THE “GREAT FAVOR”
“Take my word for it, you’ll never be able to get yourself invited to
that wonderful reunion,” was Jeanette Hayes’ dampening assertion.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Blanche Shirly crested her auburn head with an air
of supreme confidence in her own ability to work miracles. “Once I’ve
won Ruth Garnier over to the point where she feels that it’s her duty to
invite me to the reunion, the others will have to give in, too. I’ve
thought of a way to do it. Of course, my scheme may not work. Still, I’m
going to try it.”
“What are you going to do?” queried Jeanette eagerly.
“Wait and see. If it works, I’ll tell you all about it. If it doesn’t, I
won’t.”
“It’s hateful in you not to tell me,” pouted Jeanette. “I hope I can
keep a secret.”
“I hope so,” came the aggravating retort. Blanche prudently refrained
from adding that she did not propose to become a subject for Jeanette’s
ridicule should her plan miss fire. To confide in her beforehand, and
then fail, would mean the supplying of Jeanette with a fund of caustic
darts to be used against herself in future quarrels. Though sworn allies
and roommates, Blanche and Jeanette led the proverbial cat and dog life.
It was on this very account that Blanche now forebore revealing her true
reason for secrecy. Kept in ignorance of it, Jeanette would merely pout.
Informed of it, an exchange of angry words would follow. For the
present, at least, Blanche was not anxious to roil her touchy chum.
With intent to placate, she patted her sulking roommate’s plump
shoulder. “Don’t be cross, Jean,” she cooed. “I _know_ you can keep a
secret. Just think of all the confidential things I’ve told you. It’s
only because I hate to brag and then, perhaps, be disappointed, that I’d
rather not say anything just yet. If my scheme works, you’ll be the
first and only one to hear about it.”
“Whatever you’re going to do, you’ll have to hurry. This is the last
week of school,” reminded Jeanette, her frowning face gradually
clearing.
“Leave that to me,” shrugged the plotter. “Now come on. We’ll both be
late for chapel. Then Miss Belaire will have a spasm. I promised her not
to be late again and I’ve broken my word twice since then. It will be a
joyful day for me when I see the last of Hillside—pokey old place.”
Filled, for once, with the laudable determination to be on time, the two
girls made a hurried exit from the house and set off across the campus
toward the chapel on the run. During the services, however, Blanche’s
mind strayed far afield. She was deep in the consideration of how and
when she could manage to see Ruth Garnier alone. To go boldly to Ruth’s
room after classes were over for the day was out of the question. She
would be almost sure to encounter Emmeline Cerrito there, who was
decidedly not included in her program of action. With Emmy on the scene,
she would stand small chance of gaining her point.
By the time the brief morning service was over, however, Blanche had
arrived at a definite decision. Without appearing to do so, she managed
to draw near to Ruth, keeping a little behind her as the lines of
students filed out of the chapel. Once outside, Fortune favored her. She
saw Ruth pause for an instant at the foot of the stone walk to exchange
a few words with Betty Wyndham and Emmy, then nod farewell and swing
briskly across the campus.
Noting that in one hand Ruth held several letters, Blanche instantly
guessed that she was heading for the mail-box at the extreme north end
of the campus. It was too good an opportunity to be lost. Promptly
seizing it, Blanche followed her at a leisurely walk, glancing
frequently over her shoulder to see if she had been observed. So far as
she could notice, no one was paying the slightest attention to her. The
major portion of the girls had already turned their faces toward the
main building, there to report for the first recitations of the morning.
Luckily for her, Jeanette was among them. Blanche had not confided to
her roommate her intention to trail Ruth, but had managed to slip
stealthily away the instant the morning exercises were over. She was
congratulating herself on the success of her plan.
Halfway back from the mailbox, pursuer and pursued met.
“Good morning, Blanche,” greeted Ruth pleasantly. “On your way to the
mail box? I’ve just been there. Night before last I wrote three letters,
then forgot to post them. Last night the Council Fire made me forget
them again. They’re on their way at last, thank goodness.” Ruth sighed
her relief.
“It’s you I was looking for; not the mailbox,” Blanche made abrupt
beginning. “I—that is—I’ve a great favor to ask of you, Ruth. I can’t
tell you about it now. It would take too long. It’s something very
important. I wonder if you would mind coming to my room this afternoon,
when recitations are over. No one will be there but just you and I.
And—that is—please don’t say to the girls that I’ve asked you.”
A bright flush rose to Ruth’s smooth cheeks as Blanche added this
somewhat lame and wholly unnecessary caution. “Certainly I won’t mention
it to the girls.” There was a hint of offense in the reply. “Have you
any reason to think I would?”
“Oh, no. Please don’t misunderstand me. I didn’t mean—I meant—”
stammered Blanche. “Of course, I know you wouldn’t. Will you come?” The
question held a note of suppressed eagerness.
