[Illustration: GLORIA AND TRIXY EXAMINED THE MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE.
_Gloria at Boarding School._ _Frontispiece--(Page 38)_
]
GLORIA
AT BOARDING SCHOOL
_By_
LILIAN GARIS
AUTHOR OF “GLORIA: A GIRL AND
HER DAD,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY
GROSSET & DUNLAP
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I MIXED BAGGAGE 1
II TELLING TRIXY 15
III MEET MAGGIE 25
IV THE TALISMAN 36
V JACK’S SUDDEN DEPARTURE 48
VI SMOLDERING FIRES 57
VII BRONCHO BILLY 70
VIII ALMOST A TRAGEDY 81
IX FROM ICY WATERS 97
X JACK’S STORY 109
XI A NEW ANGLE 124
XII A TRIBUTE 136
XIII SERIOUS SCHOOL WORK 147
XIV BALKED AMBITION 159
XV STEPPY AND THE CLUE 171
XVI AT THE ROOKERY TEA ROOM 186
XVII THE SACRIFICE 198
XVIII SAY IT WITH POPCORN 210
XIX GEMS AND MOSS AGATE 223
XX THE LURE OF BOARDING SCHOOL 233
GLORIA AT BOARDING SCHOOL
CHAPTER I
MIXED BAGGAGE
The dark haired girl, sitting on the cretonne couch, chuckled.
“So this is boarding school!”
No one heard her, the little clock on the corner shelf ticked away
and never “let on,” for new girls coming to that room were no novelty
to the clock. They came and went yearly, sometimes oftener, and what
difference did it make that this one chuckled? Those who sighed, or
even those who wept, always got over it in time. No doubt the dark
haired girl would get over her rather cynical defiance of Miss Alton’s
rules for lady-like deportment. Also, she might in time learn to sit on
a chair properly.
Gloria Doane really felt defiant. Boarding school always represented
restrictions to her inexperienced reasoning, and restrictions were
never a part of her chosen schedule. A sense of freedom was necessary
to her happiness.
At her Barbend home she scarcely respected the wildest coast storm, and
often thought it a lark to help life guards shoot out their boats or
rig up a buoy. But last year Gloria was “due” to go to this exclusive
school and she had not done so. In fact, circumstances wove such a net
about her that the meshes represented a most unusual story, told in the
first volume of this series called, “Gloria: A Girl and Her Dad.” But
now the net was flattened out, stretched to dry on regulation lines,
and Gloria had emerged like a fairy mermaid, changed back to an earth
maiden, and was doing such ordinary things as going to boarding school.
All this she pondered as voices roused her and a step near her door
threatened invasion.
“Trixy!” she called lightly. The step halted.
“Did you get your trunk? It’s downstairs and you will want to change
your dress before dinner, or maybe it’s supper,” surmised Trixy
Travers, the girl from Sandford, who decided to come to Altmount
because Gloria begged her to do so. Trixy was quite as fond of freedom
as was Gloria, so, ultimately, they both decided “it wouldn’t kill them
to try it for a year.” And there they were, ready to put the test to
their resolve.
“Trunks,” murmured Gloria, indifferently. “I saw one that looked like
mine----”
“In the first hall? Get that bean pole they call Sam, to lug it up
for you before the others come in. Then we can dress in our prettiest
and flabbergast the crowd.” A pulled face, quite unlike Trixy’s usual
countenance, put a period to this threat.
“Brilliant idea. I’ll go straight for the bean pole. Just hook up that
gorgeous drapery and our rooms will constitute a suite. So glad we are
together. If you were down the hall I’d surely sit on your door mat
like a faithful poodle. I just couldn’t risk trying out this exciting
life without the protection and guidance of your wisdom. I noticed Miss
Alton herself paused in a speech as you towered over her.”
“Glo, get your duds; you’ll feel better when you are out of those dusty
things,” interrupted Trixy. “I’ll go down to that cute little room
where Miss Alton holds court, and see about a telephone to mother. She
will want to know we got here safely.”
The next item of note was the entrance of the bean pole, Sam, bearing a
shiny new trunk.
“Just here,” directed Gloria. “I suppose I can keep it in my room----”
“With a cover. Miss Alton she always likes pretty covers over trunks.”
Sam shifted the little table to give more space. “There, I guess
that’ll be all right----”
“Oh, yes; thanks.” A half dollar was pressed into his convenient hand,
and Gloria did not hide her impatience to be rid of the voluble Sam. He
went. Girls were calling for him and there might be more tips.
Quickly Gloria fell to her trunk task but it did not readily give in to
her key.
“Queer, but I suppose it’s stiff, being new,” she reasoned.
