TOGETHER AGAIN.
Two weeks after Alice Endicott had received her startling invitation to
visit her aunt at the latter’s expense, Doris Harris sat in the
living-room of her cozy little Philadelphia house, awaiting the arrival
of all the girls concerned. The party was to be a week-end one, half of
the girls staying at her house, and half at the home of her
sister-in-law, Marie Louise Harris, with whom they had lived during the
preceding summer while conducting the tea-room.
Doris looked about the attractively furnished room, with its shining
white paint and snowy curtains, its delft blue hangings and upholstery,
and smiled contentedly to herself. It would have been pleasant, she
thought, to go to college, along with the majority of the girls of the
senior patrol; but it could not have been nearly so wonderful as to be
married to the best man in the world, and to possess such a dear little
home of her own. And, after all, there would always be occasions like
this when she could manage to be with the girls again.
She heard a light step on the porch but she did not put down her fancy
work to go to the door, for she recognized it as belonging to her
sister-in-law. The girls were so intimate that neither considered
stopping to ring the bell at the other’s home. A moment later Marie
Louise opened the door.
“Anybody here yet?” she asked, crossing the room to give Doris her
customary kiss.
“No, not yet,” replied her hostess. “I sort of expect that the five
girls from Turner College will come together. But Ethel Todd will come
by herself.”
Marie Louise disappeared into the dining-room for a minute and returned
carrying a vase of roses, which she had arranged most artistically in a
wide blue china bowl. She set it down upon the table, hardly listening
to Doris’s thanks for the flowers, so eager was she to talk of the
latest development.
“Tell me more about this new idea—is it Alice’s or Marjorie’s?—I haven’t
got the gist of it yet. Ethel Todd called me up on the telephone, but
the connection was so poor—”
“I really don’t know myself,” replied Doris; “except that it is a trip
of some sort, and Alice’s aunt is paying the expenses. None of the girls
wrote to me in detail, because they all assumed that I couldn’t go.”
“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?”
“No, of course not,” replied Doris, laughingly. “I’d be too homesick.
But how about you, Marie Louise?”
“Unfortunately I’ve arranged to go on studying all summer. You know I
spoke of some such plan—well, I had already made my arrangements before
Ethel called me up. But I am crazy to see the girls and hear all about
it.”
She seated herself upon the wide window-sill so that she might catch the
first sight of her friends when they arrived. But she did not have long
to wait; in less than ten minutes Ethel Todd put in an appearance. Both
girls jumped up joyfully and hurried to the door.
“Aren’t the others here yet?” asked Ethel, as soon as the greetings had
subsided.
“No, not yet,” replied Doris. “But they won’t be long and they’re all
coming together. Now—come on upstairs, Ethel, and put your hat and coat
away, for I want you to stay here. You know,” she explained laughingly,
“I have only room enough to put up three of the girls, so three will
have to stay at Marie Louise’s.”
She led the way up the mahogany and white staircase to the dainty little
guest room at the rear of the second story, a boudoir such as any girl
would love, furnished in cream-colored painted furniture, with pink
floral decorations and pink and cream curtains at the windows. Ethel
admired it profusely.
“And did you work that bed-spread yourself?” she asked, examining
closely the applique work in a flower design, upon unbleached muslin.
“It’s simply too pretty to sleep on.”
“Oh, it will wash!” laughed Doris. “Yes, I did make it myself. I love to
do fancy-work.” Then, in the same breath, “Now tell us all about the
trip. I’m tremendously interested.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know a whole lot myself—just the bare facts that you
know. But wait till Marj and Alice get here—they’ll tell us everything.
By the way, is everybody coming?”
“Everybody but Mae,” replied Doris. “You could hardly expect so recent a
bride. In fact,” she added, “I didn’t even invite her. I knew it would
be of no use.”
“And she’s too far away—way out there in Ohio,” said Ethel. “I’m afraid
we won’t see much of her any more.”
They descended the staircase just in time to see, through the glass
door, a taxi stop in front of the house. A moment later five merry,
laughing girls jumped out of the machine and skipped up the porch steps.
Marjorie Wilkinson, the last to enter the house on account of the delay
in paying the driver, decided to make up for lost time, and seized
Ethel, Doris, and Marie Louise all at once in one inclusive hug.
