Kitabı oku: «Marjorie Dean, Marvelous Manager», sayfa 8
CHAPTER XVIII
AN EVIL INSPIRATION
Due to the heavy rain storm on Thanksgiving Day, Leslie Cairns’ plans had gone considerably “aglee.” To parade the Dazzler, the white car she had loaned Doris, with Doris in it and clothed in expensive white furry finery, had been an impossibility. In consequence a very much disgruntled Leslie Cairns had telephoned Doris that “it was all off” and to meet her instead at the Colonial at two o’clock.
Before the two girls had reached their Thanksgiving dessert they had come perilously near quarreling. Leslie was in bad humor because of the inclement weather. She had the fierce hatred of being disappointed common to utterly selfish persons. The news that Doris would grace the hop on the Saturday evening following Thanksgiving Day and take charge at the door of the admission fee to the frolic had not pleased Leslie.
“You should have known better than to take that job, even though it does give you a chance to show off your looks,” she had upbraided Doris in a surly tone. “You say you can’t endure Bean and her crowd. Then – bing! – you whirl about and let them make a silly of you. Page is Bean’s partner and one of the celebrated Beanstalks. That didn’t hinder you from being as sweet as cream to Page and saying, ‘yes,’ in a hurry when she asked you to be a little pet donkey and collect the fees at the hop.”
“Leslie!” Doris had said in a low, furious voice, “you shall not talk to me in that tone, or call me a donkey. I won’t stand it. You are simply in a rage with everything and everybody today because things didn’t go to suit you. Besides, it was Miss Wenderblatt not Miss Page who asked me. You are rude and boorish.”
“I’ll say what I please. I’ve a perfect right to express an opinion.” Leslie had flung back with equal fury. “What you’ll have to do is to go and tell that smug Dutch prig, Wenderblatt, that you won’t be able to do the tax-collection stunt Saturday night. You have another engagement. You have, you know. One with me. We’ll go to the Lotus to dinner and wander into that select rube recreation palace known as the Hamilton Opera House.”
“I do not intend to tell Miss Wenderblatt any such thing,” Doris had retorted with belligerent independence. “Just remember she is Professor Wenderblatt’s daughter. This stunt I am to do at the hop will boom me a lot on the campus. I have a perfectly ducky dress to wear. Besides Miss Peyton and Miss Barton are going to try to start a beauty contest at the hop. There is no doubt but that I shall win it.”
“Your chances are fair since Bean’s taken her precious self to dear Sanford, the place where Beans and Beanstocks grow,” Leslie had sneered.
“You are so impossible today, Leslie. I sha’n’t lower myself by quarreling with you,” had been Doris’s ultimatum, delivered in offended haughtiness.
“You’d never win a prize for amiability. You’re the most selfish proposition, Doris Monroe, that I’ve ever met,” Leslie had retaliated.
“Get acquainted with yourself,” Doris had sarcastically advised.
The ending of their Thanksgiving dinner had been punctuated freely with other similar pleasantries. The two self-willed girls had left the Colonial hardly on speaking terms. It was nearing half past three o’clock when they had stepped outside the tea room. The rain having stopped Doris had sulkily announced her intention to walk to Wayland Hall instead of allowing Leslie to run her there in the car. Leslie had snapped back: “Don’t care what you do. You’re too selfish to consider me. You know I counted on you to help me amuse myself tonight in that dead dump of a town. Go to the dance. I hope you have a punk evening.”
“In going to the hop I’m only doing what you asked me to do quite a while ago. You told me then that you wanted me to make myself popular on the campus. Well; this is the way to do it. Think it over. You’ll find I’m right,” had been Doris’s parting shot as she separated from her ill-humored companion.
