JACK’S SUDDEN DEPARTURE
It was Pat who spread the news. A messenger boy had come late in the
night with a telegram for Jack, and now, today, the day after the night
alarm, Jack was gone!
“Some one sick or a sudden death?” hazarded Gloria. It was about time
for a class and the conversation was necessarily snatchy.
“Jack doesn’t seem to have folks, at least, no one comes to see her,”
explained the entertaining Pat, catching her blue barrette in a clump of
hair much beyond its capacity.
“We’ll miss her,” spoke up Trixy. “I like Jack; she’s a positive cure
for the blues.”
“Isn’t she? Jack is a lark, even if she does dress like--a fire sale.”
Gloria didn’t smile. Pat should not be encouraged in such criticism,
especially now that Jack was gone and could not defend herself.
But after the morning classes and just before lunch, it was impossible
for either Gloria or Trixy not to overhear a little stronger criticism
than Pat’s harmless remark was intended to convey.
A group of girls behind a screen in the lavatory were even more
critical and less considerate.
“Did you hear the row?” asked one.
“Did I? Thought the house was afire,” from another.
“Such a voice! That woman must be a perfect tyrant. The way she shouted
at poor Alty.”
Gloria coughed loudly and meaningly, but the girls in the wash room
rattled on.
“Couldn’t a’been her mother?”
“No--a Steppy, Jack calls her.”
“But why drag her away like that? In the middle of the night.”
“Family affairs,” tittered a new voice. “Wasn’t it dramatic?”
“Can’t say I think so, in an open hall and at midnight,” some one
grumbled.
“But she wired first.”
“She should have sent the fire department first. Poor Alty was almost
choked with indignation.”
Trixy slammed down the shoes she was attempting to clean, but her
warning was altogether misinterpreted, for Jean Engle popped from
behind the screen and claimed both Trixy and Gloria as additional
debaters.
“We’re just talking about poor Jack,” gurgled Jean. “Isn’t it
a shame she had to go away? She must perfectly dread her old
‘Steppy’--stepmother, and now she’s dragged her off again.” An
uncertain sigh ended the pretended sympathy.
“Too bad she isn’t long distance eared,” joked Trixy, with a shade of
subtility. “I’m sure she would be flattered with such championship.”
“I don’t care,” persisted Jean, not to be quelled in her efforts at a
little excitement. “Jack never gets a chance to become interested in
her work, and I suppose if she flunks at exams there’ll be no more
mercy shown her than----”
“Hear! Hear!” broke in Arline Spragg. “Can any one imagine our Jean
casting such precious bread upon the waters----”
Arline paused. A step outside gave warning and all eyes turned toward
the opening curtains that divided the “lav” from a small rest room.
Mary Mears’ form was now framed in the shadow. Her face was white, her
deep set, violet eyes seemed almost black, and there was no mistaking
her whole attitude as one of consternation.
Trixy was the first to find speech.
“Hello, Mary,” she said quite casually. “We are enjoying the most
popular indoor sport, backbiting.”
“Yes!” Eyebrows lifted and shoulders shrugged.
“You know poor Jack is gone,” chimed in Jean Engle. “Dragged away in
the night by a horrid Steppy----”
“Steppy!”
“Uh-huh. That’s what Jack calls her. We’ve never, any of us, seen her,
but have all heard her. She’s that sort, vulgarly noisy----”
Poor Mary’s blonde head had gone higher and the white face seemed a
shade more pallid as Jean gabbled on. Disgust, nothing less, except
perhaps a hidden fear, was expressed in her haughty attitude, and
somehow she reminded Gloria of a handsome animal trapped by refined
cruelty.
“I hate gossip,” Mary said, crisply.
“You do!” retorted Pat. “Well, it’s a necessary evil here. We have to
do something, why not gossip?”
“When a girl’s back is turned?” Mary qualified.
“But it isn’t about Jack, it’s the old lady. She must be a shrew. Can’t
we say that about her when she wakes us up in the dead of the night?”
Pat retorted.
“And we are really defending Jack.” This from Jean.
Gloria, being a newcomer and also in the “freshie” class, held back
from the discussion. Exchanging glances with Trixy, both had plainly
shown surprise that Mary should have appeared so haggard. Even her
usual studied calmness was replaced by nervous little jerks, one of
which caused her to drop and shatter the drinking glass.
“Oh!” she gasped. “How stupid of me!”
