ON THE ROAD TO ORCHARD INN
Mechanically, Marjorie closed the journal of Brooke Hamilton and slipped
the rubber around it. She felt as though she never wished to open it
again. What a tragedy lay between those black, worn, leather covers.
Brooke Hamilton had suffered too greatly she thought for that which he
was not really to blame.
He had not understood that Angela loved him. Still, he had upbraided
himself with the remorseful thought that he might have understood, if he
had tried. Angela had always loved him. She had known that she loved
him. He had not in the beginning loved her, or at least he had given no
thought to love. The last despairing entry in the journal held strong
accusation against himself for not having given love a place in his
life. Mind had dominated heart, when instead heart and mind should have
gone seeking love and achievement together.
Then the thought which had been pounding at the walls of her brain for
admittance entered her consciousness. Suppose that, some day, too late,
she were to discover she really loved Hal? She had the same friendly
regard for Hal which Brooke Hamilton had entertained for Angela. Hal
loved her truly. Angela had truly loved Brooke Hamilton.
The mere idea of such a far-fetched catastrophe filled the sober-faced,
lately tearful lieutenant with panic. She took the sad little history of
a man’s ambition and misunderstanding and hurriedly replaced it in the
rosewood box. She turned the key, then placed the box in the cabinet.
Having now read it, she could not bear to talk with Miss Susanna again
about it that day. She longed to go out in the bright spring weather and
walk until she had shaken off the deep-seated melancholy which had
invaded her young heart. The quotation from Thanatopsis: “Go forth,
under the open sky, and list to nature’s teachings,” recurred to her
with force.
“It’s almost time for luncheon,” she murmured. “I can’t help it. I must
go outdoors for awhile. I shan’t write a line today. Maybe not tomorrow.
I’ll scribble a note to Miss Susanna and give it to Jonas to hand to
her. Jerry’ll survive my desertion for once.”
Luncheon at the Arms was at one o’clock. It lacked only a few minutes of
one when Marjorie came downstairs to find Jonas and deliver her note
into his hands. She had stopped only long enough to bathe her slightly
pinkish eye-lids and draw on a pretty buff sports coat and hat.
She had hardly progressed the length of the long stone walk leading to
the gate when her drooping spirits began to revive. She was not shallow,
in that she could lightly throw off the impression of the morning’s
reading. She was strong-willed enough not to allow it to gain a
distressing hold upon her. Most of all she wished to forget her dejected
suppositions which concerned Hal.
Outside the gates of the Arms she paused to decide on which way to go.
Should she walk to the town of Hamilton, or toward the campus. A walk
into staid, drowsy Hamilton meant nothing more than a lonely prowling up
and down the main streets. To go toward the campus! There was no telling
who she might meet. Marjorie chose the campus, and variety.
“Now by King John’s castle where may you be going?” Leila Harper called
out the salutation as she swept past Marjorie in her car. A moment and
it had stopped. Leila leaned far out of it, beckoning. “Have the feet to
hurry,” she ordered. “I have just been to town, but I’ll take you back
again in a trice, if you say.”
“I don’t want to go to town.” Marjorie shook an emphatic head. “Take me
for a spin, Leila Greatheart. I’ve quit biographing for the day and I
wish to be amused; wish to be, and hope to be.”
“I am that amusing! And you must have heard it. Now who told it to you?”
Leila cocked her head to one side and smilingly awaited an answer.
“Leila Harper,” laughed Marjorie. “I hope she knew what she was talking
about.”
“I hope so,” Leila echoed fervently. “Let us take a ride, Beauty, to
Orchard Inn. I should be busy with my Irish play this afternoon. I have
no thoughts for it. We are both less gifted than we might be.”
“Orchard Inn to luncheon sounds comforting.” Marjorie was settling
herself beside Leila in the car. “It’s a glorious day for a drive. I’ve
not seen you for more than a few minutes at a time since the Rustic
Romp. I’ve only seen Robin once. She came over to the Arms the day after
the Romp to tell me we made nearly a thousand dollars from it.”
“Did you not hear, Beauty? Someone dropped a hundred dollar note into
the cash box. Miss Dow had charge of the box. She had no idea who the
generous rustic might be.”
“Oh-h!” Marjorie’s exclamation died in a soft breath. She had made a
quick flashing guess as to the donor. Leslie Cairns, of course. What an
odd proceeding on her part! Nevertheless Marjorie gave her the benefit
of having been animated by a generous motive. She had undoubtedly come
prepared to give such a sum. Marjorie was also of the opinion that Doris
Monroe had paved the way for Leslie’s lark.
