Marjorie Dean, College Freshman

By the time the consommé was served, the other group had finished the eating of their ices and risen to depart. As they left the table Marjorie glanced impersonally toward them. A sudden wave of color deepened the pink in her cheeks as she encountered four pairs of unfamiliar eyes all fastened on her. Immediately she looked away, annoyed with herself, rather than them for staring. Nor had she gained a definite idea of the appearance of any one of them, so keen was her own momentary discomfiture.

Regarding herself and her chums, the departing diners had a very clear idea. Hardly had they stepped outside the restaurant when a low buzz of conversation began.

“Leila Harper, did you ever see anyone lovelier than that brown-eyed freshie?” inquired one of the quartette, a tall, stately girl with pale gold hair and a rather thin, interesting face. “The one in dark blue, I mean.”

“No; I see a certain someone’s finish, don’t you?” The girl who made the reply smiled as though signally amused. In the light cast by the powerful post lights, the faces of her companions reflected that amused smile. “I could have shrieked for joy when that crowd of freshmen walked in with Beauty in their midst,” she continued. “They were all very pretty girls, Selma. I really think we ought to take up the matter and have some fun over it.”

“Incidentally, it would pull someone off a pedestal where she never truly belonged. I never considered Natalie Weyman a real beauty. She is pretty, but rather artificial, I think.” The author of this criticism was an attractive young woman with wavy chestnut hair and deep blue eyes, the beauty of which was partly obscured by eyeglasses.

“I don’t admire Miss Weyman’s style of good looks, either, Nella.” This from the fourth member of the party, a small girl with pale brown hair, pale blue eyes, with very dark brows and lashes, and a skin dazzlingly white. Standing five feet one in high heels, Vera Mason was noticeable for her doll-like daintiness of form and feature. She was not beautiful, so far as regularity of feature went, for her small nose turned up a trifle and her mouth was too wide to be classically perfect. She was, however, singularly charming.

“I had rather call you a beauty any time than apply it to her, Midget,” was Leila Harper’s quick return. Her eyes of true Irish blue twinkled as she said this. Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed aloud, showing white even teeth, their very soundness matching the rest of her strong-featured face and blue-black hair. Leila was of old Irish stock and very proud of it.

“Oh, girls, I have it; a plan I mean!” she exclaimed. “Now listen to the wise Irish woman and you’ll agree with me that there’s nothing that could fit the occasion more nearly than what I have in mind. It will do wonders in the way of curing Nat Weyman’s swelled head and no one can possibly say it isn’t fair.”

Four abreast in the moonlight, the sophomores who had so heartily admired Marjorie strolled back to the campus, listening as they went to a plan Leila was unfolding which appeared to afford them much anticipatory delight.

Meanwhile at the quaint old inn the Five Travelers were hungrily disposing of a comforting meal, wholly unconscious of being already a subject for discussion among a certain group of sophomores. It was as well for Marjorie’s peace of mind that she did not know she had already been acclaimed a beauty at Hamilton College. Neither could the four sophomores, who were thoughtlessly planning the merited discomfiture of one girl through the raising up of another, know what a difference the carrying out of that plan would make in Marjorie Dean’s life at Hamilton College.

CHAPTER XIV. – A SILENT DECLARATION OF HOSTILITY

Not very long after the Five Travelers returned to Wayland Hall the half-past ten o’clock bell sounded. Desirous of complying with the rules of the college from the start, they had prepared for sleep in much greater haste than usual, a proceeding which Veronica deplored most of all. Accustomed to making leisurely preparations for retiring, she had known beforehand that this would be her chief annoyance when at college.

For fully twenty-five minutes after the penetrating clang of the house bell had ceased, sound of voices and light footsteps in the hall indicated that a few students, at least, were not taking the ten-thirty rule very seriously.

“What was that?” Jerry, who had dropped to sleep almost on the instant her head had found the pillow, started up in the darkness, awakened by the sharp slam of a door further down the hall.

“Oh, someone slammed a door,” Marjorie replied sleepily. “I was almost asleep, but not quite. It startled me, too. There seems to be very little attention paid to the retiring bell in this house. I’ve heard the girls talking and laughing in the halls ever since it rang. It’s quieter now. I imagine next week it will be different. College doesn’t really open until Monday, you know.”

