A STRANGE APPLICANT
"This is Harlowe House, isn't it?" was the sharp question that assailed
Grace's ears.
"Yes." Grace's eyes traveled in amazement over the curious little
stranger within her gates. She was a girl of perhaps eighteen, although
there was a strained, anxious expression in her large brown eyes that
made her look positively aged, an effect which the three deep lines in
her high projecting forehead served to emphasize. If she possessed hair
it was not visible under the small round hat of a by-gone style which
set down upon her head like a helmet. She wore a plain, cheap black
skirt and a queer, old-fashioned white blouse made with a peplum. Around
her waist was a leather belt, and on her feet were coarse heavy shoes
such as a farm laborer might wear. In one hand she carried a large
bundle, in a newspaper wrapping.
"I'm so glad. I thought I'd never get here," she said simply.
Grace and Emma exchanged amazed glances. This must be the maid. But such
a maid!
"Are you the young woman Mrs. Elwood engaged?" asked Grace politely.
The girl shook her head. "I don't know what you mean. No one engaged me.
I just came because I heard about Harlowe House and wanted to go to
college. I've passed all my high school examinations and I've a
scholarship too. They wouldn't let me come, so I ran away from home and
walked all the way here. Is it true that a girl can live at Harlowe
House without having to pay her board?" she eyed Grace with a look of
mingled anxiety and defiance.
"Oh," Grace's amazed look changed to one of interested concern, "pardon
me. I thought you were a young woman of whom Mrs. Elwood, of Wayne Hall,
had spoken."
"I don't know Mrs. Elwood. I never heard of Wayne Hall. I don't know a
soul in this town. I only know that I want to go to Overton College more
than I ever wanted anything else in my life. Do you suppose there's a
chance for me to live at Harlowe House and study? I've walked over a
hundred miles to find out," finished the queer little stranger
pleadingly.
"'Over a hundred miles!'" repeated Grace and Emma in chorus.
The girl nodded solemnly.
"You poor child!" exclaimed Emma Dean impulsively. "If your wish to be
an Overton girl brought you that distance on foot, I should say you
ought to have all the chance there is. At any rate you have applied to
the proper authority. This is Miss Harlowe, for whom Harlowe House was
named, and who is to be in charge of it. I am Miss Dean, of 19-- and now
assistant in English at Overton."
But the knowledge that she was face to face with the person who held the
privilege of being a member of Harlowe House in her hands overcame the
quaint stranger with a sudden shyness. She shifted her weight uneasily
from one foot to the other, twisted her thin, bony hands nervously,
while her forehead was corrugated afresh with deep wrinkles.
With the frank, winning smile which was one of Grace's chief charms, she
held out her hand to the other girl. "I am glad to know you," she said.
"Won't you tell me your name?"
"Mary Reynolds," returned the newcomer in a low voice, as she timidly
shook Grace's proffered hand, then Emma's.
"I shall be glad to welcome you to Harlowe House," said Grace cordially,
"provided you can fulfill the requirements necessary for entering
Overton. I am going over to Miss Wilder's office this afternoon, and if
you wish to go with me you can learn all the particulars. Until then,
however, you had better come into the house with Miss Dean and me. I am
sure you must be very tired."
"Yes, I am, but I don't mind that. I'm here and nothing else matters,"
returned the girl so fervently that Grace felt a sudden mist rise to her
eyes, and she determined, then and there, that if this curious,
destitute little stranger succeeded in measuring up to Overton's mental
requirements, she would smooth in every possible way her path, which she
foresaw would be troubled.
"And now for our triumphal entry into Harlowe House," declaimed Emma
Dean, as she and Grace picked up their luggage, and, followed by Mary
Reynolds and her huge newspaper-wrapped bundle, mounted the steps. At
the door Grace again set down her luggage. Fumbling for her latch key
she fitted it to the lock.
"What a perfectly delightful place!" was Emma's enthusiastic cry, as she
stepped into the hall which was done in oak with furnishings to match.
