A SWOPPING PARTY AND A MOCK TRIAL.
There was never any tedious convalescing for Judy; no tiresome
transition from illness to health. As soon as she determined in her mind
that she was well, she arose from her bed and walked, and neither
friendly remonstrances nor doctor's orders could induce her to return.
On Monday morning she appeared in the sitting room wearing a black dress
with widow's bands of white muslin around the collar and cuffs. Molly
and Nance were a little uneasy at first, thinking that the delirium
still lingered, but Judy seemed entirely rational.
"Why, Judy," exclaimed Molly, "are you a widow?"
"I shall wear mourning for awhile," answered Judy solemnly, ignoring
Molly's facetious question. "It is my only way of showing that I am a
penitent. I can't wear sackcloth and ashes as they do in Oriental
countries or flagellate my shoulders with a spiked whip like a mediaeval
monk; nor can I go on a pilgrimage to a sacred shrine. So I have decided
to give up colors for awhile and wear black."
Molly kissed her and said no more. She knew that Judy went into
everything she did heart and soul even unto the outward and visible
symbol of clothes, and if wearing black was her way of showing public
repentance she felt only a great respect for her friend's sincerity of
motive.
"But what are we to tell people when they ask if you have gone into
mourning, Judy, because they certainly will?" demanded Nance, taking a
more practical and less romantic view of the situation.
"Tell them I'm doing penance," answered Judy, and thus it got out around
college that Judy was making public amends for her angry words to Molly,
and there was a good deal of secret amusement, of which Judy was as
serenely unconscious as a pious pilgrim journeying barefoot to a holy
tomb.
In the midst of these happenings there came a note one day from Mrs.
McLean inviting the three young girls to the annual junior week-end
house party at Exmoor. Their hosts were to be Andy McLean, George Green
and Lawrence Upton and they were to stay at the Chapter House from
Friday night until Sunday noon. It meant a round of gayeties from
beginning to end, but to Molly it meant something almost out of reach.
"Clothes!" she exclaimed tragically, "I must have clothes. I can't go to
Exmoor looking like little orphan Annie."
It was in vain that Judy and Nance offered to share their things with
her. Molly obstinately refused to listen to them.
"I won't need any colored clothes, anyhow," said Judy.
"Yes, you will, Judy. You just must come out of those widow's weeds for
the house party," Molly urged.
"No," said Judy, "I've made a vow and until that vow is fulfilled I
shall never wear colors. I've sent two dresses down to the Wellington
Dye Works to be dyed black. Fortunately my suit is black already and so
is my hat. Now, I have a proposition to make, Molly. I'm in need of
funds more than clothes just now and I'll sell you my yellow gauze for
the contents of Martin Luther. He must be pretty full by now."
"He's plumb full," answered Molly proudly. "I hadn't realized how much I
had put in until I tried to drop a quarter in this morning, and lo, and
behold, he couldn't accommodate another cent."
She held up the china pig and shook him.
"How much should you think he'd hold altogether?" asked Judy. "I don't
want to be getting the best of the bargain and perhaps Martin Luther is
worth more than the dress."
"No, no," protested Molly. "He could never be worth that much. I think
he has about fifteen dollars in his tum-tum. I've put in all the money
I earned from cloudbursts and about ten dollars, changed up small, for
tutoring."
Judy insisted on adding a blue silk blouse and a pair of yellow silk
stockings to the collection to be sold.
"I'll sell them to someone else if you won't buy them," she announced,
"and if you need a dress, you might as well take this one off my hands."
"Well," Molly finally agreed, "we'll break open Martin, and count the
money and, if there's anything like a decent sum, I'll buy the dress.
Let's make a party of it," she added brightly. "I'll cut the hickory-nut
cake that came from home last night, and Nance can make fudge."
It was like Molly's passion for entertaining to turn the breaking open
of the china bank into a festival. Nance had once remarked it was one
thing to have a convivial soul and quite another to have the ready
provisions, and Molly never invited her friends to a bare board.
"Try on the dress and let's see how you look in it, Molly dear," ordered
Judy. "We'll open the bank to-night with due ceremony, but I want to
see you in the yellow dress now."
The two girls were about the same height and build. Molly was not so
well developed across the chest as her friend and was more slender
through the hips. But the dress fitted her to perfection.
"Oh, you're a dream," cried Nance, when Molly presently appeared in the
yellow dress.