“We’re all here!” she cried, joyfully. “Together now—and together all
summer! Isn’t it marvellous?”
“Yes, if only Mae were here,” said Lily, who never could forget the
absent members.
“And if Doris and I could go with you,” sighed Marie Louise.
“You can’t go?” asked Alice, her face clouding. “Oh, why not, Marie
Louise? Are you going to get married too?”
“No, indeed,” replied the other girl, laughingly. “But I am keeping on
at art school this summer.”
“What a shame!” cried several of the others at once. They were all
genuinely fond of this girl who was the latest addition to their number.
Without even removing their hats, the girls all dropped into chairs in
the living-room and continued to talk fast and furiously about their
proposed trip. It seemed that all of the college girls were planning to
go; and Marjorie’s announcement of Mrs. Remington’s acceptance added
another cause for rejoicing. Their only regret was that their two
hostesses and Mae Melville could not go.
“I honestly feel sorry for you married people!” teased Florence. “To
think that you have to miss all the fun—”
“But there are compensations,” Doris reminded her. “Maybe we feel sorry
for you!”
“Now Doris, we won’t stand for that!” retorted Alice. “And anyhow—”
“Anyhow what?” demanded the other, as Alice paused in the middle of her
remark.
“Anyhow some of us may have gone over to your side by the time we come
back. I expect some of the girls to fall for my cousins—”
But Marjorie put an end to their bantering by a call to the practical.
“That makes seven of us to go,” she said, using her fingers for the
calculation. “I should think that two machines would really be enough.”
“Yes,” answered Alice, “because we are to travel light. I forgot to tell
you that one of my aunt’s stipulations is that we wear our Girl Scout
uniforms all the time. We can express our trunks ahead, packed with the
clothing we want to wear after we get to California.”
“Then everybody will know we’re scouts?” asked Florence.
“Yes; you don’t mind, do you?”
“I’m proud of it!” replied the other, loyally.
“If you take a big seven-passenger car,” said Lily, “wouldn’t it be
possible to take my Rolls as a second? It really runs wonderfully.”
“It would do beautifully,” answered Marjorie; and all the others
approved her decision.
“Do we camp along the way, or do we expect to stop at inns and hotels?”
asked Ethel.
“Both,” replied Alice. “You see we have to be a little bit economical
because Aunt Emeline is only allowing us a certain amount for our trip;
and if we spend any more, even though it is our own money, we forfeit
our reward. So we must be rather thrifty.”
“I think it’s more fun to camp, anyhow,” said Marjorie. “Imagine Girl
Scouts running to hotels all along the way! Though it will be nice to
stop every once in a while and get a real bath!”
“Oh, you’ll have to go to a hotel in the big cities,” put in Doris, who
took as much interest in the affair as if she were going herself.
“The funniest thing is going to be refusing any help from men we happen
to meet along the road,” remarked Daisy. “I’m afraid some of them may
think we’re terribly rude.”
“And suppose we get in such a tight place we simply can’t get out,”
suggested Ethel. “What are we to do?”
“Walk miles to a garage, or trust to some women tourists to give us a
lift,” answered Marjorie, firmly.
“Trust us! Girl Scouts don’t give up easily.”
“But remember,” put in Daisy, who was still a little dubious as to the
success of the undertaking, “that we always had our own Boy Scouts to
help us before. And now we’ll be miles away!” she sighed regretfully.
“We wouldn’t call on them if they were right behind us!” asserted
Marjorie. “Oh, it’s going to be great fun—so much more than if we were
all wealthy, and could just take the trip as we pleased, without any
terms being dictated! It means that we’ve got one more chance to show
what Girl Scouts can do!”
“Well, your aunt certainly must be a queer one to think up all these
conditions,” observed Doris.
“Oh, she hasn’t much to do,” said Alice, “except to think about those
two nephews who are her heirs. I guess we’ve given her a new interest.”
“What does she look like?” asked Florence.
“I don’t know; the only picture we have is one of those old-fashioned
things in a family album. She was eighteen then, and looked
thirty-eight. You know the kind that I mean. But I have always imagined
that she resembled that fake lieutenant those boys we met on the train
fixed up for our benefit the summer we went on the ranch.”
