DR. EATON FINDS HIMSELF MISTAKEN
There were only five seniors at the Belden,--a state of affairs by no
means without its compensations for the juniors who lived in the same
house. There are decided advantages, connected with second helpings
of ice cream and the possibility of having hot toast for breakfast,
enjoyed by the girl who sits at the head of a table at meal times. This
is ordinarily a senior privilege, but Mary Brooks was disqualified
because she was never by any chance on time to serve breakfast, and
another of the five spent all her Sundays with friends in town, and so
was too irregular at meals to take her turn. One can easily get too
much of even a good thing, and the other three, not caring for the
continuous responsibility of being "heads," gave up their places every
second month to the juniors, who crowed over their classmates in other
houses where seniors were more numerous or more tenacious of their
rights. And this was not all. If the matron or the house-teacher wanted
to entertain the senior contingent, it was often easier to ask with
them the juniors in the house than to select a few seniors from outside
to make up a party of the right dimensions.
So the Belden House juniors were not at all surprised and very much
pleased to find that Mrs. Kent and Miss Andrews had decided to ask them
to the annual house faculty-party, to which usually only the seniors
were invited. Roberta Lewis, to be sure, being shy by nature and new
to campus life, declared that she could not and would not go, and laid
elaborate plans for having a headache or a sprained ankle. But even
Roberta put aside her fears and resolved to venture down with Mary,
when it was announced that the ice cream was to be chocolate parfait,
and that the blasé Dr. Eaton had overpowered every one by sending an
acceptance,--instead of his usual stereotyped regrets,--to the Belden
House faculty-party.
"Do you suppose he'll say anything about Georgia?" asked Roberta
eagerly, as she helped Mary to dress.
"I'm sure I don't know," answered Mary absently, patting a refractory
lock of hair into place, "but I don't much care what he talks about, so
long as he talks to me. You juniors needn't think you can monopolize
him just because you take his work."
"You always monopolize Dr. Hinsdale," retorted Madeline, who was
waiting, so she said, to go down-stairs under Mary's protecting wing.
"At the last Dramatic Club reception he didn't so much as speak to any
one else."
"Well, neither did I, for that matter," said Mary thoughtfully, "so why
don't you say he monopolized me? It sounds very much better." She gave
a final glance into the mirror. "I shan't let Dr. Eaton monopolize me,"
she added as she went out, "but I shan't let him monopolize any one
else either."
Mary was a great favorite with most of the faculty, for the simple
reason that she stood not at all in awe of them, but chattered on
to the learned Miss Ferris or the dignified Professor Lawrence just
as spontaneously as if they had been Harvard freshmen or members of
the clan. Mrs. Kent was a great admirer of Mary's social gifts, and
knowing that her supply of small talk never failed her, she seized
upon her the minute she appeared and turned her over to the new
German professor, who was stranded in a corner, looking sadly at the
gay groups around him and wishing himself and his scant knowledge
of English safe back in the Fatherland. Mary put him at his ease
immediately, for her German was a trifle worse than his English; and
in trying to set her right and supply the words she could not remember
he forgot his own mistakes. He was soon cozily ensconced in a nook
under the stairs, eating chocolate parfait and trying to understand why
he must not ask a young lady's permission "to hold her a few moments
after the class." Mary, for her part, was so absorbed in her efforts
to explain the subtle difference between hold and keep that she had
entirely forgotten Dr. Eaton, and she and her escort were probably the
only persons in the room who did not stop talking to stare at him when
he came in. Mrs. Kent looked anxiously around for Mary to take this
distressingly haughty young man off her hands, but the stairs screened
her and her German, and Mrs. Kent flew to Betty Wales, who was having
a beautiful time talking to her beloved Miss Ferris.
"Come, child," she said, "and amuse the melancholy Dane. You girls all
seemed to be delighted because he was coming, but for my part I can't
see why. I'll take care of Miss Ferris, but I can't and won't talk to
him any longer."
So Betty rose obediently and was duly presented to Dr. Eaton, who to
her astonishment came immediately out of his melancholy and received
the introduction with evident pleasure. He smiled his rare smile
as he shook hands, and when Betty asked him if he wanted an ice he
seized two from a passing waitress in a summary fashion that bespoke
much experience with afternoon teas. It couldn't be that he was a
woman-hater, Betty decided.
"I wish I could find you a seat," he said, glancing down the long hall.
"Ah, I have it! Is that little room off there forbidden territory?" As
the little room was Mrs. Kent's parlor, which was always opened for
house teas, Betty led the way there and sat down, wondering why in the
world Dr. Eaton had "wanted to meet her for a long time," and what in
the world they should find to talk about.
Dr. Eaton settled the second question easily enough. "Well," he began,
drawing a chair nearer to the one that Betty had chosen, "has your
mother gone?"