The rose colored dress, that which Jane insisted was most becoming to
Gloria’s dark hair and dark eyes, would be found in the top tray of the
new trunk, and this was to be the “irresistible gown” Trixy suggested
as a flabbergaster for the first evening’s appearance.
“There!” exclaimed Gloria, as a spring of the lock indicated
surrender. “Now I’ve got it.”
But raising the cover did not disclose the expected rose voile dress.
“Of all things!” gasped Gloria. “Whatever is--this?”
She was staring at a mass of glittering beads, or spangles, that seemed
to fill the trunk tray. Just a hint of some material very green showed
beneath the glistening surface, but whatever the article might be, it
never had belonged to the girl looking at it.
She picked up an end of the material and found it heavy with spangles.
Then she noticed an envelope pinned to an edge. Scrutinizing this she
found the word “Precious” written across it, also “with care,” was
plainly inscribed upon the little square. Realizing now that the trunk
was not hers, Gloria attempted to replace the glittering stuff, but as
she did so something red and sparkling fell from the envelope into her
hand.
“Gems!” she exclaimed, gazing spellbound at the deep red glow that
seemed to absorb all the light about it. The stone was about the size
of a small bean and was cut in facets.
Frightened lest she be found in possession of another’s valuables,
Gloria quickly dropped the end of the spangled goods back into the
trunk tray, then slipped the big, red gem into the envelope through the
corner hole it had cut its way out of. She had forgotten all about the
rose colored costume, and even that Trixy was due back to dress for the
first meeting with the girls of Altmount.
“How ever could I have mistaken that trunk?” Gloria worried. “Of
course, it’s exactly like mine, but where’s the tag?”
With the lid closed and the lock snapped back she looked closer but
found no tag to identify the strange piece of baggage.
Then, shuffling in the hall and Sam’s characteristic groaning indicated
the coming of more baggage, and quickly as the door was opened Gloria
welcomed her own special new trunk, which had been purchased amid much
discussion, for Jane, the faithful, was insistent that a new trunk be
at once beautiful and useful, a combination seemingly realized in the
black enamelled article, so easily mistaken for another. The “popular
trunk for young ladies” was, apparently, very popular at Altmount.
“Made a mistake,” wheezed Sam. “T’other girl had yourn. Jest a mite
more work, but that’s all right,” hinted the hopeful handy man.
“I’m in such a hurry,” retorted Gloria meaningly.
“Oh, yes, of course. But ’t warn’t my fault exactly.”
“That’s perfectly all right. See, here’s my name on this trunk. I
hadn’t noticed the other.”
“They’re all the same to me,” chuckled Sam, shuffling off without
further reward.
When Trixy returned, Gloria was already aglow in her rose colored gown.
“Lovely!” pronounced the admiring Trixy. “If we don’t make an
impression to-night it won’t be the fault of clothes. Just look at
this. Isn’t it stunning?”
“Perfectly. Trix, you have such a modish way about you----”
“Oh, I don’t know. You are no dowdy yourself. You always look to me
like Molly Dawn, or Betty Bangle, or some other quaint character, bound
to smile and look darling.” An affectionate little squeeze illustrated
this compliment, and presently both girls were being introduced to
their fellow students. Gloria in rose color that heightened her
sparkling dark beauty, and Trixy in French blue that beckoned the
glints of her eyes.
It was a small school and boasted of the fact. Also, that its clientele
would stand the “Social test,” whatever that uncertain measure is
supposed to be, was conspicuously stated in the prospectus.
Gloria was secretly happy to be sponsored by the impressive Trixy. As a
matter of fact, no one could doubt the latter’s standing. She was tall,
a mellow blonde, the type softened with a tawny brown glow, and her
mannerisms! It must have taken generations, thought Gloria humbly, to
develop that smooth, irresistible ease and languid indifference toward
irritating trifles.
But as a type Gloria, herself, was decidedly more pronounced. She was
dark, with eyes that seemed to shoot sparks, with one dimple that
always apologized for any pout the rather boyish mouth might affect,
and withal Gloria had an air of independence sometimes mistaken for
defiance.
As various as the characters they represented were the forms of
greetings offered the new girls by those familiar with Altmount. Some
“gushed,” impulsively generous in their squeezing handshakes and
ebullient chatter, others were “stand off,” formal and “frozen,” as
Gloria secretly classed the most conservative.
Pat Halliday explained her name as coming from the same Greek word
Harriet was taken from.
“Only Patricia is so much nicer and Pat is perfectly jolly,” declared
the Grecian descendant. “I should abhor Harriet; though Harry isn’t so
bad.”
