CHAPTER XVI
A CHANCE TO HELP
Eleanor Watson had gotten neither class spirit nor personal ambitionfrom 19--'s "glorious old defeat," as Katherine called it. The Saturdayafternoon of the game she had spent, greatly to the disgust of herfriends, on the way to New York, whither she went for a Sunday withCaroline Barnes. Caroline's mother had been very ill, and the Europeantrip was indefinitely postponed, but the family were going for a shorterjaunt to Bermuda. Caroline begged Eleanor to join them. "You can come aswell as not," she urged. "You know your father would let you--he alwaysdoes. And we sail the very first day of your vacation too."
"But you stay three weeks," objected Eleanor, "and the vacation is onlytwo."
"What's the difference? Say you were ill and had to stay over,"suggested Caroline promptly.
Eleanor's eyes flashed. "Once for all, Cara, please understand that'snot my way of doing business nowadays. I should like to go, though, andI imagine my father wouldn't object. I'll write you if I can arrangeit."
She had quite forgotten her idle promise when, on the following Mondaymorning, she stood in the registrar's office, waiting to get a recordcard for chapel attendance in place of one she had lost. The registrarwas busy. Eleanor waited while she discussed the pedagogical value ofchemistry with a sophomore who had elected it, and now, after a semesterand a half of gradually deteriorating work, wished to drop it becausethe smells made her ill.
"Does the fact that we sent you a warning last week make the smells moreunendurable?" asked the registrar suggestively, and the sophomoreretreated in blushing confusion.
Next in line was a nervous little girl who inquired breathlessly if shemight go home right away--four days early. Some friends who weretraveling south in their private car had telegraphed her to meet them inAlbany and go with them to her home in Charleston.
"My dear, I'm sorry," began the registrar sympathetically, "but I can'tlet you go. We're going to be very strict about this vacation. A greatmany girls went home early at Christmas, and it's no exaggeration to saythat a quarter of the college came back late on various trivial excuses.This time we're not going to have that sort of thing. The girls who comeback at all must come on time; the only valid excuse at either end ofthe vacation will be serious illness. I'm sorry."
"So am I," said the little girl, with a pathetic quiver in her voice. "Inever rode in a private car. But--it's no matter. Thank you, MissStuart."
Eleanor had listened to the conversation with a curl of her lip for thestupid child who proffered her request in so unconvincing a manner, andan angry resentment against the authorities who should presume todictate times and seasons. "They ought to have a system of cuts," shethought. "That's the only fair way. Then you can take them when youplease, and if you cut over you know it and you do it at your peril.Here everything is in the air; you are never sure where you stand----"
"What can I do for you, Miss Watson?" asked the registrar pleasantly.
Eleanor got her chapel card and hurried home to telegraph her father forpermission to go to Bermuda, and, as she knew exactly what his answerwould be, to write Caroline that she might expect her. "You know Ialways take a dare," she wrote. "My cuts last semester amounted to twiceas much as this trip will use up, and if they make a fuss I shall justcall their attention to what they let pass last time. Please buy me asteamer-rug, a blue and green plaid one, and meet me at the Forty-secondStreet station at two on Friday."
Betty knew nothing about Eleanor's plans, beyond what she had been ableto gather from chance remarks of the other girls; and that was not much,for every time the subject came up she hastened to change it, lest someone should discover that Eleanor had told her nothing, and had scarcelyspoken to her indeed for weeks. When Eleanor finally went off, without asign or a word of good-bye, Betty discovered that she was dreadfullydisappointed. She had never thought of the estrangement between them asanything but a temporary affair, that would blow over when Eleanor'smortification over the debate was forgotten. She had felt sure that longbefore the term ended there would come a chance for a reconciliation,and she had meant to take the chance at any sacrifice of her pride. Shewas still fond of Eleanor in spite of everything, and she was sorry forher too, for her quick eyes detected signs of growing unhappiness underEleanor's ready smiles. Besides, she hated "schoolgirl fusses." Shewanted to be on good terms with every girl in 19--. She wanted to comeback to a spring term unclouded by the necessity for any of the evasionsand subterfuges that concealment of the quarrel with Eleanor and JeanEastman's strange behavior had brought upon her. And now Eleanor wasgone; the last chance until after vacation had slipped through herfingers.
At home she told Nan all about her troubles, first exacting a solemnpledge of secrecy. "Hateful thing!" said Nan promptly. "Drop her. Don'tthink about her another minute."
