CHAPTER XIV
AN INVITATION AND A MISUNDERSTANDING
The class elections went off with a snap. Grace nominated Gertrude Wellsfor president. There were two other nominations, and after the threeyoung women had gone through the ordeal of inspection before the class,the votes were cast. Gertrude Wells was elected president by anoverwhelming majority, and the nomination and election of the otherclass officers quickly followed. The next night Grace and Miriam gave adinner in honor of her election at Vinton's, to which twelve girls wereinvited, and for a week the new president was feted and lionized untilshe laughingly declared that a return to the simple life was her onlymeans of re-establishing her lost reputation for study and avoidingimpending warnings.
The class of 19---- soon became used to being a regularly organized bodyand held its class meetings with as much pride as though it were themost important organization in college. Thanksgiving plans now occupiedthe foreground, and as the vacation was too short even to think aboutgoing home, the girls began to make plans to spend their brief holidayas advantageously as possible at or at least very near Overton.
"There's a football game over at Willston, on Thanksgiving Day,"remarked Grace, looking up from the paper on which she was jotting downpossible amusements for vacation. Miriam had run into Grace's room for abrief chat before dinner. "We don't know any Willston men, though. Ithink football is ever so much more interesting when one knows theplayers. If we were nearer the boys we might attend a fraternity danceonce in a while."
"David says in his last letter that he is waiting impatiently for theholidays. Just think, Grace, won't that be splendid to be back in dearold Oakdale again?"
"It seems years since I kissed Mother and Father good-bye," said Grace,rather wistfully. "How I'd like to be at home for Thanksgiving."
"Don't think about it," advised Miriam. "I was as blue as indigo lastnight. Let's keep our minds strictly on what we're going to do with ourholiday. What have you put down?"
"The football game first. Then I have tickets for a play that the MortonHouse girls intend to give. We might go to Vinton's for supper onThanksgiving night. If we have a Thanksgiving dinner here that day it'ssafe to say supper won't amount to much. I think----"
Grace did not finish with what she was saying. A quick step sounded downthe hall and an instant later Anne ran into the room waving an openletter in her hand. "Girls, girls!" she cried, "you never can guess!"
"What is it? Tell us at once," commanded Grace, springing from herchair. "You've received good news from some one we know."
"Yes," replied Anne happily. "My letter is from Miss Southard. Shewishes us to spend Thanksgiving with her and her brother in New YorkCity. Isn't that glorious, and do you think we'll be allowed to go?"
"Hurrah!" cried Grace. "Since we can't go home, it's the very nicestsort of plan. I think we'll be allowed to go. We haven't any conditionsto work off, and I haven't planned to do any extra studying either.Thank goodness, my allowance had an extra ten dollars attached to itthis month. Mother wrote that she thought I might need the money, and Ido. I couldn't possibly have stretched my regular allowance over thistrip."
"I have money enough, I think," said Miriam. "I am a thrifty soul. Isaved ten dollars out of my last month's allowance. It was really extramoney that I had asked Mother for. I intended to buy a sweater and thenchanged my mind."
"The expenses of my trip will have to come out of my college money,"confessed Anne, a trifle soberly, "but I'd be willing to spend twicethat much to see the Southards. Mr. Southard is playing 'Hamlet' and sowe shall have the opportunity of seeing him in what the critics considerhis greatest part."
"Remember, we haven't asked permission to go, yet," remarked Grace.
"The registrar couldn't be so cruel as to refuse us," said Miriamcheerfully. "Let's besiege her fortress in a body."
"When shall we make our plea?"
"To-morrow morning after chapel," suggested Anne. "Then we'll have moretime to plan our trip."
The registrar's office was duly besieged the next morning, as agreed,and the three girls hurried off to their classes with beaming faces.When they returned to Wayne Hall after recitations that afternoon it wasto find Elfreda hanging over the railing in the upstairs hall, anunusually solemn expression on her face.
"Are you going?" she called down anxiously. "Yes," nodded Grace. "Atthree o'clock Wednesday afternoon."
Elfreda gave a smothered exclamation that sounded like, "What a shame,"and disappeared into her room, slamming the door.
"I'm coming into your room for a while," said Miriam. "Elfreda will openthe door before long."
"Yes, do," returned Grace hospitably. "Is she angry because you aregoing away over Thanksgiving?"
"No, not angry, but awfully disappointed. She almost cried last nightwhen I told her about it. I suspect she is crying now. She's like anovergrown child at times."
"I'm sorry we can't take her with us," deplored Grace. "Does she knowwhere we are going?"
"Yes," returned Miriam. "She was practically thunderstruck when shelearned we were to visit the Southards. The queer part of it is this.She saw Mr. Southard and Anne in 'As You Like It' last year. She thinksMr. Southard the greatest actor she ever saw, and she even spoke ofAnne's cleverness as Rosalind; she doesn't know it was Anne who playedthe part."
"Anne doesn't wish her or any one else here to know it," cautionedGrace. "Do you suppose any other girl here saw Anne as Rosalind?"
