SAY IT WITH POPCORN
Miss Sanders, the English teacher, was amazed when she found Gloria’s
essay had not been turned in for the final reading. That was why Miss
Alton sent Maggie with the summons.
“But why didn’t you tell me?” queried the principal. “I would not have
allowed anything to interfere with such important work. You must know
we are each pledged to support the honor and traditions of Altmount.”
Each word was crushing Gloria’s already abused feelings. She had
checked her good cry but had not appeased the disturbance which caused
it, and again her lip was trembling. Couldn’t Miss Alton understand?
Were the so-called honor and traditions of Altmount higher than the
honor to a friend, and a sick friend at that? And was there any one
else who could have shared Jack’s confidence as she, Gloria, had been
forced to do?
“But I can try some other time, Miss Alton,” she said as bravely as she
could. “It really--doesn’t matter.”
“You are noble to say so,” accorded Miss Alton. “But it certainly is
too bad. Miss Sanders speaks so highly of your original English work.
Is there no way you can finish it? If it is only typing I’ll call in
one of the commercial department girls and have that done. I’ll even
delay the mail packet----”
“I’m afraid I could hardly finish it satisfactorily now,” interrupted
Gloria. “You see, I’m--a little----”
She could not finish the sentence. One big tear splashed on her cheek
and another promptly followed on the other. Miss Alton knew how much
agitation was necessary to arouse girls of Gloria’s type to tears, but
she also knew how difficult it was to quell such when once they were
aroused.
So she patted the shaking shoulders and advised a good lunch.
“You see, we are having quite a run of complications,” said the
principal, hoping to divert Gloria. “Our nurse has been called to
an urgent case, and I can’t see what I will do for some one to take
charge of Jacquinot. It is out of the question for our teachers to be
disturbed at night.”
Gloria’s mind did not shift promptly to the new subject, but, at any
rate, she was not open for any more public engagements. Even Jack would
have to be cared for independently now.
“I hope your friend, Miss Morgan, is having a pleasant day. Would you
care to have her stay over night?” asked Miss Alton, next.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Gloria brightened. “The day has
been--so confusing, I’d love to have dear Jane make a little visit. And
oh, Miss Alton,” (she was all Gloria now,) “I do believe she would be
glad to take care of Jack. She’s a wonderful nurse and just hates not
to be useful.”
“Really, could she?”
“I don’t see why not?” New interest chased the shadows.
“Why, you dear girl, it does seem you are the very soul of
resourcefulness. If she would just be within call during the night. But
are you sure she wouldn’t think we were imposing?”
“Jane knows, she never guesses,” replied Gloria, smiling away any
mistaken inference. “And please, Miss Alton, don’t mind about the
essay. Jane would say one sacrifice brings two rewards. That’s her
cheerful logic, and I’ve been brought up on it. So, after all, perhaps
there is some--reward just lurking in the background.” The speech was
unlike Gloria’s. She never affected the “smiling through” attitude,
unless she was on her way “through,” and couldn’t turn back, but now
she felt the necessity of assuming a tone of true politeness. Miss
Alton was really contrite for having delayed the essay work, and
again tried to discover a way to make up for it, but it was obviously
impossible.
“Then let me tell you, my dear,” said the woman accepting the
conclusion, “that I understand and appreciate your heroism, and whether
there is or not a reward in the background, as you say, you may always
remember, that your first real loss at boarding school entailed a
noble sacrifice. Quietly and even without there being a possibility
of applause from the girls, as was the case in the rescue from the
lake, you have given up a chance to win real distinction, for this
competition is, as you know, a notable event. But you have let it go
by for the sake of helping poor little Jack. Even she will not know
what you have given up, but your own heart and your own conscience will
be immeasurably benefited. I know this sounds like a Friday morning
lecture,” the principal smiled as she remarked, “but----” Suddenly the
“lecture” was concluded, silently with a loving arm crushing affection
upon Gloria’s unsteady shoulder while Jane’s promised reward, in the
shape of happy satisfaction, broke through the shadows.
“Thank you, Miss Alton,” murmured Gloria. “It has been worth while.”