Determining to teach Doris a lesson, Leslie let the rest of the week go by without holding any communication with the sophomore. She had spent a lonely Thanksgiving evening and blamed Doris heavily because of it. She was also dreadfully miffed at the partial failure of her contemptible plot against the dormitory girls’ welfare. When she had awakened on Thanksgiving morning, to see violently weeping skies that promised an all-day deluge, she had smiled contentedly. She had effectually blocked Bean’s plans for the day. And for a good many days to come! Such was her belief, when, after having posted herself in the palm-screened window of the florist’s shop to see that Sabani kept his word and ran no busses, she had frowningly witnessed the arrival of Phil, Barbara and Robin on the scene and what followed as a result of their timely arrival.
When Leslie had had the galling experience of seeing the Thanksgiving part of her plot far on the way to failure she had flung out of the florist’s in a rage, jumped into her car and set off for the campus without any definite reason whatever for going there. The main point had been to keep “rag, tag and bob-tail,” as she had ironically named the off-campus girls, from getting to the “free feed” at the “dago’s hash house.” She had failed to do this. The “beggars” had managed to reach Baretti’s in spite of the rain. They would return to town in the same way that they had come. Leslie felt particularly spiteful toward Robin Page. So very spiteful that she indulged her rancor in “splashing” Phil and Robin when the opportunity chanced to offer itself.
On the Sunday afternoon following Thanksgiving while the Travelers, old and new, had gathered in Marjorie’s room in serious confab over the momentous happenings of the Thanksgiving holiday, Leslie Cairns had sat lazily stretched in an easy chair in her hotel room, eyes half closed, her dark mind wholly concentrated on an idea which had just introduced itself to her. It was an evil inspiration, born of a group of headlines she had glanced at in one of the Sunday papers.
“I wonder why I never thought of that before,” she had said half aloud as she dipped a hand into a box of nut chocolates on the table beside her and thoughtfully nibbled a cream nut. “I wish I dared ask him to help me. He could do what I want done as quickly as a wink. He couldn’t kick, either, for he has handled more than one such stunt. I think I’ll write him. ‘Nothing venture nothing have.’ I’ll wait a few days until I see how the bus scheme works out, then I’ll write. I’ve never written him since he – since he – .” Leslie’s voice had faltered. She had sat staring into the ruddy embers of the open fire looking less like a malicious mischief-maker and more like a sorrowful young woman than ever before. There was only one person in the world who had ever commanded Leslie’s respect and tenderness. That one was her father.
CHAPTER XIX
A BUSY INVESTIGATOR
On Monday, Leslie, now elated by her newest plan, relented and called Doris Monroe on the telephone. While she had been ready to condemn Doris for going to the hop, nevertheless she had a thriving curiosity to know what had happened at the dance.
The two girls met by appointment at the Colonial and in a far pleasanter frame of mind than that of the preceding Thursday.
“I may go to New York,” Leslie announced, directly they had found a table to suit their difficult fancy and seated themselves. “I’m expecting a letter or a telegram from” – Leslie checked herself abruptly – “from a dear friend,” she continued. “Even if I shouldn’t hear from this friend I may go anyway.”
“And, of course, I can’t get leave of absence to go with you.” Doris spoke pettishly, dissatisfaction looming large on her perfect features. “We made a mistake in not going there at Thanksgiving. You could have gone. It rained too hard for you to attend to any business about your garage site.”
“That’s all you know about it,” Leslie indulged in one of her silent laughs. “I was very busy in town on Thanksgiving morning. Don’t get New Yorkitis, Goldie. We’ll go to little old N. Y. for the Easter vacation. Maybe our house will be open then,” she predicted hopefully. She felt signally cheered even by the remote prospect.
Leslie had already begun the composition of a letter to her father. She wrote, crossed out and re-wrote. She had not yet evolved from her labor the letter she hoped would soften her father’s unforgiving heart.
“When will you go to New York?” Doris showed signs of mollification. The promise of an Easter vacation in New York with Leslie to show her the metropolis was something to be gracious over.
“Don’t know. Not for a week. Perhaps not for two.” Leslie donned her most indifferent air. She had volunteered as much as she thought wise to Doris concerning her New York trip. “Tell me about the hop,” she said craftily, switching the subject from herself to her companion.
