Marjorie Dean, College Freshman

“I wish you both to be very stingy of me. Then I shall be sure you love me a lot,” Marjorie replied with playful emphasis. She no longer felt like crying. While outdoors the rain continued to beat down; indoors the sun had broken through the clouds.

“Once, oh, very long ago, you spoke of reading me Jerry’s letter,” Mrs. Dean presently reminded. “Then the rain descended and the floods came, and – ”

“We forgot all about it,” supplemented Marjorie. “All right, my dearest Captain, I will proceed to read it to you this minute.” This time she picked it up from the floor. It had dropped from her hand when she had briefly descended into the valley of woe. Settling herself in an easy chair, she unfolded the letter and promptly began:

“‘Magnificent Marjoram:

“‘I want to go home! It is hot here. This part of the globe is getting ready to burn down. The beach is hot; the hotel is hotter and the sun is hottest. It was nice and cool here until about a week ago. Then the sun came rambling along and started to smile. After that he beamed. Now he is on the job all day with a broad grin. Maybe we don’t notice it! Still our family love to linger in this hot berg. Hal hates to give up the bathing. Mother and Father are deep in a series of old-fashioned whist. They meet the same friends here each year, and they always play whist. They are anxious to stay for the last game in the series.

“‘I’m the only one who longs for home. I offered to go home by myself and keep Lonesome Hall. Mother said, “Nay, nay!” I pleaded that you would feed and nourish me and let me sleep in your garage until she came home. That didn’t go. Here I languish while some of the Macys swim in the surf and others of them hold up a hand at whist.

“‘Everyone at Severn Beach is growling about the heat. It has never been like this before. While I’m sitting squarely in front of an electric fan, I’m moderately cool. The minute I move off from it, I’m wilted. The last leaf of the last rose of summer was beautiful as compared to me at the end of a perfect day down here.

“‘Next year, we are going to the mountains. I don’t know which mountains the folks intend to put up on, but I know where Jeremiah is going. I’m going straight to the top of Mount Everest, which our good old geography used to inform us was the highest peak on earth. Five miles high! Think of it! I shall go clear to the top and roost there all summer. I shall have my meals brought up to me three times a day. That means five miles per meal for somebody. I certainly shall not go after them myself. It will be a wonderful vacation! So restful! Tell you more about it when I see you. You may go along if you happen to need perfect peace and rest.

“‘Oh, Marjorie, I am so anxious to see you and talk my head off! There isn’t a single girl at the beach this year that amounts to a handful of popcorn. They are so terribly grown-up and foolish; idiotic I might better say. They make eyes at poor old Hal and he gets so wrathy. Every time he sees one coming towards him, when he is down on the main veranda, you ought to see him arise and vanish. Sometimes, when he gets so disgusted he has to talk, he comes around and tells me how silly he thinks they are. Then, to tease him, I tell him he shouldn’t be so beautiful. You ought to hear him rave. If there is anything he hates it is to be called “beautiful.”

“‘By the way, how are you enjoying this letter? Great, isn’t it? I am trying to tell you all the news, only there is none to tell. Oh, I almost forgot. I must tell you of the lovely walk I had one day last week. I came in from bathing one morning and thought I would take a walk around the town. It had been raining early in the morning and then had grown quite cool for this furnace.

“‘I dressed up in a new white pongee suit, which is very becoming to Jeremiah, and I wore my best round white hemp hat. It is imported and cost money.

“‘I started out and walked briskly up one avenue and briskly down another. Fast walking is supposed to be good exercise for people who weigh one hundred and forty pounds, when they are hoping to weigh one twenty-five. I won’t speak of myself. The streets of this town were paved just after paving was invented, as an advertisement, I suspect, and they have never been touched since. With this explanation, as Miss Flint was fond of remarking, I will proceed with my story.

“‘I was about half way across one of these ancient, hobblety-gobble outrages, when I came to grief. My feet slipped on a slimy brick and I landed flat on my back in a puddle of dirty water. I hit my poor head an awful bang. I’m speaking of myself all right enough now. I was so mad I couldn’t think of anything to say. All my choicest slang flew away when I whacked my head. My nice round hemp hat was saved a ducking. It jumped off my head and almost across the street. Some little jumper, that hat! An obliging breeze caught it, and it scuttled off around the corner and would have been home ahead of me if it hadn’t collided with a horse block. It sat down with a flop and waited for me.

“‘The spectators to Jeremiah’s fall were three children, a horse, and an old green and yellow parrot. The kiddies weren’t impressed, but the parrot yelled and ha-ha-ed and enjoyed himself a whole lot. He was in a cage hung on a porch right near where I fell. I don’t know what the horse thought. He behaved like a gentleman, though. He didn’t either rubber or laugh. That’s more than I can say of the other witnesses to my disaster.