“Let me pick it up,” offered Gloria kindly. “Trixy says I can walk on
glass, just because she saw me walk over clam shells at home. Anybody
here ever bathe from a shelly beach? I have one at my native dock.”
This sally mercifully changed the subject, and beaches sandy, beaches
rocky, or beaches shelly, were soon being discussed from as many view
points as there were persons expressing them.
Mary beamed gratitude upon Gloria. It was her first unbending,
and perhaps because the approval was not easy to obtain, Gloria
appreciated it more fully. She twinkled understandingly.
“I hate to be a nuisance,” Mary said rather humbly, “but my hand must
have been wet and the glass slipped. Do you report damages to the
office?”
“Don’t you dare!” thundered Pat. She was now all primped and pretty
and ready for the walk or hike, as she termed the proposed exercise
scheduled for the afternoon. “If you start anything so honest as paying
for a broken drinking glass, I would feel absolutely bound to tell who
broke the glass dish----”
“Hush, Pat. You perpetual gabber. We all hated the dish. It was too
small for cookies----”
“All right, Becky dear. Don’t get excited. I’m not on my way to the
office.”
Gloria had gathered up the splints of glass and skillfully dropped them
into the marshmallow box Mary held to receive them.
“You’re a dear,” murmured the pale girl. “But I shouldn’t have let you
do it.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me,” retorted Gloria. “Don’t you know how
stubborn I am? When I take a notion----”
“Come along,” interrupted Trixy in an undertone. “Going to hike, Mary?”
“I’m afraid not----”
“Oh, do,” begged Gloria. “There’s nothing like it for nerves, and you
have a headache, haven’t you?”
“A little. I didn’t sleep well. Guess I’m not quite fit for this quiet
life----” she smiled quizzically.
“Isn’t it awful?” interrupted Trixy. “I don’t know whether to bless or
blame Gloria for dragging me here. But not being a quitter I suppose
I’ll stay.”
“If you don’t, I don’t,” declared Gloria. All three had separated
themselves from the others and were now on the porch ready for the hike
and awaiting the leader.
“Really, don’t you like it here?” pressed Mary gently. She might not
have seemed so pale but for her black satin dress. She always wore such
dark colors when the uniform was not required, whereas then the other
girls just melted into color glory.
“We are rather spoiled, I’m afraid,” admitted Trixy. “Little Glo has
lately distinguished herself as an engineer; that is, she discovered a
river the engineers had overlooked, and what hasn’t happened in the way
of good fortune since that eventful day!” Trixy intoned reminiscently.
“How interesting!” Mary said politely.
“Since you’re telling tales, Trixy, I might add----” drawled Gloria,
“that the engineer, the young, handsome and all that sort of thing
young fellow, is a special friend of yours. There is the barest
possibility she misses him----”
“Glo!”
“And he’s gone off again following my dear dad! Way out Philippine
way----”
“Just for that you shan’t see my letter!”
“A letter! From Sherry?”
“Sherwood, please. He has outgrown Sherry. Want to see his stationery?”
The inscribed envelope (from Trixy’s pocket) was passed around. Gloria
read it backwards and forwards, made fun of it and approved in the same
breath. Then it was handed over to Mary.
“Why!” she exclaimed, “that name seems familiar. Was he abroad last
year?”
“Yes. Were you?” asked Trixy simply.
“Yes, that is--yes,” floundered Mary, and a hint of confused color
touched up the pale cheeks.
“How jolly! Did you really know our noble Sherry?” demanded Gloria
quite enthused.
“Oh, I wouldn’t just say that,” Mary answered with a return of her
usual restraint. “One meets others while travelling, and sometimes we
see names on the hotel lists----”
“But we must tell Sherry,” Gloria rattled on. “Trixy, do you mind if I
write?”
“I’ll put in a little censored note----”
“I’m sure he has never heard of me, of Mary Mears,” declared Mary,
just as Miss Alton, otherwise “Alty” and little Miss Taylor, otherwise
“Whisper” appeared and marshalled forces for the four mile hike.
There was opportunity for confidences along the way, and Mary’s
attitude was seriously discussed by the two girls from Sandford.
“She’s high-spirited,” declared Trixy.
“And touchy,” added Gloria.
“I can’t just see why she acts so offish.”
“Seems to keep the brake on every minute.”
“Afraid of hills--sliding, I mean.”
“Into reality. I’ve thought of that.”
“She’s a splendid contrast to Jack, isn’t she?” concluded Gloria, as
the hikers halted at Van Winkle’s Spring. Then Old Rip entertained most
royally.