CHAPTER VI
LETTERS HOME
Betty was cross and "just a tiny speck homesick," so she confided to thegreen lizard. Nothing interesting had happened since she could remember,and it had rained steadily for four days. Mr. Parsons, who played righttackle on the Winsted team, had written that he was laid up with a lameshoulder, which, greatly to his regret, would prevent his taking Bettyto his fraternity dance. Helen was toiling on a "lit." paper with azealous industry which got her up at distressingly early hours in themorning, and was "enough to mad a saint," according to her exasperatedroommate, whose own brief effusion on the same subject had been hastilycomposed in one evening and lay neatly copied in her desk, ready to behanded in at the proper time. Moreover, "gym" had begun and Betty hadhad the misfortune to be assigned to a class that came right in themiddle of the afternoon.
"It's a shame," she grumbled, fishing out her fountain pen which hadfallen off her desk and rolled under the bureau. "I shall change my lit.to afternoon--that's only two afternoons spoiled instead of four--andthen tell Miss Andrews that I have a conflict. Haven't you finished thateverlasting paper?"
"No," said Helen meekly. "I'm sorry that I'm so slow. I'll go out if youwant to have the girls in here."
"Oh no," called Betty savagely, dashing out into the hall. Eleanor'sdoor was ornamented with a large sign which read, "Busy. Don't disturb."But the door was half-way open, and in the dusky room, lighted, asEleanor liked to have it, by candles in old-fashioned brass sticks,Eleanor sat on a pile of cushions in the corner, strumming softly on herguitar.
"Come in," she called. "I put that up in case I wanted to study later.Finished your lit. paper?"
Betty nodded. "It's awfully short."
"I'm going to do mine to-night--that and a little matter of Livy andFrench and--let me see--Bible--no, elocution."
"Can you?" asked Betty admiringly.
"I'm not sure till I've tried. I've been meditating asking your roommateto do the paper. Would you?"
"No," said Betty so emphatically that Eleanor stopped playing and lookedat her curiously.
"Why not? Do you think it's wrong to exchange her industry for mydollars?"
Betty considered. She still admired Eleanor, but she had learned herlimitations. Her beauty wove a spell about all that she did, and she wasvery clever and phenomenally quick when she cared to apply herself. Butshe cared so seldom, roused herself only when she could gain prestige,when there was something to manipulate, to manage. And apparently shewas not even to be trusted. Still, what was the use of quarreling withher about honor and fair play? To Betty in her present mood it seemed amere waste of time and energy.
"Well, for one reason," she said at last, "Helen hasn't her own paperdone yet, and for another I don't think she writes as well as youprobably do;" and she rose to go.
"That was a joke, Bettina," Eleanor called after her. "I am truly goingto work now--this very instant. Come back at ten and have black coffeewith me."
Betty went on without answering to Rachel's room. "Come in," chorusedthree cheerful voices.
"No, go get your lit. paper first. We're reading choice selections,"added Katherine.
"She means she is," corrected Rachel, handing Betty a pillow. "You lookcross, Betty."
"I am," said Betty savagely, recounting a few of her woes. "What can wedo? I came to be amused."
"In a Miracle play of this type----" began Katherine, and stopped tododge a pillow. "But it is amusing, Betty."
"I'm afraid it will amuse Miss Mills, if the rest is anything like whatyou read," said Rachel with a reminiscent smile. "What are you doing,Roberta?"
"Writing home," drawled Roberta, without looking up from her paper.
"Well, you needn't shake your fountain pen over me, if you are," saidKatherine. "I also owe my honored parents a letter, but I've about madeup my mind never to write to them again. Listen to this, will you." Sherummaged in her desk for a minute. "Here it is.
"'My dear daughter'--he only begins that way when he's fussed. I alwaysknow how he's feeling when I see whether it's 'daughter' or 'K.' 'Mydear daughter:--Your interesting letter of the 12th inst. was receivedand I enclose a check, which I hope will last for some weeks.' ("I'msorry to say it's nearly gone already," interpolated Katherine.) "'Yourmother and I enjoyed the account of the dance you attended in thegymnasium, of the candy pull which Mrs. Chapin so kindly arranged forher roomers, and the game of hockey that ended so disastrously for oneof your friends. We are glad that you attended the Morality play of"Everyman," though we are at a loss to know what you mean by the "peanutgallery." However it occurs to us that with your afternoon gymnasiumclass, your recitations, which, as I understand it, fully engage yourmornings, and all these diversions in one week, you could have spent butlittle time in the study of your lessons. Do not forget that these yearsshould be devoted to a serious preparation for the multifarious dutiesof life, and do not neglect the rich opportunities which I am proud tobe able to give you. The Wetherbees have----' Oh well, the rest of it isjust Kankakee news," said Katherine, folding the letter and putting itback in her desk. "But isn't that first bit lovely? Why, I racked mybrain till it ached, positively ached, thinking of interesting things tosay in that letter, and now because I didn't mention that I'd workedthree solid hours on my German every day that week and stood in line atthe library for an hour to get hold of Bryce's American Commonwealth, Ireceive this pathetic appeal to my better self."
