"This saying good-bye business is growing harrowing," complained Jerry
one hazy September morning. She stood with her chums on the station
platform, waving farewell to Florence Johnston, who was leaving for
Markham College, a western university. "This is the third time for us at
the station this week. Monday it was Mignon, Daisy Griggs and Gertrude
Aldine, all bound for Smith. Wednesday it was Esther, Rita, Susan and
Irma. I am not over the blues yet on account of losing Susan and Irma. I
wish they had chosen Hamilton instead of Wellesley."
The seven Lookouts still left in Sanford were strolling soberly across
the green station yard to the drive behind the station where Jerry had
parked the Macys' ample touring car. She had elected to drive it that
morning because of its capacity.
"Harriet and I are going to be the lonesome ones before long," remarked
Constance Stevens, her blue eyes roving somberly from friend to friend.
The private conservatory Constance and Harriet were to enter did not
open until the latter part of October. This would make them the last to
leave Sanford. "It is going to seem awfully queer for us without you
girls, isn't it, Harriet?"
"Yes." Harriet was looking unduly solemn. "Still we knew long ago that
it would have to come sometime; this breaking up of the old crowd."
"We must try to be together a lot during vacations. Most of us will be
home for Thanksgiving, and all of us for Christmas and Easter," was
Marjorie's philosophical consolation.
"Well, we're going to have one last good old frolic at Connie's tonight,
anyway," was Jerry's cheering reminder.
"I can't come tonight, Constance," Lucy Warner announced in her brusque
fashion. "I must give these last few evenings to Mother. Besides, I
don't feel at home in your crowd when the boys are there. I don't care
much about young men. I never know what to say to them," she added,
coloring slightly.
"I understand the way you feel about it," Constance returned with a
smile. She had once been visited by the same discomfiture in the first
days of her friendship with Marjorie. The others were laughing at Lucy's
blunt avowal. "I'll forgive you for turning down my party. You know we
would love to have you with us, but if you were not at ease it would be
hard for you."
"Yes, it would. Much obliged." Lucy's terse agreement provoked fresh
laughter.
Ronny had promised Marjorie to take Lucy in hand and try to overcome her
objections to entering Hamilton College that fall. Three times she
besieged Lucy before success came. On the third interview, Ronny learned
the real difficulty. Very solemnly Lucy told her the story of the
Observer and her subsequent ingratitude toward Marjorie. Ronny had felt
righteous anger flame within her as she had listened. She had almost
wished she had never offered a scholarship in behalf of such an ingrate.
Her brain clearing of its hasty resentment, she had been visited by the
same divine pity for poor, embittered Lucy that had swayed Marjorie on
the occasion of the Observer confession.
Very cleverly Ronny had seized upon the confession to move Lucy from her
torturing resolve. She argued that, as it was Marjorie's wish to see
Lucy enter college with herself and friends, she therefore owed it to
Marjorie as an amend honorable. Her point gained, Ronny managed also to
persuade Lucy to accept financial help from her if necessary. This she
reluctantly promised to do, provided she were allowed to repay her young
benefactor when in position to do so. Thus Lucy became the fifth
Lookout, Hamilton-bound, greatly to Marjorie's delight.
"What you ought to do is practice hanging around with our gang until you
are not the least bit scared at Hal or Laurie or the rest of our boys,"
Jerry advised. "They aren't ogres and hob-goblins. There is really
nothing very awe-inspiring about a young man. If you had lived in the
same house with Hal as long as I have, you would know how to talk to him
all right enough."
"I haven't; therefore I don't," Lucy returned concisely, but with an
open good nature which showed how greatly she had emerged from her shell
since becoming a Lookout.
"There goes Flora Frisbee," suddenly called out Muriel, as she exchanged
a gay salute with a girl who had just passed in an automobile.
"Where?" inquired three or four voices. A particularly well liked
senior, Flora had acquired a further high standing with the Lookouts as
the president of the new chapter.
"Too late. She is out of sight. I just happened to see her as she
flashed by in her brother's roadster. I think she is going to make a
dandy president. Don't you?"