Gloria quickly found interest in Pat. She was almost red headed and
almost blue eyed, losing out by a mere shade in each instance. She
talked a lot and laughed a lot, but plainly was no poser. Taking a
place beside Gloria at table, Pat kept up a running fire of talk that
saved the new girl from any possible self consciousness. At another
table Trixy was trying to be pleasant with a girl of very different
personality. She (the other girl) raised her eyebrows instead of
uttering replies, she shrugged her shoulders haughtily and seemed
insipidly affected.
“The girl without a smile,” Gloria was promptly dubbing the ashen
blonde. Trixy, sitting near enough, was flashing secret messages back
to Gloria agreeing with the above. She was not having a very good time
with the smileless girl, that was obvious.
Miss Alton sat at the head of the table, radiating good will. It was so
important that her girls all become acquainted auspiciously. Although a
small school, Altmount claimed the distinction of “finishing,” so that
a sprinkling of high school graduates, and a few who failed to win the
honor, were to be found among those present.
Both Trixy and Gloria were covertly taking notice of as many girls
as politeness afforded glances at. There was, of course, a bevy of
“Gabbies” who scarcely paused to swallow, also, like the girl without
a smile, there were those who held off, looked important and posed for
impressions. This might have been their honest prerogative, but somehow
it seemed to natural, naïve Gloria, a bit affected.
“I do hope you’ll like it,” bubbled Pat. “We need a few good sports and
I’m sure you’re one. There’s room for more fun here if we only have the
workers.”
“I like fun,” admitted Gloria. “And yes, I guess I am used to it.” Her
brown eyes sent out a sparkling guarantee.
After tea the girls paired off and strolled about the grounds. Pat
“grabbed” Gloria, and both being of the younger set their romping went
unscrutinized. Trixy, the imperturbable, seemed determined to provoke
something like a smile from the reserved Mary Mears, but her good
natured and tactful attempts were far from being successful. Mary Mears
was wise, any one could see that. Her experience stood out like a wall,
neither to be climbed over nor broken through. She was pretty but her
skin betrayed traces of the applied arts, while her really wonderful
violet eyes worked like magnetos. All this attracted Trixy. Any one so
totally different offered her a working problem, something to find out,
to analyze and, mayhap, to conquer.
The September evening was quickening into shadows when the students
turned back to the broad verandahs and cozy porch corners.
“Hear that?” Pat asked Gloria. “That’s Jack Corday. She never stops
talking and never says a sensible thing. Flashy,” criticised the jolly
one. “Just notice her get up. But she’s a dear.”
It was impossible not to notice it. The girl called Jack (Gloria later
heard Miss Alton give her Jacquinot) did talk incessantly in a voice
that intruded everywhere, and as she promenaded up and down, dragging
along a timid new girl called Ethel, the “get up” Pat mentioned was
equally intrusive. A glaring, tiger-lily red baronet skirt, a black
silk sweater and colorful bobbed hair. Dangling from her neck was a
string of varied colored wooden beads with which she toyed constantly.
The string of beads reminded Gloria of the mistaken trunk.
“Is she a--stranger?” she asked Pat.
“Somewhat. That is, she comes and goes. I wonder Miss Alton admits her.
Jack never settles down to anything serious. She makes me think of a
big butterfly.”
“The black and yellow kind.”
“Uh-huh!” conceded Pat.
A call to the opening chorus within the assembly room was reluctantly
obeyed. “Hail, Altmount,” composed by a brilliant but unpopular girl
of the graduating class two years back, was murmured, mumbled and
otherwise abused. The faculty chimed in with more enthusiasm than
voice, and eventually the wail ended.
“Oh, let’s sing the regular college songs,” proposed Jack, slamming a
yellow book on the piano rack in front of demure Miss Taylor.
But the majority of the girls, the great majority, deserted, and left
few with Jack and timid Ethel to “try” the regular college songs. No
one seemed to have a voice or there was something seriously wrong with
the tunes, for one after the other they were “tried,” until the long
suffering Miss Taylor proposed a truce.
“Jack doesn’t seem to be very popular,” ventured Gloria to the giggling
Pat, when the trials were all over.
“She isn’t exactly, but somehow she seems to love opposition. I don’t
know her well. This is only my second term, I came last Spring, but
Jack Corday could climb a flag pole if she wanted to. She’s a wiz at
gym, but books! She has about as much use for a book as an Indian has,”
declared the accommodating Pat. “Just the same I love her.”
“My friend Trixy seems to have struck an iceberg,” further commented
Gloria. The “iceberg” being the ashen blonde called Mary Mears.
“Oh, I don’t know her, she’s new,” replied Pat. “But even icebergs
melt finally. She’s rather pretty, isn’t she?”
“Rather,” agreed Gloria just as Trixy joined her group on the corner
bench.