“It is not a campus performance to give such wealth,” smiled Leila. “I
mean outside the Travelers and a few such princes as Gentleman Gus and
her train of hearties. I thought Ronny might be the one. She accuses
Vera; and so it goes.”
“Whoever gave it must have wished her identity to be a secret.” Marjorie
would have liked to tell Leila of Leslie’s lark. She had made up her
mind that night, however, to be silent. Three persons besides herself
knew it. No, only one, Doris Monroe. Jane Everest and Julia Peyton
lacked the evidence of their own eyes. Unless Julia Peyton should
gossip, Leslie’s uninvited presence in the gymnasium would not be known.
“Since we have the gold, why should we seek the miner,” Leila said
genially. “‘The Knight of the Northern Sun’ is coming on grandly. Next
Tuesday evening we shall give a full rehearsal. I trust our spear proof
silver buckram helmets will fit our Norse warriors. Kathie is a true
playwright, but I am a Celtic fake. It is hard to glorify my hero, since
I am to be the hero myself. I am in a fine dilemma,” she complained
drolly. “Why did I ever imagine I could write an Irish play?”
It was an hour’s run by automobile to Orchard Inn. It was the most
distant from the campus of the coterie of tea rooms dear to the hearts
of the Hamilton girls. The route lay for the most part over Hamilton
Pike. The last three miles of the journey had to be made over a dirt
road. It was fairly smooth and easily traveled except when roughened by
heavy rains.
The two girls kept up a low steady stream of conversation as the car
sped on toward the Inn. Both were feeling the pleasantness of a brief
freedom from everything connected with even their beloved work. Neither
had expected to take a trip to the Inn when she had started out. As a
consequence, both were jubilant over the little excursion.
“Oh, I almost forgot to tell you something very important, Leila. We
were so busy talking about the Travelers’ stunts it almost slipped my
mind. Captain’s coming to the Arms for Easter.” Marjorie’s voice rang
with joy. “That means I can stay here. Jerry is going to stay, too.”
“May I ask whose marvelous managing that is?” Leila’s eyes grew starry.
She adored Mrs. Dean.
“Captain’s. You see General will be away on a trip. Captain knows how
much I have to do here, so she is going to help me by coming to the
Arms. Miss Susanna is delighted. It’s a case of Captain Bean making
Lieutenant Bean and all the Beanstalks happy.”
“We should start a Beanstalk colony here at Hamilton and remain here all
our days. Would it not be a credit to the township and a satisfaction to
my old age?”
“I’d love to live in Hamilton Estates, Leila,” Marjorie confessed. “I
care for Sanford because of Jerry, Muriel, Lucy and a few other chums of
my high school days. If Jerry, Lucy, Muriel and a few more could be
transplanted to Hamilton, I’d move Castle Dean here, too. Sanford has
always meant a great deal to me. Hamilton means more.”
“I understand. Midget and I have sometimes romanced of building
ourselves a hut in the land of college.” Leila looked dreamily away for
an instant at the peaceful spring landscape. There was a touch of home
hunger in her reply. She was silent for a little, her attention riveted
on picking as smooth a route as was possible on the dirt road for the
car. The machine had struck a rough, narrow stretch of ground not more
than wide enough for two cars to pass each other.
“Hey, ho,” she said, coming back to practicality; “I am not anxious to
meet any cars on this cattle path.” The words had scarcely left her lips
when a low frame, black roadster, built for speed, appeared in sight
upon the brow of an incline ahead of them. “Do you see that, Beauty? I
had but to speak when a listening jinxie whisked a black hob-goblin into
my path,” Leila cried out in mild vexation.
Marjorie watched the approaching car with more than casual interest. A
comprehensive glance at it had informed her as to the identity of the
driver. A young woman was at the wheel, the car’s sole occupant.
Marjorie did not miss seeing the peculiar expression which showed itself
in the other’s face as she glanced at Leila’s car and prepared to keep
strictly to the proper side of the narrow road.
Instead of starting down the low hill the other motorist stopped her car
at the top of the little rise of ground and waited for Leila’s roadster
to come up. As Leila’s car came abreast of her automobile she leaned out
and cried: “Will you please stop your car? I’d like to speak to Miss
Dean.”
“Has the world come to an end?” Leila muttered in Marjorie’s ear as she
complied with the other girl’s request. “The Hob-goblin is no myth, as
you can see for yourself, Beauty.”
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