"Goodness knows," replied Miriam, with a shrug. "There's an old sayingthat 'murder will out.' If any one here did see her, sooner or latershe'll be identified and lionized."
"That's just why I don't wish the girls here to know," protested Anne,who had been listening to the conversation of her friends, a slightfrown puckering her smooth forehead. "I don't care to be patronized andpetted, but secretly held at arms' length because I am a professionalplayer. If the girls find out that I played Rosalind in Mr. Southard'scompany I'll never hear the last of it." In her anxiety Anne's voicerose above its customary low key. In fact, all three had been talkingrather loudly, and the entire conversation had been carried straight tothe ears of the girl who stood outside the almost closed door. Elfredahad come across the hall to hear the details of the proposed visit, buthad remained outside the door transfixed at what she heard. Then shefound her voice.
"So that's your idea of true friendship, is it?" demanded an angry,choking voice that caused the surprised young women to start and looktoward the door. Elfreda stepped into the room, her face flushed withanger, her blue eyes fairly snapping. "You make a great fuss over mewhen there's nothing going on, but none of you would invite me to gowith you to New York, when you know I'm crazy to go. And that's notenough, you can't get along without talking about me. I heard every wordAnne said. I know now that it was she who played Rosalind in 'As YouLike It' last winter, because I saw her with my own eyes. If you girlshad been as honorable as you pretend to be you'd have told me about itand I never would have said a word. But, no, Anne was afraid to tell,for fear she'd 'never hear the last of it,'" sneered Elfreda, mimickingAnne. "She's right, too. She never will. I'll not stop until I tellevery girl at Overton the whole story. When you come back," she went on,turning to Miriam, "you'll find that I've moved. I thought you were niceand I tried to be like you, but now I don't care to live in the samehouse with you, and I don't intend ever to notice any of you again. Withthat she rushed across the hall, slammed the door, and turned the key.
"Locked out," said Miriam grimly. "I hope she'll let me in before thedinner bell rings. I'd like to change this grimy blouse for a clean one.I'll try to reason with her, once she opens the door."
"Shall we go in, too, and try to explain matters?" asked Anne. "I didn'tsay that she would tell the girls about my stage work. Surely, sheunderstands, too, that we are not at liberty to invite her to go withus. I'll tell you what I will do. I'll telegraph the Southards and askpermission to invite her. They will be perfectly willing for us to bringher."
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sp; "That might be a good plan," reflected Grace. "Don't waste anotherminute, Anne, but telegraph Miss Southard at once."
"Yes, go ahead," counseled Miriam, "and while you're gone I'll try topacify Elfreda."
But all Miriam's efforts to restore peace failed. When a little latershe knocked gently on the door, Elfreda unlocked it, but received herroommate's friendly overtures in sulky silence. After dinner, for thefirst time since the sophomore reception, she spent the evening inVirginia Gaines's room and that night the two girls prepared for sleepwithout exchanging a word.
Meanwhile Anne telegraphed, "May we bring friend? Will explain later.Anne," and was anxiously awaiting a reply. It came the next morningwhile they were at breakfast and read: "Your friends always welcome.Telegraph train you will arrive. Mary Southard." Anne passed thetelegram to Grace, who sat next to her. After one quick glance at itGrace passed it to Miriam. Elfreda, who sat directly opposite her,watched the passing of the telegram with compressed lips. Miriam,raising her eyes from the yellow slip, found those of her angry roommatefixed on her in mingled curiosity and disdain. Ignoring the look shesaid quietly, "I should like to see you for a moment after breakfast,Elfreda. I have something to tell you."
The stout girl's eyes narrowed. She glanced about the table and sawVirginia Gaines watching her with a disagreeable smile. The sophomoreraised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders as though to say, "So,you are going to allow her to order you about." Elfreda's face grew darkwith angry purpose. She leaned well forward across the table and said ina tone of suppressed fury: "Kindly keep your remarks to yourself. Idon't care to hear them."
"Very well," replied Miriam coldly, although her eyes flashed and thetemper that had been all but uncontrollable in days gone by threatenedto burst forth in all its old fury. Several girls smiled, and VirginiaGaines laughed aloud.
"A new declaration of independence has evidently been signed," shejeered. "Too bad, isn't it, Miss Harlowe? You'll have to begin all overagain on some one else."
"I am not likely to trouble you, at any rate, Miss Gaines," returnedGrace pointedly.
This time the laugh was at Virginia's expense. A dull flush overspreadher plain face. Her angry eyes met Grace's steady gray ones, then fellbefore the honest contempt she read there. During that brief instant shesaw herself through Grace's eyes and the sharp retort that rose to herlips remained unuttered.
In the next instant Grace was sorry for her rude retort. It would havebeen far better to remain silent, she reflected. By answering she hadshown Virginia that the latter's taunt had annoyed her.
"I wish I hadn't answered Miss Gaines," she confided to Miriam as theywere leaving the dining room. "It doesn't add to one's freshman dignityto quarrel."
"I am glad you did," returned Miriam. "It was a well-merited snub, andshe deserved it."