"Then you don't think I was to blame?" asked Betty anxiously.
"To blame? No, certainly not. To be sure," Nan added truthfully, "youwere a little tactless. You knew she didn't know that you were in thesecret of her having to resign, and you didn't intend to tell her, so itwould have been better for you to let some one else help Miss Eastmanout."
"But I thought I was helping Eleanor out."
"In a way you were. But you see it wouldn't seem so to her. It wouldlook as though you disapproved of her appointment."
"But Nan, she knows now that I knew."
"Then I suppose she concludes that you took advantage of knowing. Yousay that it made you quite prominent for a while. You see, dear, when aperson isn't quite on the square herself----"
But Betty had burst into a storm of tears. "I am to blame," she sobbed."I am to blame! I knew it, only I couldn't quite see how. Oh, what shallI do? What shall I do?"
"Don't cry, dear," said Nan in distress, at the unprecedented sight ofBetty in tears. "I tell you, you were not to blame. You were a littleunwise perhaps at first, but Miss Watson has refused your apologies andexplanations and only laughs at you when you try to talk to her aboutit. I should drop her at once and forever; but, if you are bound tobring her around, the only way I can think of is to look out for somechance to serve her and so prove your real friendship--though what sortof friend she can be I can't imagine."
"Nan, she's just like the girl in the rhyme," said Betty seriously.
"'When she was good she was very, very good, And when she was bad she was horrid.'
"Eleanor is a perfect dear most of the time. And Nan, there's somethingqueer about her mother. She never speaks of her, and she's been atboarding school for eight years now, though she's not seventeen tillMay. Think of that!"
"It certainly makes her excusable for a good deal," said Nan. "How is myfriend Helen Chase Adams coming on?"
"Why Nan, she's quite blossomed out. She's really lots of fun now. But Ihad an awful time with her for a while," and she related the story ofHelen's winter of discontent. "I suppose that was my fault too," shefinished. "I seem to be a regular blunderer."
"You're a dear little sister, all the same," declared Nan.
"I say girls, come and play ping-pong," called Will from the hall below,and the interview ended summarily.
But the memory of Eleanor Watson seemed fated to pursue Betty throughher vacation. A few days later an old friend of Mrs. Wales, who had goneto Denver to live some years before and was east on a round of visits,came in to call. The moment she heard that Betty was at Harding, sheinquired for Eleanor. "I'm so glad you know her," she said. "She's quitea protege of mine and she needs nice friends like you if ever a girldid. Don't mention it about college, Betty, but she's had a very sadlife. Her mother was a strange woman--but there's no use going intothat. She died when Eleanor was a tiny girl, and Eleanor and her brotherJim have been at boarding schools ever since. In the summers, though,they were always with their father in Denver. They worshiped him,particularly Eleanor, and he has always promised her that when she wasthrough school he would open the old Watson mansion and she should keephouse for him and Jim. Then last year a p
retty little society girl, onlyfour or five years older than Eleanor, set her cap for the judge andmarried him. Jim liked her, but Eleanor was heart-broken, and the judge,seeing storms ahead, I suppose, and hoping that Eleanor would getinterested and want to finish the course, made her promise to go toHarding for a year. Now don't betray my confidence, Betty, and do makeallowances for Eleanor. I hope she'll be willing to stay on at college.It's just what she needs. Besides, she'd be very unhappy at home, andher aunt in New York isn't at all the sort of person for her to livewith."
So it came about that Betty returned to college more than everdetermined to get back upon the old footing with Eleanor, and behold,Eleanor was not there! The Chapin house was much excited over herabsence, for tales of the registrar's unprecedented hardness of hearthad gone abroad, and almost nobody else had dared to risk the mysteriousbut awful possibilities that a late return promised. As Betty was stillsupposed by most of the house to be in Eleanor's confidence, she had toparry question after question as to her whereabouts. To, "Did she tellyou that she was coming back late?" she could truthfully answer "No."But the girls only laughed when she insisted that Eleanor must be ill.
"She boasts that she's never been ill in her life," said Mary Brooks.
And Adelaide Rich always added with great positiveness, "It's exactlylike her to stay away on purpose, just to see what will happen."
