A TANTALIZING GLIMPSE
“Where did you collect the nerve to ask that ask?” Jerry admiringly
demanded of Leila, following the shout of surprise from the others.
“I have nerve for any occasion,” was the modest reply.
“I believe you. What did the Ice Queen say to you, or was she too icily
iced for words? I get you that she must have made a ‘yes’ sign, in spite
of her freezing frozenness.”
“She said ‘yes.’ I went straight to the point with plenty of coolness in
my own sweet Irish voice,” Leila answered with a touch of grimness. “She
loves to be a center of attraction. I have a good idea of her beauty and
cleverness. She knows that. We made the bargain like two veterans. She
does not wish for my friendship. I can live without hers. We have in
Ireland our own proverb of fair exchange. It is: ‘To exchange needs with
your neighbor is nothing lost to him or you.’”
“In this instance it is everything gained,” Marjorie blithely asserted.
“You are the same old wonder, Leila Greatheart. I must make a list of
these coming attractions now.” She opened the small blue leather
notebook which she was seldom without now wherever she happened to go on
the campus. She wrote busily for a little, oblivious of the murmur of
discussion going on around her.
“Three sure-fire attractions,” she exulted, as she presently glanced up
from her notebook.
“I’ve something to report, too. I’ve at last persuaded Miss Oliver to
let us feature her in a musicale in Greek Hall. It’s to come off a week
from Friday evening.” Robin’s announcement was touched with pride.
It was the signal for another little burst of surprise. While Candace
Oliver, the freshman musical genius who one of the Craig Hall girls had
discovered, had on several occasions reluctantly played for Robin and a
few other admiring students, she had steadily refused to appear on the
college stage as a pianiste.
“Another obstacle surmounted. How did you do it? I thought I was too
persuasive to be resisted, but she turned me down,” commented Muriel.
“Oh, I asked her to let us feature her, every time I met her. I used all
the nice pleasant arguments I could think of but without effect. The
other day I happened to meet her at Baretti’s. I introduced Signor
Baretti to her. I was sitting at the same table with her and Baretti
came up, as always, to speak to me. He only stayed a minute, but in that
minute I remarked to him that Miss Oliver was a wonderful pianiste. He
looked truly impressed and said in his odd way: ‘I like hear you play
som’time. When you play in Miss Page, Miss Dean’s show, for help the
dormitory. Miss Page, you come tell me when Miss Ol-ee-var play.’ I
smiled at Miss Oliver. She had turned red as a poppy. Then I said, sweet
as cream: ‘I surely _will_ let you know, Signor Baretti.’”
“What did she say?” Ronny voiced the question that stood in six pairs of
bright eyes.
“Oh, he trotted off just then, and I didn’t give her time to say a word.
I began telling her about him and how sincere his interest in the
dormitory was, and how he had fought for Page and Dean, and how
altogether great-spirited he was. She listened without saying much. She
was half through luncheon when I sat down at her table. She left the
restaurant as soon as she had finished her dessert. Next day I received
a four line note from her. She said in it that she had changed her mind
about not being featured at a musicale. ‘I wish to do my part to help
the dorm’ girls,’ was the line that made Robin execute a hornpipe.”
“The infallible Guiseppe again to the rescue,” Vera said lightly, yet
with a certain pleased intonation which expressed the appreciation
underlying it.
“Attraction number four.” Amid the gratified murmur which followed
Robin’s recital, Marjorie set down the musicale in her book. “What is
Miss Oliver’s program, Robin? Of course you’ve seen her since you
received her note.” Marjorie knew that Robin was sure of her prize.
“Three Chopin numbers and Beethoven’s ‘Sonata Appassionata.’ Phil is
going to play one of Brahm’s Hungarian dances and Jensen’s ‘Romance.’
Verna Burkett is going to sing. She has a glorious contralto voice, and
Reba Hoffman, that little blonde German dorm will give a ’cello number.
I am anxious to exploit dorm talent, too. It’s going to be a hummer of a
program. I think we ought to charge two dollars apiece for the tickets,
the same as we charge for our revues. What do you think about it,
Marjorie?” Robin earnestly consulted her partner. “You know we only
charged a dollar and a half for tickets for the last musicale.”
