Judy, and you will
stick to Guard. Are you perfectly sure you are not dodging?”
“Sure as shooting, Jane. Nobody wants me to be Center. They all think I
have honor enough being little old Guard. And as far as I am personally
concerned, I guess it will do for the time being. Hello, Drusa, and
hello again, Norma! Whither away, fair maids?”
“Low girls,” came the reply from the two in sweaters and corduroy
skirts. “We are on a miniature hike—to the post. Any mail to keep the
home fires burning?” joked Drusilla.
“We are with you,” and Jane fell in step with Drusilla while Judith
sprang along side Norma. “Yes, we have mail, and we have need for open
air, the kind we get outside the grounds. Crickey, but one’s brain does
get stuffy on a day like this. I feel I have acquired enough Euclid to
take over the internal revenue,” and Jane sighed audibly.
“Me,” said Judith comically, “I have acquired enough sass to fight the
Marians. I believe they are massing for attack.”
“Oh, yes, won’t we have a great time to-night?” exclaimed Norma. “Jane,
I hope you have all your moral and mental life preservers on.”
“Quite ready for the onslaught,” replied Jane, but Judith guessed
rightfully when she surmised the painfully crowded head was not
entirely traceable to class work. There was a mixture of personal
anxiety at the turn affairs had taken, and Jane Allen had promised
herself Helen Powderly would not be socially ostracised on account of
her peculiar status in Wellington.
“She is the best little scout in college,” Jane had repeatedly assured
herself, “therefore, why should she be made a victim of girls’ foolish
whims? Isn’t she more worthy than they, who could not earn their way in
on merit if put to the test?”
Coming and going to the post office, an entirely unnecessary jaunt, as
mail boxes were an important part of the Wellington equipment, the
quartette met with, and passed out any number of students on this
particular autumn afternoon, but their handicap in stride was, perhaps,
well balanced by the merry laughter and good natured calls repeatedly
hailed to Jane.
Election night embraced delicious possibilities, and all classes seemed
fittingly keyed up, joyous and expectant.