CHAPTER XVI
ELFREDA SHOWS GRACE THE WAY
Mabel's dance was an occasion long to be discussed and remembered, andthe remaining two days of the girls' Thanksgiving vacation were socrowded with the amusements she had planned for them that the momentsflitted by on wings. Their visit to the offices of the great newspaperon whose staff both Mabel Ashe and Kathleen West were enrolled was ared-letter event. They had penetrated even to the fastnesses of thelocal room and art department, and were duly impressed with all theysaw.
In the local room they had caught a brief glimpse of Kathleen West. Shewas seated at a desk at the lower end of the long room, writingindustriously. So intent was she upon her work, that, either by accidentor design, she failed to see the little group of sight-seers, who stoodwatching the rows of clicking typewriters, operated by the reporters ofthe various departments who were preparing copy for the composing room.
At the moment Grace had spied the newspaper girl hard at work a wave ofadmiration had swept over her for this strange young woman who hadtreated her so badly. In spite of Kathleen's lack of principle, she hadthe will to work, and she had already achieved much in her chosen field.If only she had been like Ruth. Then the memory of Grace's own grievancedrove away the kinder thought. As they were on the point of leaving thelocal room their eyes had chanced to meet, and Grace's flashed with anunmistakable contempt that caused Kathleen to color and turn her head.
On Sunday morning the dreaded good-byes were said and Mr. Ashe and Mabelsaw their guests safely aboard the train for Overton. It was late Sundayafternoon when, tired and luggage laden, the five girls climbed into theautomobile bus at the Overton station, and were straightway conveyed toWayne Hall. Kathleen West had not returned on the same train with them,nor did she appear until late the following afternoon. That she might bereprimanded for overstaying her vacation either did not occur to her, orelse the possibility held no terror for her.
The instant the door of Wayne Hall closed behind her Grace darted to thehouse bulletin board. In it was a letter for Anne, one for Elfreda andtwo for herself. She choked back a sob as she saw that one of theenvelopes bore her father's handwriting, the other that of ArlineThayer.
"Don't wait for me, Grace. Go on upstairs and read your letters. I mustsee Mrs. Elwood about that package I expected by express." Setting downher suit case, Anne hurried down the hall. Always thoughtful for others,she now determined that Grace should be alone when she opened herfather's letter.
With a grateful glance after Anne's retreating figure and a "see youlater" to Miriam, Elfreda and Patience, who had stopped at the livingroom door to talk with Laura Atkins and Mildred Taylor, Grace went toher room. With trembling fingers she tore open the envelope, glancingthrough the first page of the letter. Then, with a little choking cry ofrelief, she sank into a chair and began to cry softly.
It was at least fifteen minutes before Anne appeared in the room, andduring that time Grace had wiped away her tears and calmed herself tothe point of finishing her father's letter. She looked up smilingly asAnne entered, although her eyes were red. "It is all right, Anne! Fatheris the most forgiving man! Just listen to what he says:"
"MY DEAR GRACE:--
"There is no use in scolding you. I know that your intentions were good, above reproach, no doubt, but how many times have I cautioned you to go slowly? I received your letter, but, deciding you deserved a certain amount of punishment for your rashness, purposely delayed answering you. Your fame has traveled the length and breadth of Oakdale, however, as I am not the only man in town who reads the New York papers. In the light of your early police court career I might say that this last bit of sleuthing merely adds to your reputation in Oakdale as an apostle of justice. I forgive you, of course, and do not blame you very severely. You were rather shabbily dealt with, but still you must consider that if you had kept your promise to me this annoying episode would never have taken place.
"Considering your legitimate claim to senior dignity, I am not going to lecture you any further. I am sure you will be more careful another time. We missed our little girl more than I can say on Thanksgiving Day. Your mother and I, who, you will remember, were elected honorary members of the Phi Sigma Tau the summer we went to Europe with that illustrious organization, carried out to the best of our ability your old plan of making some one else happy on Thanksgiving Day. With the help of Miss Thompson, who is a frequent visitor at our house, we managed to find several high school girls who needed cheering up. We invited them to Thanksgiving dinner and had a little dance in the evening. Your mother will write in a day or two and give you full particulars.
"I hope you enjoyed your trip to New York. I feel rather guilty, now, because I didn't answer your letter at once. We will have one of our good old talks when you come home for the Christmas holidays. Then you may scold me, if you think I deserve it.
"Your mother and I are well, and are looking forward to your home-coming next month. So is half the town, for that matter. Your friends never forget to ask for you, and every day brings its, 'Is Grace coming home for the holidays?' God bless you, my dear child, and bring you safe home to us for Christmas. That is the gift we most desire. With our dearest love,
"FATHER."
Grace's eyes were misty as she looked up from her letter. "Isn't he justtoo splendid for words, Anne?"