“Oh, it was so, so.” Doris shrugged lightly. “My pale blue frock was sweet. A lot of fuss was made over me. There wasn’t a Beauty contest.” Her face registered disappointment. “Julia Peyton said she’d start one, but she couldn’t make it go. The crowd was crazy to dance.”
“She is a big bluff, and her pal, red-headed Miss Carter is a stupid. Look out for both of them,” was Leslie’s succinct criticism. She had been introduced to the two sophs by Doris and had mentally decided against both.
“They have been awfully sweet to me,” Doris returned half offended. She did not enjoy having her admirers belittled. “So were Miss Page, Miss Moore and the rest of that new sorority. Miss Page is charming. What a pity she throws herself away on that horrid Sanford crowd. I was glad they weren’t at the hop. I’d not have taken charge of the admission fee if they had been.”
“You would if it had happened to suit you,” Leslie coolly told her. Then she laughed. “Don’t bristle and get ready to throw quills at me, Goldie. I know you thoroughly. I must say I’m surprised to hear you raving over Page when you know Page and Bean are my special abomination.”
“You never said a word about Miss Page,” Doris flashed back.
“She’s a Beanstalk. Wasn’t that enough to let you know what I thought of her? Aren’t she and Bean always together?”
“I’m not crazy about Miss Page,” Doris jerked out angrily. She purposely avoided answering Leslie’s questions.
“I’ll say you’re not. There’s only one person you are crazy about. That’s Doris Monroe,” Leslie said with savage emphasis.
“That’s not fair, nor true,” sputtered Doris. Unguardedly her clear cold tones rose higher than she knew. “I’m not crazy about myself – or anyone else. I’d like you best of all, Leslie, if you weren’t so awfully bullying. I won’t be bullied. That’s all there is to it.”
“So it would appear.” Leslie’s retort was grimly sarcastic. “Sorry you had to tell the natives about it.” She made an angry movement of the head toward the next table below them. Around it sat Gussie Forbes, Calista Wilmot and Flossie Hart, placidly eating ices.
“They couldn’t hear what I said,” Doris defended, half abashed, half sulky. “I’m sure they couldn’t.”
“You’re the one to worry, if they did,” shrugged Leslie. “It can’t do one little bit of harm to me. Forget it. What do you know about this bus trouble the bread and cheese priggies are having? Have the busses really stopped running between town and the campus? I heard they stopped on Thanksgiving Day. I haven’t seen you since then.” Leslie made a success of looking innocent.
She had not divulged to Doris, either before or on Thanksgiving Day, her part in the bus trouble. Bitter experience with the Sans had taught her the value of keeping her own counsel. She now listened to Doris’s vague information concerning the non-running busses, an enigmatical smile playing upon her lips. She was delighted to hear of the inconvenience her scheme had caused and determined that it should continue indefinitely. She had money. Sabani would do as she ordered so long as plenty of money accompanied her orders.
“Those two were certainly having a fuss,” commented Flossie Hart as the three sophomores left the tea room, directly after Doris’s angry outburst.
“I’m going to tell Marjorie about it.” Gussie made the announcement with great decision.
“Telling tales is a bad practice,” laughingly rebuked Flossie.
“I know why you’re going to.” Calista’s quick mind instantly jumped at a certain conclusion. “I will, if you don’t.”
“I’m still in the dark,” mourned Flossie. “Kindly enlighten me. Forgive me for being so stupid. Doesn’t that sound just like Muriel?”
“Yes, Floss. Muriel might think it was herself talking if she happened to hear you.” Gussie favored her room-mate with a condescending smile.
The three hurried along the street to the main campus gate. “Race you to the Hall,” challenged Gussie the instant they set foot on the snow-patched brown of the campus. A playful wind, not too penetrating, frolicked with them as they ran, blowing added bloom into their cheeks.