"The very best." It was Jerry who answered. "I am certainly glad the new
chapter is going so nicely. They have settled down to that nursery
detail like veterans."
"I was so proud of them that day at Muriel's when we organized the new
chapter," praised Ronny.
"They did as well as we when we began," commented Muriel. "If only they
keep it up. We picked the best of the seniors."
Following a meeting at Jerry's home, at which the Lookouts had selected
the candidates for the new chapter, a second meeting had been held at
Muriel's. Each charter Lookout had gallantly escorted her choice there.
Fifteen gratified seniors had listened to the rules of the club and
promised to live up to them. They had pledged themselves to faithfully
carry on the work of their absent elder sisters at the day nursery and
be always ready to help those in need of friendly aid. They had then
capably taken up the pleasant task of electing their officers and
performed it with business-like snap.
Soon after their organization they had accompanied the charter members
to the nursery and spent a merry afternoon getting acquainted with the
little ones. From then on they had begun their regular duty tours
accompanied, at first, by one of the old guard on each tour. Soon
accustoming themselves to the routine, their elder sisters breathed more
freely and set about attending to their own manifold affairs.
"We hope we picked fifteen winners. If we didn't we'll soon know it with
a bang. That nursery will run on wheels, minus one trouble maker. Just
one will throw the whole concern up in the air. While I don't doubt our
new sisters, let time do its perfect work. So says Jeremiah. She says
further, get into the car all of you. I'm going to take you straight
home. I'm going to a party tonight and I have no time to waste standing
talking on the corner. There will be young men at that party!" Jerry
dropped her voice to a hoarse melodramatic whisper and stared wildly at
Lucy, chin thrust forward.
"I can't help that. I--I should worry. I'm no buttinski." Lucy's
unexpected use of slang raised a gale of laughter.
"I am afraid you learned that from me. You are growing up precautious.
You need a guardian." With this Jerry bundled Lucy into the tonneau of
the machine and turned her over to Marjorie and Muriel who had already
climbed into the car.
In her usual energetic fashion she proceeded to drive her chums to their
various homes, where she dropped them with scant ceremony. "I know you
are all in a hurry to get home," she sweetly assured them. "If you
aren't, I am. It's all one. Good-bye. Shall I see you this evening? You
had better believe it."
The informal gathering at Gray Gables would comprise the remaining
Lookouts of the charter and six or seven of the Sanford boys whom
Constance knew best and who were intimate friends of Laurie Armitage's.
Marjorie, in particular, was happy in the invitation. She thought it so
beautiful that Connie, who had known the bitterest want, should be the
hostess at their last frolic, commemorative of their high school days.
As she dressed for the party that evening, her thoughts traveled back to
the eventful night of the freshman dance when Constance had worn the
blue gown and made her entrance into the social side of high school
under difficulties. At that time she had been a very humble person. Now
she was perhaps the most admired young woman in Sanford on account of
her beautiful voice. Things had changed a good deal in four years for
Connie, Marjorie reflected. She took a special pride in her appearance
that night, not only in honor of Constance, but because she owed it to
herself to look her best on that last happy evening with her friends.
When Veronica entered Marjorie's house, attired in her white lace
Commencement Day frock, a pale blue evening cape composed of many
ruffles of chiffon hanging over one arm, she found a pensive little
figure in white occupying the pink and white window seat. Marjorie was
also wearing her graduation gown and looking utterly lovely in it.
"I'm mooning," she announced, turning her curly head as Ronny entered,
her eyes very bright. "It's a perfect night, Ronny. Almost warm enough
to go without a wrap. Hal will be here for us. I forgot to tell you. He
called me on the 'phone yesterday to ask me if he might take us over in
his car."
Veronica smiled slightly at this frank announcement. It contained not a
trace of self-consciousness. Long ago Ronny had glimpsed Hal Macy's mind
regarding Marjorie. She knew the latter to be the likable young man's
ideal and had seen boyish worship of Marjorie more than once in his
clear blue eyes. She also understood that Marjorie was wholly fancy
free. While she valued Hal as a near friend, any awakening to a deeper
sentiment on her part belonged to a far distant day.