CALLING ON ANNE CARTER
Pleasant things generally submerged the unpleasant ones at Harding, so
Betty's delight in Roberta's unexpected success quite wiped out her
remembrance of Bob's theories about Jean, until, several days after the
Shylock trials, Jean herself confirmed them.
"I want to be sure that you know I'm going to try for Bassanio," she
said, overtaking Betty on the campus between classes, "so you can have
plenty of time to hunt up a rival candidate. I can't imagine who it will
be unless you can make Eleanor Watson believe that it's her duty to the
class to try. But this time I hope you'll come out into the open and
play fair, or at least as nearly fair as you can, considering that you
ought to be helping me. I may not be much on philanthropy, but I don't
think I can be accused of entirely lacking a sense of honor."
"Why Jean," began Betty, trying to remember that Jean was hurt and
disappointed and possibly didn't mean to be as rude as her words
sounded, "please don't feel that way. It wasn't that I didn't want you
for Shylock. Of course Roberta is one of my best friends and I'm glad to
have her get the big part in the play, because she's never had anything
else; but I didn't dream that she would get it."
"Then why did you drag her in at the last minute?"
Betty explained how that had happened, but Jean only laughed
disagreeably. "I consider that it was a very irregular way of doing
things," she said, "and I think a good many in the class feel the same
way about it. Besides--but I suppose you've entirely forgotten that it
was I who got you on the play committee."
"Listen, Jean," Betty protested, anxious to avoid a discussion that
would evidently be fruitless. "It was Mr. Masters, and not I or any of
the other girls, who didn't like your acting, or rather your acting of
Shylock. And Mr. Masters himself suggested that you would make a better
Bassanio. Didn't Barbara tell you?"
"Oh, yes," said Jean, "she told me. That doesn't alter the fact that if
you hadn't produced Roberta Lewis when you did, Mr. Masters might have
decided that he liked my Shylock quite well enough."
"Jean," said Betty, desperately, "don't you want the play to be as good
as it possibly can?"
"No," retorted Jean, coolly, "I don't. I want a part in it. I imagine
that I want one just as badly as Roberta Lewis did. And if I don't get
Bassanio, after what Barbara and Clara Ellis have said to me, I shall
know whom to blame." She paused a moment for her words to take effect.
"My father says," she went on, "that women never have any sense of
obligation. They don't think of paying back anything but invitations to
afternoon tea. I must tell him about you. He'll find you such a splendid
illustration. Good-bye, or I shall be late to chemistry." Jean sped off
in the direction of the science building.
"Oh, dear," thought Betty, sadly, "I wish I weren't so stupid and so
meek. Madeline can always answer people back when they're disagreeable,
and Rachel is so dignified that Jean wouldn't think of saying things
like that to her."
Then she smiled in spite of herself. It was all such a stupid tangle.
Jean insisted on blaming her, and Roberta and the committee had insisted
on praising her for finding 19-- a Shylock, when she never intended or
expected to do anything of the kind. "It just shows," thought Betty,
"that the things that seem like deep-laid schemes are very often just
happenings, and the simple-looking ones are the schemes. Well, I
certainly hope Jean will get Bassanio. Eleanor's window is open. I
wonder if she can hear me."
"Oh, Eleanor," she called, when the window had been opened wider in
response to her trill, "there isn't any committee meeting this
afternoon. Don't you want to go with me to see Anne Carter? Let's start
early and take a walk first. It's such a lovely glitter-y day."
The "glitter-y" day foregathered with a brisk north wind after luncheon,
and it was still mid-afternoon when Betty and Eleanor ran up Miss
Carter's front steps, delighted at the prospect of getting in out of
the cold. At the door they hesitated.
"It's so long since I've regularly called on anybody in college,"
laughed Betty, "that I've forgotten how to act. Don't we go right up to
her room, Eleanor?"
"Why yes. That's certainly what people used to do to us in our freshman
year. Don't you remember how we were always getting caught with our
kimonos on and our rooms fixed for sweep-day by girls we'd never seen?"
"I should think so." Betty smiled reminiscently. "Helen Adams used to
get so fussed when she was caught doing her hair. Then let's go right
up. We want to be friendly and informal and make her feel at home. She
has the front room on the second floor. Helen spoke of its being so big
and pretty. I do hope she's in."
She was in, for she called a brisk "come" in answer to Betty's knock.
