KNOTTY PROBLEMS.
"I tell you things do hum in this college!" exclaimed Judy Kean, closing
a book she had been reading and tossing it onto the couch with a sigh of
deep content.
"I don't see how you can tell anything about it, Judy," said Nance
severely. "You've been so absorbed in 'The Broad Highway' every spare
moment you've had for the last two days that you might as well have been
in Kalamazoo as in college."
"Nance, you do surely tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but
the truth," said Judy good naturedly. "I know I have the novel habit
badly. It's because I had no restraint put upon me in my youth, and if I
get a really good book like this one, I just let duty slide."
"Why don't you put your talents to some use and write, then?" demanded
Nance, who enjoyed preaching to her friends.
"Art is more to my taste," answered Judy.
"Well, art is long and time is fleeting. Why don't you get busy and do
something?" exclaimed the other vehemently. "What do you intend to be?"
Judy had a trick of raising her eyebrows and frowning at the same time,
which gave her a serio-comic expression and invested her most earnest
speeches with a touch of humor. But she did not reply to Nance's
question, having spent most of her life indulging her very excellent
taste without much thought for the future.
"What do you intend to be?" she asked presently of Nance, who had her
whole future mapped out in blocks: four years at college, two years
studying languages in Europe, four years as teacher in a good school,
then as principal, perhaps, and next as owner of a school of her own.
"Why, I expect to teach languages," said Nance without a moment's
hesitation.
"Of course, a teacher. I might have known!" cried Judy. "You've
commenced already on me--your earliest pupil!
"'Teacher, teacher, why am I so happy, happy, happy,
In my Sunday school?'"
She broke off with her song suddenly and seized Nance's hand.
"Please don't scold me, Nance, dear. I know life isn't all play, and
that college is a serious business if one expects to take the whole four
years' course. I've already had a warning. It came this morning. It's
because I've been cutting classes. And I have been entirely miserable.
That's the reason I've been so immersed in 'The Broad Highway.' I've
been trying to drown my sorrows in romance. I know I'm not clever----"
"Nonsense," interrupted the other impatiently. "You are too clever, you
silly child. That's what is the matter with you, but you don't know how
to work. You have no system. What you really need is a good tutor. You
must learn to concentrate----"
"Concentrate," laughed Judy. "That's something I never could do. As soon
as I try my thoughts go skylarking."
"How do you do it?"
"Well, I sit very still and dig my toes into the soles of my shoes and
my finger nails into the palms of my hands and say over and over the
thing I'm trying to concentrate on."
The girls were still laughing joyously when Molly came in. Her face
wore an expression of unwonted seriousness, and she was frowning
slightly. Three things had happened that morning which worried her
considerably.
The first shock came before breakfast when she had looked in her
handkerchief box where she kept her funds promiscuously mixed up with
handkerchiefs and orris root sachet bags and found one crumpled dollar
bill and not a cent more. There was a kind of blind spot in Molly's
brain where money was concerned, little of it as she had possessed in
her life. She never could remember exactly how much she had on hand, and
change was a meaningless thing to her. And now it was something of a
blow to her to find that one dollar must bridge over the month's
expenses, or she must write home for more, a thing she did not wish to
do, remembering the two acres of apple orchard which had been sunk in
her education.
"And it's all gone in silk attire and riotous living," she said to
herself, for she had bought herself ten yards of a heavenly sky blue
crepey material which she and Nance proposed to make into a grand
costume, also she had entertained numbers of friends at various times
to sundaes in the village. One of the other of her triple worries was a
note she had received that morning from Judith Blount, and the third was
another note, about both of which she intended to ask the advice of her
two most intimate friends.
"What's bothering you, child?" demanded Judy, quick to notice any change
in her adored Molly's face.
"Oh, several things. These two notes for one." She drew two envelopes
from her pocket and opening the first one, began to read aloud:
"'DEAR MISS BROWN:
"'Since you come of a family of cooks and are expert on the subject,
I am going to ask you to take charge of a little dinner I am giving
to-morrow night in my rooms to my brother and some friends. I shall
expect you to be chief cook, but not bottle-washer. You'll have an
assistant for that; but I'd like you to wait on the table, seeing
you are so good at those things. Don't bother about cap and apron.
I have them.
"'Yours with thanks in advance,
"'JUDITH BLOUNT.'"
The note was written on heavy cream-colored paper with two Greek letters
embossed at the top in dark blue. Judith lived in the Beta Phi House,
which was divided into apartments, and occupied by eight decidedly
well-to-do girls, the richest girls in college, as a matter of fact. It
was called "The Millionaire's Club," and was known to be the abode of
snobbishness, although Molly, who had been there once to a tea, had been
entirely unconscious of this spirit.
Judy and Nance were speechless with indignation after Molly had finished
reading the note.
"What do you think of that?" she exclaimed, breaking the silence.
"It's a rank insult," cried Nance.
"If you were a man, you could challenge her to a duel," cried Judy; "but
being a girl, you'll have to take it out in ignoring her."
