LETTERS HOME
Betty was cross and "just a tiny speck homesick," so she confided to the
green lizard. Nothing interesting had happened since she could remember,
and it had rained steadily for four days. Mr. Parsons, who played right
tackle on the Winsted team, had written that he was laid up with a lame
shoulder, which, greatly to his regret, would prevent his taking Betty
to his fraternity dance. Helen was toiling on a "lit." paper with a
zealous industry which got her up at distressingly early hours in the
morning, and was "enough to mad a saint," according to her exasperated
roommate, whose own brief effusion on the same subject had been hastily
composed in one evening and lay neatly copied in her desk, ready to be
handed in at the proper time. Moreover, "gym" had begun and Betty had
had the misfortune to be assigned to a class that came right in the
middle of the afternoon.
"It's a shame," she grumbled, fishing out her fountain pen which had
fallen off her desk and rolled under the bureau. "I shall change my lit.
to afternoon--that's only two afternoons spoiled instead of four--and
then tell Miss Andrews that I have a conflict. Haven't you finished that
everlasting paper?"
"No," said Helen meekly. "I'm sorry that I'm so slow. I'll go out if you
want to have the girls in here."
"Oh no," called Betty savagely, dashing out into the hall. Eleanor's
door was ornamented with a large sign which read, "Busy. Don't disturb."
But the door was half-way open, and in the dusky room, lighted, as
Eleanor liked to have it, by candles in old-fashioned brass sticks,
Eleanor sat on a pile of cushions in the corner, strumming softly on her
guitar.
"Come in," she called. "I put that up in case I wanted to study later.
Finished your lit. paper?"
Betty nodded. "It's awfully short."
"I'm going to do mine to-night--that and a little matter of Livy and
French and--let me see--Bible--no, elocution."
"Can you?" asked Betty admiringly.
"I'm not sure till I've tried. I've been meditating asking your roommate
to do the paper. Would you?"
"No," said Betty so emphatically that Eleanor stopped playing and looked
at her curiously.
"Why not? Do you think it's wrong to exchange her industry for my
dollars?"
Betty considered. She still admired Eleanor, but she had learned her
limitations. Her beauty wove a spell about all that she did, and she was
very clever and phenomenally quick when she cared to apply herself. But
she cared so seldom, roused herself only when she could gain prestige,
when there was something to manipulate, to manage. And apparently she
was not even to be trusted. Still, what was the use of quarreling with
her about honor and fair play? To Betty in her present mood it seemed a
mere waste of time and energy.
"Well, for one reason," she said at last, "Helen hasn't her own paper
done yet, and for another I don't think she writes as well as you
probably do;" and she rose to go.
"That was a joke, Bettina," Eleanor called after her. "I am truly going
to work now--this very instant. Come back at ten and have black coffee
with me."
Betty went on without answering to Rachel's room. "Come in," chorused
three cheerful voices.
"No, go get your lit. paper first. We're reading choice selections,"
added Katherine.
"She means she is," corrected Rachel, handing Betty a pillow. "You look
cross, Betty."
"I am," said Betty savagely, recounting a few of her woes. "What can we
do? I came to be amused."
"In a Miracle play of this type----" began Katherine, and stopped to
dodge a pillow. "But it is amusing, Betty."
"I'm afraid it will amuse Miss Mills, if the rest is anything like what
you read," said Rachel with a reminiscent smile. "What are you doing,
Roberta?"
"Writing home," drawled Roberta, without looking up from her paper.
"Well, you needn't shake your fountain pen over me, if you are," said
Katherine. "I also owe my honored parents a letter, but I've about made
up my mind never to write to them again. Listen to this, will you." She
rummaged in her desk for a minute. "Here it is.
"'My dear daughter'--he only begins that way when he's fussed. I always
know how he's feeling when I see whether it's 'daughter' or 'K.' 'My
dear daughter:--Your interesting letter of the 12th inst. was received
and I enclose a check, which I hope will last for some weeks.' ("I'm
sorry to say it's nearly gone already," interpolated Katherine.) "'Your
mother and I enjoyed the account of the dance you attended in the
gymnasium, of the candy pull which Mrs. Chapin so kindly arranged for
her roomers, and the game of hockey that ended so disastrously for one
of your friends. We are glad that you attended the Morality play of
"Everyman," though we are at a loss to know what you mean by the "peanut
gallery." However it occurs to us that with your afternoon gymnasium
class, your recitations, which, as I understand it, fully engage your
mornings, and all these diversions in one week, you could have spent but
little time in the study of your lessons. Do not forget that these years
should be devoted to a serious preparation for the multifarious duties
of life, and do not neglect the rich opportunities which I am proud to
be able to give you. The Wetherbees have----' Oh well, the rest of it is
just Kankakee news," said Katherine, folding the letter and putting it
back in her desk. "But isn't that first bit lovely? Why, I racked my
brain till it ached, positively ached, thinking of interesting things to
say in that letter, and now because I didn't mention that I'd worked
three solid hours on my German every day that week and stood in line at
the library for an hour to get hold of Bryce's American Commonwealth, I
receive this pathetic appeal to my better self."
