Kitabı oku: «Marjorie Dean, College Freshman», sayfa 10
Unbidden tears crowded to her eyes as the judge ended with fine dramatic expression: “Brede ye, therefore sweete maids, no vanitye of the mind, but, say ye raythere, at even, a prayer of thankfulnesse for the gifte of Beautye, by the grace of God.” The emotional side of her nature touched by the fineness of the sentiment, she forgot herself as its object.
A group of Silverton Hall girls, headed by Portia Graham and Robin Page, gathered to offer their warm congratulations. Entirely against her will, Marjorie Dean, Hamilton College freshman, had been accorded an honor which she had neither expected nor desired.
CHAPTER XX. – LIVING UP TO TRADITION
To be ignored on one’s arrival at Hamilton and in less than six weeks to be acclaimed the college beauty seemed the very irony of fate to Marjorie. The week following the freshman frolic was a hard one for her. Used to going unostentatiously about with her chums, she now found herself continually in the limelight. Whenever she appeared on the campus she had the uncomfortable feeling that every movement of hers was being watched.
“You may thank your stars that you are at college where the newspapers aren’t allowed to trespass,” Ronny had laughingly assured her when she complained. Nevertheless she was far from pleased when a prominent illustrator wrote her a polite note asking permission to make sketches of her. Worse still, she received later a letter from a New York theatrical manager offering her an engagement in a musical comedy he was about to launch. How either man had come into knowledge of her name she could not imagine.
While she had been deeply annoyed at the artist’s note, she grew angry at the temerity of the theatrical manager and promptly tore the letter into shreds. How she wished that she had never allowed herself to be dragged into that foolish beauty contest. Afterward Leila had candidly owned to Marjorie her part in the affair. While Marjorie had been obliged to laugh at the Irish girl’s clever move against the Sans, she had wondered whether she really liked Leila. Instead of being pleased over her triumph, she was distinctly put out about it.
“I never saw you so near to being really downright cross as you’ve been since that old beauty contest,” observed Jerry one afternoon in late October, as Marjorie entered the room, a frown between her brows, a tired droop to her pretty mouth.
“I feel like being downright cross,” emphasized Marjorie, accompanying the last three words with three energetic slams of her book on chemistry on the table. “I wish this popularity business were in Kamchatka. I thought I would like to take a walk around the campus today, all by myself, and think about what I would write this evening. I have to write a theme for poetics to be handed in tomorrow morning. I wasn’t allowed a minute to myself. There are some awfully nice girls here, but I wasn’t anxious for company today. I haven’t the least idea what I shall write and I wanted to save time by choosing my subject this afternoon.”
“Go and ask Ronny for a subject,” calmly advised Jerry. “She loves poems, poets and poetics in general. She is in her room writing to her father. She fired me out, but you may have better luck. She may have finished writing. It seems a long while since she inhospitably requested me to make myself scarce. My, but you are sympathetic!” Marjorie was already half way through the door, regardless of Jerry’s plaint.
“Come in,” called Ronny, in response to Marjorie’s two measured raps. “Oh, Marjorie, I was just coming to see you. I have a piece of news for you.”
“Come along,” invited Marjorie, “but first give me a subject for a theme for poetics. I need one in a hurry. Jerry said you were authority on the subject.”
“I am amazed at her charity,” chuckled Ronny, “after the way I shooed her away from my door.”
“She mentioned it,” returned Marjorie significantly, whereupon both girls laughed.
“Let me see,” pondered Ronny. “Why don’t you write on the genius Poe as above that of any other American poet? Illustrate by quoting from other poets and then comparing the excerpts with his work. Read his essay on poetry tonight before you begin to write. It will give you inspiration. I brought a five volume set of Poe from home. Here’s the volume containing the essay you need.”
Ronny took from a near-by book-case the desired volume and handed it to Marjorie.
“Thank you.” Marjorie accepted it gratefully. “I believe I can write a fairly good theme on that subject. I have always admired Poe’s work.”
“I adore his memory,” asserted Veronica solemnly. “I have read every scrap I could find concerning him. He ranked next to Shakespeare in genius. I know he was an earnest worker and a good man. I am sure that he was not a drunkard, but a terribly maligned genius. He was purposely kept down through jealousy and had to sell the products of his genius for a copper. He suffered terribly, but I imagine he had the inner happiness of knowing that not one brilliant emanation of his master mind could be snatched from him by the unworthy.”