"It's written in such a matter-of-fact way," continued Molly, "that I
can't believe it's entirely unusual. After sober, second thought, I
believe I'll ask Sallie before I answer it."
"Speaking of angels--there is Sallie!" cried Judy, as that young woman
herself hurried past the door on her way to a class.
"What is it? Make it quick. I'm late now!" ejaculated Sallie, popping
her head in at the door with a smile on her face to counteract her
abrupt manner. "Who's in trouble now?"
The three freshmen stood silently about her while she perused Judith's
note.
"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" burst out Judy with hot
indignation.
"Oh, yes, lots of times, little one. It's quite customary for freshmen
to act as waitresses when girls in the older classes entertain in their
rooms. The freshies like to do it because they get such good food. I do
think this note is expressed, well--rather unfortunately. It has a sort
of between-the-lines superiority. But Judith is always like that. You
just have to take her as you find her and ignore her faults. You'd
better accept, Molly, with good grace. You'll enjoy the food, too.
To-morrow--let me see, that's New England boiled dinner night, isn't it?
You'll probably have beefsteak and mushrooms and grape fruit and ice
cream and all the delicacies of the season."
"Very well, if you advise it, I'll accept, like a lady," said Molly
resignedly.
"It's customary," answered Sallie, smiling cheerfully and waving her
hand as she hurried down the hall.
"Well, that's settled," continued Molly sighing. Somehow, Judith Blount
did get on her nerves. "Now, the other note is even more serious in a
way. Listen to this."
Before reading it, she carefully closed the door, drew the other girls
into the far end of the room and began in a low voice:
"'DEAR MISS BROWN:
"'May I have the pleasure of being your escort to the
sophomore-freshman ball? Let me know whether you intend to wear
one of your cerulean shades. The carriage will stop for us at
eight o'clock. You might leave the answer at my door to-night.
"'Yours faithfully,
"'FRANCES ANDREWS.'"
The girls looked at each other in consternation.
"What's to be done?"
"Say you have another engagement," advised Judy, who was not averse at
times to telling polite fibs in order to extricate herself from a
difficulty. But Molly was the very soul of truth, and even small fibs
were not in her line.
"Hasn't any one else asked you yet?" asked Nance.
"No; you see, it's a week off, and I suppose they are just beginning to
think of partners now."
"All I can say is that if you do go with her you are done for,"
announced Nance solemnly.
Molly sat down in the Morris chair and wrinkled her brows.
"I do wish she hadn't," she said.
"She just regards you as a sort of life preserver," exclaimed Judy.
"She's trying to keep above the surface by holding on to you. If I were
you, I wouldn't be bothered with her."
"Of course, I know," said Molly, "that Frances Andrews did something
last year that put her in the black books with her class. She's trying
to live it down, and they are trying to freeze her out. Nobody has
anything to do with her, and she's not invited to anything except the
big entertainments like this. I can't help feeling sorry for her, and I
don't see how it would do me any harm to go with her. But I just don't
want to go, that's all. I'd rather take a beating than go."
"Well, then you are a chump for considering it!" exclaimed Judy, whose
self-indulgent nature had little sympathy for people who would do
uncomfortable things.
"Then, on the other hand," continued Molly, "suppose my going would help
her a little, don't you think it would be mean to turn her down? Oh, say
you think I ought to do it, because I'm going to, hard as it seems."
Nance went over and put her arms around her friend, quite an unusual
demonstration with her, while Judy seized her hand and patted it
tenderly.
"Really, Molly, you are quite the nicest person in the world," she
exclaimed. Then she added: "By the way, Molly, can you spare the time to
tutor me for a month or so? I don't know what the rates are, but we can
settle about that later. Nance tells me I must get busy or else take my
walking papers. I'd be afraid of a strange tutor. I'm a timid creature.
But I think I might manage to learn a few things from you, Molly, dear."
Did Judy understand the look of immense relief which instantly appeared
on Molly's sensitive face? If she did she made no sign.
"Now, don't say no," she went on. "I know you are awfully busy, and all
that, but it would be just an act of common charity."
"Say no?" cried Molly, laughing lightly. "I can hardly wait to say yes,"
and she cheerfully got out six pairs of muddy boots from the closet,
enveloped herself in a large apron, slipped on a pair of old gloves and
went to work to clean and black them. Molly had become official
bootblack at Queen's Cottage at ten cents a pair when they were not
muddy, and fifteen cents when they were.
When she had completed her lowly job she sat down at her desk and wrote
two notes.
One was to Judith Blount, in which she accepted her invitation to wait
at table in the most polite and correct terms, and signed her name "Mary
Carmichael Washington Brown."
The second letter, which was to Frances Andrews, was also a note of
acceptance.
Then Molly removed her collar, rolled up her sleeves, kicked off her
pumps--a signal that she was going to begin work--and sat down to cram
mathematics,--the very hardest thing in life to her and the subject
which was to be a stumbling block in her progress always.