Anne nodded, then, slipping her arm about Grace's neck, she leaned overand kissed her friend's cheek. "I am so glad everything is all right."
"You knew better than any one else how dreadful it was for me," returnedGrace, looking up affectionately at her friend.
"We all know," answered Anne. "I think Elfreda took it even more deeplyto heart than we did. She is the soul of loyalty and resents an injuryto one of us as much as though it were her own grievance."
"In one way it seems a long time since J. Elfreda Briggs establishedherself in my seat on the train, yet in another it seems but yesterday,"mused Grace. "Can you realize, Anne, that we are almost at the end ofour college days?"
"I never allow myself to think of it," confessed Anne. "I've been sohappy at Overton I'd like to stay here forever."
"Give up the stage, and apply for a place on the faculty," suggestedGrace with apparent earnestness.
"You rascal! You know I couldn't do that even for the sake of being atOverton. I am wedded to my art," proclaimed Anne dramatically.
"Some day you will obtain a divorce from your art and marry a mere man,though," predicted Grace.
The color suffused Anne's white face. Her brown eyes grew troubled. "Idon't know whether I shall or not," she murmured.
"Anne, would you leave the stage, give up your work, if--if--" Gracepaused.
"If David asked me to marry him?" Anne finished the question calmly. "Idon't know, Grace. I've asked myself that question so many times that Iam tired of trying to answer it. In fact, I've lately decided to letmatters drift and see what happens. Although there has never been a wordof sentiment exchanged between us, I am reasonably sure that David lovesme, and I am very fond of him," confessed Anne. "In some respects I feelyears older than you girls. I believe it is due to my stage experience;I have played so many different parts, some of them emotional roleswhich have to do with love and renunciation." Anne's musical voicetrembled slightly on the last word.
"I am sure David loves you with all his heart," was Grace's honestreply. "Now that he has been graduated from college and has gone intobusiness for himself, I am afraid you will be called upon to decidebefore long."
"I am afraid so," sighed Anne. "I wish life weren't quite socomplicated."
"I hope the rest of our senior year will be free from complications."Grace spoke with grim emphasis. "Why, I forgot to open this letter!" sheexclaimed, snatching the unopened letter from the table and tearing atthe end of it.
The letter proved to be a penitent little note
from Arline asking Graceto forgive her, and prove her forgiveness by taking dinner with her thefollowing evening at Vinton's. Grace felt a thrill of happiness swellwithin her as she read the note. Her brief estrangement from Arline hadbeen another of her secret griefs.
"I'm going to take dinner with Arline to-morrow night," she announced toAnne.
"You'd better hurry if you care to take dinner with us," called Elfredafrom the doorway, in which she had paused just in time to hear Grace'slast remark.
"It isn't dinner," corrected Anne. "It is supper on Sunday, and neververy good, either."
"We never have Sunday dinner in the middle of the day at home,"commented Elfreda.
"When you are at Wayne Hall do as the Wayne Hallites do," quoted Miriam,who had followed Elfreda into the room.
"Where is Patience?" inquired Grace.
"Enjoying the solitude of her room before the disturber arrives,"volunteered Elfreda. "She'll be along presently."
Despite the fact that they had had dinner on the train, the four girlsdecided that they were hungry, and on going downstairs to the diningroom where Mrs. Elwood had prepared an unusually good supper, proved it,to their own and Mrs. Elwood's satisfaction. There were only three girlsin the dining room when they took their places, as the majority of the"Wayne Hallites" were spending the afternoon and evening of their lastday's vacation with friends. Patience joined them as they were finishingtheir dessert, and it was laughingly decided to entertain her while sheate, and afterward go for a walk.
"What style of entertainment do you prefer?" asked Elfreda, with adeferential air. "Shall I give you an imitation of Kathleen West'sreturn?"
"No, thank you. The reality will be sufficient," was Patience's dryretort. "I prefer a more pleasant variety of entertainment."
The ringing of the door bell caused those in the dining room to glanceexpectantly through the doorway into the hall. They heard the maid'svoice, then a cry of "At last!" and Emma Dean fairly charged into theirmidst.
"I never was so glad to see any one in all my life," she cried, with ajoyful wave of her hand. "How I have missed you while you have beengallivanting about New York without giving the friend of your freshmandays a thought. You might have sent me a postcard, you know."
"'Gallivanting' is not the word with which to describe our triumphalmarch around New York," objected Elfreda.
"It's a very good word," defended Emma. "It means to roam about forpleasure without any definite plan. It says so in the dictionary."
"Every day adds to our store of knowledge," jeered Elfreda.
"As I am at present overjoyed to see you, I'll try hard not to squabblewith you." Emma turned her back squarely upon Elfreda and addressedAnne. "I heard something while you were gone that will interest you,Anne. The senior class are talking of presenting a play. If we do, youwill star in it, of course."
