Betty Wales, Freshman Page 8

  CHAPTER VIII

  AFTER THE PLAY

  "Sherlock Holmes" was quite as exciting as Miss Madison had anticipated.Most college plays, except the elaborate ones given in the gymnasium,which are carefully learned, costumed and rehearsed, and supervised by acommittee from the faculty--are amusing little farces in one or twoshort scenes. "Sherlock Holmes," on the other hand, was a four act,blood-curdling melodrama, with three different stage settings, anabundance of pistol shots, a flash-light fire, shrieks and a faintingfit on the part of the heroine, the raiding of a robbers' den in thedenouement, and "a lot more excitement all through than there is in Mr.Gillette's play," as Mary modestly informed her caste. It wasnecessarily cruder, as it was far more ambitious, than the commoner sortof amateur play; but the audience, whether little freshmen who had seenfew similar performances, or upper class girls who had seen a great manyand so fully appreciated the novelty of this one, were wildlyenthusiastic. Every actress, down to Helen, who made a very stiff andstilted "Buttons," and Rachel and Mary Rich who appeared in the robbers'den scene as Betty's female accomplices, and in the heroine'sdrawing-room as her wicked mother and her stupid maid respectively, wasrapturously received; and Dr. Holmes and Sir Archibald, whose hat wasdecidedly the hit of the evening, were forced to come before thecurtain. Finally, in response to repeated shouts for "author," MaryBrooks appeared, flushed and panting from her vigorous exertions asprompter, stage manager, and assistant dresser, and informed theaudience that owing to the kindness of Mrs. Chapin there was lemon-icein the dining-room, and would every one please go out there, so thatthis awful mess,--with a comprehensive wave of her hand toward the ruinsof the robbers' den piled on top of the heroine's drawing-roomfurniture, which in turn had been a rearrangment of Dr. Holmes'sstudy,--could be cleared up, and they could dance there later?

  At this the audience again applauded, sighed to think that the play wasover, and then joyfully adjourned to the dining-room to eat Mrs.Chapin's ice and examine the actors at close range. All these speedilyappeared, except Helen, who had crept up-stairs quite unnoticed themoment her part was finished, and Eleanor, who, hunting up Betty,explained that she had a dreadful headache and begged Betty to lookafter her guests and not for anything to let them come up-stairs to findher. Betty, who was busily washing off her "fierce frown" at the time,sputtered a promise through the mixture of soap, water and vaseline shewas using, delivered the message, assured herself that the guests wereenjoying themselves, and forgot all about Eleanor until half-past ninewhen every one had gone and she came up to her room to find Helen in bedand apparently fast asleep, with her face hidden in the pillows.

  "How queer," she thought. "She's had the blues for a week, but I thoughtshe was all right this evening." Then, as her conjectures about Helensuggested Eleanor's headache, she tiptoed out to see if she could doanything for the prostrate heroine.

  Eleanor's transom was dark and her door evidently locked, for it wouldnot yield when Betty, anxious at getting no answer to her knocks, triedto open it. But when she called softly, "Eleanor, are you there? Can Ido anything?" Eleanor answered crossly, "Please go away. I'm better, butI want to be let alone."

  So, murmuring an apology, Betty went back to her own room, and as Helenseemed to be sound asleep, she saw no reason for making a nuisance ofherself a second time, but considerately undressed in the dark and creptinto bed as softly as possible.

  If she had turned on her light, she would have discovered two telltalebits of evidence, for Helen had left a very moist handkerchief on herdesk and another rolled into a damp, vindictive little wad on thechiffonier. It was not because she knew she had done her part badly thatshe had gone sobbing to bed, while the others ate lemon-ice and dancedmerrily down-stairs. Billy was a hard part; Mary Brooks had said soherself, and she had only taken it because when Roberta positivelyrefused to act, there was no one else. Helen couldn't act, knew shecouldn't, and didn't much care. But not to have any friends in all thisbig, beautiful college--that was a thing to make any one cry. It was badenough not to be asked anywhere, but not to have any friends to inviteoneself, that was worse--it was dreadful! If she went right offup-stairs perhaps no one would notice; they would think at first thatsomebody else was looking after her guests while she dressed, and thenthey would forget all about her and never know the dreadful truth thatnobody she had asked to the play would come.

  When it had first been decided to present "Sherlock Holmes" and thegirls had begun giving out their invitations, Helen, who felt more andmore keenly her isolation in the college, resolved to see just how theothers managed and then do as they did. She heard Rachel say, "I thinkChristy Mason is a dear. I don't know her much if any, but I'm going toask her all the same, and perhaps we shall get better acquainted afterawhile."