"How poetic you're getting," laughed Betty. "Do you know it's awfullyfunny, but I got a letter something like that too. Only mine was fromNan, and it just said she hoped I was remembering to avoid low gradesand conditions, as they were a great bother. She said she wanted me tohave a good time, but as there would be even more to do when I got onthe campus, I ought not to fall into the habit of neglecting my workthis year."
"Mine was from Aunt Susan," chimed in Rachel. "She said she didn't seewhen I could do any studying except late at night, and she hoped Iwasn't being so foolish as to undermine my health and ruin my complexionfor the sake of a few girlish pleasures. Isn't that nice--girlishpleasures? She put in a five dollar bill, though I couldn't see why sheshould, considering her sentiments."
Roberta put the cap on to her fountain pen and propped it carefullyagainst an adjacent pillow. "I've just answered mine," she said, sortingthe sheets in her lap with a satisfied smile.
"Did you get one, too? What did you say?" demanded Betty.
"The whole truth," replied Roberta languidly. "It took eight pages and Ihope he'll enjoy it."
"I say," cried Katherine excitedly. "That's a great idea. Let's try it."
"And read them to one another afterward," added Rachel. "They might bemore entertaining than your lit. paper."
"May I borrow some paper?" asked Betty. "I'm hoping Helen will finishto-night if I let her alone."
Roberta helped herself to a book from the shelves and an apple from thetable, and the rest settled themselves to their epistolary labors.Except for the scratching of Betty's pen, and an occasional exclamationof pleasure or perplexity from one of the scribes, the room wasperfectly still. Betty had just asked for an envelope and Katherine wasnumbering her pages when Mary Brooks knocked at the door.
"What on earth are you girls doing?" she inquired blandly, selecting thebiggest apple in the dish and appropriating the Morris chair, whichKatherine had temporarily vacated. "I haven't heard a sound in heresince nine o'clock. I began to think that Helen had come in and blownout the gas again by mistake and you were all asphyxiated."
Everybody laughed at the remembrance of a recent occasion when Helen hadabsent-mindedly blown out the gas while Betty was saying her prayers.
"It wasn't so funny at the time," said Betty ruefully. "Suppose she'dgone to sleep without remembering. We've been writing home, Mary," shesaid, turning to the newcomer, "and now we're going to read the letters,and we've got to hurry, for it's almost ten. Roberta, you begin."
"Oh no," said Roberta, looking distressed.
&n
bsp; "I wish somebody would tell me what this is all about first," put inMary. Rachel explained, while Katherine and Betty persuaded Roberta toread her letter.
"It isn't fair," she protested, "when I wrote a real letter and youothers were just doing it for fun."
"Go on, Roberta!" commanded Mary, and Roberta in sheer desperationseized her letter and began to read.
"DEAR PAPA:--I have been studying hard all the evening and itis now nearly bedtime, but I can at least begin a letter to you. To-dayhas been the fourth rainy day in succession and we have thoroughlyappreciated the splendid opportunity for uninterrupted work. Yesterdaymorning--I think enough has happened in these two days to fill myletter--I was up at seven as usual. I stuck a selection from Browninginto my mirror, as it was the basis of our elocution lesson, and nearlylearned it while I dressed. Before chapel I completed my geometrypreparation. This was fortunate, as I was called on to recite, the sixthproposition in book third being my assignment. The next hour I had norecitation, so I went to the library to do some reference work for myEnglish class. Ten girls were already waiting for the same volume of theCentury Dictionary that I wanted, so I couldn't get hold of it tillnearly the end of the hour. I spent the intervening time on theBrowning. I had Livy the next hour and was called on to translate. As Ihad spent several hours on the lesson the day before, I could do so.After the elocution recitation I went home to lunch. At quarter beforetwo I began studying my history. At quarter before four I started forthe gymnasium. At five I went to a tea which one of the girls was givingfor her mother, so I felt obliged to go. I stayed only half an hour andcannot remember how I spent the half hour till dinner, so I presume itwas wasted. I am afraid I am too much given to describing suchunimportant pauses in the day's occupation and magnifying their lengthand the frivolous pleasure which we thoughtlessly derive from them.