She was sitting at a table-desk by the window, with her back to her
door, and when it opened she did not turn her head. Neither did Jean
Eastman who sat beside her, their heads together over the same book.
Jean was reading aloud in hesitating, badly accented French, and paid
even less attention to the intruders than Miss Carter, who called
hastily, "In just one minute, Miss Harrison," and then cautioned Jean
not to forget the elisions.
"But we're not Miss Harrison," said Betty laughingly, amazed and
embarrassed at the idea of meeting Jean here.
At the sound of her voice both the girls turned quickly and Miss Carter
came forward with a hearty apology for her mistake. "I was expecting
some one else," she said, "and I thought of course it was she who came
in. It was very stupid of me. Won't you sit down?"
"But aren't we interrupting?" asked Betty, introducing Eleanor.
"Nothing more important than the tail end of some French," answered Jean
Eastman curtly, going to get her coat, which hung over a chair near the
door. As she passed Miss Carter she gave her a keen, questioning look
which meant, so Betty decided, that Jean was as much surprised to find
that this quiet sophomore knew Betty Wales and her crowd, as Betty had
been to see Jean established in Miss Carter's room on a footing of
apparent intimacy.
"I've been here ever since luncheon," Jean went on, "and I was just
going, wasn't I, Miss Carter? Oh, no, you're not driving me away--not in
the least. I should be delighted to stay and talk to you both if I had
time." And with a disagreeable little laugh Jean pinned on her hat,
swept up her books, and started for the door.
Strange to say, Miss Carter seemed to take her hasty departure as a
matter of course and devoted herself entirely to her other visitors,
until, just as Jean was leaving, she turned to her with a question.
"Oh, Miss Eastman, I don't remember--did you say to-morrow at four?"
For a full minute Jean stared at her, her expression a queer mixture of
anger and amused reproach. "No, I said to-morrow at three," she answered
at last and went off down the stairs, humming a gay little tune.
Betty and Eleanor exchanged wondering glances. Jean was notorious for
knowing only prominent girls. Her presence here and her peculiar manner
together formed a puzzle that made it very difficult to give one's full
attention to what Miss Carter was saying. There was also Miss Harrison.
Was she the senior Harrison, better known as the Champion Blunderbuss?
And if she was coming, why didn't she come?
Betty found herself furtively watching the door, which Jean had left
open, and she barely repressed a little cry of relief when the
Champion's ample figure appeared at the head of the stairs.
"I'm terribly late," she called out cheerfully. "I thought you'd
probably get tired of waiting and go out. Oh," as she noticed Miss
Carter's visitors, "I guess I'd better come back at five. I can as well
as not."
But Betty and Eleanor insisted that she should do nothing of the kind.
"We'll come to see you again when you're not so busy," Betty promised
Miss Carter, who gave them a sad little smile but didn't offer any
objection to their leaving the Blunderbuss in possession.
"Well, haven't we had a funny time?" said Eleanor, when they were
outside. "Did you know that Miss Carter tutored in French?"
"No," answered Betty. "Helen never gave me the impression that she was
poor. Her room doesn't look much as if she was helping to put herself
through college, does it?"
"Not a bit," agreed Eleanor, "nor her clothes, and yet Miss Harrison
certainly acted as if she had come on business."
"Yes, exactly like Rachel's pupils. They always come bouncing in late,
when she's given them up and we're all having a lovely time. Miss Carter
acted businesslike too. She seemed to expect us to go."
"Well then, what about Jean?" asked Eleanor. "I couldn't make her out at
all. Has she struck up some sort of queer friendship with Miss Carter or
was she being tutored too?"
Betty gave a little gasp of dismay. "Oh, I don't know. I hoped you
would. You see--she's trying for a part in the play."
"Then she can't be conditioned," said Eleanor easily. "Teddie Wilson has
advertised the rule about that far and wide, poor child."
"And you don't think Jean could possibly not have heard of it?" Betty
asked anxiously.
"Why, I shouldn't think so, but you might ask her to make sure. She
certainly acted very much as if we had caught her at something she was
ashamed of. Would you mind coming just a little way down-town, Betty? I
want to buy some violets and a new magazine."
