A HARD-HEARTED REGISTRAR
“If I were a registrar, I’d not be so horrid as Miss Osgood,”
wrathfully exclaimed Patsy Carroll.
Four days had passed since the Wayfarers had despatched their letters
to their home allies. The quartette were emerging from Yardley Hall as
Patsy flung forth her disgruntled opinion of Miss Osgood.
They had been summoned to the registrar’s office after classes that
afternoon, there to be stiffly informed by Miss Osgood that she saw no
convincing reason for granting them the privilege of an extra week’s
vacation.
“You wish this extra week merely on account of a pleasure trip you
have planned,” she had coldly pointed out. “I have been besieged by a
dozen others with similar requests, none of which I have granted. I
have replied to the letters which I have received from Miss Carroll,
Mrs. Forbes and Mrs. Perry, stating that it is impossible to make any
exception in favor of you girls. I sent for you to come here merely to
impress upon you that I shall expect you to return to Yardley, from
your Easter vacation, _on time_. Any delay on your part will constitute
a direct defiance of my wishes. Kindly remember this and govern
yourselves accordingly.”
Such was the chilly ultimatum that had aroused Patsy’s ire.
“It’s too mean for anything,” she sputtered, as the four started across
the campus. “Aunt Martha says in the letter I received from her this
morning that unless we can have the extra week’s vacation it’s not
worth while making the trip to Palm Beach. We can’t have it, so that
settles our grand Florida expedition. If we could go down there in
summer it wouldn’t matter so much about losing this trip. But we can’t.
It’s too hot down there in summer time for comfort. We’ll never have a
chance to go there until we are graduated from college. We’ll be old
ladies then and have to go around in wheel chairs,” she ended ruefully.
“Oh, that’s only four years off. We may still be able to totter about
with canes,” giggled Eleanor. “Of course, we’ll have snow-white hair
and wrinkles, but then, never mind. We can sit and do embroidery or
tatting and talk of the happy past when we were young and----”
“Stop making fun of me, Nellie,” ordered Patsy severely. Nevertheless
she echoed Eleanor’s giggle.
“Let’s hustle for the dormitory,” suggested practical Beatrice. “This
wind is altogether too frisky to suit me. I’ve had to hang onto my hat
every second since we left the Hall.”
“It’s blowing harder every minute,” panted Mabel, as a fresh gust
swept whistling across the campus, caught the four girls and roughly
endeavored to jerk them off their feet.
“It’s going to snow, I guess. It’s too cold for rain,” remarked Patsy,
squinting up at the sky. “Easter comes awfully early this year, doesn’t
it? I can’t remember when it’s ever before been in March. That’s
another reason why it would be fine to spend it at Palm Beach. The
weather there would be perfect.”
“Oh, well, what’s the use in thinking about it,” said Eleanor. “We
might as well make the best of things and plan something else.”
“I’m going to write to Auntie the minute I get to my room,” announced
Patsy, “and ask her where she thinks it would be nice for us to go for
Easter. I’d like it to be near the ocean, though; Old Point Comfort,
Cape May, Atlantic City, or some beach resort.”
“I hate to give up the Palm Beach plan. Still, wherever we go, well be
together,” reminded Mabel. “You can’t down a strong combination like
the Wayfarers.”
It being but a short walk from Yardley Hall to the large dormitory
where the students of Yardley lived, the four girls were soon running
up the broad stone steps, glad to reach shelter from the wind’s
ungentle tactics.
As a preparatory school, Yardley was famed for its excellence. It
registered, however, but a limited number of pupils. These lived in one
large dormitory, there being no campus houses for their accommodation.
Yardley had been at one time a select boarding school for girls. Later
it had become a preparatory school to college, and had earned the
reputation of being one of the best of its kind.
As the high school course which the Wayfarers had completed was not
sufficiently advanced to carry them into college without additional
preparation, they had, after much discussion, chosen to enter Yardley.
A year of study there would fit them for entrance into any college
which they might select as their Alma Mater.
The fact that Yardley occupied a somewhat isolated position of its
own, the nearest town, Alden, being five miles away, did not trouble
the Wayfarers. Being true Nature lovers they were never at a loss for
amusement during their leisure hours. They found far greater pleasure
in tramping the steep hills which rose behind Yardley than making
decorous little trips to Alden in Patsy’s car.