  That made Helen, who took the speech more literally than it was meant,think of Caroline Barnes. One afternoon she and Betty had been down-towntogether, and on the way back Miss Barnes overtook them, and came upwith them to see Eleanor, who was an old friend of hers. Bettyintroduced her to Helen and she walked between them up the hill andnecessarily included both of them in her conversation. She was a homelygirl, with dull, inexpressive features; but she was tall andwell-proportioned and strikingly well dressed. Betty had taken aninstant dislike to her at the time of their first meeting and greatly toEleanor's disgust had resisted all her advances. Eleanor had accused herfrankly of not liking Caroline.

  "No," returned Betty with equal frankness, "I don't. I think all yourother friends are lovely, but Miss Barnes rubs me the wrong way."

  Helen knew nothing of all this, and Miss Barnes's lively, slangyconversation and stylish, showy clothes appealed to her unsophisticatedtaste.

  When the three parted at the head of the stairs, Miss Barnes turned backto say, "Aren't you coming to see me? You owe me a call, you know."

  Helen and Betty were standing close together, and though part of theremark applied only to Betty, she looked at them both.

  Betty said formally, "Thank you, I should like to," and Helen, pleasedand eager, chorused, "So should I."

  Later, in their own room, Betty said with apparent carelessness but withthe covert intention of dropping Helen a useful hint, "You aren't goingto see Miss Barnes, are you? I'm not."

  And Helen had flushed again, gave some stammering reply and then had hadfor the first time an unkind thought about her roommate. Betty wanted tokeep all her nice friends to herself. It must be that. Why shouldn't shego to see Miss Barnes? She wasn't asked so often that she could affordto ignore the invitations she did get. And later she added, Whyshouldn't she ask Miss Barnes to the play, since Eleanor wasn't goingto?

  So one afternoon Helen, arrayed in her best clothes, went down to calland deliver her invitation. Miss Barnes was out, but her door was openand Helen slipped in, and writing a little note on her card, laid itconspicuously on the shining mahogany desk.

  That was one invitation. She had given the other to a quiet, brown-eyedgirl who sat next her in geometry, not from preference, but because hername came next on the class roll. This girl declined politely, on theplea of another engagement.

  Next day Miss Barnes brushed unseeingly past her in the hall of theScience Building. The day after that they met at gym. Finally, whenalmost a week had gone by without a sign from her, Helen inquiredtimidly if she had found the note.

  "Oh, are you Miss Adams?" inquired Miss Barnes, staring past her with aweary air. "Thank you very much I'm sure, but I can't come," and shewalked off.

  Any one but Helen Adams would have known that Caroline Barnes andEleanor Watson had the reputation of being the worst "snobs" in theirclass, and that Miss Ashby, her neighbor in geometry, boarded with hermother and never went anywhere without her. But Helen knew no collegegossip. She offered her invitation to two girls who had been in thedancing-class, read hypocrisy into their hearty regrets that they weregoing out of town for Sunday, and asked no one else to the play. If shehad been less shy and reserved she would have told Rachel or Betty allabout her i
ll-luck, have been laughed at and sympathized with, and thenhave forgotten all about it. But being Helen Chase Adams, she broodedover her trouble in secret, asked nobody's advice, and grew shyer andmore sensitive in consequence, but not a whit less determined to make aplace for herself in the college world.

  She would have attached less significance to Caroline Barnes's rudeness,had she known a little about the causes of Eleanor's headache. Eleanorhad gone down to Caroline's on the afternoon of the play, knockedboldly, in spite of a "Don't disturb" sign posted on the door, and foundthe pretty rooms in great confusion and Caroline wearily overseeing thepacking of her books and pictures.

  Eleanor waited patiently until the men had gone off with three hugeboxes, and then insisted upon knowing what Caroline was doing.

  "Going home," said Caroline sullenly.

  "Why?" demanded Eleanor.

  "Public reason--trouble with my eyes; real reason--haven't touched myconditions yet and now I have been warned and told to tutor in threeclasses. I can't possibly do it all."

  "Why Caroline Barnes, do you mean you are sent home?"

  Caroline nodded. "It amounts to that. I was advised to go home now, andwork off the entrance conditions and come again next fall. I thoughtmaybe you'd be taking the same train," she added with a nervous laugh.

  Eleanor turned white. "Nonsense!" she said sharply. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, you said you hadn't done anything about your conditions, andyou've cut and flunked and scraped along much as I have, I fancy."

  "I'm sorry, Caroline," said Eleanor, ignoring the digression. "I don'tknow that you care, though. You've said you were bored to death uphere."

  "I--I say a great deal that I don't mean," gulped Caroline. "Good-bye,Eleanor. Shall I see you in New York at Christmas? And don'tforget--trouble with my eyes. Oh, the family won't mind. They didn'tlike my coming up in the first place. I shall go abroad in the spring.Good-bye."

