Kitabı oku: «Marjorie Dean, College Freshman», sayfa 4
CHAPTER VII. – ON THE THRESHOLD
The day after Constance’s party brought Marjorie her General. With her father at home, after a lengthy absence, the sorrow of leaving her dear ones came forward again. Marjorie tried earnestly to keep all locked within and succeeded in a measure. Her General was not blind to the situation, however, and exerted himself on all occasions to keep his somewhat sober-faced lieutenant in good spirits.
On the morning of the day before Marjorie’s departure for college, he announced his firm intention to help her pack. Nor did he swerve for an instant from his self-imposed duty. Breakfast over, he chased the lieutenant, screaming with laughter, up the stairs, landing in the middle of her “house” with a flying leap which an acrobat might have envied.
Regardless of his giggling daughter’s ideas on the subject of packing, he swept down upon whatever lay nearest at hand and stowed it into one of the two open trunks. His efforts at being helpful were brief. Three determined pairs of hands intercepted his bold attempt to safely caché a small taboret, a large embroidered doyley, a satin chair cushion, a cut glass scent bottle and a Japanese vase. The energetic general’s services were summarily dispensed with. He was banished from the room and the door shut in his face with a bang. In less than fifteen minutes he announced his return by a tattoo which threatened demolishment to the door. He was not re-admitted until he had given his word not to meddle with the packing. When Marjorie cautiously opened the door to him she found him staggering under a load of pasteboard boxes. He dumped them at her feet with a bow so profound that he all but stood on his head.
“There you are, unfeeling child!” he exclaimed. “How shocking to have a daughter who doesn’t scruple to turn her poor old father out of her house!”
“Well, I let you into my house again, didn’t I? Just please recall why you were turned out.” Marjorie clasped both arms about her father’s neck and swung on him gleefully. No one could be the least bit sad when General elected to be funny. Mrs. Dean and Ronny had already busied themselves with straightening the pile of boxes which had scattered when dumped to the floor.
“It’s a good thing for you that you did,” retorted Mr. Dean significantly. “I might have gone away from the door and never NEVER have come back again. Then think what you would have missed.”
“Oh, you would have had to come back sometime,” was the serene assurance, as Marjorie plumped down on the floor to explore her newly-acquired riches.
They were all the heart of a girl could wish. One box contained a white chiffon evening scarf, thickly embroidered with tiny pink daisies. It draped itself in graceful folds to the waist, the ends reaching to the hem of her gown. Another held a white velour sports coat, the cut and design of it being particularly smart. From another box tumbled a dozen pairs of kid gloves. There was also a box of silk hosiery, another of fine linen handkerchiefs with butterfly and bowknot corners, her favorite designs, a box of engraved monogrammed stationery, and a pair of black satin evening slippers.
One long wide box she had left until the last. The lid removed and the folds of white tissue paper lifted, Marjorie breathed a little “Oh!” She stared in admiration at an exquisite evening frock of delicately shaded Chinese crêpe. It might have represented a spring dawn, shading as it did from creamy white to pale, indeterminate violet, and from violet to faintest pink. It was fashioned with a cunning simplicity of design which made it of the mode, yet strikingly individual. About the hem of the skirt, around the square neck and short sleeves and on the ends of the separate sash trailed shadowy clusters of violets, stamped upon the crêpe with an art known only to the Chinese.
“Where did you find it, General?” she gasped, as she held up the lovely, shimmering frock for her captain and Ronny to see. “I never expected to own a dream gown like this.”
“It is a spring poem in shades,” declared Ronny, lightly touching an end of the sash. “I can guess where it came from. Only a high-grade Chinese bazaar could furnish a gown of its kind. There are a few such shops west of the Mississippi. I never saw a gown so beautiful as this one even in San Francisco.”
“It did not come from a shop. A Chinese merchant sent to China for it as a gift to Marjorie. In Denver I have a good friend, Mah Waeo, the last of an ancient Chinese house. He looks like an Eastern nobleman in carved ivory. He is a fine elderly man of irreproachable business and social reputation. He is a tea merchant and has great wealth. He lives very simply and spends most of his business gains in trying to educate and uplift his own people. We have been fast friends for fifteen years.”
“I am familiar with that type of Chinese,” Ronny spoke eagerly. “At home, Father and I have a good Chinese friend, too; Sieguf Tah. He lives alone on the smallest of his fruit ranches and acts as a benevolent father to all the China boys around there. The China boys, as they like to be called, are faithful, wise, intelligent and industrious. Best of all, they are strictly honest.”
“I hope Mah Waeo will sometime make us a visit. I suppose you must have often invited him, General. He was a perfect dear to take such pains for a present for me.” Marjorie raised a radiant face to her father. “All this is about the nicest surprise you ever gave me. I can’t help liking my spring poem gown best of all. I shall write to Mah Waeo and tell him so and ask him myself to please make us a visit someday.”