"Yes," answered Betty in amazement, "she went to-day." (Mrs. Wales and
the smallest sister had started that morning for Chicago.) "But how,
please, did you know anything about my mother?"
"I had a note from her," answered Dr. Eaton calmly, "so I knew that
she had been here; and as it was some little time ago, I naturally
concluded that she might have left. It really wasn't difficult."
Betty stared at him in utter bewilderment and blushing confusion. Her
mother had never been to Harding. And what could she have written about
to Dr. Eaton? Ever since her father's famous telegram to the registrar
at the beginning of her freshman year, Betty had lived in dread of some
similar breach of college etiquette on the part of her parents. Now
it had come. Her mother had probably asked Dr. Eaton to give shorter
lessons.
She faced the issue boldly. "I didn't know that mother had written
you," she said. "What did she want?"
"She thinks that ten-minute tests are spoiling your constitution,"
answered Dr. Eaton gravely.
"Oh, dear!" Betty's chagrin was comical. "That's exactly like her.
Isn't it queer that mothers and fathers can't understand that a college
is different from a boarding-school?"
"Very queer," agreed Dr. Eaton, smiling again. "So you didn't put her
up to writing the letter?"
"Of course not," said Betty indignantly.
"Oh, I knew you didn't do it on your own account," Dr. Eaton assured
her. "It's easy to see that ten-minute tests don't bother you; but I
thought you might have been working for your friends."
Betty looked hard at Dr. Eaton to see if he was laughing at her. "What
do you mean by saying that writing isn't hard for me?" she demanded
at last. "It's very hard indeed, and I do it very badly. I know, for
you've told me so on almost every paper."
"I've told you so on almost every paper?" repeated Dr. Eaton
uncomprehendingly.
All at once an explanation of their conversation at cross-purposes
flashed across Betty. "Dr. Eaton," she said, "you must have confused me
with some one else. Who do you think I am?"
"You are Miss Georgia Ames," announced Dr. Eaton with calm conviction.
"Oh, no, I'm not," gasped Betty, and then, as the absurdity of the
situation struck her, she was overcome by laughter.
"I beg your pardon," she said, when she could speak, "but you can't
imagine how funny it is that I should be taken for Georgia Ames. If you
only knew me, and--and--Georgia, you'd appreciate the joke."
"Very likely I should," assented Professor Eaton genially. "As it is,
I'm very much puzzled. In class I have always supposed that you were
Miss Ames, and just now, when Mrs. Kent introduced me, I was sure she
said Ames."
"Wales and Ames do sound a little alike," admitted Betty, "but that's
the only similarity between us." Then she laughed again. "It's too bad
that you can't meet Georgia, when you've wanted to so long. But she
doesn't live in this house."
"No?" said Dr. Eaton absently. "But what puzzles me is to think who she
can be,--if she really isn't you. What does she look like, Miss Wales?"
Betty hesitated. "Why, she--she's very good-looking," she stammered,
"fine-looking, I mean, and she--she dresses very well indeed. She
always carries handkerchiefs with real lace on them," finished Betty
swiftly.
"That just reminds me," remarked Dr. Eaton, setting his ice cream plate
on the table with a thud. "I have a handkerchief that belongs to her in
one of my pockets this minute. It had lace on it, too. She dropped it
one day in my classroom and I picked it up to give to the janitor and
then forgot all about it. I mustn't fail to return it to-morrow."
"Do," advised Betty, trying hard to keep sober. "She might want it."
"But you haven't told me much about her looks," pursued Dr. Eaton. "Is
she tall or short?"
"She--why, she's medium, I should think," invented Betty hastily.
"Really, Dr. Eaton, I never noticed her particularly." Just then
Betty's eyes fell on Roberta, who was standing alone near the door
of Mrs. Kent's room. "Wait a minute," she commanded, "and I'll get
Roberta Lewis. She knows Georgia pretty well, and she's very good at
description. I know I'm particularly bad at it, for you've said so
repeatedly yourself."
Roberta was overwhelmed by the idea of having to talk to Dr. Eaton, but
she came in perforce, and stayed long enough to describe Georgia in
detail and with considerable picturesqueness.
Dr. Eaton listened intently. "It's odd," he said, "I can't place Miss
Ames at all--but then my classes are very large."
"Is she an especially interesting girl?" asked Betty, squeezing
Roberta's hand.
"She writes extremely well," answered Dr. Eaton stiffly, and the
subject was dropped.
"I suppose," Betty explained, telling the story to "The Merry Hearts"
that evening, "he realized all of a sudden that he oughtn't to be
discussing her so frankly with us. Of course he shouldn't, if she was a
real person."
"You don't think he suspects anything?" asked Rachel.
"No, indeed," declared Betty. "He was just as serious as could be,
wasn't he, Roberta?"