“And about Miss Morgan, your devoted Jane,” Miss Alton changed her tone
to suit the happier prospect. “Would you really like to ask her to stay
over?”
“I should love to.”
“Then do, my dear. It will be such a help if she consents to do so, for
Jack needs little attentions, and will need them for several days. She
barely escaped pneumonia. What a blessing you found her when you did.
You are having a rather eventful career for a first year girl,” she
added, “but perhaps you have guessed that even Altmount has been more
generous in admitting pupils since our many war lessons have liberated
us socially. We have with us now girls who have longed for just the
chance we are giving them. They have always had means but----” She
paused and smiled, Gloria thought, like a picture of the modern mother,
for Miss Alton was a fine looking woman, and her simplicity of style
more directly marked her personal distinction.
What girls besides Jack, Gloria wondered, could be among those referred
to as coming under the extended social scale? Some one else must be in
the school, was she “In Cog”? Some one other than Jack must have owned
the trunk, the lost and found red stones and the necklace. But who
could that be?
“I’ll run right back and ask Jane about staying,” Gloria said, this new
thought almost banishing the essay’s disappointment. “It would seem so
like home to have Jane near,” she added. “You know, Miss Alton, she is
really my near-mother,” and there was no pretense in Gloria’s sincerity.
Imagine Jane, the demure, installed in Jack’s room, garbed in a great,
white over-all apron, and armed with authority equal to that of any
professional nurse!
She was delighted to stay, her one germ of unhappiness resulted from an
enforced idleness, for since Gloria’s home had been disrupted, by Mr.
Doane’s foreign commission and Gloria’s boarding school plans, Jane
Morgan found little to do that really satisfied her natural energy. She
had visited her sister’s home, did all she could to mend, patch and
darn for the children there, but the confusion was so different from
the quietude of Gloria’s home, that she soon found it disquieting.
“And she adores nursing,” Gloria told Trixy. “Don’t you remember how
she took charge when Aunt Harriet was sick?”
“And don’t you remember how she took charge when Marty’s mother was
sick? The time you and I became Red Cross nurses and used our best car
for an ambulance?”
This recalled an interesting incident of the previous year and both
girls now chatted and laughed merrily over the recollection.
“There goes the mail bag,” said Trixy innocently, when it was almost
evening and the eventful day was nearing a close.
“Yes, with the--essays,” said Gloria, her eyes following Sam’s car as
he rattled along down the roadway.
“Oh, Glo dear. I didn’t mean----” Trixy’s voice was contrite.
“It’s perfectly all right, Trix,” declared Gloria brushing a speck from
the window before her. “You couldn’t hurt my feelings about that old
essay if you hit me on the head with the--bloated mail bag. I don’t
mind it a bit. I’m cured, absolutely. And Miss Alton said a lot of nice
things----”
“I should think she well might.”
“She did. And I guess the dear old dad would heartily approve if he
knew--all the circumstances.”
“If it takes me a week to write it, I’ll make it my special business
to see that he _does_ know all the circumstances.” Trixy was very
pretty in her indignation.
“Well, anyhow I’ve got Jane, perhaps for days,” reasoned Gloria. “Do
you suppose, Trix, that Miss Alton did that just to be nice?”
“I do not. I know she did it to be nice to Jack, and to her overworked,
frail and otherwise feeble assistants. Did you ever see any one wilt
like little Whisper Taylor after an indifferent night?”
“She did look peaked. How do you like Jane on the staff?”
“She’s worth a dozen mere intellectuals,” declared Trixy. “But, Glo,
what are we going to do about the Pirate’s Daughter? It’s like a game
of hide-and-seek.”
“Just wait. Wait and she’ll betray herself, for she is around here some
place and she isn’t Jack, that’s certain.”
“Nor Pat, nor Jean, nor----”
“No use guessing. I’m gray haired internally trying to guess. But,
Trixy, has it occurred to you that the trail of the necklace is
rather--spoofy? How could any one trace a lost article, supposed to be
hidden in the mountains by means of a stupid string of beads?”
“It is queer. Maybe, after all, Glo, we’ve been fooled. Perhaps Mrs.
