THREE LETTERS
“Here it is!” exclaimed Ruth Garnier as she bent an earnest scrutiny on
the bulletin board in the hall and triumphantly plucked from it the
fateful letter, addressed to herself in Marian’s familiar hand. Four
days had elapsed since the posting of Ruth’s letter to her cousin, and
the seven friends had been impatiently awaiting a reply.
“Get you ready, there’s a meeting here to-night,
Get you ready, there’s a meeting here to-night!”
joyously caroled Jane Pellew, who stood peering over Ruth’s shoulder. By
way of expressing further approbation, Jane executed a few fantastic
steps as she trilled.
“Sing the rest of it, Janie,” called mischievous Frances from the
stairs. “Then Miss Belaire will hear you and come out of her office to
compliment you on the sweetness and carrying power of your voice,
particularly the carrying power. May I ask if that is an original ditty?
If so, it is rather of a sameness. I suppose the third line is precisely
like the first and the second, etc.”
“No, it isn’t an original ditty,” mimicked Jane. “It’s a good old camp
meeting song that the darkies down home sing, and—”
“How interesting,” interrupted Frances blandly. “So glad you told me. I
had an idea it was a kind of vocal announcement that the Equitable Eight
would hold forth this evening.”
“Well, so it is.” Jane doggedly stuck to facts, refusing to be teased.
“Ruth has a letter from Marian. That means a meeting, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” agreed Frances, “provided Ruth says so.”
“No provided about it,” argued Jane. “If your memory was a trifle
longer, you’d remember what we said the other night about holding
another meeting when Marian’s answer came.”
“My memory is a great deal lengthier than you seem to think. My remark
about Ruth was merely a test to discover the precise length of _your_
memory, Plain Jane.”
“The very idea!” Jane glared, her indignation at this preposterous
statement. “Oh, what’s the use,” she groaned, turning her back upon the
fatuously smiling face peering at her over the banister.
“None whatever.” Frances made a reckless descent of the remaining stairs
and joined the two at the bulletin board.
“Why not hold the meeting now?” proposed Ruth. “It’s only half past
four. We’ll have plenty of time before dinner. Emmy is upstairs in our
room. We can hold it there as soon as we locate Betty, Anne and Sarah.”
“Betty and Anne haven’t come in yet. They had an errand to do in town,”
informed Jane. “They are likely to be here any minute, though. I don’t
know where Sarah is.”
“She’s upstairs. I’ll go and tell her the news. We’ll meet you in Ruth’s
room. One or both of you had better hang around down here and waylay
Betty and Anne,” directed Frances.
“I’ll play herald,” volunteered Jane. “Go on upstairs, Ruth, and wait
for us.”
“All right.” Ruth followed Frances, who had already reached the head of
the staircase. In her hand were two other letters, addressed to herself,
which she had extracted from the bulletin board along with Marian’s. All
three were as yet unopened. Her mind occupied for the moment with the
receipt of her cousin’s letter, she had paid no attention to the others,
beyond noting that they were for her. Now as she climbed the stairs, she
examined them, emitting a little cluck of surprise as she recognized the
script on one of them. Tearing open the envelope as she walked, she drew
forth a single sheet of heavy gray note paper and read:
“DEAR RUTH:
“Will you come to my room at eight o’clock this evening? I wish
to discuss with you a matter of some importance.
“Sincerely yours,
“EVELYN DREXAL.”
“What can it be?” mused Ruth, half aloud. “Something about the Camp
Fire, perhaps.”
Arrived at her room, she entered, exclaiming: “Here’s Marian’s answer,
Emmy! I haven’t opened the letter yet. I thought I’d wait a little. I’ve
asked the girls to meet us here as soon as Betty and Anne come in. They
are out shopping. I ought to have consulted you first, though. I see you
are busy.”
“Only a letter.” Emmy glanced reassuringly up from her writing. “I’ll
finish it later. I can imagine what Marian has written. It is ‘yes,’ of
course.”
“I think so, too,” nodded Ruth. “We’ll soon see, at any rate. There come
Sarah and Frances. I can hear Sarah’s giggle.”
A succession of energetic thumps on the hapless panels proclaimed the
fact that Frances and Sarah had indeed arrived.
“We were afraid you might not hear us,” greeted Frances solicitously, as
Ruth opened the door to admit her clamorous guests.
“How thoughtful in you,” was her merry retort. “I suppose Jane is still
keeping a lonely watch downstairs.”
“She is. I was thoughtful enough to go to the head of the stairs and
call down a few encouraging words in passing.” Frances’ dancing eyes and
mischievous grin conveyed a fair idea of the quality of her encouraging
speeches.
“Sit down, girls,” invited Ruth. “I am going to ask you to let Emmy
entertain you, or vice versa, while I read a letter. It’s the last of
the three I took from the bulletin board, and I am rather curious to
know who it is from. It’s postmarked ‘New York,’ but I can’t recognize
the handwriting.”
“Read away. I give you my gracious permission,” acceded Frances, with a
profound bow. “Sarah and I will entertain Emmy. What is your favorite
form of diversion, my dear Miss Cerrito?”
“Listening to you and Jane argue,” laughed Emmy. “With Jane posted in
the hall, I don’t see how you can carry out the whole of your contract.”
“Nothing easier,” assured Frances airily. “_I_ will not only be myself
but Plain Jane, also. Let me see.” Frances immediately launched forth
into a spirited argument, supposedly carried on between herself and the
absent Jane, which had to do with whether or not it had rained on the
previous Thursday.