"I can't, Emma," returned Anne regretfully. "My professional experienceprevents me from taking part in college plays. If Semper Fidelis, orsome of the girls, were to put on a play for our own amusement, then Icould take part, but in regular college plays professionals are barredhere at Overton. It is practically the same rule that applies to collegesports."
"Oh, that is too bad! But it wouldn't hinder you from writing one, wouldit?"
"I couldn't write a play. I used to hope that I might some day become awriter. But I know now that it isn't in me."
"But many actors and actresses have been writers, too," put in Elfreda.
"I know it. Still, the most successful plays have been written by menand women outside the profession," argued Anne. "I wish I could write,but I know my limitations and they stop this side of authorship. But whydid you ask me if I could write a play, Emma?"
"Marian Cummings gave a spread the other night to all the seniors on thecampus who weren't lucky enough to get away from Overton forThanksgiving. We were talking about what the senior class might do inthe way of stunts, and some one proposed that we ought to give a playafter midyears. You know our class has never done anything of the sortsince we entered college. Naturally, we were all in favor of the idea.We all agreed that we wanted something besides Shakespeare for a change,but no one could suggest anything else. We wanted something reallyrepresentative, and the majority of these plays for amateurs are rathertrivial. Finally, Sara Emerson suggested that the play be written by amember of the senior class. There was a general protest, and ElizabethWade asked Sara if she would mind writing it. Rather unkind in her,wasn't it?" asked Emma, with a reminiscent chuckle.
Her friends laughed with her. The mere idea of frivolous little SaraEmerson as a playwright was distinctly amusing.
"Sara didn't mind our laughing. She and Julia giggled over it, too. ThenMarian Cummings suddenly thought of a splendid plan." Emma paused inorder to impress her hearers.
"For goodness' sake, go on, Emma," begged Miriam. "Don't ask us to guessthe plan, either."
"I'm not going to ask you to guess it. I stopped talking merely to allowmy words to sink deeply into your minds. Marian wants to make it anhonor competition affair."
"What's an 'honor competition affair'?" asked Elfreda.
"I'm surprised at your question. I should think you 'could see' themeaning from the words themselves," teased Emma. "You see almosteverything."
"I'll be revenged on you for that thrust," threatened Elfreda, joiningin the laughter that greeted Emma's remark.
"Do you mean that any member of the senior class may compete, not for amoney prize, but for the honor alone?" asked Grace.
"That is precisely my meaning," said Emma. "We thought we would have anhonor pin made, something worthy of the girl who wins. The class willgive her a supper and drink her down, and there will be variousdemonstrations and jollifications for her especial benefit."
"Why not give the four classes a chance, and make it a competition worthremembering?" proposed Elfreda, a peculiar expression in her shrewdeyes. "I mean that the cast would be chosen from the senior class, butthe author might be any girl in college."
No one answered for a moment. "I don't believe," began Emma doubtfully,"that we----What do you say, Grace? Of course, we shall be obliged tocall a special class meeting, but we can decide now just how to word ourproposal. Whatever you decide will suit us."
Grace's glance had remained fixed upon Elfreda as though trying to readher thoughts. What did Elfreda have in mind! Then it dawned upon Gracewith unpleasant force. "She wants Kathleen West to have a chance tocompete." Then, "If I say I think we ought to keep the contest in thesenior class, the girls will agree with me. This is my chance. She woulddearly love to enter a contest of this kind. Very well. I'll see thatshe doesn't enter it." For the first time in her life Grace's resentmentblinded her sense of fairness. Her lips tightened unpleasantly.
"I say that we ought to----"
But Grace did not finish her sentence. Swift and overwhelming came theconviction that here perhaps lay the means by which Kathleen might comeinto a knowledge of the real Overton spirit. In writing the play, forGrace felt certain that the newspaper girl would enter the lists, shemight gain what her classmates had been powerless to give her. Grace'sface grew hot with shame at her own unworthiness of spirit.
"Why don't you finish?" asked Emma Dean with good-natured impatience."What ought we to do? We shall never know unless you speak and tell us."
The steady light in Grace Harlowe's gray eyes deepened. Her moment oftemptation had passed. Her love of fair play had conquered. "Include thewhole college, by all means. Let us make it an Overton rather than aclass affair, and let us call a meeting of the senior class to-morrowafternoon," she said. "Let us settle it as soon as possible."
"I'll write a notice the moment I finish my supper," declared Emma."Come upstairs to my room, all of you, and watch me write it. I canalways write better if I have an audience; provided it is a kindly,uncritical audience," she added, casting a significant glance towardElfreda, who beamed on Emma as one who has received a compliment.
As they were leavin
g the dining room a little later, Grace felt a plumphand catch one of hers. She turned to find Elfreda's gaze bent earnestlyupon her. There was a significant question in the other girl's eyes.Grace pressed the hand and said in a whisper: "I understood, Elfreda.Thank you for showing me the way."