Betty was quite willing to go down-town, but she smiled mournfully at
Eleanor's careless suggestion that she should speak to Jean. Asking Jean
Eastman a delicate question, especially after the interview they had had
that morning, was not likely to be a pleasant task. Betty wondered if
she needed to feel responsible for Jean's mistakes. She certainly ought
to know on general principles that conditions keep you out of everything
nice from the freshman team on.
A visit from Helen Adams that evening threw some new light on the
matter.
"Betty," Helen demanded, "isn't Teddie Wilson trying for a part in our
play?"
"Helen Chase Adams," returned Betty, severely, "is it possible you don't
know that she got a condition and can't try?"
"I certainly didn't know it," said Helen meekly. "Why should I, please?"
"Only because everybody else does," said Betty, and wondered if Jean
could possibly belong with Helen in the ignorant minority. It seemed
very unlikely, but then it seemed a sheer impossibility that Helen
should have sat at the Belden House dinner-table day after day and not
have heard Teddie's woes discussed. At any rate now was her chance to
get some information about Miss Carter.
"While we are talking about conditions," she began, "does your friend
Anne Carter tutor in French?"
Helen nodded. "It's queer, isn't it, when she has so much money? She
doesn't like to do it either, but mademoiselle made her think it was her
duty, because all the French faculty are too busy and there was no other
girl who took the senior course that mademoiselle would trust. Anne
thinks she'll be through by next week."
"Were many people conditioned in French?" asked Betty.
"Why, I don't know. I think Anne just said several, when she told me
about it."
"What I mean is, are all those she tutors conditioned?"
"Why, I suppose so," said Helen, vaguely. "Seniors don't generally tutor
their last term unless they have to, do they? There wouldn't be much
object in it. Why are you so interested in Anne's pupils, Betty?"
"Oh, for no reason at all," said Betty, carelessly. "Eleanor and I went
up to see her this afternoon, and some one came in for a lesson, as I
understood it, so of course we didn't stay."
"What a shame! You'll go again soon, won't you?"
"Not until after she gets through tutoring," said Betty, decidedly.
"I wish Helen Adams had never seen that girl," she declared savagely to
the green lizard after Helen had gone. "Or at least--well, I almost wish
so. Whatever I do will go wrong. If I ask Jean whether she knows about
the rule, she'll be horribly disagreeable, but if she gets Bassanio and
then Miss Stuart reports her condition she'll probably come and tell me
that I ought to have seen she was conditioned and warned her. Anyway I
shall feel that I ought. It's certainly much kinder to speak to her than
to ask Barbara to inquire of Miss Stuart. Eleanor can't speak to her. No
one can but me." The lizard didn't even blink, but Betty had an
inspiration. "I know what. I'll write to her."
Betty spent a long time and a great deal of note-paper on that letter,
but at last it read to her satisfaction:
* * * * *
"DEAR JEAN:
"After you left this afternoon Miss Harrison came in, evidently to be
tutored. So I couldn't help wondering if you could possibly have had the
bad luck to get a condition, and if so, whether you know the rule about
the senior play,--I mean that no one having a condition can take part.
Please, please don't think that I want to be interfering or
disagreeable. I know you would rather have me ask you now than to have
anything come out publicly later.
"BETTY."
* * * * *
Two days later Jean's answer appeared on the Belden House table.
"If you thought I had a condition in French, why didn't you go and ask
mademoiselle about it? She would undoubtedly have received you with open
arms. Yes, I believe that Miss Carter, whom you seem to know so
intimately all of a sudden, tutors the Harrison person. Just why you
should lump me with her, I don't see. I know the rule about conditions
and the play as well as you do, but being without either a condition or
a part, I can't see that it concerns me particularly.
"Yours most gratefully,
"JEAN REAVES EASTMAN."
* * * * *
Betty read this note through twice and consigned it, torn into very
small pieces, to her waste-basket. But after thinking the whole matter
over a little more carefully she decided that Jean had had ample grounds
for feeling annoyance, if not for showing it, and that there would be
just time before dinner to find her and tell her so.
Jean looked a good deal startled and not particularly pleased when she
saw Betty Wales standing in her door; but Betty, accepting Jean's
attitude as perfectly natural under the circumstances, went straight to
the point.
"I've come to apologize for my mistake, Jean," she said steadily, "and
to tell you how glad I am that it is a mistake. I don't suppose I can
make you understand why I was so sure--or at least so afraid----"
"Oh, we needn't go into that," said Jean, with an attempt at
graciousness. "I suppose Miss Carter said something misleading. You are
quite excusable, I think."