“‘But, on with my narrative. I’ll leave you to imagine how I looked. My white pongee suit was no longer suitable. It was a disgrace to the noble house of Macy. I had to get home, just the same, so I faced about and hit up a pace for the hotel. I had gone about two blocks when I met a jitney. I never enjoyed meeting anyone so much before as that jitney man. Of course the hotel verandas were full of people. It was just before luncheon and folks were sitting around, hopefully waiting for the dining rooms to open.

“‘Fortunately it was my back that had suffered injury from the mud. I gave one look to see who was behind me. There was no one but an old man in a wheel chair and a couple of spoons. They were so busy beaming on each other that I was a blank to them. I made a dash for the side entrance to the hotel and caught the elevator going up. I went with it. Thus ends the tale of Jeremiah’s fateful walk. Thus ends my news also. When you hear from me again, it will probably be in person. I shall hit the trail for Sanford, first chance I have. I must stop now and go to dinner. I send you the faithful devotion of a loyal Lookout. That is no mean little dab of affection. Remember me to your mother and pat Ruffle for me. Now that I’m ending this letter, I can think of a lot of things to tell you. Oh, well, I’ll write ’em another day or else say ’em.

    “‘Lovingly your friend,
    “‘Jerry Macy.’”

Marjorie had stopped reading to laugh more than once at Jerry’s droll phrasing. “Isn’t Jerry funny, Mother?” she exclaimed. “Hal is funny, too. Still he isn’t so funny as Jerry. I think – ”

Whatever Marjorie might have further said regarding Jerry’s letter remained unspoken. Her gaze chancing to travel to a window, she sprang to her feet with an exclamation of surprise. Next she ran to the window and peered curiously out. A taxicab from the station had stopped before the gate. From the house it was not easy to distinguish, through the driving rain, the identity of the solitary fare, for whom the driver had left his machine to open the gate. It was a slim girlish figure, too slender to be Jerry. Through the mist Marjorie caught the smart lines of a navy blue rain coat, buttoned to the chin and a gleam of bright hair under a tight-lined blue hat.

Could it be? Marjorie’s heart began a tattoo of joy. It didn’t seem possible – yet the blue-clad figure, making for the house at a run, was unmistakable.

“Captain, it’s Ronny!” she shrieked in a high jubilant treble. “She just got out of a taxicab and she’s here!”

Without stopping to make further explanation, Marjorie rushed to the front door to welcome the last person she had expected to see on that stormy morning, Veronica Lynne.

CHAPTER III. – THE REAL RONNY

“Ronny Lynne, who would have expected to see you?” rejoiced Marjorie. “I can’t believe my own eyes.” Two welcoming arms embraced the beloved visitor, regardless of her dripping rain coat.

“Oh, I know I’m the great unexpected,” laughed Veronica, warmly returning Marjorie’s embrace. “Now break away, reckless child, before you are quite as wet as I. See what you get for hugging a rushing rivulet. Oh, Marjorie Dean, but I’m glad to see you! I can’t begin to tell you how much I have missed you. I received your letter and meant to answer at once. Then I – ”

Veronica broke off in her abrupt fashion. This time it was to greet Mrs. Dean, who, after leaving the two girls together during the first enthusiasm of meeting had now come forward to welcome Ronny.

“A bad day for traveling, but a happy one for us,” she said, as she affectionately kissed Miss Archer’s God-child. “Help Ronny out of that wet rain coat, Lieutenant. Better go straight upstairs with Marjorie, Veronica. She will soon make you comfortable with one of her negligees and house slippers. I will bring you a cup of consommé. I know you must be hungry.”

“I am hungry, and I would love to dress up in some of Marjorie’s clothes,” Ronny made reply. Marjorie was already busy undoing the buttons of her friend’s coat.

“Come right along upstairs then,” Marjorie invited. “I’ll soon have you fixed all nice and comfy. I am so happy, Ronny. I’ve been thinking of you as away off in California, and here you have been hustling across the continent to visit me.”

“And all the time I have been congratulating myself on the blessed fact that I would really have a chance to be chummy with you when I finally arrived,” exulted Ronny, as she ran lightly up the wide open staircase behind her hostess. Mrs. Dean had already hurried kitchenward to see to the consommé.

“We will be the best chums ever!” Pausing on the top step, Marjorie stretched forth a hand. “Welcome to my house and heart,” she said. Tucking her friend’s hand within her arms she drew her down a short hall and into her own particular domain. The door of Marjorie’s “house” stood open as though hospitably awaiting the arrival of the guest. Its dainty pink and whiteness shed a light and beauty, infinitely cheering on a dark day.

