Marjorie Dean at Hamilton Arms

To begin with Leslie had come to meet Doris at the Colonial fresh from a hot argument with the Italian, Sabatini, whom she had seen fit to call on at his garage and scathingly upbraid for being a “cheating dago quitter.” Leslie argued that, for the amount of money she had paid Sabatini he should have stood out against the threats of Signor Baretti and declined to put the busses back into service.

“You are no lady, but the creza girl; thick head you have,” Sabatini had finally shouted at Leslie when his temper broke all bounds. “You are the foolish. I don’ run the busses when Baretti say I must, I get my franchisa take from me. Then don’ run, anyhow. You get that through your head, you can.”

“Then give back part of that money, and cut out the pet names,” Leslie had blazed back at him. “You’ll find out who you’re talking to, you thieving dago, before you are many weeks older. I’ll break you. Put you out of business. Just like that!” Leslie had given her usual imitation of what she fondly believed would have been her father’s way of dealing with the situation.

As a matter of fact her father, Peter Cairns, would never have figured personally in any such affair. He would have placed it in the hands of a subordinate below his rank as financier, who would have in turn detailed his subordinate to act and so on down until one competent to deal with the Italian had been secured.

Leslie was not ignorant of her father’s methods of procedure but she was ambitious to prove her own power over people and circumstances. She was determined to prove to her father that she could bring about any consummation she desired either by her own clever maneuvering or by force of will. Her idea of will power was – “make other people do as you say.”

Sabatini’s parting, furious speech had been: “You try make troubla I make you the troubla, too. You see. I tell about you to the paper man. Everabuddy read ’bout you in the paper.” He had already refused to return a penny of the money she had given him. Leslie’s humor as she lounged out of the garage with an air of lofty indifference was ferocious.

This had been her third and most trying interview with the Italian, Sabatini, since the busses had again begun to run. She reflected morosely as she drove her car along Hamilton Pike to keep her engagement with Doris that not a single thing she had planned since first she had come to Hamilton College as a student had ever turned out advantageously to her. She did not in the least blame herself or her methods. She was conceitedly sure of herself. Someone or something had always “butted in” at the wrong time. Or else the persons on whom she depended to do their parts in her various schemes had failed her.

She wondered if her father had received the letter she had written him. She was confident that it would be forwarded to him if he were not in New York. She was particularly anxious to know where he was. She hoped he was not in New York. For weeks, a scheme, the most ambitious plan to make trouble which Leslie had yet concocted, had been foremost in her thoughts. It had kept her busy ever since Thanksgiving, daily visiting her garage property and prowling in the immediate neighborhood of the dormitory building. The gray stone walls of the dormitory were well started and steadily reaching upward, a fact which seemed to furnish Leslie with deep though frowning interest.

Coming within sight of the dormitory that afternoon she had glanced toward it and given a short angry laugh. She had then stopped her car for a moment to compare the activities on the dormitory lot with those going on at her garage site. The operation of tearing down the old houses in the block she had purchased, and afterward clearing the ground, had gone very slowly. The contractor who had charge of that part of the work had dragged it, so as to benefit himself. Under honest management the operation should have been far enough advanced at least to show the garage cellar dug. As it was the ground she owned was yet partially littered with the debris of demolishment.

When she had finally arrived at the Colonial there to find Doris waiting for her at one of the tables she had reached a point where nothing could please her. On the way from the dormitory site to the Colonial she had decided to go to New York alone over the holidays. She had important work to do. She did not propose to allow entertaining Doris to interfere with it.

Her first words to Doris on seating herself at the table had been: “The trip to New York is off, Goldie. I can’t take you with me, I mean. I have to go, but entirely on business, I must go alone.”

Her disappointment very keen on hearing such depressing news, Doris had received Leslie’s announcement with bad grace. More, she had accused Leslie of not being a person of her word. The two girls had argued and squabbled as was their wont. Doris was particularly incensed over the fact that she had refused two invitations from adoring freshmen to go home with them for the holidays. Three different sophs had also extended her invitations. She had refused them all because she most fancied the New York trip. Now Leslie had changed her mind and she, Doris Monroe, would be the only loser.

