Marjorie Dean, College Freshman

“Good for Busy Buzzy,” cheered Jerry, standing up and waving her arms.

“Less noise or some one will report us,” warned Ronny laughingly. “These millionairesses will be out for our scalps when they know us a little better. I think the whole thing is shameful. It is just the way the girls at Miss Trevelyn’s used to be. Only there were no poor girls there. They used to act spitefully to one another. Of course Miss Langly knows that you have told us this, Lucy?”

“Yes; I asked her if she cared if you girls knew it. I said I was sure you would fight for her. She said she did not wish you to do so, but she did not care if I told you. She supposed almost every one at the Hall knew it.

“There isn’t much we can do at first,” said Marjorie thoughtfully. Every pair of eyes were turned on her sweet face as she began speaking. “Our best plan is the old way we have always done; take her under our wing. There is room at our table for another plate. I will ask Miss Remson to make that change. That will help a good deal. The rest of the time she can keep out of those girls’ way.”

“We ought to do a little press-agenting. I mean, tell everybody how brilliant Miss Langly is and about the scholarship,” was Muriel’s inspiration. “We’ll start the Silverton Hall crowd to eulogizing her. If these bullies find most of the college admires her, they will be a little more careful. They aren’t crazy to take a back seat. They love to be popular and have the mob follow them about.”

“Lucy, you must tell Miss Langly to be sure and attend the reception. She owes it to herself to be there.” This from Ronny, in decided tones.

“She said she would like to invite me,” Lucy colored with shy embarrassment, “but she was afraid we would not be well-treated. So many of those girls are sophomores. She thinks they will run the reception.”

“You tell her to go ahead and invite you,” commanded Jerry. “We’ll be there to stand behind you. We may not have a special escort. If not, we can go in a bunch. Has she a family, or is she an orphan, or what about her?”

“She’s an orphan. She worked her way through high school. She lived with an old lady and worked for her board. She has had a very sad life.”

“I am proud to know her,” Ronny said simply. “If I had known her long ago I would have helped her.”

“We will make her our close friend and see what happens,” planned Marjorie. “If the Sans Soucians choose to become offended with us on that account, we shall understand better how to deal with them. It may be as well to let them know our principles. They will then set us down as prigs and leave us alone.”

This sentiment having been approved, Ronny inquired if there was anything else to be reported by anyone present. Nothing of an adverse nature happened to the Lookouts since the evening of their arrival, neither had anything especially pleasant occurred which they had not shared. The official confidence session was therefore closed until the next week, and the girls fell to discussing the coming dance and what they intended to wear. None of them except Lucy were likely to have a special escort, was the modest opinion.

Two days after their private conclave, the date of the dance was announced on all the bulletin boards. All freshmen were earnestly urged to be present. Followed the happiness of special invitation for all of the Lookouts. Helen Trent invited Jerry. Leila Harper invited Marjorie, greatly to the latter’s amazement. Vera Mason requested the pleasure of becoming Ronny’s escort. As for Muriel, she held her breath when stolid Miss Barlow made offer to become her escort on the eventful night. Muriel accepted ceremoniously and escaped from the room immediately after being invited for fear of disgracing herself by laughing. Later, Nella Sherman invited her, but Muriel had to decline, with some regret, in favor of her odd room-mate.

The dance was to take place in the gymnasium on Thursday evening one week after the first announcement had been made. For three afternoons and evenings before the festivity, the majority of the sophomores were to be found in the gymnasium, following classes, industriously engaged in beautifying the spacious room for the affair. It may be said that the Sans Soucians were strictly on the scene. In fact, they endeavored to take charge. As they contributed a wealth of decorative material in the way of small velvet rugs, expensive satin and velvet cushions and velour draperies, they appeared to consider themselves of vital importance to the affair.

The laborious part of the decorating, however, they took good care to portion out to the sophomores outside their own intimate circle. Joan Myers, as president of the sophomore class, had called a special meeting and appointed a special committee on decorations for the dance. This committee comprised Leila Harper, Helen Trent, Nella Sherman, Vera Mason, Hortense Barlow, Martha Merrick and Selma Sanbourne. The Sans Soucians were generous in the extreme in contributing luxurious effects, but they were niggardly in offering to help with the hard work attending the disposal of them. They lounged about the gymnasium and criticized freely, but they did very little actual labor.

The odd part was to see the stolidity of the hard-working committee, as assisted by the willing element among the sophomores, they toiled on, paying scarcely more attention to their indolent classmates than if they had been a few ubiquitous flies. On the first afternoon of the three preceding the hop, the committee hired a light wagon and went to the Hamilton Forest, a piece of woods situated about two miles south of the college. They returned at dusk laden with the fragrant spoils of the woods. On the second afternoon and evening the work of transforming the gymnasium into an autumn bower was skilfully performed. A creditable number of juniors and seniors did diligent service on this hard detail. On the third afternoon they arranged the cushions, draperies, chairs and like effects. Fortunately for them the Sans were absent. They were bending their valuable energies toward beautifying themselves for the evening.