Corday really isn’t responsible.”
“Well, if she isn’t, I’m sorry for her, of course,” said Gloria, “but I
was so glad to have her grab the beads and run for that train----”
“That you don’t care whether she unearths a pirate’s cave or not.”
“No.”
“I don’t blame you. To listen to all that wild story in the Rookery
while----”
“Hush, love! The mail bag’s gone.” A fanciful little step described
as a “gambol” corroborated Gloria’s determined good humor. The essay
episode was positively closed.
“What did Jack say about not seeing her mother?” Trixy presently asked.
“You were privileged to talk with her, I noticed. That comes of having
a Nurse Jane.”
“I believe, Trix,” confided Gloria, “that Jack heard somehow about
my--blighted hope. She must have felt herself to blame about this
morning’s work, and that was why she changed her mind about seeing the
Steppy. I had a hard time trying to make her feel all right about it.
She only abandoned the essay idea herself last night. But as a matter
of fact, Trix, I had a wonderful time at the Rookery! You should have
seen the elegant Mrs. Corday!”
“Another special privilege of yours. I’m sure she was as good as a
musical comedy.”
“Better, and no offense intended either,” declared Gloria. “Well, since
the show is over, let’s go hunt up a couple of real girls. I am just
dying to hear Pat splutter----”
But they found, on the door of Pat’s room, a sign worded:
GONE FOR THE AFTERNOON. CALL AT THE KITCHEN.
“The kitchen,” repeated Trixy.
“You started that fad,” Gloria reminded her. “It’s rather a cold day.
Maybe they’re making--soup.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad, although I would prefer hot chocolate. However,
let’s find out,” moved Trixy.
Since permission had been given to use the kitchen occasionally, a new
set of rules was promulgated. This, among items, included the following:
“No splattering allowed on range,” also, “All utensils must be
thoroughly cleaned and put away in an orderly manner. The floor must be
carefully brushed, towels or cloths rinsed and dish mops placed in the
sunniest window.” But none of this deterred the girls from having jolly
times in the big, bright room, among shining pans and mysterious tools,
queer looking utensils and assorted aluminums, although none were to be
even handled without special permission of the staff of the culinary
department.
“I smell it!” announced Glory, en route. “It’s pop corn!”
“Without doubt,” agreed Trixy. “Are we invited?”
“I hear Pat’s voice, so we are. I’ll also offer to pay for the corn. I
just have got to do something rash to wind up this perfect day,” set
forth Gloria.
A hail greeted the entrants to the kitchen.
“Say it with pop corn! We’re on the last round!” shouted Pat, “and
Maud’s ahead. Listen to her popper! It’s a regular gatling gun. If
they only knew about that when war was on! Come over here, Glo dear,
and sitteth beside me. I’m grinding out the record with this yar egg
beater----”
A volley from the egg beater announced the contest closed, with Maud
Hunter’s popper full of white puffs “without any, or at least without
many, blanks,” while her opponent, Margie Baker, blamed bad corn and an
uncertain fire for her failure to score.
“But it’s all first rate,” declared the official taster, Georgia
Graham, trying to sprinkle salt over the big yellow bowl of pop corn
and pour butter upon it, simultaneously.
“It’s the Dove’s treat,” Pat explained. “We’re all through for the day
and, my word! But we are tired! Those who haven’t been essaying have
been cramming---- How’s Jack?”
Trixy and Gloria gratefully took places on the stationary wash tubs and
received their share of pop corn on nice, clean enamel pie tins. Such
a treat could only be enjoyed in a school like Altmount, small enough
and large enough for the necessary social conditions. Twenty girls were
crowded into the kitchen, with the understanding that all would be out,
and that they would leave things “just as they had found them,” before
five o’clock.
Until that time the pop corn squad did full justice to the confidence
reposed in them, and as Pat put it “a pleasant time was had by all,”
although Margie choked on a blank, and Isobel fell off the step ladder,
and Louise nearly flooded the place by turning on the hot water faucet
and losing the trail in a whirl-wind of steam.
Otherwise there were no accidents.
Neither were there any appetites for dinner that evening, among the
reckless Doves.