Veronica’s gray eyes flashed in sympathy for the misunderstood man whose transcendental genius made him an outlander among the writers of his period.
“Again I thank you. This time for your lecture.” Marjorie bobbed up and down twice in quick succession. “I’ll try to put some of it into my theme. Now for my room, and the news.”
Jerry pretended not to see Ronny until she was well inside the room. She then rose up, and, in a purposely gruff voice, ordered her out. Needless to say, Ronny was not to be intimidated.
“No, Jeremiah, I shall not budge an inch. Here you sit doing nothing. Why shouldn’t I come in and sit on Marjorie’s side of the room? I have news to impart – n-e-w-s,” spelled Ronny.
At this Jerry pricked up her ears and became suddenly affable.
“I heard today,” began Ronny impressively, “that there will be a basket ball try-out next Friday afternoon in the gym, at four-thirty.”
“That’s cheering news!” Marjorie’s sober features lightened. “Where did you hear it, Ronny?”
“Miss Page told me. The notices will appear in a day or two. She played on a team all the time she was at Wildreth, a prep school she was graduated from. Naturally she is anxious to make the team this year.”
“I’d like to play,” Marjorie said wistfully. “I suppose I won’t stand much chance among so many, though.”
“Well, you won the Beauty contest,” cited Jerry wickedly. “That was a case of one in a multitude.”
Marjorie rose and going over to where Jerry sat, waved her book menacingly over her room-mate’s head. “Dare to say another word about that hateful old contest and I’ll disown you,” she threatened. “I want to forget all about it, if I can. Basket ball is different, thank goodness. If I make the freshman team, I have actually achieved something.”
“I hope you make it.” Jerry spoke with a sudden sincerity arising from her devotion to Marjorie. “Muriel will try for it. Moretense is too tense to make a startling player. Shall you try for it, Ronny?”
“No, indeed,” Ronny answered. “You and Lucy and I will be fans. I am not very partial to basket ball unless the game happens to move fast. Then I grow interested. Miss Page says the seniors are managing the sports. They usually do. A senior told her of the try-out.”
“Did Miss Page say anything else about it?” quizzed Jerry.
“No; she heard only that. She said she thought the sports committee were purposely keeping back the information. The senior who told her overheard the two of the committee talking to Miss Reid, the physical instructor. She happened to be in the gymnasium at the time. She was not asked to keep it secret, so she felt at liberty to mention it to me.”
Jerry regarded Ronny in silence for a moment. “This college makes me weary,” she burst out in an impatient voice. “There are too many undercurrents here. Why should the sports committee keep back information about basket ball? To suit their own pleasure, of course. Very likely they are banded into a clique like those silly Sans Soucians. If it happens to be the same kind of clique, then look out for trouble at the try-out.”
“Perhaps they have a good reason for not giving out the information until a certain time,” argued Ronny. “Maybe they don’t approve of the Sans. As seniors, they should be on the heights, so far as college ethics are concerned.”
“I trust they are,” Jerry returned, in a prim voice, rolling her eyes at Ronny. “Just the same, I doubt it. I’ll tell you more about ’em after the try-out. They’ll have to show me.”
It was on Monday that Ronny heard of the try-out. Not until Thursday afternoon did the notices of it appear on the various bulletin boards. Their advent led to a certain amount of jubilation on the part of those freshmen who were fond of the game. When, at four-thirty, the next afternoon, the committee appeared in company with Miss Reid, they found at least thirty-five of the freshman class as aspirants to the team. A part of the unaspiring members had come to look on. There was also a large percentage of sophomores on the scene. Outside the committee there was only a sprinkling of juniors and seniors.
Marjorie and Muriel had put on their gymnasium suits at the Hall and had arrived at the gymnasium shortly after four o’clock. Jerry, Ronny and Lucy did not appear until almost half-past four. They were accompanied by Vera Mason, Nella Sherman and Leila Harper. In the meantime Marjorie and Muriel had been watching, with some longing, a number of freshmen who were out on the floor practicing with the ball. Prominent among them was Lola Elster, who seemed to know the game, or thought she did, better than her companion player. She was quite in her element, and was issuing frequent orders, in a rather shrill voice, as she darted about in pursuit of the ball. The “pick-up” squad with whom she was playing appeared to be completely under her domination.