“I don’t see how we are going to pack all these new treasures in your two trunks,” Mrs. Dean practically interposed. “We shall have to do some skilful managing.”
“They simply all must go,” decreed Marjorie. “I couldn’t leave one behind.”
“Which reminds me that I have something for you and Captain which I brought from the Golden West and have been saving until an appropriate, moment. With your gracious permission, I will retire and return anon, as the old-style novelists loved to write.”
Attired in a full, half-fitted morning gown of soft white silk, Ronny spread her arms, bowed down to the floor, East Indian fashion, and made a quick backward exit from the room.
“I am going to make Ronny dance for us tonight,” planned Marjorie. “She isn’t going to pack that frock she has on. It will be a perfect dancing costume. We will have a little home party tonight; just the four of us. No; five. I want Delia to be with us, too. I’ve grown up under Delia’s wing. She has always worked so hard to do her best for me whenever I have had a party, and she’s been so good to me in all ways.”
“By all means let us have Delia at our party,” heartily indorsed Mr. Dean. “I shall ask her to dance the minuet with me. Do you think there will be music? I hope some one will be able to play a minuet fit to be heard. Did I hear you say that you had practised occasionally this summer?”
“No, you didn’t, you old tease!” Marjorie sprang to her feet and made a rush at her general.
“Careful! I’m very fragile,” he protested. Then he caught her in his strong arms and held her close. Her face buried against his shoulder, Marjorie knew that her father had loosed one arm from around her and drawn Captain into the circle of it
Thus Veronica found them when she returned with her love offerings. She halted in the doorway, her face alight with tenderness for these three who had succeeded more nearly than any other persons she had ever known in living the ideal family life.
In her hand Ronny held two small black leather cases. The one contained a ring of pure gold, artistically chased with a running vine, and set with one large, perfect sapphire. This was intended for Marjorie. For Mrs. Dean she had bought a gold and pearl pin of ancient Peruvian handiwork. Both pieces of jewelry were from an old Spanish collection. She had bought them at a private sale in San Leandro for her friends and now delighted to add her tribute to Marjorie’s happiness.
Standing very still in the doorway, her eyes meditatively sought the cases in her hand. Then she turned and stole noiselessly away from the little scene of adoration. Ronny knew that Marjorie was taking her real farewell of her general and captain.
CHAPTER VIII. – THE FIVE TRAVELERS
“Hamilton, did you say? Lead me to it.” Jerry Macy opened her eyes and peered through the car window with revived interest. For an hour or more she had been leaning back against the high green plush car seat dozing lightly. It was now five o’clock in the afternoon and active Jerry was feeling the strain of sitting still, hour after hour.
“No; I didn’t say Hamilton.” Muriel gently tweaked Jerry’s ear. “Wake up, sleepy head. That station we just passed was Harcourt Hill. What comes next?” Muriel opened a time table and frowningly perused it. “It’s hard to remember the names of these little stations. Now where was I at? Oh, yes; Harcourt Hill. Next comes Palmer; then Tresholme. After that, West Hamilton, and then Hamilton. Hamilton is the first stop this express makes, thank goodness!”
“Muriel, you have really been invaluable to us on this journey. Allow me to decorate you.” Ronny leaned forward and pinned a huge lace-paper rosette on the obliging Lookout. “Wear this for my sake.”
While Muriel had been industriously engaged in calling out the stations, Ronny had hastily ripped a piece of decorative lace-paper from a half emptied box of candied fruit, which the travelers had shared, and busied herself with it. The result of her effort she now generously tendered Muriel.
“I will – not.” Muriel intercepted the rosette before it found a place on the lapel of her brown taffeta traveling coat and crumpled it in her hand. “No such decorations for me when I’m so near Hamilton. Suppose I forgot about it and wore it off the train. Some college wag would be sure to see it and post me in the grind book. Freshmen are good material for grinds. Remember that and keep your old rosettes out of sight.”
“What would be written about you?” asked Lucy Warner curiously. “I can’t see anything in that to write about.”
“Don’t think for a minute that enough couldn’t be found in one foolish old paper rosette to make me feel silly for a half term, at least. I don’t know what the method of teasing me would be. I do know that I am not going to give strange students a chance to try it.”
“Then I shall hardly dare answer anyone, even if I am first addressed.” Lucy fixed her green eyes on Muriel with an expression of alarm.
Muriel burst out laughing as she met the steady stare. She had never taken prim Lucy seriously. Lucy’s austere solemnity always had an hilarious effect on keen-witted Muriel. Coupled with a direct stare from those peculiar greenish eyes, Muriel invariably felt a strong desire to laugh when in her presence. As a result, there was no strain between the two, as was the case with the majority of the Lookouts and Lucy.