Leslie had relied on her most sarcastic, overbearing manner to cope with Doris’s indignant explosion. As before, when they had stood out against each other, Leslie found her match. Doris proved herself so utterly, scornfully thorny that Leslie finally backed water and volunteered the sulky promise that if she possibly could she would take Doris to New York as she had first agreed. Doris herself had not asked it. Neither had she appeared to take note of the promise. When she left Leslie at the door of the Colonial, refusing to enter her car, she had merely said “good-bye” in the iciest of tones. This did not worry Leslie. It was not the first time Doris had walked away miffed.

Doris, however, was not only angry at Leslie for her wilful unreliability, she was experiencing a healthy contempt for Leslie herself. She contrasted Leslie’s standards and ideals with those of the girls on the campus whom she was beginning to know, understand and like. She liked the jolly, worshipping freshmen who had made so much of her. They were an honorable set. She liked Louise Walker, Calista Wilmot and Charlotte Robbins particularly among the sophs. She admired Gussie Forbes, though she never went near her. She knew Gussie to be devoted to Marjorie Dean. She had quite a secret crush on Robin Page, though she would have died rather than admit it. She liked Phyllis Moore and Barbara Severn. She also liked Muriel and admired her for her sturdy principles. She kept these likes to herself, however, pretending to be more indifferent than she was.

She could not be among such girls long without discerning the difference between their ethical standards and those of Leslie Cairns. She detested Leslie’s unscrupulousness, yet there were times when she admired the ex-student’s sang froid. She saw the really humorous, clever side of Leslie and felt vaguely sorry for her because she was so unprepossessing. She realized Leslie’s power through money, but she had lost her respect for the lawless girl on that head.

She had hurried into the early winter twilight from the tea room feeling as though she never wished to see Leslie Cairns again. All the way from the campus gates to Wayland Hall she continued to think darkly of what she had lost by Leslie’s selfish tactics. She had announced so confidently, in refusing other Christmas invitations, that she expected to spend the holidays in New York. Now she would not humble her pride by letting it be known that she had been disappointed.

In consequence Muriel’s invitation, delivered immediately after she reached her room, came as a consoling surprise. Instantly followed remembrance that Muriel was one of the Sanford five whom Leslie detested. She recalled her own antagonism toward Marjorie Dean. To accept a Christmas invitation to Muriel’s home meant the acceptance of Muriel’s chums as friendly acquaintances. It flashed upon Doris in that moment of self-examination that there was no reason why she should not accept as her friends the four Sanford girls who were Muriel Harding’s intimates.

Following that illuminating flash came a thought far from noble. It took strong hold of Doris. How piqued Leslie Cairns would be were she to accept Muriel’s invitation. It would serve Leslie right. It would show her that she, Doris Monroe, had the courage of independence. She had no faith in Leslie’s final grudging assurance that the trip to New York should be made as they had planned it. Leslie had changed her mind once, she was likely to disappoint her again.

Thought of Leslie and a resentful desire to exasperate her completely outweighed consideration of the purely social side of Muriel’s invitation. Doris’s momentary hesitation after Muriel had invited her did not arise, as Muriel had surmised, from regretful embarrassment at her lack of cordiality toward Muriel’s chums. Doris’s mind was fully occupied with one idea – the beneficial effect her trip to Sanford would have upon Leslie. She would write Leslie a note informing her of the astonishing change in her Christmas plans. If Leslie chose to rage over the matter, she must rage it out alone. Doris resolved that she would not see Leslie again until after she had returned to the campus from the trip to Sanford.

CHAPTER VIII

LOOKING FOR TROUBLE

Doris’s thoughts were so entirely centered on the disagreeable effect her decision would have upon Leslie Cairns she did not stop to consider what her freshie and sophomore admirers might think of her change of plans. She decided to wait two days before writing to Leslie. She had been rather shaky in mathematics for a week past and needed to devote herself assiduously to it until she was beyond a stage that courted being conditioned. She had sweetly assured Muriel that she would not change her mind at the last minute.