“I don’t care to make a team that Miss Elster is on,” Muriel confided to Marjorie in a disgusted tone. “She is altogether too fond of her own playing. Besides, she is inclined to be tricky and I wouldn’t trust her. She’d elbow her best friend out of the way if they were both after the ball.”
“Those girls seem to like her,” commented Marjorie. “I should say none of them were very good players. It is conceited, perhaps, to say that we know the game better than they, but if that is a sample of their work, we are stars compared with them. They couldn’t make more than a scrub team at Sanford High.”
“I know it,” agreed Muriel. “They aren’t quick enough. That’s their greatest trouble.” Glancing from the players to the audience, who stood in groups about the room, she exclaimed: “There are the girls! Let’s go over and see them.”
“Only for a minute,” Marjorie stipulated. “This affair is going to begin soon.”
They had no more than exchanged a few words with their chums when the bell rang for a clear floor. Incidental with it the senior manager of basket ball interests stepped forward to make the usual announcements for the try-out and lay down the conditions which the players must observe. Those wishing to try for a place on the regular freshman team were then requested to come forward on the floor. About thirty-five girls responded and enough of them to make two squads were selected. These were ordered to the floor for a twenty-minutes’ test. Their work was carefully noted by Miss Reid, three seniors, including the manager, and a Mr. Fulton, a professional coach.
Altogether, four sets of players were tried out. Several of the freshmen who had worked on the first squads did duty again. Among these was Lola Elster. It was among the third round of players that Marjorie and Muriel appeared, and only half-heartedly at that. Both felt the utter futility of trying for the team, after they had looked on for a little. They did not like the methods of either the coach or Miss Reid. Neither were expert in proper knowledge of the game. Worse, their sympathies were plainly with Miss Elster, who, when not on the floor, stood between them, talking animatedly, now indicating one or another of the players, or expressing an opinion to which both agreed by nodding affably.
Both Lookouts made a conscientious effort to play their best, but their team-mates were fit only for scrub players. The result was the slowest twenty-minutes’ work that either ever remembered. Try as they might, they could not overcome the disadvantage under which they were laboring. Hardest of all was the knowledge that they could make a good showing if they but had the opportunity.
When their time was up both gladly hurried from the floor to where their group of friends awaited them. The expressions of the five girls varied only in the degree of contempt each registered for what they had just witnessed.
“Why didn’t you wait to see whether you made the team?” inquired Jerry with gentle sarcasm.
“A-h-h-h!” was Muriel’s reply, expressive of her feelings.
“We couldn’t make that team in a century.” Marjorie was smiling a whimsical little smile which contained no bitterness.
“I guess not. You might as well have played for twenty minutes with a bunch of nine-pins. Anyway, you were dead before you ever set foot on the floor. That Miss Elster has the coach, Miss Reid and several others right on her side. This is the Sans inning, n’est ce pas? Uh-huh! No mistake about it.” Jerry bowed and smirked as she carried on this bit of conversation with herself.
“Cast an eye upon the Sans just now,” Leila said scornfully. “Are they not pleased with themselves? Do you think they would have let you or Muriel make that team? Not so long as they could influence those in charge. The seniors are not to blame. They kept the date of the try-out to themselves until the last to prevent the Sans from fixing things for their freshman friends. It did small good.” Leila shrugged her shoulders.
“They shouldn’t be allowed to run things,” Jerry asserted stoutly. “The trouble is everyone stands back and allows them to take the lead. Their cast-iron nerve is what helps them out. Besides they are an unscrupulous lot. They boast that they are the daughters of millionaires. Well, the rest of us are not paupers. Only we are above trading upon our folks’ money as a means of influence. That is ignoble and should be stamped out of Hamilton.”
“It never will be unless we all work together for a new spirit of democracy,” broke in Ronny’s resolute tones. “We must establish it in our class regardless of these unfair sophomores and their false notions, so detrimental to nobility of character.”