The Sans Soucians numbered eighteen sophomores, but their sympathizers numbered as many more. In a class of ninety-two, at least twenty took small interest in class matters. This left a trifle less than half of the class to uphold democracy. As freshmen, the nobler element of girls had made some effort to stem the rising tide of snobbishness in their class. Utterly disgusted, they had at length, quietly withdrawn from association with an unworthy enemy. Now at the beginning of their sophomore year, indications marked no change for the better.

“Well, sophies, the job is done, and be-utifully done!” sang out Leila Harper. Unfastening the voluminous blue bungalow apron she had worn while at work, she whipped it off and stood surveying her scratched and dusty hands.

“The whole thing is a positive dream!” admired Vera Mason, clasping her small hands. “I can’t help saying the gym looks much finer than last year.”

“You may say it. Don’t let the junies hear you.” Leila’s voice carried the peculiar inflection that marks the Celt the world over. “It remains to be seen who will claim the credit,” she added with a touch of satire. “Never mind, wait until the evening is over. There will be a grand surprise for some folks.” She laughed softly, in anticipatory enjoyment of the surprise she was predicting. “I must hurry along. Remember, I am to escort Beauty to the hop.”

“Do try to be on time, Leila,” counseled Selma Sanbourne. “You’re always late, you know.”

“That I am, Swede,” retorted Leila, in good-humored agreement.

While Vera Mason rejoiced in the nickname “Midget,” Selma, being a Scandinavian, had received that of “Swede.” She occasionally retaliated by calling Leila “Ireland,” the latter having been the one to apply the two aforesaid nicknames to her chums.

“Don’t be disappointed if I’m not the first one here,” warned Leila. Rolling up the apron and tucking it under one arm, she prepared to depart.

“That means Leila is going to walk in at the last minute with our rosebud girl on her arm,” Martha Merrick declared. “Honestly, mates, it’s going to be so funny, if all works out as it should. It will be the first definite blow we have attempted to strike. After the way Natalie Weyman behaved on the day she volunteered to meet that Sanford crowd, she needs a lesson.”

“What possessed her, do you suppose?” Nella Sherman asked. “As nearly as I can remember, she insisted upon going to the train to meet them. Then she missed them, although she had plenty of time to reach the station before their train arrived. Afterward, she went to one of their rooms, I don’t know which, to apologize for her non-appearance. Result, they had their dinner at Baretti’s.”

“What do you mean, Nella?” Martha Merrick looked nonplussed. “I don’t see the connection between your last two remarks.”

“I’ll enlighten you. You are the one who told me that our five Sanford freshmen asked you to direct them to Baretti’s that night. It was after six o’clock when they arrived at the Hall. Naturally it took them time to scrub and generally freshen after an all day’s ride on the train. What did Natalie Weyman do but decide to make them an apology call precisely at the time when they should have gone down to dinner. Miss Cairns and Dulcie Vale were with her. They stayed until after the dining room had closed. We didn’t find this out, all in a minute, Martha. It took Leila, Midget, Selma and I to piece it together. You helped by remarking to us about you and Rosalind meeting them.”

“Yes, and since then Natalie Weyman hardly speaks to those girls,” added Selma.

“There is only one explanation for such contemptible conduct,” Martha said scornfully, “and you know it as well as I. This is the first I have heard of Natalie’s call. Last year she was quite friendly with me until I said to her that I thought it was ill-bred to base social values on money. She cut me after that. I was not sorry.”

“She is very malicious and if she had known those five girls beforehand I would say that she had an object in playing dog in the manger about meeting them and keeping them from their dinner afterward,” Leila Harper said. “As it happens, they knew no one here. They are thoroughbred to the bone. Not one word have they ever said to anyone of that night.”

“It was a case of selfishness and lack of consideration, I imagine,” surmised Vera Mason. “I mean, on Miss Weyman’s part.”

“Whatever prompted such inconsideration, I am sick of it,” was Leila’s vehement utterance. “Why should the fine traditions of this college be trodden under by such vandals? That’s precisely what they are. We should have gone to the train to meet those girls. When it was distinctly given out that Natalie Weyman intended to go, what was our conclusion? That they belonged to her circle. I made acquaintance very warily with them, on that account. They dress as well as any of the Sans ever dreamed of dressing. Miss Warner dresses more plainly, but her gowns are pleasing. They may be the daughters of millionaires, for all we know, but they are not snobs. Have you noticed the way they have taken up nice little Miss Langly? She has actually been abused by the Sans. Why? They were determined to make her give up her room to that obnoxious little freshie, Miss Elster. I despise the ultra-sophisticated type of girl she is. She boasts that she rides to hounds, enters dachshunds at bench shows, plays billiards and so on. She swaggers about like a detestable young man instead of a young girl.”