She put off the writing of the note to Leslie until she had finished her self-appointed review in mathematics. She wished to have a free mind in which to write Leslie. Her note should be a triumph of cleverness. On this point she was determined.

In the meantime Muriel had circulated the news that Doris was to be her Christmas guest, with an innocently smiling face. Clever Muriel did not propose to give her sophomore catch an opportunity to wriggle out of her agreement at the last minute. “It’s just as well to publish the Ice Queen’s thaw from the housetops,” she gaily confided to Jerry and Marjorie. “The amazing fact that the Ice Queen and I are chummy will have a soothing, beneficial effect upon such revolutionists as the Phonograph, the Prime Minister, and such.”

“There is some truth in your disrespectful remarks about these erring sophie sisters,” Jerry had reluctantly agreed. “We can only trust, Matchless Muriel, that you may always get away with your reckless use of pet names. I believe I’ve mentioned this hope before.”

While Doris, having coolly mapped out her own course, was as coolly pursuing her own way, Leslie was impatiently waiting to hear from her. She believed that Doris was too greatly bent on going with her to New York to remain miffed. Doris would soon write or call her on the telephone.

Instead of two days it took Doris three to complete her mathematical review. During that time she kept a “Busy” sign in frequent display upon the door, a proceeding which Muriel had advised her to do. Since her acceptance of Muriel’s invitation the two girls had become far more friendly than before. Both felt the relief attending the change and welcomed the pleasant interest it permitted them to exhibit in each other’s campus affairs.

On the fourth afternoon following her quarrel with Leslie Cairns, Doris hurried to her room from her trigonometry period, bent in writing the letter to Leslie. It lacked only three days of the closing of Hamilton College for the holidays. It was high time she wrote it, she reflected. During the next three busy days there would be little opportunity. She sighed audible satisfaction as she entered the room to find it deserted. She hoped Muriel would remain away until dinner time. Prudently she brought out the busy sign from its place in the table drawer and affixed it with a brass tack to an outside panel of the door.

Having finally settled herself at the study table to write she spent several minutes in thoughtful deliberation before she wrote:

“Dear Leslie:

“You know, of course, in what an annoying position you placed me by disappointing me about our New York vacation. I had been invited by a number of other girls, some of them upper class, to spend Christmas at their homes. I refused the invitations – saying that I had already been invited by a dear friend to spend the holidays in New York. Naturally, after you had failed me, I could hardly have the bad taste to go to any one of these friends, stating that I had changed my mind.

“Since you disappointed me, Miss Harding, my roommate has invited me to spend Christmas with her at her Sanford home. I have accepted. Although you said, just before I left you the other day at the Colonial, that you had re-considered, and would try to arrange the New York trip, I was not impressed. I doubted your intention to keep your word. You have a habit – ”

A forceful fist applied to the door, regardless of the “Busy” sign, brought Doris to her feet with a displeased “Oh!” She stood for a brief moment, hesitating, before she made any movement toward the door. While the sign was warranted to keep away other students, it was not prohibitive to Miss Remson, the maids or the laundress.

“Oh!” she exclaimed again as her eyes took in the tall, severe figure of Julia Peyton.

The yellow-white of the sophomore’s complexion turned to dull red under the bored scrutiny of Doris’s sea-green eyes. “I saw your sign.” She rolled her black eyes toward it. “I simply had to disregard it. I knew you were alone. It was too good a chance to miss. I really had to see you.”

“Why?” was Doris’s close-clipped question. She had not yet invited the other girl into the room. She knew she was rude, but she did not care. She did not like Julia Peyton, although Julia was one of her most annoyingly devoted admirers.

“Oh, for a very important reason. To prove to you that I am a true friend, Doris,” Julia wagged her black head in time to her last four emphatic words.