“You had better be very, very careful,” warned Muriel with simulated cautiousness.
“I intend to be. I may not even speak to you, once I am on the campus,” was the retort.
“Oh, it will be safe to speak to me,” Muriel assured. “You may even speak to others when you are spoken to and be safe. You are not strictly of the information-bureau type. Don’t worry about being afraid of the Hamiltonites. They will probably stand in awe of you.”
“What is all this advice you are giving Lucy?” From across the aisle Marjorie leaned toward the quartette in the double seat. “Since it was my turn to be exiled across the aisle, I’ve lost a lot of pearls of speech.”
As only four could occupy the double seat, the five girls had arranged on entraining, to take turns sitting in the seat opposite their own. This was somewhat lonely for the fifth member of the party. The exclusive isolation of the chair car had not found favor with them. They preferred the more democratic day coach where they could be together. While Marjorie could catch little of Muriel’s remarks to Lucy, she knew by the half-amused smile on Lucy’s face that she was being chaffed and enjoying it.
“Oh, I am simply reassuring Lucy. Now that we are almost in sight of our Mecca, she is beginning to be scared.”
“A nice kind of reassurance,” scoffed Lucy. “She just finished telling me the grind hunters would lie in wait for me and to look out for them.”
“We’ll protect you, Lucy,” promised Marjorie lightly. “When we leave the train we will walk two on each side of you. Then you will be safe from – ”
“Stretch-your-necks, wags and grind hunters,” supplied Jerry, now sufficiently aroused to join in the conversation.
“Something like that. So glad to have you with us again, Jeremiah. We must have bored you terribly or you wouldn’t have gone to sleep.” Marjorie had adopted Muriel’s methods.
“Oh, I can’t say I was bored more than usual,” drawled Jerry, with a languid wave of her hand. “You are all about the same as ever. No relief in sight before next June. I must do the best I can. In the words of good old Proffy Fontaine: ‘No wan can do mo-rr-rr!’” Jerry’s imitation of the sorely-tried French professor evoked a chorus of reminiscent giggles.
“Much obliged for your high opinion of our society,” said Veronica. “All we can do is to trail around after you, hopeful that someday you will discover how brilliant we really are.”
“You may hope,” graciously permitted Jerry. “If I discover signs of brilliancy sprouting in any of you, I’ll let you know instantly. I won’t keep the precious knowledge to myself. There’s nothing stingy about me.”
“Thank you, thank you,” was the united, grateful answer, ending in a burst of low-toned laughter which caused several older persons to smile indulgently upon the bevy of merry-faced girls.
Nine o’clock that morning had seen the five travelers to Hamilton playing their parts at the Sanford station, surrounded by their families and a number of devoted friends. It was not a large crowd that had gathered at the nine-twenty train, but it was a loyal one.
Marjorie had felt very sad and solemn during that last brief wait for the train which was to bear her from home and her own. When it had arrived she had made brave farewells to her captain and general. She had fought hard to keep a smile on her face. Complete control of her emotions returned from a sudden mishap to Jerry. An unexpected jarring of the train threw Jerry off her balance as she was about to deposit a traveling bag in the rack above her head. With a forward lurch, she described a wavering semi-circle in the air with the bag. Banging it down on Muriel’s lap, she sprawled helplessly between Muriel and Veronica.
Her timely spill turned the tide of mourning into mirth. Marjorie forgot her sadness, for the time being, in listening with laughter to Jerry’s scathing remarks on the subject of trains.
Now, after the greater part of the day spent on the cars, the somewhat tired Lookouts were nearing their journey’s end. Fifteen minutes and the town of Hamilton would be reached. Marjorie was wondering, as she idly glimpsed the passing scenery from the car window, if there were many other Hamilton-bound girls on the train. There were only one or two young girls besides her party in the car they were occupying.
“West Hamilton, children,” announced Muriel oracularly. “Observe, if you please, the charming beauty of this little burg.” She took on the tone of a hired guide. “One of the most picturesque spots in the United States. We will pretend it is, anyway.”
“Nothing like having a vivid imagination,” murmured Ronny.
“Quite true Miss Lynne,” beamed Muriel. “So glad you appreciate my abilities. You are so different in that respect from some girls.” She fixed a significant eye upon Jerry, who merely grinned lazily. “Before I go further in expiating on the scenery of this place, one quarter, please, all around. You pay me another quarter after you’ve seen the town. Just recall that it takes breath and patience to be a successful guide.”
“Yes, I guess so,” scoffed Jerry. “Kindly tell me where you get the word guide as applying to you. A guide is one who guides. All your guiding is done in your mind. I wouldn’t pay ten cents to see this town at present. I can see it later for nothing. On to Hamilton! That’s my watchword.”
“I couldn’t see much of it, guide or no guide,” remarked Lucy. “The train went so fast, I’m amazed that Muriel could see it well enough to describe the scenery.”