Though friendly with their classmates, the Wayfarers nevertheless
hung together loyally. They were, as Patsy often declared, “a close
corporation” and quite sufficient unto themselves.
As the little band entered the dormitory that blustering afternoon,
they were feeling keenly the disappointment so recently meted out to
them. It was decidedly hard to put away the rosy visions of Palm Beach
that each girl had conjured up in her own mind.
“Come on up to our room, girls, and we’ll make chocolate,” proposed
Patsy. “It will probably take away our appetites for dinner, but who
cares? I don’t believe I’d have much appetite, anyhow. I’m all upset
about this vacation business.”
Seated about the writing table which Patsy had cleared for the
occasion, the Wayfarers were presently sipping hot chocolate and
devouring sweet crackers to the accompaniment of a mournful discussion
of the situation.
As a result none of them had any enthusiasm for either dinner or
study that evening. Dinner over they gathered once more in Patsy’s
room, still too full of their recent disappointment to banish it from
conversation.
“We can’t make a single plan until we know what Aunt Martha wants to
do,” asserted Patsy with a sigh. “Oh, I forgot to write to her before
dinner! I must do it now. Excuse me, Perry children. Bee will amuse
you. Bee, entertain the young ladies. I’m going to be busy for a little
while.”
“We must go,” declared Eleanor, rising. “It’s half-past eight. I really
ought to study a little bit. Mab, you’ve a whole page in Spanish to
translate. You’d better come along.”
“All right. Just listen to the wind!” Mabel held up her hand. “How it
shrieks and whistles and wails! The banshees are out, sailing around in
the air to-night, I imagine.”
“I’m glad we’re not out, sailing around the campus,” commented
Beatrice. “We’d certainly sail. We couldn’t keep our feet on the
ground. We’d be blown about like leaves.”
“I think I’d like to go out and fight with the wind,” announced valiant
Patsy. “As soon as I write my letter I’m going to take it out to the
mail box.”
“Good-bye, then. I may never see you again,” laughed Eleanor, her hand
on the door. “You’ll be blown into the next county if you venture out
to-night.”
“Then I’ll turn around and let the wind blow me back again,” retorted
Patsy, undismayed by Eleanor’s warning.
The two Perrys having bade their chums good night and departed for
their own room, Patsy settled down to the writing of her letter. Though
her fountain pen fled over the paper at rapid speed, it was half-past
nine when she committed the product of her industry to an envelope.
“There!” she said, as she finished writing the address and affixed a
stamp. “I’m going to put on my fur coat and go out to the mail box with
this.”
“Why don’t you mail it in the morning?” Beatrice advised. “I wouldn’t
go out in that wind if I were you.”
“But you’re not Patsy Carroll,” laughed Patsy. “You’re ever so much
nicer than she is, but not half so reckless.”
“All right,” smiled Beatrice. “Go ahead and be whisked into the next
county. I’ll send a search party after you in the morning.”
“Farewell, farewell!” declaimed Patsy, as she dived into a closet for
her fur coat. “I sha’n’t wear a hat. The wind can’t rip off my auburn
locks no matter how hard it may try.”
Once out of the dormitory, Patsy had not gone six yards before she
realized that Eleanor’s prediction was likely to be fulfilled. The
gale swept her along as if a great hand were at her back, forcing her
relentlessly forward.
“It’s going to be worse coming back,” she muttered, when at last she
had reached the mail box and dropped her letter into it. “I’m certainly
going to have a real fight with this rough old wind.”
Turning, she started defiantly toward the dormitory, forging stolidly
along in the teeth of the blast.
Crossing the campus diagonally she was over half way to the dormitory
when of a sudden she cried out in alarm. At the shadowed rear of
the building she had glimpsed something calculated to inspire fear.
Rising from the structure was a thick cloud, unmistakably smoke. As
she hurried on, her heart pounding wildly, she saw that which fully
confirmed her fears. A long yellow tongue of flame pierced the smoke
cloud and shot high above it. The dormitory was on fire!