Unfortunately Betty could not deny this, and she was glad enough to dropthe argument. She had too many pleasant things to do to care to wastetime in profitless discussion. For it was spring term. Nobody but aHarding girl knows exactly what that means. The freshman is very likelyto consider the much heralded event only a pretty myth, until havingstarted from home on a cold, bleak day that is springtime only by thecalendar, she arrives at Harding to find herself confronted by thegenuine article. The sheltered situation of the town undoubtedly hassomething to do with its early springs, but the attitude of the Hardinggirl has far more. She knows that spring term is the beautiful crown ofthe college year, and she is bound that it shall be as long as possible.So she throws caution and her furs to the winds and dons a muslin gown,plans drives and picnics despite April showers, and takes twilightstrolls regardless of lurking germs of pneumonia. The grass grows greenperforce and the buds swell to meet her wishes, while the sun, finding acreature after his brave, warm heart, does his gallant best for her.
"Do what little studying you intend to right away," Mary Brooks advisedher freshmen. "Before you know it, it will be too warm to work."
"But at present it's too lovely," objected Roberta.
"Then join the Athletic Association and trust to luck, but above alljoin the Athletic Association. I'm on the membership committee."
"Can I get into the golf club section this time?" asked Betty, who hadbeen kept on the waiting list all through the fall.
"Yes, you just squeeze in, and Christy Mason wants you to play round thecourse with her to-morrow."
"I'm for tennis," said Katherine. "Miss Lawrence and I are going to playas soon as the courts are marked out. By the way, when do theforget-me-nots blossom?"
"Has Laurie roped you into that?" asked Mary Brooks scornfully.
"Don't jump at conclusions," retorted Katherine.
"I didn't have to jump. The wild ones blossom about the middle of May.You'll have to think of something else if you want to make an immediateconquest of your angel. And speaking of angels," added Mary, who wassitting by a window, "Eleanor Watson is coming up the walk."
The girls trooped out into the hall to greet Eleanor, who met them allwith the carefully restrained cordiality that she had used toward themever since the break with Betty. Yes, Bermuda had been charming, suchskies and seas. Yes, she was just a week late--exactly. No, she had notseen the registrar yet, but she had heard last term that excuses weren'tbeing given away by the dozen.
"I met a friend of yours during vacation," began Betty timidly in thefirst pause.
Eleanor turned to her unsmilingly. "Oh yes, Mrs. Payne," she said. "Ibelieve she mentioned it. I saw her last night in New York." Then shepicked up her bag and walked toward her room with the remark that latecomers mustn't waste time.
The next day at luncheon some one inquired again about her excuse.Eleanor shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, that's all right; you needn't be atall anxious. The interview wasn't even amusing. The week is to becounted as unexcused absence--which as far as I can see means nothingwhatever."
"You may find out differently in June," suggested Mary, nettled byEleanor's superior air.
"Oh, June!" said Eleanor with another shrug. "I'm leaving in June, thankthe fates!"
"Perhaps you'll change your mind after spring term. Everybody says it'sso much nicer," chirped Helen.
"Possibly," said Eleanor curtly, "but I really can't give you muchencouragement, Miss Adams." Whereat poor Helen subsided meekly, scarcelyraising her eyes from her plate through the rest of the meal.
"Better caution your friend Eleanor not to air those sentiments of hersabout unexcused absences too widely, or she'll get into trouble," saidMary Brooks to Betty on the way up-stairs; but Betty, intent onpersuading Roberta to come down-town for an ice, paid no particularattention to the remark, and it was three weeks before she thought of itagain.
She found Eleanor more unapproachable than ever this term, butremembering Nan's suggestion she resolved to bide her time. Meanwhilethere was no reason for not enjoying life to the utmost. Golf, boating,walking, tennis--there were ten ways to spend every spare minute. Butgolf usually triumphed. Betty played very well, and having made anexcellent record in her first game with Christy, she immediately foundherself reckoned among the enthusiasts and expected to get into trim forthe June tournament. Some three weeks after the beginning of the termshe went up to the club house in the late afternoon, intending topractice putting, which was her weak point and come home with Christyand Nita Reese, another golf fiend, who had spent the whole afternoon onthe course.
But on the club house piazza she found Dorothy King. Dorothy played golfexceedingly well, as she did everything else; but as she explained toBetty, "By junior year all this athletic business gets pretty muchcrowded out." She still kept her membership in the club, however, andplayed occasionally, "just to keep her hand in for the summer." She haddone six holes this afternoon, all alone, and now she was resting a fewmoments before going home. She greeted Betty warmly. "I looked for youout on the course," she said, "but your little pals thought you weren'tcoming up to-day. How's your game?"