“That’s something we will let Guide Muriel explain before she collects any of our precious quarters,” decreed Jerry.
“I’ll do no explaining, and don’t you call me Guide Muriel. Start that and it will stick to me. I can’t shake it off as I did that old rosette. I see that you and Ronny are determined to make trouble for me. I think I had better keep very quiet from now on.”
“Just think what a restful time we might all have had if you had only decided to do that an hour or two earlier,” declared Jerry regretfully. “As it is, we are so tired. I suppose you must be tired, too?” She beamed questioningly on Muriel, who beamed on her in satirical return, wholly unabashed.
“We are five weary travelers,” said Veronica, “about to be dumped down in the strange country of college.”
“I like that idea,” approved Lucy Warner, with the sudden crispness which marked her speech. “I like to fancy us as five travelers in the country of college. We might call ourselves that.” Her eyes darkened with the interest of her own suggestion. “I mean, just in private. There is a certain touch of romance about it that pleases me.”
“I like it, too, Lucy,” commended Muriel. “I know something we could do as the five travelers, too. Once a week we could meet in one another’s rooms, in the evening, and we could each tell how everything has been for us during the week. Whatever happens, we could agree to keep strictly to ourselves until then. That is, unless it were something that had to be settled at once. In that way we would be certain to keep clear of any silly misunderstandings among ourselves. Close friends that we are, none of us is infallible, you know. We know we are not going to quarrel, of course, but a misunderstanding is different. It crops up when you least expect it.”
“I’m filled with admiration for you, clever Muriel,” praised Veronica. “I wish you hadn’t ruined that pretty rosette I made you. I would decorate you all over again. Shall we become the United Order of the Five Travelers? We shall. Our rooms will serve as a wayside inn where we shall gather to tell our tales of joy, woe or adventure. Do tell Marjorie about it. There she sits by her sweet little self, with no idea of the great work going on under her very nose. Here, I’ll tell her myself.”
Slipping past Muriel, Ronny crossed the aisle and touched Marjorie on the shoulder. Unable to hear with comfort what was being said by her chums, Marjorie had briefly leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The excitement of the day was beginning to tell on her. She was feeling dispirited. What a long time it had been since she had said good-bye to Captain and General! And yet it was now only late afternoon of the same day.
“Move over,” genially ordered Ronny. “I’ve something to report, Lieutenant, and only about five minutes to report it in. We are in sight of the fateful town of Hamilton.”
Marjorie obeyed the order, brightening visibly at Ronny’s invasion. “I saw you four with your heads together,” she returned. “I knew something was stirring.”
“I beg to inform you that you are now a member of the United Order of the Five Travelers,” Ronny announced, dropping her arm over Marjorie’s shoulder. Rapidly she repeated what had been talked over across the aisle. Marjorie listened in absorption. Her quick brain instantly grasped the value of the project from its ethical side. It would be good for all of them, she thought, to have these little confidence sessions. It would be the very best thing in the world for Lucy.
“Hamilton! Hamil-lton-n-n!” The stentorian call echoed through the car. Their interest centered on the new idea, both girls were startled by the brakeman’s loud tones.
“I must gather up my luggage.” Ronny sprang up and hurriedly sought her own seat with: “More later about the Five Travelers.”
Marjorie nodded and began mechanically to gather up her own luggage. It consisted of a suit case and a smart leather hand bag across the aisle. The box of candied fruit, presented to her by Mr. La Salle, was going the rounds for the last time. It had been mischievously started by Muriel and smilingly declined by three canny freshmen.
“You don’t catch me marching out of the train with my mouth full of candy, looking as though I were about seven years old,” was Jerry’s decided stand. “Go ahead. Eat some yourself, Muriel.”
“I don’t think it would be polite to eat all of Marjorie’s candy,” declined Muriel.
“The delicate consideration of that girl! Ahem! Here’s your candy, Sweet Marjoram.” Reaching over, Jerry deposited it on Marjorie’s seat. “Now for a first timid look at Collegeburg!” As the train began to slow down for a dead stop, Jerry peered curiously out of the car window.
From her own window, Marjorie was also casting her first glances at the Hamilton station. Like the stations of exclusive suburban towns, adjacent to large cities, this one had two separate station buildings; one for outgoing and the other for incoming trains. The two connected by a stone passage-way underneath, ascent or descent made possible by a short flight of stone steps at each end of the passage.
As it happened, Marjorie had been sitting on the side of the car that faced toward the outgoing trains. In consequence, her first impression of Hamilton was a blank. She had expected to see groups of girls in white and light-colored gowns walking up and down the platform. She had looked forward to a scene of moving color and young life. Now all she saw was a platform, empty save for an elderly man, who was leading a little boy of perhaps five or six years along it. This surely was not the Hamilton of her dreams.
