CHAPTER XVII
MAKING OTHER GIRLS HAPPY
The Thanksgiving holiday was welcomed with acclamation by the studentsof Overton College, who, with a few exceptions, ate their Thanksgivingdinners at their various campus houses and boarding places. During thefour days tables at Martell's and Vinton's were in demand and acontinuous succession of dinners and luncheons made serious inroads inthe monthly allowances of the hospitable entertainers.
The month of December dragged discouragingly, however, and when the timereally did arrive to pack and be off for the Christmas holidays thelatent energy that suddenly developed for packing trunks and makingcalls caused the faculty to sigh with regret that it had not been usedin the pursuit of knowledge.
Nothing of any event had happened at Wayne Hall. Since the evening whenElfreda had waited in vain for Laura Atkins, whose invitation to dinnershe had accepted, this peculiar young woman had offered neither apologynor explanation for her inexplicable behavior. In fact, the next morningshe had completely ignored Elfreda, who, feeling herself to be theaggrieved one, had made no attempt to discover what had prompted thisglaring disregard of etiquette on the part of the eccentric freshman.
For a week afterward Elfreda discussed and rediscussed the mystery withGrace, Anne and Miriam. Then she gave up in disgust and turned herattention to basketball. She had lost considerable weight and was now amember of the scrub team. Her greatest ambition was to make the realteam in her junior year, and with that intent she sturdily refused toeat sweet things, took long walks and daily haunted the gymnasium, goingthrough the various forms of exercises she had elected to take withcommendable persistency.
Grace had never sought to discover the identity of the freshman who hadstolen her theme. She felt reasonably certain that the same roof coveredthem both, but she never allowed herself to reach the point of layingthe finger of suspicion on any one in particular. That she had beenvindicated of the charge was quite enough for her, but she could notresist wondering occasionally what had prompted the deed, and whetherthe other girl had turned over a new leaf.
One other thing troubled Grace not a little. Mildred Taylor had becomeextremely intimate with Mary Hampton and Alberta Wicks. Both young womenwere frequent guests for dinner at Wayne Hall, and Mildred spent herspare time almost entirely in their society. As the two juniors wereextremely unpopular with the Wayne Hall girls a peculiar constraintinvariably fell upon the table when either young woman was Mildred'sguest for the evening. "One has to weigh one's words before speakingwhen Alberta Wicks or Mary Hampton are here," Emma Dean had declaredsignificantly to Irene Evans, and this seemed to be the prevalentopinion among the students who lived at Wayne Hall.
Mildred's attitude toward Grace had not changed. In manner she was moredistant than ever, and except for a slight bow when chance brought herface to face with Grace, she gave no other evidence of having been morethan the merest acquaintance. Her dislike for her roommate had to allappearances disappeared, and Laura Atkins was now seen occasionally incompany with Mildred and her two mischievous junior friends.
Such was the situation when the longed-for Christmas vacation arrived.Grace Harlowe's thoughts were not on her own perplexities as she walkedtoward Wayne Hall after finishing her last round of calls. A new problemhad arisen, and as she swung along through the crisp winter air she wasdeep in thought. It was peculiar Christmas weather. A light snow hadfallen, but through the patches of white lying softly on the campus thegrass still showed spots of green. It had been an unusually long, warmfall, and to Grace, whose winters had been spent much farther north, themildness of December had seemed marvelous.
"There!" she exclaimed, stopping in the middle of the walk to consult asmall leather book, and drawing a pencil through the last item, "I cango home in peace. I have every single thing done, even to notifying theexpressman to come for my trunk."
A sudden trill sounded down the street behind her. Turning her head,Grace saw Arline Thayer bearing down upon her. "I thought I'd never makeyou hear me," panted the little girl. "Ruth is going home with me afterall."
"I thought she would," laughed Grace. "She assured me last night thatshe wouldn't think of imposing upon you, but I know your powers ofpersuasion. You have given Ruth a great deal of happiness, Arline, and Iam sure she appreciates it, too."
Arline shook her curly head. "I don't deserve any credit. I am nice withher because I like her. I am consulting my own selfish pleasure, yousee, and that doesn't count. If I didn't care for Ruth I am afraid Iwouldn't bother my head about helping her to have good times."
"You are frank, at least," smiled Grace.
"Seriously speaking, I am really very selfish," admitted Arline. "Inever think of doing good for unselfish reasons. I don't find anyparticular interest in being nice with girls who do not appeal to me.That sounds terribly cold-blooded, doesn't it? They say an only child isalways selfish, you know. Oh, forgive me, Grace; I forgot you were an'only child.' Goodness knows you are not selfish."