"Commend me to the living-room!" She poked her head inquisitively
through the soft green silk hangings and after surveying the pretty room
for an instant made a dive for the window seat. "Oh, you window seat!"
she laughed with a fine disregard for dignity.
Grace laughed with her, and queer little Mary Reynolds smiled in sheer
sympathy with Emma's irresistible drollery.
"I choose this green window seat for my boon companion," declared Emma,
curling her wiry length cosily upon it, "and may I be ever faithful to
my vows. I expect to have difficulty in protecting my claim, for I
predict this will be the most popular spot in the house. May I put up a
sign, Grace, 'This claim is staked by Emma Dean, no others need apply'?"
"You may stake it, but I won't guarantee that it will stay staked,"
replied Grace.
"Oh, yes, it will," argued Emma confidently, bouncing up and down on the
soft springy cushions. "The freshmen of Harlowe House will be so
impressed with my height, dignity and general appearance that they will
defer to me as a matter of course. One imperious look, like this, over
my glasses, and the world will be mine." She peered over her glasses at
Grace in a ludicrous fashion which was far more likely to convulse,
rather than impress, the prospective freshmen.
Even the solemn stranger giggled outright, then looked as though she had
been caught red-handed in some dreadful crime.
"I'd like to recite English in one of your classes, Emma," smiled Grace.
"Now there is just where you are wrong," retorted Emma. "I shan't have a
single amusing feature in my daily round of recitations. I shall be as
grim as grim can be and a regular slave driver as far as lessons are
concerned. Those freshmen will wish they'd never met me." Emma wagged
her head threateningly.
"Stop making such dire threats and come upstairs to see our quarters,"
commanded Grace.
Emma uncoiled herself from the window seat with alacrity and began
gathering up her belongings.
Grace turned kindly to Mary Reynolds. "If you will come upstairs with
us, Miss Reynolds, I think we can easily find a room for you. So far I
do not know just how many applications Miss Wilder has received. As I
told you, I am going over to the office after luncheon. You had better
go to your room and rest a little, then take luncheon with Miss Dean and
me and go with us to Overton Hall to see Miss Wilder, the dean."
"I--I--thank you," stammered the girl, the dull color flooding her
sunburnt cheeks. "I'm afraid--I--can't go to luncheon--with you.
I'm--not--very hungry."
Emma Dean flashed a quick, appraising glance at her from under her
eyelashes. "Neither are we," she assured the embarrassed girl, "but
still we don't care to miss luncheon entirely. You are a stranger in a
strange land, so you must be our guest, and then some day when you are a
seasoned Overtonite we'll insist on being yours."
Mary Reynolds regarded the two young women with shy, grateful eyes. "You
are so good to me. You must know, of course, that I am very poor. I have
nothing in the world but this bundle of clothes and ten dollars," she
said humbly. "It took me two years to save it, I have been so sure that
there would be some little corner of this wonderful house for me. I
can't bear to think that I may be too late. I don't know where I'd go. I
guess I'd have to try to find some place else. Do you suppose I am too
late?" Her tones vibrated with alarm.
"Of course you aren't," soothed Emma Dean. "I'm always late, but, as I
used to tell Miss Harlowe, I am hardly ever too late. You may be almost
the first girl to apply, or you may be among the latest, but not the too
latest. There, isn't that encouraging? The best thing for you to do is
to have an early luncheon and a long sleep. Suppose we go down to
Vinton's, Grace, as soon as we get the fond souvenirs of the railroad
off our faces. Then I'll come back here with Miss Reynolds and you can
go on to Overton to see Miss Wilder. My business with her will keep
until to-morrow. This little girl is too tired for interviews to-day."
"I think that's dear in you, Emma, and real wisdom too. Now let's go
upstairs, at once." Grace led the way and the trio ascended to the
second story.
