"I cannot really help but feel that there must have been a mistake about
our being ignored at the station." Marjorie made this hopeful remark
just as the taxicab passed through a wide driveway and swung into a
drive that wound a circuitous course about the campus. "It is hard to
believe that any student of this beloved old college wouldn't be ready
and willing to look after freshman strays like us."
"I am afraid times have changed since Mr. Brooke Hamilton laid down the
laws of courtesy," Veronica made sceptical reply. "Beg your pardon,
Sweet Marjoram, I should not have said that. I am just as much in love
with Hamilton Campus as you are. I regret to say, I haven't the same
generous faith in Hamilton's upper classmen. There has been a shirking
of duty somewhere among them. I know a receiving committee when I see
one, and there was none on that station platform, for I took a good look
over it. I saw a number of students greeting others that they had come
to the station purposely to meet, but that is all. Sounds disagreeably
positive, doesn't it? I do not mean to be so, though."
"I can't blame you for the way you feel about the whole business,
Ronny," Marjorie returned. "We had all looked forward to the pleasure of
being taken under the wing of a friendly upper class girl until we knew
our way about a little. Well, it didn't happen, so there is no use in my
mourning or spurting or worrying about it. I am going to forget it."
"''Twere wiser to forget,'" quoted Ronny. Her brief irritation
vanishing, her face broke into smiling beauty. "'Don't give up the
ship.' That's another quotation, appropriate to you, Marjorie. You
aren't going to let such grouches as Jeremiah and I spoil your belief in
the absent sophs and juniors. The seniors usually leave the welcoming
job to them. Of course, there are a few seniors who have the freshmen's
welfare upon their consciences."
The taxicab was now slowing down for a stop before a handsome four-story
house of gray stone. It stood on what might be termed the crest of the
campus, almost on a level with a very large building, a hundred rods
away, which the newcomers guessed to be Hamilton Hall. An especially
roomy and ornamental veranda extended around three sides of the first
story of the house. Its tasteful wicker and willow chairs and tables,
and large, comfortable-looking porch swings made it appear decidedly
attractive to the somewhat disillusioned arriving party. Their new home,
at least, was not a disappointment.
The lawns about the house were no less beautiful with autumn glory than
those they had already seen. Marjorie in particular was charmed by the
profusion of chrysanthemums, the small, old-fashioned variety of garden
blooms. There were thick, blossoming clumps of them at the rounding
corners of the veranda. They stood in the sturdy, colorful array as
borders to two wide walks that led away from entrances to the Hall on
both sides. At the left of the Hall, toward the rear of it, was an
oblong bed of them, looking old-fashioned enough in its compact
formation to have been planted by Brooke Hamilton himself.
The drive led straight up to the house, stopping in an open space in
front of the veranda, wide enough to permit an automobile to turn
comfortably. It was here that the Five Travelers alighted, bag and
baggage.
"I wonder if we are early at college. The place seems to be deserted.
Maybe our fellow residents are at dinner. No, they are not. It is only
twenty minutes past six." Jerry consulted her wrist watch. "The Hamilton
bulletin states the dinner hour at Wayland Hall to be at six-thirty
until the first of November. After that six o'clock until the first of
April; then back to six-thirty again."
"It would not surprise me to hear that a good share of the students who
live at Wayland Hall had not yet returned. According to our valued
bulletin,--we have to fall back on it for information,--Wayland Hall is
the oldest campus house. That would make it desirable in the eyes of
upper class girls. We were fortunate to obtain reservations here."
They had crossed the open space in front of the house and mounted the
steps. As they reached the doorway a girl stepped out of it. So sudden
was her appearance that she narrowly missed colliding with the arrivals.
She had evidently hurried out of a reception room at the left of the
hall. Passing through the hall or coming down the open staircase she
would have seen the group before reaching the door.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she apologized, viewing the newcomers out of a
pair of very blue, non-curious eyes. "I never pay proper attention to
where I am going. I was so busy thinking about an examination I must
take tomorrow that I forgot where I was. I'll have to stop now for a
second to remember what I started out to do," she added ruefully, her
face breaking into a roguish smile which displayed two pronounced
dimples.
Instantly the hearts of the Five Travelers warmed toward her. Her
dimples brought back fond memories of Susan Atwell. She was quite a tall
girl, five feet, seven inches, at least, and very slender. Her hair was
a pale flaxen and fluffed out naturally, worn severely back from her low
forehead though it was. Her one-piece frock of white wash satin gave her
a likeness to a tall white June lily, nodding contentedly on a sturdy
stem.
"I wonder if I can be of service to you," she said quickly. Courtesy had
not deserted her. _She_ could, it seemed, pay proper attention to the
needs of the stranger.