"Yes, I am," contradicted Grace. "This is my second year at Overton andin all the time I've been here I have thought about nothing but myselfand my friends and my good times. This afternoon when I started out tomake calls I met Miss Barlow, a little freshman who lives in a boardinghouse down on Beech Street. We were going in the same direction and Ithoughtlessly asked if she were going home for Christmas. A secondafterward I was sorry. Her face fell, then she brightened a little andsaid, 'No.' She and seven other girls who lived in the same house weregoing to have a Christmas tree. For three days they had been busydecorating it. They had just finished. She asked, almost timidly, if Iwould like to see it. Of course I said 'Yes,' and we started for herboarding house. It is away down at the other end of Overton, and themost cheerless looking old barn of a house. The inside of the house isalmost as cheerless as the outside, too. They had set up their tree inthe parlor, and it was the only bright spot in the room.
"The tree was trimmed with popcorn and tinsel. There were funny littleornaments of colored paper, too, that they had made themselves. Thepresents were underneath the tree, a few forlorn looking little packagesthat made me feel like crying. I couldn't truthfully say that the treewas lovely, but I did tell Miss Barlow that I thought they had donesplendidly and that I was sorry I hadn't known her better before,because I should have liked to help them with their tree.
"Then she said she had always wanted to know me, but I had so manyfriends among the influential girls at Overton she had thought Iwouldn't care to know her. You can imagine how conscience stricken Ifelt. At home I was the friend of every girl in high school, and tothink that I have been developing snobbish traits without realizing it!"
"Couldn't we do something nice for them before we go?" asked Arlinegenerously. "It is only three o 'clock. Why not start a movement amongthe girls we know and send them a box? We can make the girls contribute,but we won't tell a soul who it's for. We will ask for money orpresents--whatever they care to give," she went on eagerly. "What do youthink of it? Do you suppose they would be offended?"
"I think it is the greatest thing out!" exclaimed Graceenthusiastically. "How can they be offended if we send the thingsanonymously?"
"They can't," chuckled Arline gleefully. "Now we had better separate.I'll do Morton House, Livingstone Hall and Wellington House. You can doWayne Hall, Holland House and those two boarding houses on the cornerbelow you. A lot of freshmen and sophomores live there. I'll come overto your house with my loot to-night, directly after dinner. Good-byeuntil then."
At seven o'clock that night Arline set down a heavy suit case and rangthe bell at Wayne Hall. Grace, who had been watching for her from one ofthe living-room windows, hastened to open the door. "Thank goodness,"sighed the little fluffy-haired girl. "I thought I would never be ableto drag this suit case across the campus. It is crammed with things.I've been busier than all the busy bees that ever buzzed," she continuedhappily, following Grace into the living room. "You can't begin to thinkhow nice every one has been. About half of this stuf
f in the suit caseis candy. One girl at Morton House had ten boxes given her. Of course,she couldn't eat it all, so she put in five." Arline did not volunteerthe further information that she was the "girl" and that the candy wasmostly from Willston men, with whom she was extremely popular.
"Another girl gave me two pairs of gloves. She had half a dozen pairssent from home. She's going to New York for Christmas, so her homepresents were sent to her here. Ever so many girls who had boughtpresents to take home gave me something from their store. I caught themjust as they were finishing their packing. But, best of all," addedArline triumphantly, sinking into a chair and opening her brown suedehandbag, "I have money--fifty dollars! That will help some, won't it?"She gave a little, gleeful chuckle.
"I should say so," gasped Grace. "I didn't do quite as well, although Ihave a whole table full of presents. Come on up and see them. None of ushave put in our money contribution yet."
"How much have you?" asked Arline curiously.
"So far only twenty-five dollars," replied Grace. "The girls in theboarding houses are not overburdened with money. I collected half of itfrom the Holland House girls. Miriam has promised me five dollars and Iwill put in five. That makes thirty-five dollars. I haven't askedElfreda yet. She went out on a last shopping tour early this afternoonand hasn't come home yet. I suppose she went to Vinton's for dinner.Anne hasn't given me her money yet."
"Did you ask Miss Atkins?" was Arline's sudden inquiry. She was seizedwith a recollection of what transpired earlier in the fall.
Grace shook her head. "I couldn't. She hasn't spoken to me since thebeginning of the term."
"Shall I run up and ask her?" proposed Arline. "She is quite cordial tome in that queer, stiff way of hers."
"It is only fair to give her a chance to contribute if she wishes," saidGrace slowly. "I should say you might better ask her than leave herout."
"I'll go now, while I feel in the humor," declared Arline.
"You might ask Miss Taylor, too. She is Miss Atkins's roommate. She hasbeen rather distant with me, so I haven't approached her on thesubject."
