LITTLE HOPE FOR P. G.’S
“Stung, and by the truth!” Jerry gave an exultant skip into their room
behind Marjorie and hastily closed the door. Miss Peyton, confronted by
unassailable truth, had no defense ready. She glared wrathfully at Jerry
and Marjorie and hurriedly disappeared into her room.
“We can guess what it’s all about,” greeted Muriel Harding. “We ought to
be shocked and amazed, Marvelous Manager, at _you_ for fussing. We might
expect it of Jeremiah.”
“You might; you bet you might. I’d have done all the fussing this time
if Marjorie hadn’t begun answering that trouble hunter first. Believe me
Leila, the first attack in the Battle of Wayland Hall was made right at
our door. I’m happy to announce that the enemy was sent fleeing across
the hall with one good hot shot fired by the Travelers’ friend, J. J. G.
Macy. _I’m the one._” Jerry proudly thumped her chest.
“Could you hear what we were saying?” Marjorie glanced interestedly
about the half circle of girls, eagerly formed around her. “I know you
would try _not_ to listen.”
“We could hear only a word now and then,” Vera made haste to answer. “Of
course it was a complaint about us. What is the matter with these sophs?
They weren’t so obstreperous last year as freshies?”
“I took Miss Peyton to the freshman hop last year,” said Lillian
Wenderblatt. “As a Traveler in the midst of Travelers I may say she was
very ungracious to me. I accepted her rudeness as not having been
intentional; laid it to her natural manner. Since I’ve heard her rated
as the rudest student on the campus.”
“Gussie Forbes says that the freshies who made life hard for her and her
pals last year are the sophs who are trying to do it again this year,”
said Phyllis Moore.
“Gussie is a wise child. And with Muriel’s celebrated Ice Queen to add
to the snarl what hope is there for a few poor old P. G. ladies who had
hoped to live out their days in peace on the campus? Oh, wurra, wurra!”
Leila crossed her hands over her breast, clutched her shoulders with her
fingers, thrust out her chin and rocked herself to and fro with the
appearance of a mourning old woman.
“What a dandy old woman you make, Leila. I’m going to cast you for an
old hag part in a melodrama, if I can find a good one. The campus is
howling for a truly lurid one with outlaws, an abducted child, a lost
heiress, an old hag and various other nice pleasant little characters.”
Robin was always on the lookout for features. “We can ask three dollars
a seat for a zipping old ‘dramer’ and crowd the gym.”
“It’s a good deal more pleasant to talk of shows than fusses,” Marjorie
declared, smiling at Robin’s latest ambition. Glancing up at the wall
clock she gave a quick exclamation. “Jerry,” she cried, “we’ll have to
trot out the spread instanter!”
“Don’t I know it. I’ve already begun.” Jerry made a dive toward her
closet.
“What about those two stunts for the candidates?” Lucy Warner caught
Jerry by an arm.
“Why, Luciferous, how you do like to see people get into trouble, don’t
you?” grinned Jerry.
Lucy’s grave, studious face relaxed into the wide, utterly pleased smile
which Muriel and Jerry both enjoyed calling to it. She broke into the
funny little half giggle, half gurgle which was always productive of
laughter in others.
“The _idea_, _Luciferous_, of your calling attention to poor Barbara and
me after all we’ve suffered!” Phil turned reproachful blue eyes on Lucy.
“Oh, I’m not so mean as you think me,” Lucy’s odd greenish eyes flashed
warm lights of fun. “It was a case of either stunts or eats. It’s going
to be eats, so good night stunts.”
“‘Good night stunts,’” repeated Muriel. “You never learned them words
from Prexy Matthews, Luciferous.”
“I should hope not,” chuckled Lucy. “All the slang I know I learned from
you and Jeremiah. Kindly remember that.”
“I wish to forget it immediately,” Muriel looked askance at the
accusation.
With the hands of the clock pointing to ten minutes to ten Marjorie and
Jerry, with Leila’s and Vera’s help rushed the eatables for the spread
to the center table. Leila had furnished a box of Irish sweet crackers
and a case of imported ginger ale. The ginger ale had arrived only the
day before from across the ocean. Sweet pickles, stuffed olives, stuffed
dates, salted almonds and small fancy cakes comprised the lay-out. There
had been no time to make sandwiches.
Supplied with paper napkins and paper plates the guests helped
themselves to the spread. They formed in an irregular group on each side
of Jerry’s couch which held its usual four of their number. Marjorie and
Jerry seated themselves on the floor in front of the couch bed.
Unintentionally they formed the center of the group.
“At last you can tell us what was said at the door,” sighed Robin. “It
isn’t curious to want to know, since we are concerned in it, too.”