"I'm going to put you in this room for the present, Miss Reynolds," said
Grace. She paused before a door that faced the head of the stairs and
threw it open. It was a pretty room, papered in dainty blue and white,
with a blue and white floor rug and white enameled furniture. There were
crisp, white dotted-swiss curtains at the windows and a sheer blue and
white ruffled cover on the dressing table, while on the walls hung
several neatly-framed water color and pen and ink sketches.
The shabby, tired girl gave a long sigh of satisfaction and weariness as
she stood in the middle of the floor, her eyes eagerly devouring the
pretty room.
"The bathroom is at the end of the hall," said Grace gently. "We'll stop
for you in about half an hour."
The other girl did not answer, and Grace and Emma slipped away, leaving
her to get used to her new surroundings.
"Well, did you ever?" asked Emma, the moment they were inside Grace's
sitting-room with the door closed.
Grace shook her head. "Poor little thing," she murmured. "She can't
possibly go about Overton in those clothes, Emma. Yet I can't offer her
any of mine. She seems independent. I am afraid she would resent it. I
wonder what her story is. Did you notice she said that 'they' wouldn't
let her go to college, so she had run away from home? Suppose some one
of her family should follow her here just after we had nicely
established her at Harlowe House? We must find out everything about her.
I won't bother her with questions while she is so tired."
"I am sure she is eighteen," declared Emma positively. "That will free
her from parental sway in this state. I think it would be a greater
tragedy if she has come too late. What is the highest number of girls
Harlowe House will accommodate?"
"Thirty-two," answered Grace.
"Then let us hope that Mary Reynolds is not unlucky thirty-three. The
sooner you go to see Miss Wilder the sooner you'll know her fate. Now
I'm going on a tour of exploration and noisy admiration. I'm sure I
haven't ohs and ahs enough to fully express my feeling of elevated
pleasure at so much magnificence. And to thing that I, ordinary,
every-day me, should be asked to become co-partner to all this." Emma
struck an attitude and launched forth into fresh extravagances over the
tastefully furnished suite of rooms.
"Emma, you ridiculous creature, wind up your lecture and get ready for
luncheon," commanded Grace affectionately.
"Not until I've seen the last saw," returned Emma firmly.
For the next ten minutes she prowled and peered, examined and admired,
to her heart's content. "Now I've seen everything," she averred, at
last, with calm satisfaction, "and I'm twice as hungry as I was. But I
can't leave off thinking what a lucky person Emma Dean is to have all
this grandeur and Grace Harlowe thrown in."
"And I can't help thinking what a lucky person Grace Harlowe is to have
Emma Dean."
"Then we're a mutual admiration society," finished Emma, "and there's no
telling where we'll leave off."
"If I didn't have to go on to Overton Hall I wouldn't wear a hat,"
sighed Grace, half an hour later, reaching reluctantly for her hat. She
and Emma had bathed their faces, rearranged their hair, and put on fresh
lingerie blouses with their tailored suits. "Are you ready, Emma? I
wonder if Miss Reynolds is. I'll stop and see."
Grace knocked lightly on the newcomer's door. It was opened immediately.
"Are you ready, Miss Reynolds?" she asked, her alert eyes noting that
the offending peplum had been tucked inside the black skirt, and that
Mary Reynolds with her hat off was a vast improvement on Mary Reynolds
with her hat on. She also observed that the girl's hair, though drawn
uncompromisingly back from her forehead, showed a decided tendency to
curl. With her usual impulsiveness she exclaimed, "Oh, you have
naturally curly hair, haven't you? It's such a pretty shade of brown. Do
let me do it for you. It's a pity not to make the most of it."
The girl regarded her with grave surprise. "Are you making fun of me?"
she asked seriously.
"'Making fun of you,'" repeated Grace. "I should say not. I think you
have beautiful hair. Why, what is it, Miss Reynolds?" For, with a queer,
choking cry, the odd little stranger threw herself face downward on the
bed and sobbed disconsolately.