“Really, Leila, you are certainly a successful information gleaner,” Nella regarded her room-mate with an amused smile. “You know how to keep it to yourself, too. I hadn’t heard that Miss Langly had been abused by the Sans, or, that a freshman who rode to hounds was conspiring with the Sans to snatch her room.”

“You’ve heard now,” returned Leila, the twinkle in her eye evident. “After tonight, oh, how many things we shall be hearing! After the ball is over we shall be at one, I hope, with the Sanford five. If so, then the crowd of us ought to be able to work together for a more congenial condition of affairs at the Hall. The Sans are trying hard to run it and overrun us. They make it hard for Miss Remson, and it is a shame. If enough of us stand together for our rights, they will have to respect them. They won’t like us, but, then, do we admire them?”

“If things turn out tonight as we have planned, the Sans will be raving. Do you think it is perfectly fair to Miss Dean, Leila?” Vera’s tones carried a slight anxiety.

“Yes, I do, Midget,” came the instant reply. “She won’t like it, perhaps. Still it can’t do anything more than make her unpopular with the Sans. She is that, already, as I happen to know. If she is the girl I think her, she will simply pay no attention to them. Set your mind easy. We are doing her a service.”

CHAPTER XVIII. – A DISCOMFITED SAN SOUCIAN

When, at eight o’clock, Leila Harper knocked on Marjorie’s door, the vision who opened it brought a gleam of triumph to her bright blue eyes. Marjorie was wearing the frock of Chinese crêpe and looking her beautiful, young-girl best in it. The dress was exquisite enough in itself. Worn by her it seemed invested with fresh beauty. In turn, it lent to her a certain soft loveliness which no other frock she had ever possessed had brought out.

“Oh, my stars, what a dream you are, little Miss Dean!” praised Leila, laughingly adopting a touch of brogue which she used to perfection. Inwardly she was so delighted she could have squealed for joy. Her appraising eyes instantly picked Marjorie’s frock as unique.

Veronica, who was talking animatedly to Vera, her escort, as she drew on her long gloves, looked equally charming in her own way. She was attired in an imported gown of pleated French chiffon in two shades of silvery gray. It was banded about the square neck and very short pleated sleeves with black velvet ribbon on which were embroidered a Persian pattern of silver stars. The wide black velvet ribbon sash was also thickly star-studded, as were her black satin slippers.

Jerry, who had gone on with Helen, was wearing a stunning gown of old gold satin with deeper gold embroideries. Lucy, thanks to Veronica, had had the severity of her white organdie graduation gown transformed by a fine white lace overdress which Ronny had fairly forced upon her, together with a pale green satin sash with fringed ends, a pair of embroidered white silk stockings and a pair of white satin slippers. Muriel, who had also gone ahead with her ceremonious escort, was the true Picture Girl, as Marjorie loved to call her, in a pale lavender silk net over lavender taffeta. At her belt she wore a huge bunch of lavender orchids, for which gallant Moretense had sent to New York.

The gymnasium was not far from Wayland Hall, therefore the democratic element of sophomores who lived there had not favored taking their freshmen to the dance in automobiles. Leila Harper, Hortense Barlow and Vera Mason had their own motor cars at Hamilton, in a near-by garage, but common sense smiled at using them in preference to the short walk under the twinkling autumn stars.

“Don’t forget your violets, Marjorie,” called Veronica over her shoulder, as she went out the door. “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Pardon me, I forgot I was being escorted,” she made laughing apology to Vera. “We’ll wait for you, I should have said.”

“As if I could forget these darlings!” Marjorie took an immense bunch of single, long-stemmed violets from a vase of water and wiping them gently re-rolled the stems in their sheath of silver and violet paper. “They are my favorite flower,” she told Leila. “They go perfectly with this frock.” She pinned them securely against her sash with a quaint silver clasp pin. “There, I won’t be likely to lose them!”

“Would you mind telling a poor Irish girl where under the stars that gown grew?” Leila had not been able to remove her eyes from it long at a time.

Marjorie obligingly complied, going further to tell of the happy surprise which had attended the receipt of it.

“Your father must love you oceans,” Leila said almost sadly. “My father died when I was three. I have a step-father. He is not so much to my liking. My mother and he maintain a residence in the United States, but they are in England most of the time. I live with my father’s sister when I am home on vacations. She is keen on clubs and welfare work. She allows me to do as I please. What kind of life is that for a young girl?” Leila shrugged her white shoulders with true Irish melancholy. Dressed in a beautiful gown of old rose Georgette with a partial over-frock of frost-like white lace, she was a magnificent study. The combination of fine, strong features which went to make up her face, made it striking rather than beautiful.

Suddenly her brooding features broke into smiling light. “Pay no attention to me. Let’s be off to the dance. Just a word before we go. I wish you would feel that I am your true friend. If, when we first met, you thought me, well – not quite frank, it was because I wished to be sure that I liked you. That’s all, except, remember what I have just said about being your friend.”

“I will,” Marjorie promised gravely. “I shall hope always to prove myself your true friend.” She offered her hand.