“Unfair indeed.” Leila smiled wryly. “Vera and I know. You should have seen us last year. We had a disagreeable freshman cruise, thanks to the Sans. They thought for a short time that we were perhaps poor. We found it out and let them think so to their hearts’ content. You should have seen their scorn of us. At Thanksgiving we had our cars sent on to us. Then they were in a quandary! We were not poor, so it seemed, but how wealthy were we? They never found out. They tried so hard.”
A blast of the manager’s whistle signalled attention. The names of the successful contestants were about to be read out by the coach. Lola Elster had been awarded center. Two of her particular friends had won right and left guard. Robin Page had achieved right forward. At this, none watching wondered. She had played in the first squads and done good work. Left forward fell to a Miss Burton, a freshman Dulcie Vale had been rushing and whom she had escorted to the frolic.
“I am glad it is over. I am not sorry I tried for a place on the team,” soliloquized Marjorie aloud. “Neither Muriel nor I had a fair chance. I was hurt and disappointed for a minute or so after I saw the way things were going. I am not now. I shall wait until next year,” she announced, in a calm, determined voice, “then I shall make the team. That means we will all have to work together to bring about a happier state of affairs at Hamilton. None of us can be free or happy with this shadow hanging over us. There can be no true class spirit unless we base it on the traditions which Mr. Brooke Hamilton wished observed by the students of Hamilton College.”
CHAPTER XXI. – ON THE EVE OF THE GAME
Following the basket ball try-out, which the Sanford five agreed was the tamest attempt at playing basket ball that they had ever witnessed, little of moment befell them as the days slipped by and the Thanksgiving holiday drew near. As they would have four days’ vacation, all were determined on spending them in Sanford. Ronny was going to Miss Archer’s, as she had promised her God-mother this holiday before leaving for college.
Lucy Warner was the only one of the Five Travelers who intended to remain at Hamilton during the holiday. She had flatly refused to allow Ronny to defray her expense home.
“There is no use in my going home. I would not see Mother except for a very short time. She is nursing a fever patient and won’t be able to leave her for at least three weeks. Yes, I know I could be with you girls. I’d love to, but Katherine has no place to go. I might better stay here with her. I am going home for Christmas and she has promised to spend those holidays with me.” This was Lucy’s view of the matter.
The day of their departure for home was typical Thanksgiving weather, fairly cold, and marked by snow flurries. If the trip to Hamilton had seemed long, the journey home was longer. With all four impatiently counting the miles between Hamilton and Sanford, time dragged. Their train having left Hamilton at eleven o’clock that morning, it was after dark when it pulled into Sanford. A fond company of home folks were on the station platform to greet the travelers, who for the first time since leaving for college, separated, to go in different directions.
Marjorie thought the most beautiful sight she had ever looked upon were the lights of her own dear home. Encircled by her captain’s arm, they blinked her a mellow, cheery welcome as the automobile sped up the drive. She never forgot the wondrous happiness she experienced in returning to her father and mother after her first long absence from them.
It was after dark on the Sunday evening following Thanksgiving when four of the Five Travelers alighted from the train at Hamilton station. Tired though she was, and a little sad, Marjorie thrilled with an odd kind of patriotism as the lights of the campus houses twinkled on her horizon. There was, after all, a certain vague joy in having returned to college.
Ronny, Jerry and Muriel all agreed with her in this, as the Lookouts gathered in hers and Jerry’s room after Sunday night supper to tell Lucy the news of home. Mrs. Warner had called at the Deans on Saturday and intrusted a letter and package to Marjorie for Lucy. The package, when opened, revealed a pretty knitted sweater and cap in a warm shade of blue. Lucy’s mother had knitted them during intervals while her patient slept.
“How have things been here?” queried Jerry, after the admiring comments relative to Lucy’s cap and sweater had subsided.
“It has been so blissfully quiet,” sighed Lucy. “There were only five girls here over Thanksgiving. Miss Remson says she has experienced a spell of heavenly calm. We had a fine Thanksgiving dinner. Two of Miss Remson’s nephews were here for the day. They brought their violins and Miss Remson plays well on the piano. We had music Thanksgiving evening. Friday evening we were both invited to Professor Wenderblatt’s home. Mr. Henry Arthur Bradburn, a friend of his, who has made a number of Arctic journeys is visiting him. There were about twenty-five guests. You can imagine how proud Kathie and I were. Lillian came over on Friday morning and invited us.”