Grace stood silent, watching the sob-wracked figure with puzzled,
sympathetic eyes. Emma appeared in the doorway, her eyebrows elevated in
astonishment. Grace motioned for her to come in. The girl on the bed
wept on, while the two young women waited patiently for her sobs to
cease.
Suddenly she sat up with a jerk, and dashed her hand across her eyes.
"I'm sorry--I--was so--so--silly," she faltered, "but I couldn't help
it. No one ever told me that I was anything but plain and ugly before."
"You poor little thing," sympathized Emma.
Grace sat down on the bed beside Mary and put her arm across the thin
shoulders. "Cheer up," she said brightly. "I am sure you are going to be
happy at Overton. You feel blue just now because you are tired and
hungry. Let me fix your hair and we'll hurry to Vinton's as fast as ever
we can. I'm simply starved."
Mary Reynolds obediently sat on the chair Grace placed for her and the
hair dressing began. Grace and Emma both exclaimed in admiration as
Grace unbraided the soft-golden brown hair, which, once free, broke into
waves and curls.
"Did you ever see a prettier head of hair?" exclaimed Emma.
"I think it would look best combed low over her forehead, don't you?"
asked Grace.
Emma nodded her approval as Grace, with deft fingers, arranged the thick
curly locks in a strictly smart fashion which completely changed Mary
Reynolds' forlorn appearance.
"Now look in the glass," directed Grace, when she had finished.
Mary gazed earnestly at her new self. "It can't be me," she said with a
pardonable disregard of English.
"But it is," Grace assured her. "You must learn to do your hair like
that and wear it so. Now let me put a tiny bit of powder on your face to
scare away the tear stains and we'll be off."
The obnoxious helmet-like hat did not seem so unbecoming, now that
Mary's curls peeped from under it, and Grace felt a certain degree of
satisfaction in her efforts to make the new girl at least presentable.
She decided that once her large brown eyes had lost their scared,
anxious expression and her thin face had grown plump, Mary would be
really pretty.
During luncheon at Vinton's Grace quietly studied her charge. There was
something about Mary that reminded one of Ruth Denton, she decided. She
and Emma made every effort to put the prospective freshman at her ease.
By common consent they refrained from asking any questions likely to
produce another flood of tears. As for Mary herself, although visibly
embarrassed at the ultra-smartness of Vinton's, the attention of the
waiter, and the puzzling array of knives, forks and spoons, she managed,
by watching Grace and Emma, to acquit herself with credit. Thanks to
Emma's never-failing flow of humorous remarks the luncheon proved to be
a merry meal and before it ended the forlorn girl looked almost happy.
"I'll see you later," said Grace, as they paused for a moment in front
of Vinton's. "Emma, I leave Miss Reynolds in your care."
"I accept the responsibility," declared Emma, flourishing her parasol in
fantastic salute. "I'm going to march her home and put her to bed."
"While I go on to Overton Hall to learn her fate," smiled Grace.
"Good-bye. You may expect me when you see me."
Grace swung across the campus toward Overton Hall at her usual brisk
pace. A few moments more and she would be fairly launched in her new
undertaking. She had no desire to run out to meet the future, yet she
could not refrain from wondering what her first year on the campus would
bring her. So far it had brought her Mary Reynolds, but somewhere in the
world there were thirty-one other girls whose faces were set toward
Overton and Harlowe House.
A peculiar wave of dismay swept over Grace at the thought of actually
being responsible for the welfare of so many persons. The old saying
concerning the rushing in of fools where angels walk warily came
involuntarily to her mind. Then she laughed and squaring her capable
shoulders murmured half aloud, "I'm neither a fool nor an angel. I'm
just Grace Harlowe, a 'mere ordinary human being,' as Hippy would put
it. I'm not going to be so silly as to expect to get along with a whole
houseful of girls without some friction. Like the gardens Anne and I
planted away back in our freshman year, there are sure to be a few weeds
among the flowers."