Kitabı oku: «Molly Brown's Freshman Days», sayfa 3
CHAPTER V
THE KENTUCKY SPREAD
“Molly, you look a little worried,” observed Nance Oldham, two days before the famous spread was to take place, it having been set for Friday evening.
Molly was seated on her bed, in the midst of a conglomerate mass of books and clothes, chewing the end of a pencil while she knitted her brows over a list of names.
“Not exactly worried,” she replied. “But, you know, Nance, giving a party is exactly like some kind of strong stimulant with me. It goes to my head, and I seem to get intoxicated on invitations. Once I get started to inviting, I can’t seem to stop.”
“Molly Brown,” put in Nance severely, “I believe you’ve just about invited the whole of Wellington College to come here Friday night. And because you are already such a famous person, everybody has accepted.”
“I think I can about remember how many I asked,” she replied penitently. “There are all the girls in the house, of course.”
“Frances Andrews?”
Molly nodded.
“And all the girls who were at Miss Stewart’s the other night.”
“What, even that girl who makes catty speeches. That black-eyed Blount person?”
“Yes, even so,” continued Molly sadly. “I really hadn’t intended to ask her, Nance, but I do love to heap coals of fire on people’s heads, and besides, I just told you, when I get started, I can’t seem to stop. When I was younger, I’ve been known to bring home as many as six strange little girls to dinner at once.”
“The next time you give a party,” put in Nance, “we’d better make out the list beforehand, and then you must give me your word of honor not to add one name to it.”
“I’ll try to,” replied Molly with contrition, “but it’s awfully hard to take the pledge when it comes to asking people to meals, even spreads.”
The two girls examined the list together, and Molly racked her brains to try and remember any left-outs, as she called them.
“I’m certain that’s all,” she said at last. “That makes twenty, doesn’t it? Oh, Nance, I tremble for the old ham and the hickory nut cake. Do you think they’ll go round? Aunty, she’s my godmother, is sending me another box of beaten biscuits. She has promised to keep me supplied. You know, I have never eaten cold light bread in my life at breakfast, and I’d just as soon choke down cold potatoes as the soggy bread they give us here. But beaten biscuit and ham and home-made pickles won’t be enough, even with hickory nut cake,” she continued doubtfully.
“I have a chafing dish. We can make fudge; then there’s tea, you know. We can borrow cups and saucers from the others. But we’ll have to do something else for their amusement besides feed them. Have you thought of anything?”
“Lillie and Millie,” these were two sophomores at Queen’s, “have a stunt they have promised to give. It’s to be a surprise. And Jennie Wren has promised to bring her guitar and oblige us with a few selections, but, oh, Nance, except for the eatin’, I’m afraid it won’t be near such a fine party as Mary Stewart’s was.”
“Eatin’s the main thing, child. Don’t let that worry you,” replied Nance consolingly. “I think I have an idea of something which would interest the company, but I’m not going to tell even you what it is.”
Nance had a provoking way of keeping choice secrets and then springing them when she was entirely ready, and wild horses could not drag them out of her before that propitious moment.
On Friday evening the girls began to arrive early, for, as has been said, Molly was already an object of interest at Wellington College, and the fame of her beaten biscuits and old ham had spread abroad. Some of the guests, like Mary Stewart, came because they were greatly attracted toward the young freshman; and others, like Judith Blount, felt only an amused curiosity in accepting the invitation. As a general thing, Judith was a very exclusive person, but she felt she could safely show her face where Mary Stewart was.
“This looks pretty fine to me,” observed that nice, unaffected young woman herself, shaking hands with Molly and Nance.
“It’s good of you to say so,” replied Molly. “Your premises would make two of our’s, I’m thinking.”
“But, look at your grand buffet. How clever of you! One of you two children must have a genius for arrangement.”
The study tables had been placed at one end of the room close together, their crudities covered with a white cloth borrowed from Mrs. Murphy, and on these were piled the viands in a manner to give the illusion of great profusion and plenty.
“It’s Molly,” laughed Nance; “she’s a natural entertainer.”
“Not at all,” put in Molly. “I come of a family of cooks.”
“And did your cook relatives marry butlers?” asked Judith.
Molly stifled a laugh. Somehow Judith couldn’t say things like other girls. There was always a tinge of spite in her speeches.
“Where I come from,” she said gravely, “the cooks and butlers are colored people, and the old ones are almost like relatives, they are so loyal and devoted. But there are not many of those left now.”
The room was gradually filling, and presently every guest had arrived, except Frances Andrews.
“We won’t wait for her,” said Molly to Lillie and Millie, the two inseparable sophomores, who now quietly slipped out. Presently, Nance, major domo for the evening, shoved all the guests back onto the divans and into the corners until a circle was formed in the centre of the room. She then hung a placard on the knob of the door which read:
MAHOMET, THE COCK OF THE EAST,
vs
CHANTECLER, THE COCK OF THE WEST
There was a sound of giggling and scuffling, the door opened and two enormous, man-sized cocks entered the room. Both fowls had white bodies made by putting the feet through the sleeves of a nightgown, which was drawn up around the neck and over the arms, the fullness gathered into the back and tied into a rakish tail. A Persian kimono was draped over Mahomet to represent wings and a tightly fitting white cap with a point over the forehead covered his head. His face was powdered to a ghastly pallor with talcum and his mouth had been painted with red finger-nail salve into a cruel red slash across his countenance. Chantecler was of a more engaging countenance. A small red felt bedroom slipper formed his comb and a red silk handkerchief covered his back hair. The two cocks crowed and flapped their wings and the fight began, amid much laughter and cheering. Twice Chantecler was almost spurred to death, but it was Mahomet’s lot to die that evening, and presently he expired with a terrible groan, while the Cock of the West placed his foot on Mahomet’s chest and crowed a mighty crow, for the West had conquered the East.