"It's funny to me that the girls don't any of them see through her,"
said Katherine.
"Therein," declared Madeline proudly, "lies the merit of the idea.
Second selves are not common enough to be suspected."
"I only hope," put in Betty, "that Dr. Eaton will remember whose mother
it was that wrote the foolish letter. Helen's 'touch' seems to have
impressed him more than anything else."
"Don't you think," said Madeline, "that several of you are neglecting
your duties to Georgia? Betty, you haven't done anything yet."
"Haven't I?" exclaimed Betty in great indignation. "Didn't I have to
impersonate her for at least ten minutes, and then endure Dr. Eaton's
disappointment when he found that I wasn't Georgia after all?"
"And Mary was her first victim," said Katherine, "if you count that."
"I certainly do," Madeline assured her, smiling engagingly at the
president.
"How about you, Rachel?" went on Katherine. "Have you contributed
anything to the spreading of Georgia's fame?"
"Indeed I have," declared Rachel. "I sent her an invitation to Clio
Club's open meeting, when I wanted it dreadfully for some one else."
"And she sent you a note of thanks, and attended the meeting in the
person of her better half," said Madeline.
"Then I am the only delinquent," sighed Katherine, "and I promised to
do something startling before long."
Her opportunity came that very evening. On her way home to the Westcott
she met little Alice Waite, in great distress because she had two men
on her hands for the Glee Club Concert.
"I asked one of them away back last summer," Alice explained, "and he
was coming, but last week he found that he couldn't, so I asked the
other. To-day the first one telegraphed that he should be here after
all, and the second one wrote that he should be delighted to come. It's
dreadfully stupid, entertaining two men who are strangers to each
other, and it's so late that all the girls I know have men of their
own. Have you one, K.?"
"No," said Katherine, "I'm happy to say that I haven't. Men frighten me
to death."
"Oh, do take one of mine," begged Alice.
Katherine was obdurate. "I love you, gentle Alice, but not to that
extent," she said. Then she had a sudden inspiration, and recklessly
she made use of it. "But I know a girl who'll take your extra man," she
went on. "She's a freshman, but she's awfully clever and amusing. Her
name is Georgia Ames."
"Oh, I've heard of her," cried Alice eagerly. "I was over at the
Westcott the night some lovely violets were sent there for her by
mistake. She must be awfully popular. How do you know she hasn't a man
of her own?"
"Because I do," said Katherine sturdily.
"But I don't know her," objected Alice.
"Well, I do. I'll explain and I promise you that it will be all right.
If Georgia takes your man he'll have the time of his life."
"But she--she wouldn't care which man she had?" asked Alice anxiously.
"Indeed she will care," teased Katherine. "She will prefer the one you
don't want."
"Then it's all settled," cried Alice. "You see it is dreadfully awkward
because----"
"I see," Katherine cut her short. "There was a little quarrel, but now
it's made up, and Man Number Two is very much in the way."
Alice blushed and laughed, but did not deny it. "You must take me to
call on Miss Ames," she said. "But first please explain what I want,
and be sure to tell her that I have splendid seats for her. I shall
write Tom to-night that he's going with a regular belle."
"Say anything you like about her," encouraged Katherine. "You can't
exaggerate when you're praising Georgia."
Next day she sought out Rachel. "I'm in a fix," she explained. "I've
boosted Georgia too hard. All the rest of you tell your little tales
and then find a hole to crawl out of. But as far as I can see, I've got
to produce my Georgia."
"Oh, no," said Rachel, when she had heard the whole story. "Have her
send Alice a note to say that she has been called away from college
for the week."
"And take the man myself?" asked Katherine. "Not by any means."
Rachel considered. "Of course it would be against the rules of the game
to leave Alice in the lurch, but perhaps Betty will take him. I heard
her say that her concert man had broken his collar-bone and couldn't
come."
So Georgia wrote Alice that she had been having bad headaches, for
which her doctor prescribed a week of rest on a farm outside Harding.
She was extremely sorry to miss the concert, but her dear friend Betty
Wales had promised to help Alice out in her stead.
Alice hurried straight over to Betty to say how glad she was. "I'd a
lot rather have you take Tom," she declared. "I was worried about Miss
Ames. Lots of people seem to know about her, but no one really knows
her except you and Katherine. I think she must be just a little queer,
and Tom hates queerness."
"Well, she is a little bit queer," admitted Betty, trying hard not to
laugh.
"There's just one thing----" Alice puckered her smooth forehead as
she tried to settle it. "Betty," she ventured at last, "now tell me
honestly, do you mind if I slur over your name and let Tom Alison think
it's Ames, if he wants to? You see I had to explain that I wasn't going
to take him to the concert myself, and it was a little awkward; so I
told him what a fine girl he was going with,--how pretty and popular
she was, and all that. It just fits you, Betty, and it does seem as if
I couldn't write it all over and think of new things to say."