Aside from the one remark Flossie had made about Doris and Leslie Cairns nothing else had been said. As members of the new Travelers the Bertram girls were endeavoring to live up to one of the basic rules of their code; never to discuss anyone for the interest derived from the discussion. The discussion must come as necessary to the promotion of welfare.
“I hope Marjorie’s in.” Gussie was presently pounding vigorously on the door of 15, a chum at each elbow.
“Why not leave us the door?” blandly inquired Jerry as she opened it to the vociferous demand for admission. “Is it really you, Gentleman Gus? I haven’t seen you for as much as three hours. The last occasion was at lunch.” Jerry smirked soulfully at her callers.
“Where’s Marjorie?” Gussie peered over Jerry’s head and into the room. “We’ve a bit of special information. You’re privileged to hear it too, Jeremiah?”
“She has gone to Baretti’s. She was to meet Robin and go there. They had an appointment with Guiseppe. He wrote Marjorie one of his one-line funny little notes. I think he has news for Page and Dean.”
“Um-m.” Gussie looked undecided for a moment. “We’ll come back later.” She looked first at her chums for conformation, then at Jerry. “Let us know when she comes, Jerry. We love you dearly enough to hang around in your room till Marjorie comes, but there’s a time for study, et cetera. Only I don’t know when it will be if not now. You may pound on my door as hard as I pounded on yours, but no harder.”
“Suit yourself,” Jerry waved an affable hand. “I can live without you. I have a letter to write. I’d enjoy perfect quiet.”
The three sophomores went gaily down the hall. Jerry again shut herself in her room to write a letter which she had for some time been searching for an excuse to write. That very morning in the corridor of Hamilton Hall she had found it. It had come in the shape of a particularly sheer, dainty, hand-embroidered handkerchief, bearing the monogram L. M. W. Instantly her mind had began to canvass among the initials of her friends for L. M. W. Intending to place it in the students’ “Lost and Found,” after class Jerry had tucked it away in her hand bag and hurried to her recitation.
During class her mind continued to revert to the initials L. M. W. Jerry thoroughly enjoyed being baffled temporarily by a problem which she was confident she would solve eventually. In the midst of her cogitations she chanced to call to mind the name of a student whose initials were surely L. M. W. Whereupon a beatific smile paused on Jerry’s face for a second. She promptly forgot her surroundings to dwell triumphantly instead upon the beauty of a certain stunt she determined to “put over” as soon as she returned to her room. Nor did she visit the “Lost and Found” on her way to the Hall.
Seated at the study table Jerry eyed the dainty handkerchief meditatively. Should she write to L. M. W., whom she hoped was Louise M. Walker, merely asking the sophomore if she had lost the beautiful bit of linen, or should she fold the handkerchief inside a note she would write, asking Miss Walker to place the article in the “Lost and Found” should it not belong to her? Jerry considered the problem owlishly, then wrote:
“Dear Miss Walker:
“Have you lost a handkerchief? I am enclosing one I found, in the corridor of Hamilton Hall, bearing your initials. If it is not yours, will you kindly place it in the ‘Lost and Found’?
“Sincerely,“Geraldine Macy.”
“There! She’ll be an untutored savage if she ignores my kindly little act,” Jerry decided with a grin. “If I wrote asking her if she’d lost the handkerchief she might ’phone me, or come here. That’s not what I’m after. She ought to write me a line of acknowledgment. If she should – I’ll know one thing that I don’t know now.”
CHAPTER XX
MARJORIE FINDS A SUPPORTER
Marjorie returned from Baretti’s full of the glorious news of the little proprietor’s triumph over Sabani in behalf of Page and Dean. Jerry was equally elated and burst into one of what she had named “Joyful Jingles to Bean.” She spouted them on special occasions.
“Thanks to our faithful dago friend
The Goblin’s schemes fell through.
’Tis plainly seen, oh, upright Bean
Such trouble’s not for you.”
She did a fantastic polka step around Marjorie, keeping time with her declamation.