That was really the great stunt of the evening, and it occupied a good deal of time. Molly began carving the ham, which she had refused to do earlier, because a ham, properly served, should appear first in all its splendid shapely wholeness before being sliced into nothingness. Therefore she now proceeded to cut off thin portions, which crumbled into bits under the edge of the carving knife borrowed from Mrs. Murphy. But the young hostess composedly heaped it upon the plates with pickle and biscuit, and it was eaten so quickly that she had scarcely finished the last serving before the plates were back again for a second allowance.
During the hot fudge and hickory nut cake course, the door opened and a Scotch laddie, kilted and belted in the most approved manner entered the room. His knees were bare, he wore a little Scotch cap, a black velvet jacket and a plaidie thrown over one shoulder. But the most perfect part of his get-up was his miniature bagpipe, which he blew on vigorously, and presently he paused and sang a Scotch song.
“Nance!” cried several of the Queen’s Cottage girls, for it was difficult to recognize the quiet young girl from Vermont in this rakish disguise.
In the midst of the uproar there was a loud knock on the door.
“Come in,” called Molly, a little frightened, thinking, perhaps, the kindly matron had for once rebelled at the noise they were making.
Slowly the door opened and an old hag stepped into the room. She was really a terrible object, and some of the girls shrieked and fell back as she advanced toward the jolly circle. Her nose was of enormous length, and almost rested on her chin, like a staff, like the nose of “The Last Leaf on the Tree.” Also, she had a crooked back and leaned heavily on a stick. On her head was a high pointed witch’s cap. She wore black goggles, and had only two front teeth. The witch produced a pack of cards which she dexterously shuffled with her black gloved hands. Then she sat down on the floor, beckoning to the girls to come nearer.
“Half-a-minute fortune for each one,” she observed in a muffled, disguised voice, but it was a very fulsome minute, as Judy remarked afterward, for what little she said was strictly to the point.
To Judith Blount she said:
“English literature is your weak point. Look out for danger ahead.”
This seemed simple enough advice, but Judith flushed darkly, and several of the girls exchanged glances. Molly, for some reason, recalled what Judith had said about Professor Edwin Green.
Many of the other girls came in for knocks, but they were very skillful ones, deftly hidden under the guise of advice. To Jennie Wren the witch said:
“Be careful of your friends. Don’t ever cultivate unprofitable people.”
To Nance Oldham she said:
“You will always be very popular – if you stick to popular people.”
It was all soon over. Molly’s fortune had been left to the last. The strange witch had gone so quickly from one girl to another that they had scarcely time to take a breath between each fortune.
“As for you,” she said at last, turning to Molly, “I can only say that ‘kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood,’ and by the end of your freshman year you will be the most popular girl in college.”
“Who are you?” cried Molly, suddenly coming out of her dream.
“Yes, who are you?” cried Judith, breaking through the circle and seizing the witch by the arm.
With a swift movement the witch pushed her back and she fell in a heap on some girls who were still sitting on the floor.
“I will know who you are,” cried Jennie Wren, with a determined note in her high voice, as she grasped the witch by the arm, and it did look for a moment as if the Kentucky spread were going to end in a free-for-all fight, when suddenly, in the midst of the scramble and cries, came three raps on the door, and the voice of the matron called:
“Young ladies, ten o’clock. Lights out!”
The girls always declared that it was the witch who had got near the door and pushed the button which put out every light in the room. At any rate, the place was in total darkness for half a minute, and when Molly switched the lights on again for the girls to find their wraps the witch had disappeared.
In another instant the guests had vanished into thin air and across the moonlit campus ghostly figures could be seen flitting like shadows over the turf toward the dormitories, for there was no time to lose. At a quarter past ten the gates into the Quadrangle would be securely locked.
Nance lit a flat, thick candle, known in the village as “burglar’s terror,” and in this flickering dim light the two girls undressed hastily.
Suddenly Molly exclaimed in a whisper:
“Nance, I believe it was Frances Andrews who dressed up as that witch, and I’m going to find out, rules or no rules.”
She slipped on her kimono and crept into the hall. The house was very still, but she tapped softly on Frances’ door. There was no answer, and opening the door she tiptoed into the room. A long ray of moonlight, filtering in through the muslin curtains, made the room quite light. There was a smell of lavender salts in the air, and Mollie could plainly see Frances in her bed. A white handkerchief was tied around her head, as if she had a headache, but she seemed to be asleep.
“Frances,” called Molly softly.
Frances gave a stifled sob that was half a groan and turned over on her side.
“Frances,” called Molly again.
Frances opened her eyes and sat up.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked.
Molly went up to the bedside. Even in the moonlight she could see that Frances’ eyes were swollen with crying.
“I was afraid you were ill,” whispered Molly. “Why didn’t you come to the spread?”
“I had a bad headache. It’s better now. Good night.” Molly crept off to her room.
Was it Frances, after all, who had broken up her party?
Molly was inclined to think it was not, and yet —
“At any rate, we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt, Nance,” she whispered.
But there were no doubts in Nance’s mind.
CHAPTER VI
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 crêpey 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.