“You may go to the head of the class,” commented Jerry. “You’re graduated from the stay-in-your-shell period. I never before heard of such a sudden and unparalleled blossoming into the high-brows’ garden.”
The Five Travelers lingered to talk that evening until the last minute before the ten-thirty bell rang. The next day was not characterized by particularly brilliant recitations on the part of any of the returned students.
On the third day of December notices appeared on the bulletin board announcing the first basket ball game of the season. The sophomores had challenged the freshmen to meet them on the second Saturday in the month, which fell on the fourteenth. The sophomore team was composed entirely of Sans Soucians. Natalie Weyman, Dulcie Vale, Joan Myers, Adelaide Forman and Evangeline Heppler were the select five who were to wrestle with the freshmen for the ball.
“Can they play basket ball?” was Muriel Harding’s pertinent question put to her room-mate, Miss Barlow, who had just finished naming the players on the sophomore team. The two girls had met outside Hamilton Hall and stopped as was their wont to consult the main bulletin board.
“They are fairly fast players, but,” Miss Barlow’s eyebrows went up, “they are so tricky. They composed the freshman team, last year. Gratifying, isn’t it, to be able to head basket ball two years in succession?” The question was freighted with sarcasm.
“Very,” returned Muriel, inwardly amazed at this new attitude on the part of her reserved room-mate. It was the first time Moretense had ever grown personal in regard to any of the students.
“I am positive the juniors won’t play them this year,” Hortense continued. “They had enough of them last. Really, the umpire nearly wore herself out shrieking ‘foul’ during that game. My word, but they worked hard – cheating. It did them not a particle of good. They lost by ten points.”
“Do you like basket ball?” Muriel was further astonished at her companion’s apparent interest in the sport.
“Yes, I do, when it is well and fairly played. I have never yet seen a really clever game played at Hamilton.”
Similar information drifted to the Lookouts concerning the sophomores’ work at basket ball, during the few days that preceded the game. Far from the usual amount of enthusiasm which attends this sport was exhibited by the upper class students. The freshmen, however, were duly excited over it. While many of them had disapproved the partiality shown at the try-out, they could only hope that the freshman team would rally to their work on the day of the game and vanquish the sophs. The team was practicing assiduously. That was a good sign. The sophomores were not nearly so faithful at practice.
“If ‘our crowd’ can play even half as well as the scrub teams could at Sanford High they can whip this aggregation of geese, Robin Page excepted,” Jerry asserted scornfully to her chums on the evening before the game. The next day’s recitations hastily prepared, the Lookouts had gathered in Ronny’s room for a spread.
“I feel sorry for Miss Page,” remarked Ronny, without lifting her eyes from their watch on the chafing dish in which the chocolate had begun to bubble.
“So do I. I told her so yesterday,” confessed Muriel. “I met her in the library and we had quite a long talk. She said she would have resigned after the first day of practice, but she felt that it would be cowardly. She knows the game as it should be played, but the other four girls are quite shaky on some points of it and they won’t let her correct them when they make really glaring mistakes. She tried it twice. Both times she just escaped quarreling with them. So she quit.”
“I think she is so plucky to stay on the team under such circumstances.” Marjorie looked up from her sandwich-making labors, her face full of honest admiration for Robin. “She is such a delightful girl, isn’t she?”
“She makes me think of a small boy,” was Jerry’s comparison. “Tell you something else about her when I get this tiresome bottle of olives opened. If I don’t extract the treacherous old cork very gently, I’m due to hand myself a quarter of a bottle of brine in the eyes or in my lap or wherever it may happen to land. There!” She triumphantly drew forth the stubborn cork without accident. “Now about Robin Page. She asked me to ask you girls to go to the game with the Silverton Hall crowd. Then she wants us to be her guests at dinner at the Hall and spend the evening with her and her pals. I’ve accepted for us all, so make your plans accordingly.”
“I’ve already asked Moretense to go to the game with us.” Muriel looked briefly perplexed. “I don’t think anyone will care if I ask her to go with us to meet the Silverton Hall girls. I can’t go with you folks to dinner, for my estimable room-mate has invited me to the Colonial and engaged a table ahead. I am to meet Miss Angier and Miss Thompson, juniors and friends of hers.”
“When did you make all these dates and right over our heads?” Jerry quizzed, trying to appear offended and failing utterly.