“I wish you to know,” Marjorie reflectively bit into a maccaroon. “I’ll
try to repeat as exactly as I can what was said. Then you’ll understand
the situation better.” She recounted the conversation which had taken
place at the door between herself and Miss Peyton.
“Report us to Prexy; the idea!” scoffed Lillian Wenderblatt. “She is an
ambitious trouble hunter. She’ll find plenty of troubles if she carries
any such tale to him.”
“I should say as much!” was Vera’s indignant cry. “Imagine a soph
reporting P. G.’s and double P. G.’s and faculty and the P. G. daughter
of Professor Wenderblatt! Not to mention Prexy’s own indispensible
private secretary! And for what? No vestige of a reason.”
“If she does report us, Prexy’s own indispensible private secretary will
take action,” threatened Lucy. “I’d be the first person the president
would ask about it. If Miss Peyton went to see him in person I’d hear of
it from him afterward; I’m sure. If she wrote him, I’d see the letter
and take the answer he dictated. I’d ask him if I might tell you girls
about it, too.” The light of devotion shone strongly in Lucy’s face.
“Who’s Prexy? We’re not in awe of him with our Luciferous on the job,”
was Ronny’s confident declaration. “Long may she flourish.” She held up
her glass of ginger ale. The others followed her example, careful,
however, to “Drink her down” with repressed enthusiasm.
“I ought to be ashamed to face my classes tomorrow with the sword of
Miss Peyton’s disapproval hanging over my head,” Kathie remarked in the
pleasant lull that followed the drinking of the toast to Lucy.
“But are you?” quizzed Muriel. “I’m afraid from your tone that you
aren’t.”
“Your fears are well grounded,” laughed Kathie. “The sophs and freshies
at the Hall, judging from accounts, seem to be positively childish,” she
continued in a more serious way. “They’re not snobs as the Sans were.
There’s some hope for them. I’ll venture to say that before next June
Marvelous Manager will have managed them.” Her prediction was one of
confident affection.
“Such a foolish name; and you will say it,” scolded Marjorie and not
quite in jest. “A fine manager I am. I can’t even manage my own affairs.
I can’t decide whether to go home for Thanksgiving, or stay here,” she
added in self-derision.
“One thing we _must_ decide before we separate,” Ronny said with energy.
“Where shall we meet tomorrow night? Remember we shall be twenty-nine
strong. We can’t hold the meeting in one of our rooms. We must have
plenty of space for our new Travelers. The living room down stairs isn’t
private enough. Has anyone a really brilliant suggestion. No other kind
is desired. Save your breath.”
“I have. Hold the meeting in our library,” proposed Lillian Wenderblatt.
“I’ll put a sign on the library door before dinner tomorrow night:
‘Professor Wenderblatt: Keep Out,’ and lead Father to the door to look
at it. Then he won’t bolt into the room with maybe two or three other
professors in the middle of our meeting.”
Lillian’s proposal was received with approbation and accepted with
alacrity. Leila, Vera, Robin and Lillian were chosen to notify the
fortunate seniors of the honor in store for them. The rest of the
details of the meeting were quickly arranged. Ten-thirty was not far
off.
“Don’t imagine for a minute that you have seen the last of your
initiation,” Jerry informed Phil and Barbara, a threatening gleam in her
eye. “There are still those two degrees, you know.”
“Oh, forget them. We shall,” Phil made untroubled return.
“You may forget, but I—nevv-vur.” Jerry struck an attitude.
“Nor I.” Muriel dramatically tapped her chest and glared at Phil.
“’Sdeath to all quitters,” she hissed.
“Oh, glorious for my melodrama!” admired Robin. “You and Jeremiah shall
be the villains.”
“I choose to be the principal, double-dyed scoundrel of the show,”
stipulated Muriel, “or else I’ll refuse to see your play. I spurn
anything and everything but complete villainy.”
“Give me a better part than Muriel or I won’t act,” balked Jerry.
“I’m going to fly before any more actors go on a strike,” Robin raised a
protesting hand. “I must look out for Page and Dean’s melodramer.”
“Only birds, insects, aviators and ‘sich’ fly,” criticized Phil. “I
simply must get back at you for not giving me a cousinly warning of what
was in store for me tonight.”
“Seniors, P. G.’s and faculty will add to the flying classification or
lose what shreds of reputation for integrity they have left,” laughed
Kathie.
“An added word of warning:—Hotfoot it lightly.” Jerry’s forceful if
inelegant injunction sent the initiation party down the hall dutifully
smothering their easily summoned mirth. Jerry accompanied the party to
the head of the stairs. She returned to the room, keeping an alert watch
as she walked on a certain door across the hall. This time she noted
with satisfaction that it was tightly closed.
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