“Speaking of boys,” interrupted Doris, “they will soon be here. And you
girls won’t even have your hats off—let alone be dressed. Don’t you
think we had better adjourn to our rooms, especially the girls who have
to go over to Marie Louise’s?”
“Right you are, Doris!” exclaimed all of her guests, hastening to carry
out her suggestion.
But if Doris thought that the presence of the boys at dinner that
evening would put a damper upon the discussion of the project, she was
mistaken. The boys, among whom were Jack Wilkinson, John Hadley, and
Dick Roberts—all intimate friends of the girls—already knew something of
the plans and showed their interest by a succession of questions. John
and Dick both looked anything but pleased.
“Why couldn’t you do something in Philadelphia?” asked Dick, sulkily.
“We had such a bully time last summer!”
“Why don’t _you_ take a motor trip to the coast?” returned
Florence. “Last year we came to you—this year you come with us! Turn
about is fair play!”
“Don’t suggest it!” protested Alice, alarmed at the very mention of such
a thing. “We’d never earn our cars with the boys following in our
trail.”
“People!” exclaimed Marjorie, suddenly struck by an inspiration. “I know
something fine! It has just occurred to me that Mae lives in a town on
the Lincoln Highway—the way we will undoubtedly go to the coast. And she
has urged us all to visit her—so couldn’t we stop on our way out, and
maybe you boys join us for a week-end?”
“Where does she live?” asked Jack, doubtfully. He was not sure of being
able to get away from the office whenever he desired.
“Lima—in Ohio,” replied Doris. “It isn’t awfully far.”
“But would it be right for a big crowd like this to descend upon her all
at once?” inquired Daisy.
“Mae wouldn’t mind,” Doris hastened to assure her. “You know she has a
rather large house—and two servants—for Tom Melville has plenty of this
world’s goods. In fact, I think she may be a little lonely, and would be
overjoyed to see you.”
“Then that settles it!” cried Marjorie. “I’ll write tomorrow and invite
ourselves.”
“But how do you know when to set the date for?” asked Florence.
“We’ll have to work it all out by mathematics,” replied the latter.
“There’s a lot of planning to be done, and equipment to be bought. We’ll
have to name a committee.”
“I propose you as chairman,” said Lily, immediately. “Because you’re our
lieutenant—and you can pick your own committee.”
“I second that motion!” exclaimed Ethel.
Just at this point Marjorie’s brother commenced to chuckle to himself,
as if he were enjoying some private joke.
“Tell us, Jack, so we can have some fun,” suggested Ethel.
“Oh, it’s nothing!” replied Jack. “Only—well, I don’t want to be a
kill-joy, or anything like that, you know; but I just couldn’t help but
think how funny it would be if somebody were playing a practical joke on
you all.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Marjorie.
“Why, suppose you went ahead and made all your plans and bought a lot of
things, and then found out in the end that the letter was all a joke—”
“You mean that you don’t believe that I have an Aunt Emeline?”
interrupted Alice.
“No, not that. With due respect to your aunt, you must admit it’s a
mighty unusual proposal for her to make to a bunch of girls she never
saw, no matter if she is as rich as all get out. The proposition’s wild
enough, but the idea of her giving each girl a runabout as a reward if
she wins through—that’s what gets me.”
“Anyone rich enough and crazy enough to pay our expenses would be crazy
enough to do anything,” said Alice.
“And she probably doesn’t expect us to win,” put in Florence.
“Well, I’d wait till I saw a check for those expenses, if I were you;
then, if it turned out to be a joke, you wouldn’t be so much out of
pocket. That’s what I mean!”
“Silly! As if we haven’t thought of those things!” exclaimed his sister.
“I’ve been pinching myself every day, expecting to wake up from a
dream—until Alice wrote a letter saying we could go, and then received
that check by return mail. Think up some other excuse to keep us home,
Jackie; that one won’t work.”
“You needn’t worry about the money, Jack,” explained Alice. “It’s safely
deposited in bank to my account!”
“Well, anyway,” Jack replied, “I object to this party’s being turned
into a business meeting. Let’s forget it—and dance!”
“Jack is right,” agreed Doris. Then, turning to her husband, “Put on a
record, Roger, and let’s begin.”
The remainder of the evening passed entirely to the boys’ satisfaction.