“You funny old goose!” Marjorie caught her and wrapped both arms about her. “Yes, the Goblin’s scheme did fall through, and, oh, rapture, the busses will begin running again tomorrow morning! What would we have done without Signor Baretti’s help? He’s splendid in his interest in our work here. He ranks with Miss Susanna, Prexy and Professor Wenderblatt as our most loyal supporters. Now I must tell you what he did.”
“Oh, save it till I go for Gus, Calista and Flossie. Let them hear it. They’ve been looking for you. They’ve something on their minds. So has Jeremiah. This is another wildly eventful day.” Jerry smiled warmly down on Marjorie who had taken off her wraps and was now lounging in one of the arm chairs. She reclined there, a graceful lissome figure in her straight gown of pale jade broadcloth, with no trimming save that of her superb young beauty to set it off.
“All the days here are somehow wildly eventful,” Marjorie said with a little devoted smile. “Something remarkable seems always to be happening.”
“Too true,” Jerry agreed with solemnity. “But some days are even more eventful than that. I will mention as an example the day before we went home for Thanksgiving.” Both girls began to laugh. “That was some day. Muriel began it right by tipping her cup of coffee into my lap. Next. I fell down three steps of the stairs. Next. I dropped a new library book in the mud. Next. I went to the gym to see Gentleman Gus and got hit on the nose with the ball. Next. I couldn’t find my suitcase in the trunk room so I had to borrow one. Do you recall any other exciting misfortunes of that particular day?” She turned innocently inquiring eyes upon Marjorie.
“Nope. You were a martyr that day, poor old Jeremiah.”
“I need your sympathy, Bean,” Jerry rejoined brokenly. “It’s a hard world for some folks. Still I’m glad I’ve survived.”
“Cheer up. Here come the Bertramites.” Marjorie’s keen ears had caught the sound of familiar voices. She went to the door and ushered in the trio of sophs.
“What’s the latest from Guiseppe, the defender?” Gussie immediately clamored to know. The three girls surrounded Marjorie while Jerry made an equally eager fourth member of the group.
It did not take long to put them in possession of the good news. They received it with enthusiasm, modified to keep within the limit of noise. Since the evening when Marjorie and Jerry had been called to the door by Miss Peyton on the head of being disturbers of quiet no more reports had been made against them. Miss Peyton’s threat that she would place the matter before President Matthews had evidently never been carried out. Marjorie could only hope that it had not. The president’s cordiality to her whenever they chanced to meet assured her of his regard. Still she disliked the idea intensely of being reported to headquarters for anything so utterly uncontrolled and childish.
“What a strange, dreadful life for a girl to lead!” exclaimed Calista Wilmot. She referred to Marjorie’s account of Leslie Cairns’ part in the bus trouble.
“Yes, it is.” Marjorie’s reply was spoken in all seriousness. “After Signor Baretti had told us of what she had done Robin and I both thought we ought not tell even you girls of it. Then we thought of the way Phil, Barbara and the rest of you helped break up her plot by coming out with your cars in the storm. We decided it was only fair to tell you the exact circumstances. The Travelers, old and new, should be, and are, I’m sure, trustworthy. None of them would circulate any of the private business of the club about the campus.”
“There’s another argument just as strong as to why Leslie Cairns’ actions shouldn’t be kept secret from the club. She doesn’t deserve to be shielded for what she did.” Gussie’s handsome, colorful face showed shocked disapproval. “Why, she has acted just like a regular old politician who goes around before election day and buys votes!”
Gussie’s comparison raised a laugh in which Marjorie joined. Long ago she and Robin had come to that conclusion.
“Well, we won’t ever say a word about her outside the Travelers,” she said, her face sobering. “Everything’s going nicely again. Now, children, my tale’s told. Jerry says you have something on your minds. Go sit on that couch, three in a row, and spout forth your news.” Marjorie indicated her couch bed. “If you don’t care to sit there, why, here is our assortment of chairs.” She grandly pointed them out.