“And now to give you something to dress up in.” Loosing Veronica’s hand, Marjorie crossed the room and threw open the door of a large dress closet. “Yours to command,” she offered with a hospitable gesture. Pressing a button in the wall the wardrobe sprang alight, disclosing the finery of girlhood in all its rainbow hues.

“Oh, you choose a garment for me to luxuriate in,” Ronny returned. “I don’t know the whys and wherefores of your clothes.”

Marjorie peered thoughtfully at her array of gowns and selected a half-fitted negligee of old-rose silk. A moment’s search in a cunningly contrived shoe cupboard at one side of the closet, and she held up quilted satin slippers to match.

“Thank you, hospitable one.” Veronica was already clear of her dark blue bengaline frock and reaching for the silken comfort of the negligee. Her wet pumps soon removed, she donned the soft slippers and settled back in a willow rocker with a sigh of satisfaction. “I can’t begin to tell you how comfortable I am,” she said. “I had to change cars this morning before eight, and in the rain. All I had to console me was the thought that I would be in Sanford before noon. God-mother doesn’t know I am east. I didn’t write her because I was anxious to give her a surprise. I’ll go to see her tomorrow. I wanted to come to you first. I never had much chance to be here when I was ‘Miss Archer’s servant.’”

Ronny’s tones rippled with amused laughter. An answering smile rose to Marjorie’s lips. Memory recalled the sedate, reserved girl she had known as Veronica Browning. She was now beginning to glimpse the real Ronny; brilliant, high-spirited, sure of herself, with the independence of those who have known the bitterness of poverty.

“You are so different, Ronny,” she said. “I mean from last year. Once in a great while I used to see flashes of you as you are now. I remember the night you danced that wonderful butterfly number at the Campfire. You seemed happy and so much more like a real girl than as I saw you in school each day. You are like a butterfly who is so glad to be free of the chrysalis.”

“How nice in you to compare me to anything so beautiful as a butterfly. I am glad to be free of the part I played last year. I am not sorry I played it, though. Is Mignon La Salle going to Hamilton College?” she asked, with an abrupt change of subject. “I hope not. I think I can never forgive her for the trouble she made you. I never minded in the least the way she treated me.”

“No; Mignon is going to Smith College. She is all right now, Ronny,” Marjorie earnestly assured. “When she faced about last spring she truly meant it.”

“You deserve the credit for having hauled her through,” was Ronny’s blunt opinion. “I never would have had the patience. A good many times last year I was tempted to tell you who I really was. I did not care to have the other girls know, and Jerry was so curious about me. I was afraid it might make trouble for you if you knew and they didn’t. The Lookouts would have been likely to ask you about me. Then, if I had pledged you to secrecy, it would have meant your refusal to answer any questions concerning me. This year – ”

Veronica broke off in the old way which had always been so baffling to Marjorie. For an instant a vague sense of disappointment visited her. It was as though Ronny had once again suddenly dropped the curtain of mystery between them.

Her brown eyes fixed with unconscious solemnity on her guest, she became aware that Veronica was laughing at her. “I know what you are thinking,” Ronny declared. “You think I am the same aggravating old mystery who used never to finish a sentence. Good reason why I chopped off a remark I was about to make. I almost told you a secret.” Her tone was now purposely tantalizing. “Had I best tell you now or wait awhile?”

The entrance into the room of Mrs. Dean, bearing a lacquered tray, on which was a steaming cup of consommé and a plate of small crisp rolls, interrupted any confidence Ronny might have been on the point of making. Lingering for a few minutes’ talk with Veronica, Mrs. Dean left the two girls with the reminder that the luncheon bell would soon ring.

Marjorie, meanwhile, had learned something new of Ronny. She realized that now her friend was only playing at secrecy. Ronny would never again be a mystery to her as in the past.

“I’ve learned something about you, Ronny Lynne,” she commented in merry accusation. “You love to tease. Well, you can’t tease me. As for your old secret you may do just as you please. You may tell me now or after while. I’m not a bit curious. Ahem! I won’t say I am not interested. Wouldn’t you like to tell me now?”

She laid a coaxing hand on Ronny’s arm. The latter’s radiant face was an index to pleasant news.

“Would I? Perhaps.” Ronny pretended to deliberate. “Well, listen hard. Once upon a time there was a person named Ronny who decided to go to college. She had heard about a college named Hamilton, and – ”

“You’re going to Hamilton! You’re going to Hamilton!” Marjorie had sprung from her chair and was performing a dance of jubilation about Veronica. “It is the best old secret I ever heard!”

“I hoped you would be pleased.” There were tears just back of Ronny’s eyes. She loved Marjorie with the great strength of a first friendship. Naturally she was moved by the hearty reception of her news.