"How poetic you're getting," laughed Betty. "Do you know it's awfully
funny, but I got a letter something like that too. Only mine was from
Nan, and it just said she hoped I was remembering to avoid low grades
and conditions, as they were a great bother. She said she wanted me to
have a good time, but as there would be even more to do when I got on
the campus, I ought not to fall into the habit of neglecting my work
this year."
"Mine was from Aunt Susan," chimed in Rachel. "She said she didn't see
when I could do any studying except late at night, and she hoped I
wasn't being so foolish as to undermine my health and ruin my complexion
for the sake of a few girlish pleasures. Isn't that nice--girlish
pleasures? She put in a five dollar bill, though I couldn't see why she
should, considering her sentiments."
Roberta put the cap on to her fountain pen and propped it carefully
against an adjacent pillow. "I've just answered mine," she said, sorting
the sheets in her lap with a satisfied smile.
"Did you get one, too? What did you say?" demanded Betty.
"The whole truth," replied Roberta languidly. "It took eight pages and I
hope he'll enjoy it."
"I say," cried Katherine excitedly. "That's a great idea. Let's try it."
"And read them to one another afterward," added Rachel. "They might be
more entertaining than your lit. paper."
"May I borrow some paper?" asked Betty. "I'm hoping Helen will finish
to-night if I let her alone."
Roberta helped herself to a book from the shelves and an apple from the
table, and the rest settled themselves to their epistolary labors.
Except for the scratching of Betty's pen, and an occasional exclamation
of pleasure or perplexity from one of the scribes, the room was
perfectly still. Betty had just asked for an envelope and Katherine was
numbering her pages when Mary Brooks knocked at the door.
"What on earth are you girls doing?" she inquired blandly, selecting the
biggest apple in the dish and appropriating the Morris chair, which
Katherine had temporarily vacated. "I haven't heard a sound in here
since nine o'clock. I began to think that Helen had come in and blown
out the gas again by mistake and you were all asphyxiated."
Everybody laughed at the remembrance of a recent occasion when Helen had
absent-mindedly blown out the gas while Betty was saying her prayers.
"It wasn't so funny at the time," said Betty ruefully. "Suppose she'd
gone to sleep without remembering. We've been writing home, Mary," she
said, turning to the newcomer, "and now we're going to read the letters,
and we've got to hurry, for it's almost ten. Roberta, you begin."
"Oh no," said Roberta, looking distressed.
"I wish somebody would tell me what this is all about first," put in
Mary. Rachel explained, while Katherine and Betty persuaded Roberta to
read her letter.
"It isn't fair," she protested, "when I wrote a real letter and you
others were just doing it for fun."
"Go on, Roberta!" commanded Mary, and Roberta in sheer desperation
seized her letter and began to read.
"DEAR PAPA:--I have been studying hard all the evening and it
is now nearly bedtime, but I can at least begin a letter to you. To-day
has been the fourth rainy day in succession and we have thoroughly
appreciated the splendid opportunity for uninterrupted work. Yesterday
morning--I think enough has happened in these two days to fill my
letter--I was up at seven as usual. I stuck a selection from Browning
into my mirror, as it was the basis of our elocution lesson, and nearly
learned it while I dressed. Before chapel I completed my geometry
preparation. This was fortunate, as I was called on to recite, the sixth
proposition in book third being my assignment. The next hour I had no
recitation, so I went to the library to do some reference work for my
English class. Ten girls were already waiting for the same volume of the
Century Dictionary that I wanted, so I couldn't get hold of it till
nearly the end of the hour. I spent the intervening time on the
Browning. I had Livy the next hour and was called on to translate. As I
had spent several hours on the lesson the day before, I could do so.