Ruth listened laughingly for a moment, then directed her attention to
her neglected letter. As she took it from its envelope, curiosity
impelled her to look first at the signature; a sharp ejaculation of
amazement burst from her lips. Hastily turning to the salutation she was
confronted with:
“DEAR MISS GARNIER:
“Blanche has written me that you have been so kind as to invite
her to be your guest during the month of August. Since my
physician ordered me to a sanatorium for the summer, I have been
greatly concerned for my daughter’s welfare, as it is not
advisable for her to be with me. She has no doubt explained
matters to you. Your timely invitation has relieved my mind not
a little. I am glad to grant her my permission to accept it, and
wish to thank you for your thoughtfulness. I trust that she may
prove an ideal guest. I am sure you cannot fail to be an ideal
hostess. With best wishes, I remain,
“Sincerely yours,
“ALICE GRAHAM SHIRLY.”
“Oh!” Ruth’s second ejaculation stilled Frances’ flow of nonsense and
brought all eyes to bear on her.
“What is it, Ruth?” asked Emmy concernedly.
Before Ruth could make reply the murmur of voices outside the door
announced the arrival of the missing three.
“Wait a minute and I’ll tell you,” she answered briefly, stepping to the
door.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” began Betty, “but we couldn’t possibly
know—”
“Of course you couldn’t,” interrupted Frances. “So glad to find that
Janie stuck to her post. I did my best to inspire her to good work. A
helpful word shouted over the banister often acts as a stimulus to duty,
doesn’t it, Plain Jane?”
A withering glance at her tormentor was Jane’s only indication of having
heard the question. “Please read us Marian’s letter, Ruth?” she
requested, assuming an air of dignity that caused Frances to wriggle
with delight.
“I’ve another letter that I must first read you.” Ruth’s intonation was
distinctly dry. “Get comfy, girls, and I’ll proceed.”
“All ready,” signalled Betty, as she seated herself beside Frances and
Sarah, who were already occupying Ruth’s bed. Jane, Anne and Emmy drew
their chairs in line with it.
For an instant Ruth surveyed the row of girls without speaking. Then, in
the same dry tone she read them Mrs. Shirly’s letter. A murmur of
indignation swept the line as she finished. “Let us see what Marian has
to say,” she quickly continued, “before we discuss the letter I’ve just
read you.”
“I hope she says ‘no,’” muttered Jane.
“DEAREST COUSIN,” Ruth’s clear voice was again heard. “Your
letter came to me yesterday. I put off answering until to-day,
because I wanted to think it over. Of course, I don’t mind Miss
Shirly’s making one of our house party. Why should I? Just
remember that last summer I was the intruder. Still, I don’t
think it would be fair to her or to you girls to invite her on
the strength of her mistake. If you do, both sides will probably
be sorry later on. You must consider only whether or not you are
really anxious to help her along as a Camp Fire Girl. I think
that is the only right way to look at it. I imagine you must be
of the same opinion. Whatever you decide, I shall be satisfied.
Please forgive me for chopping off this letter. I am due in ten
minutes at Winton Hall for a chemistry recitation. Will have to
make giant strides across the campus to get there. With much
love to you and the girls. Let me hear from you soon.
“Affectionately,
“MARIAN.”
“Remarks are in order.” Ruth folded the letter, her glance traveling
from one to another of her friends.
“The last county having been heard from, Blanche is now among the
elect,” stated Betty without enthusiasm.
“I’m not so sure of that,” contradicted Jane, her black eyes snapping.
“What about Mrs. Shirly’s letter?”
“Yes, what about it?” chimed in Sarah crossly. “What business had
Blanche to write to her mother that she had been invited to our reunion
before she knew whether or not she was? It’s what I should call a put-up
job, from start to finish.”
“I think we’d better do a little private investigating and find out
Blanche’s _real_ reason for all this,” hinted Jane darkly. “It’s
something quite different from the one we know, or my name’s not Jane
Pellew.”
“Don’t be so suspicious, Plain Jane,” reproved Frances, half bantering,
half serious. “Even if Blanche has something up her sleeve, her mother’s
letter is proof enough of what she told Ruth. As gentlemen, we can’t
unfeelingly blast the fond hope of a sick lady bound for a sanatorium.
Think of the everlasting debt of gratitude she will owe us for taking
the fair but unruly Blanche under our august wing!”
“Oh, let’s end the thing once and for all by inviting her.” Anne Follett
sprang impatiently to her feet. “Whatever Blanche has in her mind,
she’ll be better off with us than moping at home. We are eight against
one. We can afford to be generous.”
Anne’s impetuous proposal was ratified by four assenting voices. Sarah
and Jane alone remained dissenters. It took ten minutes’ spirited
persuasion to bring them to terms. Intrenching herself in her earlier
stubborn stand against Blanche, Jane proved provokingly obdurate. She
held out even after Sarah had deserted her, finally yielding with an
ungracious, “All right, I give in. But don’t expect me to act as though
I were delighted to have Blanche with us. I’ll treat her civilly but
that’s all.”
“That won’t be fair to her, Jane. Don’t you remember what Marian said in
her letter?” reminded Anne gently. “As Camp Fire Girls we must accept
her as one of us or not at all.”
“Oh, well, I might be a little bit nice to her if she behaves well,”
relented Jane.
“Then you are all of the same mind?” inquired Ruth. “You are willing to
take Blanche on the terms of Marian’s letter?”
“We are,” was the concerted answer. This time without a dissenting
voice. Blanche Shirly’s boast to Jeanette had not been an idle one.