CLAIMING A PROMISE
“What do you mean?” Slightly mystified for an instant it then broke upon
Doris that Leslie was in earnest. She was actually entertaining a wild
idea of attending the coming romp behind the shelter of a mask. “You
couldn’t do that—er—it would be—unwise,” she stammered. Dismay flashed
into her green eyes.
“Why couldn’t I?” The question vibrated with obstinacy. “Who except you
would know me?”
“U-m-m; no one would know you while you were masked, I suppose. When it
came time to unmask—”
“I’d not be in the gym at unmasking time,” Leslie interrupted
decisively. “I’d be out of that barn and away before the signal came to
unmask.”
Doris eyed Leslie doubtfully. Her first shock of dismay at the
announcement had subsided. She was still swayed by caution as she said
slowly: “It would be awfully risky for you. At the Valentine masquerade
no one knew when the call to unmask was coming. That’s the way it will
be at the romp.”
“At the Valentine masquerade when _I_ was at Hamilton the time for
unmasking was nine-thirty.” The corners of Leslie’s wide mouth took on
an ugly droop.
“I know that is the way it used to be,” Doris hastily re-assured. “At
the last masquerade the freshies asked the junior committee to make the
unmasking time a surprise. It proved to be a lot of fun. It will be done
again this time. I’m almost sure it will.”
“What if it should be? Don’t imagine that I can’t watch my step. I’d not
be caught.”
“Suppose you were dancing when the call to unmask came? You’d have to
leave your partner instantly and run like a deer for the door. Suppose
you were caught on the way to the door and unmasked by a crowd of girls?
The freshies are terrors at that sort of thing. They are always out for
tom-boy fun. You’d not care to have such an embarrassing thing happen to
you.” Doris chose to present to Leslie a plain supposition of what might
happen to her as an uninvited masker at the romp.
“Leave it to me to make a clever get-away,” was Leslie’s boast. “I’d be
safe for five or six dances. That would be as long as I’d care to stay
in the gym. It’s wearing a hayrick costume that strikes me as having
some pep to it. The adventure of breaking into the knowledge shop and
enjoying myself under the noses of Prigville, without any of the
inhabitants knowing who I am, appeals to me.”
Unwittingly she had appealed to the side of Doris most in sympathy with
her bold plan. Doris had been born and bred to understanding and
approval of adventure. “I understand the way you feel about it, Leslie,”
she began. “If I were certain that—”
“Oh, forget that I mentioned dressing up to you!” Leslie exclaimed with
savage impatience. “You’ve said more than once that you’d be pleased to
do anything you could for me, _at any time_. I thought you would help me
a little to play this joke on Prigville. Never mind. I’ll ask only one
thing of you. If you _should_ happen to recognize me on the night of the
haytime hobble, kindly don’t publish it among the prigs.”
“Leslie.” Doris put dignified reproach into the response. “You know I
would never betray you. I’m perfectly willing to help you carry out your
plan, provided there’s no danger to either of us in it.”
“Danger of what?” came the sarcastic question. “No danger to you. Let me
do a little supposing. Suppose we went together to the gym; you as a
maid, and I as your swain. Suppose I failed to make a get-away and was
unmasked by a bunch of smart Alecs. I’d probably not be near you when
the signal came to unmask. I’d not bother you after the grand march.
There’d be so many hey Rubes in the gym no one would remember our coming
in together. That lets you out, doesn’t it? You should falter. Have a
heart, Goldie!” Leslie had grown satirically persuasive.
Doris sat studying the situation in silence. She had colored afresh at
Leslie’s pointed inference that she was more concerned for her own
security from possible mishap at the romp than for that of Leslie
herself. She hated the sarcastic reminder flung at her by Leslie that
she had promised a favor on demand and was now not willing to keep her
word. As Leslie had presented the situation to her there could be no
risk to her. Leslie was more than able to look out for her own
interests. To help Leslie now meant not only the keeping of her promise.
It was a singularly easy way of keeping it.
“I’d rather you’d turn me down now than next year,” Leslie sneered as
Doris continued silent.
“I’ll help you, Leslie.” Doris spoke stiffly, ignoring her disgruntled
companion’s sneer.
“Come again.” Leslie cupped an ear with her hand, mockery in the
gesture, but triumph in her small dark eyes.
“I said I would help you.” Doris repeated her first statement in an even
stiffer tone. She would not permit Leslie to break down her poise.
“Good for you. You won’t be sorry. Help me to put over this stunt on
Prigville and I’ll give you the Dazzler for your own.” Leslie was
buoyantly generous in her delight at having gained her own way.
“I don’t want any such reward. That’s just the trouble with you, Leslie.
You are always offering me so much more than I can ever return. I wish
you were going to the dance, to stay all evening and have a good time
with the others.” Doris sincerely meant the wish.
“You know whose fault it is that I can’t.” Leslie shrugged
significantly. “Now I must plan my costume.” She straightened in her
chair with a faint sigh. “I’ll sport blue overalls, a brown and red
gingham shirt, large plaid, with no collar; a turkey-red cotton hankie,
a big floppy hayseed hat and a striped umbrella.” She chuckled as she
enumerated these items of costume.
“I had thought seriously of going as a swain, but decided against it.
I’d rather look pretty. I have a certain reputation to keep up on the
campus. I’d prefer not to caricature myself.”
“You make me smile, Goldie. How you worship that precious beauty
reputation of yours! You may be right about it. I presume you are.”
Leslie’s rugged face grew momentarily downcast. She was thinking
morosely that if, like Doris, she had been half as careful in whom she
trusted and to what risks she lent herself when at Hamilton she might
have escaped disgrace.
“I know I am.” Doris was emphatical. She noted the gloomy change in
Leslie’s features and understood partly what had occasioned it. Those
four words, “I presume you are,” made more impression on Doris than any
other reference to her college trouble or against Marjorie Dean, which
she had ever before heard Leslie make. It held a compelling, resigned
inference of unfair treatment at the hands of others. Those others were
of course Miss Dean and her friends. Doris allowed herself to jump to
that conclusion. She had fostered jealous disdain of Marjorie until it
had become antipathy. She knew Leslie’s faults, but she chose to
overlook them. She had sometimes regarded Leslie’s accusations against
“Bean” as overdrawn. Now she felt more in sympathy with Leslie’s
standing grudge against Marjorie Dean than at any time since she had
known Leslie.
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