"Oh, Alice," laughed Betty, "it's too absurd. You see--oh, if you knew
Georgia you wouldn't suggest such a thing."
"You mean she is the kind that wouldn't like it?" asked Alice
anxiously. "But couldn't you explain it to her, Betty? Tell her how
busy I am, and how I hate to write notes, and how I praised her to Tom
until I haven't any adjectives left. Couldn't you?"
Betty considered, still laughing with a heartiness that puzzled
Alice. "Why, perhaps I could," she said at last. "Georgia is awfully
good-natured. I think she would understand, and of course my feelings
don't count at all, so long as Mr. Alison has some one to take him to
the concert."
Next day, after consulting the rest of "The Merry Hearts," Betty told
Alice that Georgia understood, and so it happened that Tom Alison
went back to Yale the day after the concert singing the praises of
Miss Georgia Ames to all who would listen to his rapturous eulogies.
Inquiries about her came back to Harding from brothers, cousins and
friends at Yale. Also Mr. Tom Alison sent a box of Huyler's to Miss
Ames at the Belden, accompanying it with an invitation to the Yale prom.
Betty took the note and the candy over to Alice. "See what you've
done," she said, with a face that was sober, all but the eyes. "Of
course I can't keep them. They belong to the real Georgia--the one you
wrote the note about. You must take them to her."
"Oh, Betty, I couldn't," said Alice in great distress. "She would have
to acknowledge them somehow, and that means that she would have to
explain to Tom."
"You mean you would have to," said Betty severely. "Well, which is
worse--for you to explain or for me to? If I answered, I should have to
tell him how it was just as much. I know a lot of Yale men, and I can't
go to the prom. as Georgia Ames."
"But you can decline," suggested Alice desperately.
"Do you think it's quite fair to make me do that?" inquired Betty
judicially. "Of course, when he finds out, he may not want to take me;
but I think he'll see the joke. Oh, Alice, it's too delicious! There
isn't any Georgia Ames."
"What?" gasped Alice.
"Why,--you mustn't tell a soul, but I've got to make you
understand,--she's only Madeline Ayres's second self."
"Madeline's what?" asked Alice.
Betty repeated. "Well, that's what Madeline calls her. She's a
fictitious person, you know. Madeline invented her, and we have had
lots of fun making people believe she was real."
"But--why--she gets letters and violets and notes on the bulletin
board," protested Alice.
"Yes, and she makes calls and drops handkerchiefs and takes English
Essayists," added Betty, "but you see this is how we manage her." She
explained the methods of "The Merry Hearts" and the bewilderment of
Dr. Eaton. "So this isn't the first time that I've been Georgia," she
concluded. "Now do you think Mr. Alison will forgive me? Because he
says in his note that he's coming to call next Wednesday, and I might
try to explain then, instead of writing."
Needless to say, Mr. Alison forgave the fair conspirators. More than
that, he was delighted with Georgia and promised to make her fairly
famous at Yale. He had just received a composite picture of his
sister's crowd at school, and he got Betty to write "Georgia Ames" and
the date on the back of it. The composite Georgia was a very pretty
girl, and the slightly blurred effect was artistic and at the same
time decidedly suggestive of Georgia's elusive personality. Mr. Alison
promised to send for more copies of Georgia's picture for distribution
among "The Merry Hearts."
He was all the more interested because it seemed that Dr. Eaton was a
friend of his older brother William, and Tom insisted upon having all
the details of Georgia's career in "English Essayists" in order that he
might write to William, who was surveying a railroad route in Arizona,
all about the joke on his old chum.
Betty had not been particularly interested in Georgia until the day of
the faculty tea. Her interview with Dr. Eaton then and the subsequent
adventure with Alice and Tom Alison aroused her imagination, and she
entered into the plans for Georgia's future as eagerly as Mary or
Roberta. Even now, however, Mary accused her of being interested, not
in Georgia, but in Dr. Eaton. To be sure Mary's theory was largely
founded on envy. She had thoroughly enjoyed the faculty tea, but she
had not succeeded in meeting Dr. Eaton, who had left as soon as he
finished his conversation with Betty. He had walked home with Ethel
Hale, as Betty knew, because she had been bidding Ethel good-bye at the
door, when he came up and, saying he believed they went the same way,
asked permission to walk along with her.
"Thank you,--it's not at all necessary," Ethel had said, "but do as
you wish." Dr. Eaton had looked hurt, Betty thought, but he went out
with Ethel nevertheless.
"I don't see why Ethel doesn't like him," Betty reflected. "I think
he's awfully nice, when he tries to be. And Ethel isn't a blue-stocking
like some of the women on the faculty. She likes men and good times
just as well as we girls do."