"In the evening---- Oh it all goes on like that," cried Roberta. "Justdull and stuffy and true to the facts. Some one else read."
"It's convincing," chuckled Mary. "Now Katherine."
Katherine's letter was an absurd mixture of sense and nonsense, in whichshe proved that she studied at least twelve hours out of thetwenty-four. Rachel's was a sensible explanation of just how much time,or rather how little, a spread, a dance or a basket-ball game takes.
"That's what they don't understand," she said, "and they don't knoweither how fast we can go from one thing to another up here. Why, energyis in the air!"
Betty's letter, like her literature paper, was extremely short. "Icouldn't think of much to say, if I told the truth," she explained,blushing. "I don't suppose I do study as much as I ought."
Mary had listened with an air of respectful attention to all theletters. When the last one was finished she rose hastily. "I must goback," she said. "I have a theme to write. I only dropped in to ask ifthat famous spread wasn't coming off soon."
"Oh, yes," said Betty. "Let's have it next week Wednesday. Is anythingelse going on then? I'll ask Eleanor and you see the Riches and Helen."
A few days later Mary appeared at the lunch table fairly bursting withimportance. "Well," she said, beaming around the table. "What do yousuppose has happened now? Really, Mrs. Chapin, you ought to be proud ofus. We began to be famous before college opened----"
"What?" interrupted Eleanor.
"Is it possible you didn't know that?" inquired Mary. "Well, it's truenevertheless. And we were the heroines of Mountain Day, and now we'refamous again."
"How?" demanded the table in a chorus.
Mary smiled enigmatically. "This time it is a literary sensation," shesaid.
"Is it Helen's paper?" hazarded Betty.
"Mine, of course," said Katherine. "Strange Miss Mills didn't mention itthis morning when I met her at Cuyler's."
Mary waited until it was quiet again. "If you've quite finishedguessing," she said, "I'll tell you. You remember the evening when Ifound four of you in Rachel and Katherine's room writing deceitfulletters to your fond parents. Well, I had been racking my brains forweeks for a pleasing and original theme subject. You know you aresupposed to spend two hours a week on this theme course, and I had spenttwo hours for four weeks in just thinking what to write. I'm not surewhether that counts at all and I didn't like to ask--it would have beenso conspicuous. So I was in despair when I chanced upon your happygathering and was saved. Miss Raymond read it in class to-day,"concluded Mary triumphantly.
"You didn't put us into it--our letters!" gasped Roberta.
"Indeed I did," said Mary. "I put them all in, as nearly as I couldremember them, and Miss Raymond read it in class, and made all sorts ofclever comments about college customs and ideals and so on. I feltguilty, because I never had anything read before, and of course I didn'texactly write this because the letters were the main part of it. Soafter class I waited for Miss Raymond and explained how it was. Shelaughed and said that she was glad I had an eye for good material andthat she supposed all authors made more or less use of theiracquaintance, and when I went off she actually asked me to come and seeher. My junior friends are hoping it will pull me into a society and I'mhoping it will avert a condition."
"Where is the theme?" asked Eleanor. "Won't you read it to us?"
"It's--why, I forgot the very best part of the whole story. Sallie Hillhas it for the 'Argus.' She's the literary editor, you know, and shewants it for the next number. So you see you are famous.
"Why don't some of you elect this work?" asked Mary, when the excitementhad somewhat subsided. "It's open to freshmen, and it's really greatfun."
"I thought you said that you spent eight hours and were in despair----"began Eleanor.
"So I was," said Mary. "I declare I'd forgotten that. Well, anyhow I'msure I shan't have any trouble now. I think I've learned how to go atit. Why, do you know, girls, I have an idea already. Not for atheme--something else. It concerns all of you--or most of you anyway."
"I should think you'd made enough use of us for the present," saidBetty. "Why don't you try to make a few sophomores famous?"
"Oh it doesn't concern you that way. You are to---- Oh wait till I getit started," said Mary vaguely; and absolutely refused to be moreexplicit.