“Let Gus tell it. She began it,” declared Flossie. The three friends had bumped themselves down on the couch, with much interference one with another and little bursts of laughter.
“Your fairy-tale Princess and Leslie Cairns had a fuss at the Colonial today. They were together there when the three of us went into the place for ices.” Gussie said in matter-of-fact tones. “Miss Monroe was ripping mad. We heard her say that something wasn’t true, and that she wouldn’t be bullied. She was so angry she talked louder than she intended. I think she knew it for all in a minute she dropped her voice away down. I wanted to be the one to tell you about this, Marjorie, for a certain reason.” Her tone was flattering to Marjorie’s dignity.
“Speak, Gentleman Gus,” laughed Marjorie, amused by the very solemn expression of Gussie’s face.
“Just because Miss Monroe was opposed to me at class election is no sign that I should have any hard feeling toward her,” Gussie began. “I haven’t. I know you think she’s going to – to – well, be more congenial some day. She won’t be, though, if she keeps on associating with Miss Cairns. She’ll begin to break rules, too. First thing she knows she’ll do something serious and be expelled from Hamilton. I can’t forget how sweet she looked the other night at the hop. I thought, since she seemed to be peeved with Miss Cairns that maybe you could think of some way to link her to Hamilton. So she’ll like the campus better than she does Leslie Cairns.”
“I have thought of a way, Gussie,” Marjorie’s eyes sparkled. At last she had a supporter in the cause of the difficult fairy-tale princess.
“We ought to forget there is any such person,” Calista said. “After the way she reported us for being noisy on the day we got here. But you see what forgiving natures we have.” She gave a whimsical little shrug and smile.
“I decided to forget that she reported us,” came from Gussie magnanimously. “She’s awfully thorny and hard to approach. She doesn’t seem to care much for Miss Peyton and Miss Carter. They make great effort toward being chummy with her.”
“Leila knows I’d like to have a Beauty contest; the kind of one she got up when we were freshmen and she and Vera were sophs,” Marjorie told them animatedly. “If we had one – ”
“Good old M. M. thinks the Ice Queen would win it. That would let M. M. out of being the college beauty – so she innocently schemes,” translated Jerry. “We’d still be privileged to our own opinion, Ahem.” She coughed suggestively. Next instant she had gone to the door in answer to a rapping on it.
“You’re just in time,” she greeted, stepping back to allow Leila to enter.
“In time for what, may I ask?” Leila’s bright blue eyes roved speculatively about the room.
“For the Beauty contest,” returned Calista promptly.
“Then I must have won it. I see no one half as beautiful as myself here,” was Leila’s modest opinion. “But have you seen Vera? Midget is gone, unless you may be hiding her away in some small corner.”
“She went to town with Phil. Robin and I met them when we came from Baretti’s.” Marjorie continued with a brief account of Robin’s and her call at the inn.
“Once more she has dropped her gold into the sea,” was Leila’s thoroughly Irish comment. “It is the same old story, Beauty. She never wins.”
“Bean hopes to be Bean without beauty,” Jerry said briskly to Leila. “Can it be done?”
“I shall have to consult the stars.” Leila rolled her eyes mysteriously at Marjorie.
“Never mind me, Leila, won’t you please help me about the Beauty contest. You know why I am so determined to have it. Gussie feels the same as I do about Miss Monroe. So does Calista. I’ve two on my side.”
“Count me in, Bean. Never forget your friend.” Jerry sprang to Marjorie’s support.
“And me,” echoed Flossie Hart.
“I’m sorry, Beauty, but I can’t help you with the contest.” Leila pursed her lips and shook her black head. “Now, why should you bother your head about it?”
“Because I think it is the one thing to do for Miss Monroe. I want to do it, Leila. Why won’t you help me?” Marjorie sent Leila a puzzled, almost hurt glance.
“Why won’t I help you? Because – ” Leila’s smile burst forth from her sober face like sunlight through a cloud – “I shall be busy managing the Beauty contest myself.”