“Let me see. What have I to do after classes?” Ruth knitted reflective
brows. “Yes, I’ll be there.”
“You’re a dear.” Blanche beamed patronizing thanks. Conversing as they
walked, the two had now reached the main building of the Academy which
contained the recitation rooms as well as the students’ dormitory. “I’ll
leave you here,” she continued as they entered. “I’m going to my room. I
have no first hour recitation, you know.”
“Good-bye.” Mechanically, Ruth uttered the words. Her mind had suddenly
reverted to Emmy’s warning of the previous evening. “Blanche has an axe
to grind,” rang in her ears. Almost gloomily she stood watching the
auburn-haired solicitor of mysterious favors, as she mounted the broad
staircase and disappeared down the hallway.
“What can she possibly want me to do for her?” soliloquized Ruth, half
aloud. Intent on trying to guess the nature of the “great favor” which
Blanche had emphasized as being “very important,” Ruth meandered
aimlessly down the long corridor, and covered herself with confusion by
opening the wrong door and calmly strolling into the French classroom
where the recitation had begun. Apologizing, she hastily withdrew her
obtrusive presence, giggling softly to herself as she closed the door.
Having once trespassed, she paid strict heed to her wandering feet and
made port in Physics II without further mishap.
In honor bound not to mention Blanche’s strange request to anyone, it
was a matter of satisfaction to her when her last afternoon recitation
was over. She was anxious to hold the interview with Blanche and dismiss
it from her mind. During the day it had troubled her not a little. The
more she thought of it, the less she could make of it. The very
contemplation of it filled her with a vague discomfort, which she could
not shake off.
“Come in,” drawled a languid voice when, at a few minutes past four, she
knocked on Blanche’s door.
Obeying the call, Ruth entered, closing the door behind her. “I’m
strictly on time,” she remarked with a gaiety she was far from feeling.
“So I see. Do sit in that comfy chair, Ruth.” Blanche was the acme of
cordiality. Drawing a chair opposite to Ruth’s she sat down, staring
pensively at her visitor. “I hardly know how to begin,” she sighed, with
an artful assumption of diffidence warranted to deceive her
straightforward caller. “It’s just like this. I’ve met with a dreadful
disappointment. I expected to go to Cape May for the summer, but Mamma
has been feeling so wretched of late, she has written me that her
physician has ordered her to a sanatorium. Papa is going West on a long
business trip, and it’s out of the question for me to go with him. I
simply can’t stand the idea of spending my whole vacation at that
horrible sanatorium. Besides, Mamma doesn’t wish me to be with her
there. She says I make her so nervous, and that I’ll have to stay at
home with our housekeeper and a stupid companion she intends to engage
to look after me. I’d make Jean take me home with her, but she is going
to Canada to visit her aunt, so she can’t entertain me.”
Blanche paused, her pale-blue eyes searching Ruth’s open features, as
though to discover the precise amount of sympathy her dolorous tale had
aroused. Her vis-a-vis appeared interested, and she thought the frank
brown eyes expressed concern.
“I am sorry to hear of your mother’s illness,” Ruth said gravely. She
was still cogitating as to what relation this news bore to the “great
favor.” She was also reflecting that Mrs. Shirly’s attitude toward her
daughter was rather unfeeling. She experienced a sudden excess of pity
toward the undesired Blanche.
“I _knew_ you would be,” returned Blanche with a deep positiveness
intended to be flattering. “You are so—so—sympathetic. I really feel
free to confide in you. I wouldn’t think of asking a favor of any of the
other girls. Somehow, you are _so_ different.”
A tiny pucker of impatience appeared between Ruth’s brows. Was Blanche
really sincere, or was she bent on making positive refusal of her
request a difficult matter? “Please tell me what you wish me to do for
you, Blanche,” she returned almost brusquely. This beating about the
bush was annoying, to say the least.
“I don’t like to ask you—you’ll think me presuming, I’m afraid,
but—well, I heard that you and a number of the Hillside Camp Fire Girls
were going to get together during August, and I wondered if you would
mind letting me join you. I know I belong to the Drexal group, but as
long as it is to be a Camp Fire affair I thought you wouldn’t object to
my making one of the crowd. I am really crazy about this Camp Fire
movement. I can’t see why I didn’t take it up last year. But now I’m
going to do my best to make up for lost time. It would help me so much
to be with the Hillside group and live outdoors and—and—commune with
Nature.” Blanche’s ideas on Nature communion were decidedly hazy. She
rather liked the sound of the phrase, however.