"Better, thank you," said Betty, "except my putting, and I'm going topractice on that now. Did you know that Christy had asked me to playwith her in the inter-class foursomes?"
"That's good," said Dorothy cordially. "Do you see much of EleanorWatson these days?" she added irrelevantly.
"Why--no-t much," stammered Betty, blushing in spite of herself. "I seeher at meals of course."
"I thought you told me once that you were very fond of her."
"Yes, I did--I am," said Betty quickly, wondering what in the worldDorothy was driving at.
"She was down at the house last night," Dorothy went on, "blusteringaround about having come back late, saying that she'd shown what a bluffthe whole excuse business is, and that now, after she has proved thatit's perfectly easy to cut over at the end of a vacation, perhaps someof us timid little creatures will dare to follow her lead. But perhapsyou've heard her talking about it."
"I heard her say a little about it," admitted Betty, suddenlyremembering Mary Brooks's remark. Had the "trouble" that Mary hadforeseen anything to do with Dorothy's questions?
"She's said a great deal about it in the last two weeks," went onDorothy. "Last night after she left, her senior friend, Annette Cramer,and I had a long talk about it. We both agreed that somebody ought tospeak to her, but I hardly know her, and Annette says that she's triedto talk to her about other things and finds she hasn't a particle ofinfluence with her." Dorothy paused as if expecting some sort of commentor reply, but Betty was silent. "
We both thought," said Dorothy at last,"that perhaps if you'd tell her she was acting very silly and doingherself no end of harm she might believe you and stop."
"Oh, Miss King, I couldn't," said Betty in consternation. "She wouldn'tlet me--indeed she wouldn't!"
"She told Annette once that she admired you more than any girl incollege," urged Dorothy quietly, "so your opinion ought to have someweight with her."
"She said that!" gasped Betty in pleased amazement. Then her face fell."I'm sorry, Miss King, but I'm quite sure she's changed her mind. Icouldn't speak to her; but would you tell me please just why any oneshould--why you care?"
"Why, of course, it's not exactly my business," said Dorothy, "exceptthat I'm on the Students' Commission, and so anything that is goingwrong is my business. Miss Watson is certainly having a bad influence onthe girls she knows in college, and besides, if that sort of talk getsto the ears of the authorities, as it's perfectly certain to do if shekeeps on, she will be very severely reprimanded, and possibly asked toleave, as an insubordinate and revolutionary character. The Students'Commission aims to avoid all that sort of thing, when a quiet hint willdo it. But Miss Watson seems to be unusually difficult to approach; I'mafraid if you can't help us out, Betty, we shall have to let the matterrest." She gathered up her caddy-bag. "I must get the next car. Don't doit unless you think best. Or if you like ask some one else. Annette andI couldn't think of any one, but you know better who her friends are."She was off across the green meadow.
Betty half rose to follow, then sank back into her chair. Dorothy hadnot asked for an answer; she had dropped the matter, had left it in herhands to manage as she thought fit, appealing to her as a friend ofEleanor's, a girl whom Eleanor admired. "Whom she used to admire,"amended Betty with a sigh. But what could she do? A personal appeal wasout of the question; it would effect nothing but a widening of thebreach between them. Could Kate Denise help? She never came to seeEleanor now. Neither did Jean Eastman--why almost nobody did; all herreally intimate friends seemed to have dropped away from her. And yetshe must think of some one, for was not this the opportunity she had socoveted? It might be the very last one too, thought Betty. "If anythinghappened to hurt Eleanor's feelings again, she wouldn't wait till June.She'd go now." She considered girl after girl, but rejected them all forvarious reasons. "She wouldn't take it from any girl," she decided, andwith that decision came an inspiration. Why not ask Ethel Hale? Ethelhad tried to help Eleanor before, was interested in her, and understoodsomething of her moody, many-sided temperament. She had put Eleanor inher debt too; she could urge her suggestion on the ground of a returnfavor.
In an instant Betty's mind was made up. She looked ruefully at her dustyshoes and mussed shirt-waist. "I can't go to see Ethel in these," shedecided, "but if I hurry home now I can dress and go right up thereafter dinner, before she gets off anywhere." The putting must wait. Withone regretful glance out over the green, breezy course Betty startedresolutely off toward the dusty highway and the noisy trolleys.