"Can you beat it? Uh-h-h-h!" Jerry dropped with angry force into the arm
chair which Natalie Weyman had so recently vacated. "What was the matter
with those girls, anyway? How could they help but know that we hadn't
had our dinner? It was after six o'clock when we reached here. It took
time to get hold of Busy Buzzy and be assigned to our rooms, and more
time to make ourselves presentable. Why couldn't they have figured out
that much? Next step in our process of deduction; they came to the door
about twenty minutes past seven. Now how could we have had time to go
down stairs, eat our dinner and be back in our room again?"
"The answer is, they didn't do any deducing," declared Muriel. "I
suppose they simply chose their own time to call."
"A very inconvenient time, I must say," grumbled Jerry. "Here's another
point that needs clearing up. If that Miss Weyman drove her car down to
the station, expecting to bring the five of us back in it, why was it
cram-jam full of girls?"
"They may have been friends of hers who merely wanted to ride down to
the station, Jerry," surmised Ronny. "Why trouble your brain about our
callers now? Let us think about where we are going to have our dinner.
The dining room is closed, of course. We shall have to call on the
hospitable Baretti for sustenance. He's hospitable if his restaurant is
still open. Otherwise, I don't think much of him."
"First thing to do is to find out where he holds forth. I hope the place
is not far from here. I'm so hungry and so tired." Marjorie spoke with a
tired kind of patience that ended in a yawn. "We had better start out at
once. We'll probably find some one downstairs who can direct us."
The others no less hungry, the Five Travelers lost no more time in
getting downstairs, preferring to leave the subject of their recent
callers until a time more convenient for discussion. At the foot of the
stairs they encountered two girls about to ascend.
"Good evening. Will you please direct us to Baretti's?" It was Ronny who
asked the question in a clear, even tone that, while courteous, was so
strictly impersonal as to be almost cool. Having just encountered a trio
of girls whom she had instantly set down as snobs, Ronny had donned her
armor.
"Good evening." Both girls returned the salutation. The taller of the
two, a sandy-haired young woman with sleepy gray eyes, a square chin and
freckles now became spokesman. "You will find Baretti's about a square
from the west wall of the campus. Turn to your right as you pass out the
main gate."
"There is the Colonial, too, about two squares beyond Baretti's,"
informed the other, a pretty girl in a ruffled gown of apricot organdie
that accentuated the black silkiness of her hair which lay off her low
forehead in little soft rings.
"Thank you." Ronny modified the crispness of her tone a trifle. "We
shall not care to go further than Baretti's tonight. May I ask what time
the restaurant closes?"
"Ten o'clock." The gray-eyed girl seemed on the point of volunteering a
remark. She half-opened her lips, then closed them almost tightly as if
repenting of the impulse.
With a second "Thank you" a shade cooler than the first, Ronny concluded
the brief interview. The four Lookouts had walked toward the Hall door,
which stood open, and there paused to wait for her. Ordinarily, Ronny
would have addressed the strangers with a certain graciousness of manner
which was one of her charms. She had relaxed a little from her first
reserve on the strength of their apparent willingness to direct her to
Baretti's. She had not missed, however, the gray-eyed girl's deliberate
checking of her own purposed remark. While she forebore to place an
adverse construction upon it, nevertheless it had annoyed her. Trace of
a frown lingered between her dark brows as she joined the others.
"I noticed you didn't get very chummy with that pair," greeted Jerry.
"Just so you located our commissary department, Baretti. He's our star
of hope at present." Jerry led the way across the veranda and down the
steps.
"I know the way to Baretti's, never fear," Ronny assured. "It is one
square from the west wall of the campus. Just how much of a walk that
means, we shall see. It may be anywhere from a quarter to three-quarters
of a mile to the west wall. We turn to our right as we go through the
gateway."
"We will have to walk it, even if it is a mile," decreed Muriel. "I'd
walk two miles for something to eat. I am about as hungry as I can ever
remember of being. Our introduction to Hamilton! _Good night!_"
"I can't get it through my head that we are actually students at
Hamilton College," declared Muriel. "I feel more as though I had just
arrived at a summer hotel where people came and went without the
slightest interest in one another."
"It is missing dinner at the Hall that makes it seem so. If we had had a
fair chance at the dining room we would have felt more----" Jerry paused
to choose a word descriptive of their united feelings. "Well, we would
have felt cinched to Hamilton. That nice Miss Trent helped us, of
course, but she faded away and disappeared the minute she turned us over
to Miss Remson. I don't believe we can be, what you might call,
fascinating. No one seems to care to linger near us. Wouldn't that be a
splendid title for one of those silly old popular songs? 'No one cares
to linger near,' as sung by the great always off the key vocalist, Jerry
Macy. Wh-ir-r! Bu-z-z-z! What has happened to you swe-e-etart, that you
do not linger near-r-r? I am lonele-e-e----"
Jerry's imitation of a phonograph rendering a popular song of her own
impromptu composition ended suddenly. Muriel placed a defensive hand
over the singer's mouth. "Have mercy on us, Jeremiah," she begged. "You
are at Hamilton now. Try to act like some one. That's the advice I heard
one of the mill women give her unruly son at the nursery one day last
winter."