“Busy Buzzy doesn’t look as though she would stand for much noise. She’ll begin laying down the law about next week. I hope whoever slammed that door hasn’t the habit. Well, what now!”

From somewhere out on the campus the musical rhythm of chimes had begun. They played the quarter, the half, the three-quarters of the hour, then sweetly and clearly the stroke of eleven followed. Listening to it, Marjorie felt a strange new peace of mind steal over her. Longfellow’s understanding lines:

“The night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And silently steal away.”

The silvery tones had a vastly soothing effect upon her troubled spirit. Altogether, it had been one of the most dispiriting days she had ever lived. She now hailed the ringing of the chimes as a kind of lullaby to her cares. Here was a second friend of whom she was sure she could never grow tired.

“That’s eleven o’clock. Didn’t those chimes sound pretty? I suppose that’s the end of the limit bell here at Hamilton. If you aren’t in bed when the chimes play eleven, you are a disgrace to your Alma Mater. If you aren’t asleep by that time, well – you can hear ’em. I’ve heard them, I’m going to sleep this minute. Night, Sweet Marjoram.”

“Good night, Jeremiah.” Marjorie lay awake for a little, her thoughts on her father and mother. She knew that they were thinking of her and a sense of soothing warmth enfolded her, born of the knowledge of their steadfast adoration.

Marjorie awakened next morning to find the sun in her eyes and herself not quite certain of where she was. She glanced across the room to where Jerry’s couch was situated. It was without an occupant. “Oh!” she exclaimed in consternation. Her eyes hastily sought the mission wall clock. It was only ten minutes to seven. Reassured, she lay still and viewed the room by broad daylight. The furnishings were pretty and comfortable. The color scheme of the room was delft blue. The walls were papered in a white mica-stripe with a plain white ceiling. A wide, ragged border of bachelor’s buttons added vastly to the dainty effect. The two wash-stands, chiffoniers and dressing tables had Japanese covers of white stamped in blue figures. The hard-wood floor was covered by a velvet rug in three shades of blue, and the couch covers were also in indeterminate blues. There were two easy chairs, one willow rocker and two straight cane-seated chairs. A good sized library table occupied the center of the room. It was of black walnut and an antique. At each end of the room was a door opening into a closet, large enough to permit the hanging of wearing apparel without crowding. All the necessary effects having been provided, it remained to the occupants to supply their own individual decorations.

The entrance into the room of Jerry, her round face rosy from her morning scrub, brought Marjorie’s inspection of her new “house” to an end.

“I’ve been looking at our new room ever since I woke up,” saluted Marjorie. “It is pretty, I think. I am not used to blue, though. It matches you better than me, Jerry.”

“Yes, I see it does. It’s large enough for the furniture, without crowding. That’s what I like about it. I believe – ”

The silver-tongued chimes cut into Jerry’s speech, ringing out a live little prelude before striking seven. Came the striking of the hour, a slow, measured salute to the sunny autumn morning.

“You may politely say ‘excuse me,’ next time you butt into my conversation.” Jerry nodded an admonishing head in the direction from whence the musical sounds had come. “Funny I didn’t hear those chimes at six o’clock. I was awake.”

“Maybe they don’t play them every hour,” suggested Marjorie. “I remember when we were living in B – an Episcopal Church near where we lived had a set of chimes installed. They started out by having them played every hour. It annoyed the nearby residents so much that they finally rang them only at six o’clock in the evening and on special occasions. They never bothered General and Captain and me. We were sorry to lose them. It was like meeting some one I hadn’t heard of in a long while to hear those good old bells last night. There are two things I love already about Hamilton. One is the campus; the other is the chimes.”

“I agree with you about the campus. I don’t know yet about the chimes. Familiarity with them may breed anything but admiration.” Jerry was only jesting. Such was her nature that she shied at the proximity of sentiment. She had it in her to be sure, but she kept it hidden far beneath the surface.

“You had better hurry along to your bath,” she now advised. “By half-past seven the lavatory will become suddenly very popular.”

“I’m going this minute.” Marjorie had already donned a negligee and was hastily thrusting her feet into quilted satin slippers.

As she stepped from her room into the hall, a door on the opposite side, above the room occupied by Lucy and Ronny, swung open with a jerk. On the threshold appeared Natalie Weyman. She was evidently in a bad humor, for her heavy brows were sharply drawn in an ugly scowl. Her eyes happening to light on Marjorie, her face grew perceptibly darker. With a smothered exclamation, she disappeared into her room again, banging the door. She had not even attempted a “good morning,” but had stared at Marjorie as though she had never seen her before.