  Eleanor walked swiftly back through the campus. In the main building sheconsulted the official bulletin-board with anxious eyes, and fairly toreoff a note addressed to "Miss Eleanor Watson, First Class." It hadcome--a "warning" in Latin. Once back in her own room, Eleanor sat downto consider the situation calmly. But the more she thought about it, themore frightened and ashamed she grew. Thanksgiving was next week, andshe had been given only until Christmas to work off her entranceconditions. She had meant to leave them till the last moment, rushthrough the work with a tutor, and if she needed it get an extension oftime by some specious excuse. Had the last minute passed? The Latinwarning meant more extra work. There were other things too. She had"cut" classes recklessly--three on the day of the sophomore reception,and four on a Monday morning when she had promised to be back fromBoston in time for chapel. Also, she had borrowed Lil Day's last year'sliterature paper and copied most of it verbatim. She could make asophistical defence of her morals to Betty Wales, but she understoodperfectly what the faculty would think about them. The only questionwas, how much did they know?

  When the dinner-bell rang, Eleanor pulled herself together and starteddown-stairs.

  "Did you get your note, Miss Watson?" asked Adelaide Rich from thedining-room door.

  "What note?" demanded Eleanor sharply.

  "I'm sure I can't describe it. It was on the hall table," said Adelaide,turning away wrathfully. Some people were so grateful if you tried to dothem a favor!

  It was this incident which led Eleanor to hurry off after dinner, andagain at the end of the play, bound to escape nerve-racking questionsand congratulations. Later, when Betty knocked on her door, her firstimpulse was to let her in and ask her advice. But a second thoughtsuggested that it was safer to confide in nobody. The next morning shewas glad of the second thought, for things looked brighter, and it wouldhave been humiliating indeed to be discovered making a mountain out of amole-hill.

  "The trouble with Caroline was that she wasn't willing to work hard,"she told herself. "Now I care enough to do anything, and I must makethem see it."

  She devoted her spare hours on Monday morning to "making them see it,"with that rare combination of tact and energy that was Eleanor Watson ather best. By noon her fears of being sent home were almost gone, and shewas alert and exhilarated as she always was when there were difficultiesto be surmounted.

  "Now that the play is over, I'm going to work hard," Betty announced atlunch, and Eleanor, who was still determined not to confide in anybody,added nonchalantly, "So am I." It was going to be the best of the fun totake in the Chapin house.

  But the Chapin house was not taken in for long.

  "What's come over Eleanor Watson?" inquired Katherine, a few days later,as the girls filed out from dinner.

  "She's working," said Mary Brooks with a grin. "And apparently shethinks work and dessert don't jibe."

  "I'm afraid it was time," said Rachel. "She's always cutting classes,and that puts a girl behind faster than anything else. I wonder if shecould have had a warning in anything."

  "I think she could----" began Katherine, and then stopped, laughing. "Imight as well own up to one in math.," she said.

  "Well, Miss Watson is going to stay here over Thanksgiving," said MaryRich.

  Then plans for the two days' vacation were discussed, and Eleanor'saffairs forgotten, much to the relief of Betty Wales, who feared everymoment lest she should in some way betray Eleanor's confidence.

  On the Wednesday after Thanksgiving Eleanor burst in on her merrily, asshe was dressing for dinner.

  "I just wanted to tell you that some of those conditions that worry youso are made up," she said. "I almost wore out my tutor, and I surprisedthe history department into a compliment, but I'm through. That is, Ihave only math., and one other little thing."

  "I don't see how you did it," sighed Betty. "I should never dare to getbehind. I have all I want to do with the regular work."

  Eleanor leaned luxuriously back among the couch cushions. "Yes," shesaid loftily. "I suppose you haven't the faintest idea what real,downright hard work is, and neither can you appreciate the joys ofdownright idleness. I shall try that as soon as I've finished the math."

  "Why?" asked Betty. "Do you like making it up later?"

  "I shouldn't have to. You know I'm getting a reputation as an earnest,thorough student. That's what the history department called me. Areputation is a wonderful thing to lean back upon. I ought to have gonein for one in September. I was at the Hill School for three years, and Inever studied after the first three months. There's everything in makingpeople believe in you from the first."

  "What's the use in making people believe you're something that you'renot?" demanded Betty.

  "What a question! It saves you the trouble of being that something. Ifthe history department once gets into the habit of thinking me athorough, earnest student, it won't condition me because I fail in awritten recitation or two. It will suppose I had an off day."

  "But you'd have to do well sometimes."

  "Oh, yes, occasionally. That's easy."

  "Not for me," said Betty, "so I shall have to do respectable work allthe time. But I shall tell Helen about your idea. She works all thetime, and it makes her dull and cross. She must have secured areputation by this time; and I shall insist upon her leaning back on itfor a while and taking more walks."