“I don’t believe two dollars a seat will be considered robbery. We
always reserve free seats for the dormitory girls at all the shows. The
other Hamiltonites can afford to pay two dollars apiece for the kind of
entertainment we shall offer. They’d have to pay from two to three
dollars apiece for good seats at a special benefit musicale wherever
they might go,” was Marjorie’s candid reply. “I don’t wish to seem
priggish, but they could spend their allowance checks for no better
cause.”
“True as truth, good partner,” Robin agreed, with a saucy little nod.
“Oh, dear,” she changed to plaintive in a twinkling. “I wish we might
use the Hamilton Concert Hall for the musicale. Think of the money we’d
take in. Greek Hall is hardly more than half as large.”
“Why can’t you use it?” asked Lucy Warner with crisp suddenness.
“No one has the nerve to ask Prexy for the use of it, my child.” Vera
bent a benign glance upon Lucy which contrasted oddly with her doll-like
daintiness.
“Why not?” Lucy persisted.
“Prexy has yet to come to one of our shows, Luciferous,” Marjorie said
quietly. “We’ve always sent him tickets, and Mrs. Prexy and her friends
have come to them. But he never has. He approves of the dormitory
enterprise. He has been friendly with me on all occasions, but—”
Marjorie smiled—“he never appears at our revues.”
“It’s the one thorn on Page and Dean’s rosebush,” laughed Robin.
“Besides, Luciferous, we’ve never felt like trying to break into the
regular college lecture and concert programs with our shows. It’s more a
matter of deference than anything else. If he had ever offered the hall
to us, we’d have accepted the offer instanter. But he never has.”
“I believe it never occurred to him,” Lucy said bluntly. “I wish I’d
known long ago. I’ll ask him tomorrow for the use of it.”
“Lu-ciferous!” Muriel beamed on Lucy with a radiance too joyous to be
genuine. “You deserve a citation. That is you will deserve one if you
put the Prexy problem across. Do so, and I will cite your good conduct
tomorrow evening in this very room at precisely seven o’clock. You will
receive a tin star, three whacks on the shoulder and a ticket to the
Hamilton Movie Palace. Popcorn and pink lemonade will be served to all.”
Muriel effulgently included the rest of the party in the generous
invitation.
The next five minutes were spent in jubilantly rushing Lucy. She
received approving pats on the shoulders, pats on the back and pats on
the head. Each Traveler tried to outdo the other in contributing funnily
approving remarks. Muriel smilingly proposed raising Lucy to Jerry’s and
her shoulders and parading about the room with her. Jerry and Lucy both
had strong objections to the honor walk.
“I wouldn’t trust either of you to carry me two feet,” Lucy declared
mirthfully. “Now never mind rushing me further. Leila beguiled us here
with the promise of hearing something extraordinary. I have yet to hear
it.”
“So I did.” Leila surveyed the Travelers, whose attention had quickly
returned to her, her bright blue eyes asparkle. “Now this is what I have
to say.”
As she laid her plan before her chums, a constant chorus of gurgles,
giggles and chuckles accompanied her words. The instant she paused Jerry
raised a not too loud cheer of approbation which the others echoed.
“I am indebted to you, Matchless Muriel, for suggesting the proper kind
of refreshments. You may believe that popcorn and pink lemonade will be
served at our party along with gum drops and peppermint sticks. I had
not yet thought of the eats until you spoke. Now I shall get up a fine
spread.” Leila’s tone conveyed her deep satisfaction.
“It will be oceans of fun.” Muriel had already begun to laugh as she
thought of what her part in the event should be.
“The gentlemen of the campus may have to hunt diligently for suitable
wardrobe. I shall see about mine at once.” Vera giggled softly.
Her naive remark was the signal for a fresh explosion of mirth. In a
room further along the hall a girl moodily rested her pen to listen to
the breath of laughter wafted faintly to her through walls and closed
doors. Doris Monroe tried to frown at the distant sounds of harmonious
comradeship. She found that she was not angry. She was despondent
because she was lonely. She was beginning to glimpse a side of college
life, wholly desirable, but, unfortunately for her, beyond her reach.
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