"Molly, you are adorable," exclaimed Judy. "You always look better in my
clothes than I do."
"They always fit me better than my own," said Molly, looking at herself
in the mirror over the mantel. "I feel like a princess," she ejaculated,
blushing at her own charming image. "Oh, Judy, I have no right to
deprive you of this lovely gown. Your mother, I'm sure, would be very
angry."
"Mamma is never angry," said Judy. "That is why I am so impossible.
Besides, I told you I needed the money. I have spent all my allowance
and I won't get another cent for two weeks."
Molly took off the dress and laid it carefully in the box, stuffing
tissue paper under the folds to prevent premature wrinkles. Her eyes
dwelt lingeringly on the pale yellow masses of chiffon and lace.
It would certainly be the solution of her troubles, and oh, the feeling
of comfort one has in a really beautiful dress! She put the top on the
box and pushed it away from her.
"I'll decide in the morning, Judy. I can't make up my mind quite yet. It
seems like highway robbery to take the most beautiful dress you have and
the most expensive, too, I am certain."
"I tell you I never liked the color," cried Judy. "I'm determined to
wear black. When I have on black I feel superior to all persons wearing
colors. It gives me dignity. There is a richness about robes of sable
hue. Some day I'm going to have a black velvet evening dress made quite
plain with an immense train stretching all the way across the room. My
only ornaments will be a great diamond star in my hair and a necklace of
the same, and I shall carry a large fan made of black ostrich
feathers."
The girls laughed at this picture of magnificence and as Molly hurried
away to invite the guests to the spread she heard Nance remark:
"You'll look like the bride of the undertaker in that costume, Judy."
"Not at all. I shall look like the Queen of Night, Anna Oldham."
Judy went to the door and looked out. Molly was safely around the corner
of the Quadrangle.
"Nance," she continued, "don't you think Molly would let me give her the
dress?"
Nance shook her head.
"I am afraid not. You know how proud she is. It's going to be hard to
persuade her to buy it at that price. You know it's worth lots more."
Judy sighed.
"If I could only do something," she said. "If I only had a chance."
"Perhaps the chance will slip up on you, Judy, when you least expect it.
That's the way chances always do," said Nance.
It occurred to Judy, thinking over the matter of the yellow dress later,
that it might be fun to have a "Barter and Exchange Party," and if all
the girls were swopping things Molly could be more easily persuaded to
take the yellow dress. All guests therefore were notified to bring
anything they wanted to swop or sell to the rooms of the three friends
that night.
It turned out to be a very exciting affair. The divans were piled with
exchangeable property. Jessie Lynch brought more things than anybody
else, ribbon bows, silk scarfs, several dresses and a velvet toque.
Millicent Porter, who now spent more time in the Quadrangle than at Beta
Phi House, to the surprise of the girls, brought a rather dingy
collection of things which no one would either swop or buy. But she
enjoyed herself immensely. Edith Williams made two trips to carry all
the books she wished to exchange for other books, clothes, hats or
money. But Otoyo Sen had the most interesting collection and was the
gayest person that night. She was willing to exchange anything she had
just for the fun of it.
It was so exciting that they forgot all about Martin Luther until the
time arrived for refreshments and they gathered about the hickory-nut
cake, now a famous delicacy at Wellington.
"What surprises me is how pleased everybody is to get rid of something
someone else is equally pleased to get," observed Margaret. "Now, for
instance, I have a black hat I have always hated because it wobbles on
my head. I feel as if I had received a gift to have exchanged it for
this green one of Judy's. And Judy's so contented she's wearing my black
one still."
"Oh, but I am the fortunate one," said Otoyo. "I have acquired an
excellent library for three ordinary cotton kimonos."
"But such lovely kimonos," exclaimed Edith. "Katherine and I are in
luck. Look at this pale blue dressing gown, please, for a French
dictionary."
"I have the loveliest of all," broke in Molly, "amber beads."
"But they did not appear becomingly on me," protested Otoyo, not wishing
to seem worsted in her bargains. "And what do I receive in exchange? A
pair of beautiful knitted slippers for winter time, so warm, so
comfortable."
"They were too little for me," announced Molly. "It was no deprivation
to exchange them for a beautiful necklace. Really, Judy, this was a most
original scheme of yours."
"But what about Martin Luther?" asked someone. "I thought this spread
was really for the purpose of counting up the pennies he had been
accumulating."
Molly took the china pig from the shelf and placed him on the table.