"I wish you would be so kind as to tell us where we will find Miss
Remson. We are entering freshmen, and are to live at Wayland Hall."
Marjorie introduced herself and friends to the other girl, stating also
from whence they had come.
"Oh, you are the Sanford crowd!" exclaimed the girl. "Why, Miss Weyman
was to meet you at the train! She went down to the garage for her car.
Two sophomores from her club, the Sans Soucians, were to go down with
her to the five-fifty train. They left here in plenty of time for I saw
them go. They must have missed making connections with you somehow. I
forgot to introduce myself. I am Helen Trent of the sophomore class."
The Lookouts having expressed their pleasure in meeting this amiable
member of the sophomore class, Miss Trent led the way inside and ushered
them into the reception room. It was a medium-sized room, done in two
shades of soft brown and furnished with a severely beautiful set of
golden oak, upholstered in brown leather. The library table was littered
with current magazines, giving the apartment the appearance of a
physician's receiving room.
Seized by a sudden thought, Jerry turned to their new acquaintance and
asked: "Does the Miss Weyman you spoke of drive a large gray car?"
"Why, yes." Helen Trent opened her blue eyes a trifle wider in patent
surprise. She was speculating as to whether it would be within bounds to
inquire how the questioner had come by her knowledge.
Jerry saved her the interrogation. "Then we saw her, just as we drove
out of the station yard. She was driving this gray car I mentioned. It
looked to me like a French car. There must have been seven or eight
girls in it besides herself."
"It was Natalie you saw. There isn't another car like hers here at
Hamilton. It is a French car."
Jerry turned to Marjorie, a positive grin over-spreading her plump face.
"Right you were, wise Marjorie, about the mistake business. Perhaps time
may restore our shattered faith in the Hamiltonites. What did you say
Veronica?" She beamed mischievously at Ronny.
"I did not say a single word," retorted Ronny. "I am glad Marjorie was
right, though."
Helen Trent stood listening, her eyes betraying frank amusement at
Jerry, her dimples threatening to break out again.
"We were a little bit disappointed because not a soul spoke to us after
we left the train. We had looked forward to having a few Hamilton upper
classmen, if only one or two, speak to us. Perhaps we were silly to
expect it. To me it seemed one of the nicest features of going to
college. I said I thought there must have been a mistake about no one
meeting us. That is what Geraldine meant."
Marjorie made this explanation with the candor of a child. Her brown
eyes met Helen's so sweetly and yet so steadfastly, as she talked, that
the sophomore thought her the prettiest girl she had ever seen. Helen's
sympathies had enlisted toward the entire five. Even Lucy Warner had
struck her as a girl of great individuality. A slow smile touched the
corners of her lips, seemingly the only outward manifestation of some
inner cogitation that was mildly amusing.
"I am glad, too, that it was a mistake," she said, her face dropping
again into its soft placidity. "We wish our freshmen friends to think
well of us. We sophs are only a year ahead of you. It is particularly
our duty to help the freshmen when first they come to Hamilton. I would
have gone down to the station today to meet you but Natalie Weyman took
it upon herself. I have this special exam to take. I have been preparing
for it this summer. It is in trigonometry. I failed in that subject last
term and had to make it up this vacation. I only hope I pass in it
tomorrow. Br-r-r-r! the very idea makes me shiver."
"I hope you will, I am sure." It was Ronny who expressed this sincere
wish. She had quickly decided that she approved of Helen Trent.
Certainly there was nothing snobbish about her. She showed every mark of
gentle breeding.
"I am afraid we may be keeping you from what you were about to do when
we stopped you." Lucy Warner had stepped to the fore much to the secret
amazement of her friends. A stickler for duty, Lucy's training as
secretary had taught her the value of time. During that period that she
spent in Miss Archer's office, her own time had been so seriously
encroached upon that she had made a resolution never to waste that of
others.
"Oh, no; I can pick up my own affairs again, later. None of them are
important except my exam, and I am not going to worry over that. If you
will excuse me, I will go and find Miss Remson. She will assign you to
your rooms. Dinner is on now. There goes the bell. It is later this one
week; at a quarter to seven, on account of returning students. It's on
until a quarter to eight. Beginning next week, it will be on at
precisely half-past six and off at half-past seven. After that you go
hungry, or else to Baretti's or the Colonial. Both are quite near here.
No more explanation now, but action."
With a pleasant little nod the sophomore left the reception room in
search of Miss Remson, the manager of Wayland Hall. She left behind her,
however, an atmosphere of friendliness and cheer that went far toward
dispelling the late cloud of having been either purposely or carelessly
overlooked.