Not in the least impressed, Marjorie continued imperturbably toward the lavatory. She had made two discoveries, however. She knew now who had slammed the door on the previous night. She knew, too, that Natalie Weyman had no real feeling of friendliness toward her. She had heard enough from the three callers of the evening before to arraign them in her mind as leaning very hard toward snobbishness. If they were snobs, she wished to keep far away from them. Further, she had no intention of regarding Miss Weyman’s call as anything but a duty-prompted affair. Not one of the three young women had extended an informal invitation to the Five Travelers to visit them in their rooms. If the select Sans Soucians expected to see herself and chums go out of their way to please, they would be disappointed.

CHAPTER XV. – THE GIRLS OF WAYLAND HALL

In the lavatory she encountered the two students of whom Ronny had made inquiry regarding Baretti’s. The black-haired girl looked at her, then nodded pleasantly. Marjorie returned the salutation with a half-shy smile which the square-chinned, sandy-haired girl shrewdly noted. Regarding Marjorie intently for an instant, very deliberately she stretched forth a hand.

“Good morning,” she said, in a rather deep voice for a girl. “Did you have any trouble finding Baretti’s?”

“Not a bit, thank you.” This time Marjorie’s smile broke forth in all its sunny beauty. “We might have lost our way if we had not met you. We saw some girls in the rustic house as we left the Hall, but we met no others. If we had tried to find it ourselves, and turned to the left instead of the right, I don’t know where we would have landed.”

“Not anywhere near food; I can tell you that.” It was the tall girl’s turn to smile. Marjorie liked her instantly. She admired her capable chin and direct, honest expression. “You would have gone rambling along toward the Hamilton Estates.”

“We saw them yesterday as we drove to the college from the station. They are so artistically laid out. I am anxious to see Hamilton Arms. I have been interested in what the bulletin says of Brooke Hamilton. We loved Baretti’s. It must have been an inn, long ago. That is what we thought.”

“It was,” answered the brunette. She now offered her hand. “It used to be called ‘Comfort Inn.’ You and your friends are freshmen, I know. Miss Remson told us that there were to be five freshmen from the same town at the Hall this year. You see the Hall was fairly well filled last June with prospective sophs and a few juniors and seniors. I think only two other freshmen besides yourselves were able to get in here, this year. We mustn’t keep you standing here. I am Martha Merrick, and this is my pal, Rosalind Black. We are sophomores. We are not so very much inflated over our high estate. You may look at us, of course, and even speak to us.”

“I will try not to overstep bounds,” Marjorie promised. “I am Marjorie Dean, and I am glad to meet you. I haven’t yet learned a freshman’s prerogatives. I must rely upon my high and mighty sophomore sisters to enlighten me.”

“We will, never fear. You may expect to see us in your room before long; perhaps this evening, if you are not busy.”

“You will be welcome. We have nothing special to do this evening. We shall look forward to seeing you, and treat you with proper respect, you may be sure.”

All three laughed merrily at Marjorie’s assurance. The two sophomores then left her to her morning ablutions.

“‘The sweetest flower that grows’” sang Martha Merrick softly, the minute the door closed between them and Marjorie.

“Isn’t she, though,” quietly agreed her companion. “She isn’t a snob, Martha. She has gentle manners.”

“Oh, I know it! What a relief to see a beauty who isn’t wrapped up in herself. Did you ever see anything more gorgeous than that head of brown curls. If I wished to be further poetical I could quote numerous lines that would apply to her.”

“She is lovely enough to inspire them, but she is more than that. She is a very fine girl. Depend upon it, Martha, her friends are worth knowing or they wouldn’t be her friends. That’s the way I read our stunning freshie. I hope I am right. A few staunch democratics besides ourselves and Nella and Leila are needed here to offset Millionaire Row.”

Meanwhile Marjorie was luxuriating in her morning scrub, a happy little smile playing about her lips. It was so cheering to meet friendliness at last. Miss Merrick and Miss Black were far more according to her college ideals. Before she had completed her toilet several girls dropped into the lavatory. Long before this, her curls had been fastened up, close to her head. Nevertheless the strangers stared more or less politely at her. Two of them she thought she recognized as among the four she had seen at Baretti’s.