After the elocution recitation I went home to lunch. At quarter before
two I began studying my history. At quarter before four I started for
the gymnasium. At five I went to a tea which one of the girls was giving
for her mother, so I felt obliged to go. I stayed only half an hour and
cannot remember how I spent the half hour till dinner, so I presume it
was wasted. I am afraid I am too much given to describing such
unimportant pauses in the day's occupation and magnifying their length
and the frivolous pleasure which we thoughtlessly derive from them.
"In the evening---- Oh it all goes on like that," cried Roberta. "Just
dull and stuffy and true to the facts. Some one else read."
"It's convincing," chuckled Mary. "Now Katherine."
Katherine's letter was an absurd mixture of sense and nonsense, in which
she proved that she studied at least twelve hours out of the
twenty-four. Rachel's was a sensible explanation of just how much time,
or rather how little, a spread, a dance or a basket-ball game takes.
"That's what they don't understand," she said, "and they don't know
either how fast we can go from one thing to another up here. Why, energy
is in the air!"
Betty's letter, like her literature paper, was extremely short. "I
couldn't think of much to say, if I told the truth," she explained,
blushing. "I don't suppose I do study as much as I ought."
Mary had listened with an air of respectful attention to all the
letters. When the last one was finished she rose hastily. "I must go
back," she said. "I have a theme to write. I only dropped in to ask if
that famous spread wasn't coming off soon."
"Oh, yes," said Betty. "Let's have it next week Wednesday. Is anything
else going on then? I'll ask Eleanor and you see the Riches and Helen."
A few days later Mary appeared at the lunch table fairly bursting with
importance. "Well," she said, beaming around the table. "What do you
suppose has happened now? Really, Mrs. Chapin, you ought to be proud of
us. We began to be famous before college opened----"
"What?" interrupted Eleanor.
"Is it possible you didn't know that?" inquired Mary. "Well, it's true
nevertheless. And we were the heroines of Mountain Day, and now we're
famous again."
"How?" demanded the table in a chorus.
Mary smiled enigmatically. "This time it is a literary sensation," she
said.
"Is it Helen's paper?" hazarded Betty.
"Mine, of course," said Katherine. "Strange Miss Mills didn't mention it
this morning when I met her at Cuyler's."
Mary waited until it was quiet again. "If you've quite finished
guessing," she said, "I'll tell you. You remember the evening when I
found four of you in Rachel and Katherine's room writing deceitful
letters to your fond parents. Well, I had been racking my brains for
weeks for a pleasing and original theme subject. You know you are
supposed to spend two hours a week on this theme course, and I had spent
two hours for four weeks in just thinking what to write. I'm not sure
whether that counts at all and I didn't like to ask--it would have been
so conspicuous. So I was in despair when I chanced upon your happy
gathering and was saved. Miss Raymond read it in class to-day,"
concluded Mary triumphantly.
"You didn't put us into it--our letters!" gasped Roberta.
"Indeed I did," said Mary. "I put them all in, as nearly as I could
remember them, and Miss Raymond read it in class, and made all sorts of
clever comments about college customs and ideals and so on. I felt
guilty, because I never had anything read before, and of course I didn't
exactly write this because the letters were the main part of it. So
after class I waited for Miss Raymond and explained how it was. She
laughed and said that she was glad I had an eye for good material and
that she supposed all authors made more or less use of their
acquaintance, and when I went off she actually asked me to come and see
her. My junior friends are hoping it will pull me into a society and I'm
hoping it will avert a condition."
"Where is the theme?" asked Eleanor. "Won't you read it to us?"
"It's--why, I forgot the very best part of the whole story. Sallie Hill
has it for the 'Argus.' She's the literary editor, you know, and she
wants it for the next number. So you see you are famous.
"Why don't some of you elect this work?" asked Mary, when the excitement
had somewhat subsided. "It's open to freshmen, and it's really great
fun."
"I thought you said that you spent eight hours and were in despair----"
began Eleanor.
"So I was," said Mary. "I declare I'd forgotten that. Well, anyhow I'm
sure I shan't have any trouble now. I think I've learned how to go at
it. Why, do you know, girls, I have an idea already. Not for a
theme--something else. It concerns all of you--or most of you anyway."
"I should think you'd made enough use of us for the present," said
Betty. "Why don't you try to make a few sophomores famous?"
"Oh it doesn't concern you that way. You are to---- Oh wait till I get
it started," said Mary vaguely; and absolutely refused to be more
explicit.