A LEADING QUESTION
Action came while Phil and Barbara were engaged in removing at least a
third of the creamy contents of the puffs from faces, hands, necks and
even hair. They “cleaned up” amidst the laughter and gay raillery of
their friends.
“How much more must we endure?” demanded Barbara as she dried her
cleansed features with a Turkish towel and began lightly powdering them
at the mirror.
“Oh, not so much,” tantalized Jerry. “There are a few more little stunts
that——” Two imperative raps on the door sent Jerry hurrying to it. She
pushed the portiere to one side; swung open the door to confront the
tall, squarely-built sophomore whom she had nicknamed the Prime
Minister.
“Good evening,” she said in level tones. Her keen eyes were missing
nothing. Her mind leaped at once to the nature of the other girl’s
intrusion, for such it was.
“Good evening.” Her salutation was returned with haughty aggression. In
fact every line of the sophomore’s broad face and stiff, unyielding
figure spelled aggression. Her peculiarly round black eyes, blacker in
contrast to the unhealthy white of her skin, resentfully searched Jerry
up and down.
“I wish to speak to Miss Dean at once,” she demanded. “I know she is
here.” She eyed Jerry belligerently, as though to forestall a denial on
her part.
“Of course she is here. We are entertaining our friends.” Jerry’s
matter-of-fact reply brought a dull flush to Miss Peyton’s pale cheeks.
“Will you come in?” The concise invitation had a certain restraining
effect upon the frowning caller.
“No, I will not,” she refused, her own inflexion rude. “Ask Miss Dean to
come to the door. I wish to speak to her, and to you.”
“Very well.” Jerry appeared non-committal. “Just a moment.” She turned
away from the door and beckoned to Marjorie.
Marjorie left Barbara and Phil, whom she had been assisting in the
removal of the sticky traces of the puff test, and walked quickly to the
door. In that brief second on the way to it a flash of dismay visited
her. It drove from her eyes the light of laughter occasioned by Phil’s
and Barbara’s complaining nonsense as they scrubbed faces and hands.
“What is it, Jerry?” she asked as she reached her room-mate.
Jerry opened the door wider and made room for Marjorie in the doorway
beside her. “Miss Peyton has something she wishes to say to us.” Jerry’s
round face was enigmatic. Marjorie had but to glance at it to read there
what others might not.
Within the room the buzz of conversation had lessened to a mere murmur.
Muriel had been entertaining her chums with a flow of her funny
nonsense. Even she had run down suddenly, seized by the same surmise
which had occurred to her companions. Too courteous to stare boldly
toward the door, canny conjecture as to the caller’s errand temporarily
halted the will to talk.
“Good evening, Miss Peyton.” Marjorie’s straight glance into the soph’s
smouldering eyes was courteously inquiring. Ordinarily she might have
followed the greeting with a pleasantry. What she read in Julia Peyton’s
face held her silent; waiting.
“I have come to speak to you and Miss Macy about the noise you have been
making this evening,” blurted the sophomore, dropping all pretense of
courtesy. “It is not only tonight I speak of. Almost every other night
we have been annoyed by the noise in your room. It makes study
impossible. We have endured it without complaining, but we have had
every reason for reporting it. Tonight you and your friends have been
more annoying than usual. I decided the time had come to let you know
it.”
Before she could say more Marjorie broke in evenly with: “It is true
that there is a larger party of girls than usual in our room tonight. We
have been conducting an informal meeting of a club of which we are
members. We spoke to Miss Remson beforehand, asking permission to hold
the meeting in our room. We——”
“Oh, _Miss Remson_!” was the contemptuous exclamation. “She cannot be
depended upon for fairness. We understand where her sympathies lie. We
have spoken to her——” The sophomore stopped abruptly, caught in a
contradiction of her own previous statement of not having complained.
“Pardon me. I understood you to say that you had not complained.” Jerry
could not resist a lightning opportunity to discomfit the other girl.
“I should have said that we had not—that we—that we had not reported you
to President Matthews,” amended Miss Peyton, glancing angrily at Jerry.
Aggressive from the start she was fast losing her temper.
“I cannot allow you to accuse Miss Remson of unfairness without offering
my strongest defense in her behalf.” Righteous indignation lent
sternness to Marjorie’s clear tones. “She is never unfair. She is always
dependable. Since you have said that you reported us to her, I must
believe you. She has not mentioned the matter to us. That means she does
not consider us at fault.”
“Oh, certainly she doesn’t,” was the sarcastic retort accompanied by a
significant shrug of the square shoulders. “_That is precisely the
trouble._”
“Please allow me to finish what I had begun to say to you.” Marjorie
made a dignified little gesture. “On the day when Miss Monroe reported
Miss Forbes and a few of us who were in her room welcoming her back to
college, we talked things over with Miss Remson. Since then we have been
more careful not to give offense to other students at the Hall than at
any time during our past four years at Hamilton. Miss Remson gave us
heavy portieres to hang before the doors when we expected to entertain a
number of girls. These deaden the sound. You can see for yourself how
heavy and closely-woven this one is.” Marjorie took hold of a fold of
the portiere. “I purposely went into the hall tonight and closed the
door after me to find out if we were too noisy. I was surprised at the
small amount of noise that came from our room.”
“I am surprised to hear such statements from a post graduate.” Julia
Peyton gave a discomfited sarcastic laugh. “Frankly, Miss Dean, I have
been so disappointed in you. When first I came to Hamilton I had the
greatest respect for you. I regret that I should have been obliged to
change that opinion.” Julia believed she had said something extremely
telling. “Yes; and I do not approve of the way your post graduate
friends have tried to run Wayland Hall. It surely does not add to Miss
Langly’s credit as a member of the faculty,” she ended in malicious
triumph. She was inwardly furious at Marjorie’s and Jerry’s quiet but
determined defense of their own conduct.
“Your harsh opinion of our friends is not justified.” Marjorie’s curt
proud tones contained censure. “Let me advise you to be careful and not
repeat such opinions on the campus. Our friends would not suffer as a
result. They are known to be true to the traditions of Hamilton. You
would merely succeed in creating unpleasantness for yourself.”
“I don’t care for your advice.” Miss Peyton blazed into sudden wrath.
“You are only trying to frighten me into not reporting you and your
friends. You meant yourself, too, but you were clever enough not to
include yourself in your remarks. I shall report the whole affair to
President Matthews; not later than tomorrow morning.” She whirled
angrily; started across the hall.
“Wait a minute.” Something in Jerry’s tone arrested the miffed soph’s
progress. “I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Well?” Miss Peyton put untold frost into the interrogation.
“Why”—Jerry paused—“if you and your room-mate were so greatly disturbed
by our noise, did you not close your door? That would have at least
helped considerably to shut out the noise.”
“Our door was—” began the soph furiously.
“Partly open,” supplied Jerry. “I am quite sure it was,” she continued
sweetly, “because I happened to go into the hall and saw for myself.”
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