"I trust no one but ourselves heard you," was Veronica's uncomplimentary
addition, delivered in a tone of shocked disapproval.
"I don't blame anyone for not caring to linger near such awful sounds."
Lucy's criticism, spoken in her precise manner, produced a burst of
low-keyed laughter. It appeared to amuse Jerry most of all.
By this time they had passed through the gateway, flanked by high,
ornamental stone posts, and were following a fairly wide, beaten
footpath that shone white in the light shed by the rising moon. On their
right hand side, the college wall of matched gray stone rose
considerably above their heads.
"This wall must be at least ten feet high and about three or four
thick." Jerry calculatingly appraised the wall. "It extends the whole
around the campus, so far as I could tell by daylight. I was noticing it
as we came into the grounds today."
"We are not so far from the end of it now." Marjorie made the
announcement with a faint breath of relief. "You can see the corner post
from here. I think it about a quarter of a mile from the gate."
"And only a square from it lies our dinner, thank goodness! Let's run."
Muriel made a pretended dash forward and was promptly checked by Jerry.
"You wouldn't let me sing. Now you need a clamp. I'll give you a piece
of advice I heard last winter at that same old nursery: 'Walk pretty.
Don't be runnin' yourse'f all over the place.'"
"There is Baretti's across the road." Marjorie pointed down the road a
little, to where, on the opposite side, two posts, topped by cluster
electric lights, rose on each side of a fairly wide stone walk that was
the approach to the restaurant. It stood fully a hundred feet from the
highway, an odd, one-story structure of brown stone, looking like an inn
of a bygone period. In sharp contrast to the white radiance of the guide
lights at the end of the walk, the light over the doorway was faint and
yellow, proceeding from a single lamp, set in a curious wrought-iron
frame, which depended from a bell-like hood over the door.
Through the narrow-paned windows streamed the welcome glow of light
within. It warmed the hearts of the Five Travelers even as in departed
days it had gladdened the eyes of weary wayfarers in search of purchased
hospitality.
"What an odd old place!" Lucy Warner cried out in admiration. "It is
like the ancient hostelries one reads of. I wonder if it has always been
an inn. It must be considerably over a hundred years old."
"I suppose it is. A good deal of the country around here is historic, I
believe. You remember the bulletin said Brooke Hamilton was a young man
at the time of La Fayette's visit to America. That was in 1824. He and
La Fayette met and the Marquis was so delighted with him that he invited
him to join his suite of friends during his tour of the country. I wish
it had said more about both of them, but it didn't," finished Marjorie
regretfully.
"Perhaps the old Marquis de la Fayette and young Brooke Hamilton walked
down the very road we walked tonight and supped at the same old inn,"
Veronica said, as they approached the two wide, low steps that formed
the entrance to the restaurant.
"Quite likely they did," agreed Jerry. The foremost of the party, she
opened the heavy, paneled door of solid oak.
A faint, united breath of approbation rose from the visitors as they
stepped into a room of noble proportions. It was almost square and as
beautiful an apartment as the girls had ever seen. Beam ceiling,
wainscoting and floor were all of precisely the same shade and quality
of dark oak. So perfectly did every foot of wood in the room match that
it might have all come from one giant tree, hewn out and polished by
gnomes. There was something about its perfection that suggested a castle
hall of fairy lore. On each side of the room were three high-backed,
massive oak benches. The tops of these were decorated by a carved oak
leaf pattern, the simplicity of which was the design of genius itself.
The heavy, claw-legged oak tables, oval in shape and ten in number, all
bore the same pattern, carved in the table top at about two inches from
the edge. There was no attempt at placing the tables in rows. They stood
at intervals far enough apart to permit easy passage in and out among
them. Yet each table seemed fitted into its own proper space. Moved two
inches out of it, the whole scheme of artistic regularity would have
been spoiled.
"It's evident that Signor Baretti never furnished this room," commented
Ronny in a voice just above a whisper. "I never saw anything like it,
before! never! Lead me to a seat at one of those beautiful tables."
"Yes; do let us sit down as soon as we can," echoed Muriel eagerly. "I
am dying to look and look and look at everything in this adorable old
room. I am glad it is almost empty. We can sit and stare and no one will
be here to resent it."