Ruth struggled to preserve an outward show of serenity, as she listened
to this amazing request. For the instant she was totally bereft of
reply. Having taken the sacred pledge of the Torch Bearer, it became her
duty to respond to Blanche’s appeal for help. Still, she could not see
her way clear to do so. Blanche had undoubtedly been misinformed. In
some inexplicable fashion she had been led to believe that the reunion
which the Equitable Eight were to hold at Ruth’s home during the month
of August, was to be a Camp Fire affair. Personally, Ruth felt that,
rather than refuse Blanche’s plea, she would be willing to invite her to
the reunion. There were others besides herself to be considered,
however. She was positive that her chums would raise strenuous
objections to any such arrangement on her part. Although she disliked to
shatter Blanche’s forlorn hope, all that remained to be done was frankly
to inform her of her mistake.
“Blanche,” she began, with brave gentleness, “I would like you to feel
always that I am ready to help you in any way I can. I hope you won’t be
hurt by what I am going to say, but—somehow—you’ve received a wrong
impression about this Camp Fire affair. It isn’t the Hillside group that
are to be together during August. It is only the eight girls who were at
Betty’s cottage last summer. I mean that is the only thing planned that
I know of. I haven’t heard that the Hillside Camp Fire has made any such
summer plan. If they had, surely I would have been told of it before
now.
“The Equitable Eight, as we call ourselves, are to be at my home during
August. So far as I am concerned, I’d be willing to invite you, too.”
Ruth could not honestly say that she would be _glad_ to do so. “As we
are a sort of informal organization, I couldn’t do it unless the others
were willing that you should join us. You see, it is—”
“Oh, dear, that settles it! I’m so sorry! I didn’t understand.” With a
doleful wail, Blanche’s auburn head went down on her arms.
“Those—girls—wouldn’t—have me!” she sobbed out brokenly. “Emmeline
Cerrito—hates—me. She—hardly—notices—me. How—could I—have—made—such a
mistake? It’s humiliating.” The last word trailed off into a
disconsolate gulp.
“Don’t cry, Blanche.” Springing to her feet Ruth laid a sympathetic hand
on the elaborately-coiffed head, bowed so forlornly forward.
Tender-hearted to a degree, she was touched by the other girl’s noisy
distress. Regardless of the fact that she was in no sense to blame for
Blanche’s mistake, nevertheless she was resolved to do her best to salve
the weeper’s wounded pride. “Don’t take it so to heart,” she comforted.
“I think it was fine in you to wish to join a Camp Fire party. You only
misunderstood. That’s all. Now brace up and listen to me. I am going to
have a talk with the girls to-night. We are to have a meeting in Betty’s
and Jane’s room. I shall tell them that I wish you to be my guest during
August. I hope you won’t mind if I explain things. It wouldn’t be quite
fair to them not to. If they don’t see things as I do, then will you
accept an invitation to spend July with me? That would help some,
wouldn’t it?”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” mumbled Blanche, half raising her head. “I’ll
have to be with Mamma until she goes to the sanatorium. She isn’t going
there until the last of July, after Papa leaves for the West.” Blanche
straightened up with a jerk as she delivered this dampening information.
She had not anticipated Ruth’s proposed method of thus solving her
difficulty, and it did not coincide with her views.
Her sudden ascent from the depths of woe caused a swift, unbidden
suspicion to flit across Ruth’s brain. What if Emmy were right in her
conviction? Immediately she discarded the thought as unworthy. Still,
she could not help wishing that Blanche had brought pride to her aid and
declined to allow her to lay the matter before her chums. On the other
hand, she could not forget that Blanche’s own mother was, to all
appearances, uninterested in her daughter’s welfare.
“Of course, Ruth, if you’d rather not—” Blanche broke off with an
ominous quaver in her voice. Reaching for her handkerchief she brought
it into pathetic play.
“I’ll speak to the girls this evening,” promised Ruth without
enthusiasm, “provided you will let me explain everything.” She was firm
on this one point, and intended to make sure of it before tackling a
task which she did not in the least relish.
“Tell them whatever you please,” agreed Blanche with a readiness that
was not wholly pleasing to Ruth. Her eyes meeting the latter’s searching
gaze, she hastily amended: “I mean, I wish you to tell them everything.”
“Very well, I will. Now I must go. If I don’t do my studying before
dinner, it won’t be done at all.” Ruth was halfway to the door as she
spoke. She had no desire to prolong her call. Already she was nervously
imagining the dire effect of the verbal bombshell she was preparing to
drop in the camp of the Equitable Eight.
“When will you let me know about it?” was Blanche’s eager question, as
Ruth opened the door.
“As soon as I can,” Ruth replied briefly and was gone.
Left to herself, Blanche strolled to her dressing table, complacently
viewing herself in the oval mirror. “I ought to go on the stage,” she
confided to her smiling reflection. “I can act all around that snippy
Betty Wyndham. Ruth Garnier is a simpleton. She believed everything I
said. She’ll have a lovely time making those girls believe it, though.
Still, I’m not afraid she can’t do it. Miss Shirly, you may consider
yourself as already invited to that wonderful reunion!”