"No," said Betty, "I'm not. I've studied logic and argument and I ought
to know better than to depend on circumstantial evidence. I'm very, very
sorry."
Jean looked at her keenly. "I suppose you and Eleanor have discussed
this affair together. What did she think?"
"I haven't mentioned it to her since the afternoon we were at Miss
Carter's, and she doesn't know that I wrote you. That day we both felt
the same--that is, we didn't know what to think. If you don't mind, I
should like to tell her that it's all right."
"Why in the world should you bother to do that?" asked Jean curiously.
"Because she'll be so glad to know, and also because I think it's no
more than fair to all of us. You did act very queerly that afternoon,
Jean."
"Oh, did I?" said Jean oddly. "You have a queer idea of fairness. You
won't work for me when I've put you on a committee for that express
purpose; but no matter how disagreeable I am to you about it, you won't
take a good chance to pay up, and you won't let Eleanor take hers."
"Let Eleanor take hers?" repeated Betty wonderingly.
"Yes, her chance to pay up her score. She owes me a long one. You know a
good many of the items. Why shouldn't she pay me back now that she has a
good chance? You haven't forgotten Mary Brooks's rumor, have you?
Eleanor could start one about this condition business without half
trying."
"Well, she won't," Betty assured her promptly. "She wouldn't think of
mentioning such a thing to anybody. But as long as we both
misunderstood, I'm going to tell her that it's all right. Good-bye,
Jean, and please excuse me for being so hasty."
"Certainly," said Jean, and Betty wondered, as she ran down-stairs,
whether she had only imagined that Jean's voice shook.
The next afternoon Mr. Masters and the committee, deciding that Jean's
Bassanio was possibly just a shade more attractive than Mary Horton's,
gave her the part. Kate Denise was Portia, and everybody exclaimed over
the suitability of having the lovers played by such a devoted pair of
friends. As for Betty, she breathed a sigh of relief that it was all
settled at last. Jean had won the part strictly on her merits, and she
fully understood Betty's construction of a committee-woman's duty to the
play. Nevertheless Betty felt that, in spite of all their recent
contests and differences of opinion, they came nearer to being friends
than at any time since their freshman year, and she wasn't sorry that
she had gone more than halfway in bringing about this happy result.
Meanwhile the date of the Glee Club concert was fast approaching.
Georgia Ames came in one afternoon to consult Betty about the important
matter of dress.
"I suppose that, as long as we're going to sit in a box, I ought to wear
an evening gown," she said.
"Why, yes," agreed Betty, "if you can as well as not. It's a very dressy
occasion."
"Oh, I can," said Georgia sadly. "I've got one all beautifully spick and
span, because I hate it so. I never feel at home in anything but a
shirt-waist. Beside my neck looks awfully bony to me, but mother says
it's no different from most people's. The men are coming, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes, they're coming," assented Betty gaily, "and between us we've
been asked to every tea on the campus, I should think. So they ought to
have a good time in the afternoon, and college men are always crazy over
our concerts."
"Your man will be all right," said Georgia admiringly, "and I'll do my
best for the other one. Truly, Betty, I am grateful to you. I think it's
awfully good of you to ask me. Even if you asked me because I'm the
other Georgia's namesake, you wouldn't do it if you didn't like me a
little for myself, would you?"
"Of course not, you silly child," laughed Betty.
"I want you to have my reserved seat for the basket-ball game," went on
Georgia. "The subs each have one seat to give away, and I've swapped
mine with a sophomore, so you can sit on your own side."
"I shall clap for you, though," Betty told her, "and I hope you'll get a
chance to play. The other Georgia wasn't a bit athletic, so your
basket-ball record will never be mixed with hers."
Betty repeated Georgia's remark about being nothing but the other
Georgia's namesake to Madeline. "I think she really worries about it,"
she added.
Madeline only laughed at her. "She hasn't seemed quite so gay
lately--that probably means warnings from her beloved instructors at
midyears. It must be awfully hard work to keep up the freshman grind
with everybody under the sun asking you to do things. Georgia hates to
snub people, so she goes even when she'd rather stay at home. Twice
lately I've met her out walking with the Blunderbuss. I must talk to her
about the necessity of being decently exclusive."