This time it was Muriel who took the lead and made a bee-line for a
table at the far end of the room on the right. The others followed her,
quickly slipping into the oak chairs, each with its spade-shaped, high
back and fairly broad seat. That these chairs were built for comfort as
well as ornament the Lookouts soon discovered.
"Oh, the joy of this comfy chair," sighed Ronny. "It actually fits my
back. That's more than I can say of those train seats. I am going to
turn in the minute I am back at Wayland House. I am _so_ tired, and a
little bit sleepy."
Marjorie and Ronny shared one menu, while each of the others had one to
herself. After the usual amount of comment and consultation, all decided
upon consommé, roast chicken, potatoes au gratin, and a salad, with
dessert and coffee to follow. Their order given to a round-faced,
olive-tinted Italian girl, the Five Travelers were free to look about
them for a little.
Directly across from them at a table which formed a wide obtuse angle
with theirs were four girls. While the quartette had appeared to be
occupied in eating ices on the entrance into the restaurant of the
Sanford party, no move of the strangers had been lost on them. Four
pairs of young eyes covertly appraised the newcomers. That the Five
Travelers interested the other girls was clearly proven by the frequency
of their glances, discreetly veiled. Deep in the exploration of the
menu, the Sanford quintette were unaware that they had attracted any
special attention from the diners at the one other occupied table in the
room. Nevertheless, while they were busy with the ordering of their
dinner, they were being subjected to a most critical survey.
By the time the consommé was served, the other group had finished the
eating of their ices and risen to depart. As they left the table
Marjorie glanced impersonally toward them. A sudden wave of color
deepened the pink in her cheeks as she encountered four pairs of
unfamiliar eyes all fastened on her. Immediately she looked away,
annoyed with herself, rather than them for staring. Nor had she gained a
definite idea of the appearance of any one of them, so keen was her own
momentary discomfiture.
Regarding herself and her chums, the departing diners had a very clear
idea. Hardly had they stepped outside the restaurant when a low buzz of
conversation began.
"Leila Harper, did you ever see anyone lovelier than that brown-eyed
freshie?" inquired one of the quartette, a tall, stately girl with pale
gold hair and a rather thin, interesting face. "The one in dark blue, I
mean."
"No; I see a certain someone's finish, don't you?" The girl who made the
reply smiled as though signally amused. In the light cast by the
powerful post lights, the faces of her companions reflected that amused
smile. "I could have shrieked for joy when that crowd of freshmen walked
in with Beauty in their midst," she continued. "They were all very
pretty girls, Selma. I really think we ought to take up the matter and
have some fun over it."
"Incidentally, it would pull someone off a pedestal where she never
truly belonged. I never considered Natalie Weyman a _real_ beauty. She
is pretty, but rather artificial, I think." The author of this criticism
was an attractive young woman with wavy chestnut hair and deep blue
eyes, the beauty of which was partly obscured by eyeglasses.
"I don't admire Miss Weyman's style of good looks, either, Nella." This
from the fourth member of the party, a small girl with pale brown hair,
pale blue eyes, with very dark brows and lashes, and a skin dazzlingly
white. Standing five feet one in high heels, Vera Mason was noticeable
for her doll-like daintiness of form and feature. She was not beautiful,
so far as regularity of feature went, for her small nose turned up a
trifle and her mouth was too wide to be classically perfect. She was,
however, singularly charming.
"I had rather call you a beauty any time than apply it to her, Midget,"
was Leila Harper's quick return. Her eyes of true Irish blue twinkled as
she said this. Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed aloud,
showing white even teeth, their very soundness matching the rest of her
strong-featured face and blue-black hair. Leila was of old Irish stock
and very proud of it.
"Oh, girls, I have it; a plan I mean!" she exclaimed. "Now listen to the
wise Irish woman and you'll agree with me that there's nothing that
could fit the occasion more nearly than what I have in mind. It will do
wonders in the way of curing Nat Weyman's swelled head and no one can
possibly say it isn't fair."
Four abreast in the moonlight, the sophomores who had so heartily
admired Marjorie strolled back to the campus, listening as they went to
a plan Leila was unfolding which appeared to afford them much
anticipatory delight.
Meanwhile at the quaint old inn the Five Travelers were hungrily
disposing of a comforting meal, wholly unconscious of being already a
subject for discussion among a certain group of sophomores. It was as
well for Marjorie's peace of mind that she did not know she had already
been acclaimed a beauty at Hamilton College. Neither could the four
sophomores, who were thoughtlessly planning the merited discomfiture of
one girl through the raising up of another, know what a difference the
carrying out of that plan would make in Marjorie Dean's life at Hamilton
College.