"How shall I break him?" she asked. "Shall I crush him with one blow of
the hammer, or shall I knock off his head on the steam heater?"
"Poor Martin!" ejaculated Edith. "He's not a wild boar to be hunted down
and exterminated. He's a kindly domestic animal who has performed the
task set for him by a wise providence. I think he should choose his own
death."
"Every condemned man has a right to a lawyer," said Margaret. "I offer
my services to Martin Luther and will consult him in private."
"We'll give him a trial by jury," broke in Katherine.
"But what's he accused of?" demanded Molly.
"He's accused of withholding funds held in trust for you," put in
Margaret promptly.
There was a great deal of fun at the expense of Martin Luther and his
mock trial. Katherine presided as Judge. There were two witnesses for
the defense and two on the other side, and Margaret's speech for the
accused would have done credit to a real lawyer. The jury, consisting of
three girls, Otoyo, Mabel Hinton and Rosomond Chase--Millicent Porter
had excused herself with the plea of a headache and departed--sat on the
case five minutes and decided that the pig should be made to surrender
Molly's fund in the quickest possible time and by the quickest possible
means.
It was almost time to separate for the night when Molly at last placed
Martin Luther on a tray in the center of the table and with a sharp rap
of the hammer broke him into little bits.
If interest had not been so concentrated on the amount of money hidden
in the pig, perhaps it might have occurred to the company that Molly
and her two friends had been playing a joke on them when they looked at
the heap of ruins on the tray. But if this suspicion did enter the mind
of anyone, it was dissolved at once at sight of Molly's white face and
quivering lips.
"My money!" she gasped.
What happened was this. When the china pig was demolished, there rolled
from his ruins no silver money but a varied collection of buttons and
bogus stage money made of tin. Only about a dollar in real silver was to
be found.
"What a blow is this!" at last exclaimed Molly, breaking the silence.
"But what does it mean?" demanded Rosomond.
"It means," said Nance, "that someone has taken all Molly's savings out
of the china pig and substituted--this."
She pointed to the pile of stage money.
"But they couldn't have done it," cried Judy. "How could they have
fished it up through such a small slot?"
"What a low, miserable trick!" cried Katherine.
It was a despicable action. Who among all the bright, intelligent
students at Wellington could have been capable of such a dastardly
thing? They agreed that it must have been a student. None of the college
attendants could have planned it out so carefully.
"Who else has missed things?" asked Margaret with a sudden thought.
"I have," replied Jessie, "but I never mentioned it because I'm so
careless and it did seem to be my own fault. I lost five dollars last
week out of my purse. I left it on the window sill in the gym. and
forgot about it. When I came back later the purse was there, but the
money was gone."
"How horrid!" cried Molly, her soul revolting in disgust at anything
dishonest.
"To tell you the truth I have not been able to find my gold beads for
nearly two weeks," put in Judy. "I haven't seen them since--" she paused
and flushed, "since the night of our play. I remember leaving them on
my dressing table that morning."
Molly and Nance exchanged glances, recalling the mysterious visitor to
their room that night.
Several of the other girls had missed small sums of money and jewelry
which they had not thought of mentioning at the time.
"But how on earth was this managed?" demanded Jessie, pointing
dramatically to the broken china pig.
"I suspect," replied Molly, "that this is not the real Martin Luther.
When I bought him there were several others just like him on the shelf
at the store. Whoever did this must have bought another Martin and the
stage money at the same time. They have a lot of it at the store, silver
and greenbacks, too. I saw it myself when I bought Martin. They keep it
for class plays, I suppose."
There was a long discussion about what ought to be done. The housekeeper
must be told, of course, next morning and a list of all missing
articles made out, headed by Molly's loss of almost fifteen dollars.
It was rather a tragic ending to the jolly hickory-nut cake party. Molly
tried to laugh away her disappointment about her savings, but she could
not disguise to herself what it actually meant.
"I'm afraid I can't buy your dress, Judy," she announced, when the
company had disbanded. "I'll mend up one of last year's dresses. It will
be all right. It's a lesson to me not to place so much importance on
clothes."
Judy said nothing, but she made a mental resolution that Molly should
have that dress.
The next morning the housekeeper was properly notified of what had
happened and it was not long before the rumor spread that somewhere
about college there dwelt a thief. So remote did such a person seem from
the Wellington girls that the thief came to be regarded as a kind of
evil spirit lurking in the shadows and gliding through the halls.