“Oh, the other day,” returned Muriel lightly. “It shows you that I am well thought of, too, in high-brow circles.” She cast a sly glance toward Lucy. The latter was happily engaged in cutting generous slices from a fruit cake which had come by express that day. Mrs. Warner had made it early in the fall and had put it away to season. It had arrived at an opportune time, and Lucy had gladly contributed to the feast.
She chuckled softly over Muriel’s good-natured thrust, but made no reply. It was her chief pleasure to listen to her chums, rather than talk. While she had expanded wonderfully as a result of association with a fun-loving, talkative quartette of girls who had taken pains to draw her out, she still had spells of the old reserve. She was gradually growing used to the gay badinage, which went on constantly among her chums, and on rare occasions would convulse them by some dry remark of her own.
While the Five Travelers were preparing their little feast in the utmost good fellowship, in a room two doors farther up the hall five other girls sat around a festal table, arguing in an anything but equable manner. Four of them were members of the sophomore team. The fifth was Leslie Cairns.
“It’s not fair to the kid if you girls don’t give her a chance to win.” Leslie Cairns’ shaggy eyebrows met in a ferocious scowl. “Don’t be stingy. You won enough games last year. Have a heart!”
“Honestly, Les, you talk like an idiot!” exclaimed Natalie Weyman impatiently. “You have a crush, and no mistake, on that little Elster simpleton. I don’t care whether you like what I say or not. You think she is a scream because she behaves more like a jockey than a student. I think she is so silly. You will get tired of her swaggering ways before long. See if you don’t.”
“She’s a game little kid, and I like her,” flung back Leslie with belligerent emphasis. “Why did you put me to all the trouble to fix things so that she could make the team if you didn’t intend to give her a showing. That cost me time and money.” Her voice rose harshly on the last words.
“Shh!” Dulcie Vale held up a warning finger. “You are almost shouting, Les. Lower your voice.”
“I should say so.” Natalie Weyman’s face was a disagreeable study. Before the arrival of Lola Elster at Hamilton, she and Leslie had been intimate friends. Now Leslie had in a measure deserted her for the bold little freshman she so detested.
“Beg your pardon.” Leslie’s tones dropped back to their usual drawl. “Sorry you girls have decided you must break the record tomorrow. Why so strenuous? You haven’t Beauty and her gang to fight. They haven’t had even a look-in. I hear they are really players, too. The trouble with you, Nat, is you are two-faced. You pretended that you were anxious for Lola to make the team because you thought she would make a fine record for herself on the floor. You said her pals ought to be on the team, too. So they are, the three of them. I worked that. Now you didn’t say that you wanted these three freshmen on the team so as to keep those Sanford upstarts off. I caught that, too, and fixed it. I didn’t mind. I can’t see them. What you wanted was a crowd of freshmen your team could whip easily.”
“That is absolutely ridiculous and unkind in you, Leslie!” Natalie’s face was scarlet. “How could I possibly know beforehand just how well the freshmen we – that is – you – ” Natalie stammered, then stopped.
Leslie Cairns’ upper lip drew back in a sneering smile. “How could you know? Well, you dragged them over to the gym and set them at work with the ball. This was before the try-out. What? You took good care not to ask me along that day. Joan is as deep in it as you are. Then you came back puffing about what wonderful players these kids were and so forth. Would I fix it for them. I did. The day of the try-out I was pretty sore. You can’t fool me on a basket ball. They are not much more than scrubs; except Lola. She is O. K. I saw you and Joan had put one over on me, but it was too late to make a fuss. Think I don’t know you, Nat? Ah, but I do!”
Natalie sat biting her lip, her eyes narrowed. She was well aware that Leslie knew her traitorous disposition. For selfish reasons she did not wish to quarrel with her.
“All right, Leslie,” she shrugged. “Have it your own way. Go on thinking that, if it will be any satisfaction to you. You must remember we have our own end to hold up as sophomores. Why, if we tried to favor Lola during the game, it would be noticed and we would have trouble over it. Ever since that Beauty contest, I’ve noticed a difference in the way I am treated. I used to be It on the campus. I’ve lost ground, somehow. We Sans have worked too hard for first place here to give way now. We must keep up our popularity or be at the dictation of the common herd. Our team simply has to make good tomorrow.”