Arline danced off on her errand with joyful little skips ofanticipation. It was not long before she returned, a pleased smile onher baby face. "What do you think!" she whispered, gleefully. "She gaveme ten dollars! She was lovely, too, and didn't scowl at all. I wishedher a Merry Christmas, and she asked me to take luncheon or dinner withher some time after Christmas. Miss Taylor wasn't there."
Grace was on the point of replying humorously that she hoped Arlinewould not share Elfreda's fate when the hour to dine came round. Shechecked herself in time, however. She had no right to betray Elfreda'sconfidence even to Arline. "That was generous in her," she said warmly."Would you like to come upstairs with me now, Arline, while I collect myshare of the contributions? Miriam and Elfreda will soon be here and Iwill ask Anne for her money."
Arline obediently followed Grace upstairs to her room. Grace lighted thegas. As she did so she espied an envelope lying on the rug near thedoor. Crossing to where it lay, Grace picked it up. It bore nosuperscription. She turned it over, then finding it unsealed pulled backthe flap and peered into it. With an exclamation of wonder she drewforth a crisp ten dollar bill. "Who do you suppose left it there?" shegasped in amazement. "I thought Anne was here. She must have gone out."
"Look in the envelope. Perhaps there is a card, too," suggested Arlinehopefully.
Grace peered into it a second time. Close to the inner surface of theenvelope lay a tiny strip of paper. She held it up triumphantly forArline's inspection.
"Is there any writing on it?" demanded Arline.
Grace scanned the strip of paper earnestly, turned it over and found thefaint lead-pencil inscription: "From a friend."
"Who can it be?" pondered Arline. "Do you recognize the hand-writing?"
"No." Grace looked puzzled. "It is a welcome gift. Just think, Arline,we have one hundred dollars. Your fifty, and Miss Atkins's ten makessixty, and this makes seventy. The twenty-five dollars I have and twentydollars more from the four of us makes one hundred and fifteen dollars.That will mean a great deal to those girls. I only wish it were more."
"If I had known sooner I would not have been so extravagant in buying myChristmas presents," declared Arline regretfully. "There isn't time towrite Father for money. I don't like to telegraph. I've been positivelyreckless with money this month. When I go home I'm going to have a talkwith Father. Oh, Grace Harlowe, I've a perfectly lovely idea," shecontinued, joyfully clasping her two small hands about Grace's arm, "butI am not going to say a word until I come back to Overton."
"Then I won't ask questions," smiled Grace. "Come, now, help me withthese packages. It is eight o'clock and we haven't made a start yet. Wehad better wrap the presents in two large packages. I will ask Mrs.Elwood for some wrapping paper, and we'll bring the suit case up here."
It was almost nine o'clock when Grace and Arline descended the steps ofWayne Hall with mystery written on their faces. Each girl carried anunwieldy bundle. In the center of Grace's bundle, securely wrapped infold after fold of tissue paper, was a little box. It contained onehundred and fifteen dollars in bills. Wrapped about the bills was thefollowing note addressed to Esther Barlow, the freshman Grace hadencountered that afternoon: "Merry Christmas to yourself and your sevenfreshmen friends. Santa Claus."
Each Girl Carried an Unwieldy Bundle.]
"How can we manage to deliver this stuff without being seen?" demandedArline. "My arms ache already, and we haven't walked a block."
Grace set down her bundle on a convenient horse block and paused toconsider. Arline dropped hers beside it with a sigh of relief. "I knowwhat we can do," said Grace reflectively. "We can get Mr. Symes to gowith us. He is that old man who does errands and takes messages for everso many of the girls. We will go with him as far as the corner, then hecan carry the things to the door and give them to the woman who owns theboarding house. He lives just around the corner from here. You stay hereand watch the bundles and I will see if I can find him."
Grace found Mr. Symes at home and quite willing to carry out the finaldetail of the Christmas plan. The old man was duly sworn to secrecy andentered into the spirit of his errand almost as heartily as did Arlineand Grace. At the chosen corner the girls halted, repeated their finalinstructions, and drawing back into the shadow, left him to deliver thetwo bulky packages, his wrinkled face wreathed in smiles.
He smiled even more broadly on his return to the watchers, as Graceslipped a crisp green note into his hand and wished him a MerryChristmas.
"Now we ought to do a little celebrating on our own account," sheproposed. "Suppose we pay a visit to Vinton's. It isn't too cold forices."
"That is just what I was thinking," agreed Arline.
An hour later Arline and Grace said good-bye on the corner below WayneHall. "I won't see you in the morning at the station, Grace," saidArline regretfully. "My train leaves a whole hour later than yours. Ihope you will have a perfectly lovely Christmas. I hope eight othergirls will, too. Don't you?"
"You're a dear little Daffydowndilly," smiled Grace as she kissedArline's upturned face. "I am sure they will, and they have you to thankfor their pleasure, though they will never know it."