“I don’t in the least understand you,” Doris returned stiffly. “Come in. I am really awfully busy. I have an important letter to – ”

“I won’t stay long,” Julia assured, entering with an alacrity which indicated the importance of her own mission. Without waiting to be invited she sat down in a wicker chair and burst forth: “You’re not really going home for Christmas with Miss Harding, are you? I was told so yesterday, but I didn’t believe it. I heard the same silly report today. It worried me. I simply had to come to you with it.”

“Why should such a report worry you?” Doris demanded half in disdain.

“Because I’d hate to see you put yourself in a position where you might be ridiculed.” Julia eyed Doris with mysterious pity.

“Ridiculed?” Doris’s greenish eyes widened in instant offense. Her exclamation was one of haughty unbelief. “Do say what you are trying to say, directly,” she commanded. “I have yet to place myself open to ridicule.”

“That’s just what I told Clara,” cried Julia. “I was sure you wouldn’t go home for Christmas with that horrid Miss Harding.”

“But I am going home with her,” Doris returned with elaborate unconcern. A tantalizing impulse to nettle Julia seized her. “She is not horrid. She is clever, and rather good fun.” Doris drew the chair, in which she had been sitting when Julia knocked, away from the table. She sat down and cast a measuring glance at her tiresome caller.

“You won’t think so after you know why she has invited you to her home.” The sophomore’s black brows drew together. Her round black eyes assumed their most “moony” appearance. “She invited you because she couldn’t find anybody else at Hamilton to invite. I have found out positively that she has invited four different off-campus girls and everyone of them has turned her down.” Julia’s voice rose in shrill triumph. “What do you think of that.”

Without waiting to hear Doris’s opinion she rattled on maliciously. “Miss Dean and that crowd Miss Harding is chummy with have been pretending to be the ones who have invited those off-campus beggars to their homes for the holidays. I know for a fact that none of them have done much in that direction. Miss Dean, who’s supposed to be such a sweet little model of goodness and generosity, is going to entertain at home – not the off-campus frumps. Oh, no! She is going to take Miss Harper, Miss Mason, Miss Page home with her. Miss Macy will lug home that tall, blue-eyed, lazy-looking girl that’s visiting Miss Remson. Miss Lynne has invited Miss Moore and Miss Severn. Even grouchy Miss Warner is going to entertain Langly. That’s the way they benefit their precious ‘dormitory girls’ that they are always crowing about.”

“I fail to see how all this applies to me.” Doris showed plain signs of becoming frosty. She was only half interested in Julia’s lengthy, spiteful argument.

“I’m only trying to show you how selfish and what fakes that crowd of priggies are. Just the same what I said about Miss Harding having invited you because she couldn’t get anyone else applies to you,” was Julia’s dogged assertion. “I heard she felt sorry for you because you – well, had no home influences – er – that you came clear from England alone and – that – and – ” Julia floundered desperately, then paused.

“What does Miss Harding know of me? Nothing.” Doris sprang to her feet in a swift blaze of wrath. “Who told you she said such things of me?”

Julia solemnly shook her head. As a matter of truth she was merely repeating several of her roommate’s, Clara Carter’s, vague suppositions. “I can’t tell you that. She – er – I only heard she felt that way about you. You see, Doris, I asked you to go home with me for the holidays, but you said you were going to New York,” she reminded in reproachful tones. “I supposed you would go with Miss Cairns. All of a sudden you turned around and accepted Miss Harding’s invitation. I thought it rather unfair in you, when I had asked you first of all. I thought you might at least have come to me and said – ”

“I will not be lectured by anyone!” Doris cried out angrily. “I don’t care what you thought. I could explain to you precisely why I accepted an invitation from Miss Harding to spend Christmas with her at her home, but I shall not do it.”

“I shouldn’t call a friendly confidence, such as I’ve just given you, a lecture. I’m sure I haven’t asked you to explain anything. I think I’d better go now. I’ve done my duty as your friend, even if you can’t understand that now. You will sometime soon, I hope.” Julia rose, stalked to the door; a picture of offended dignity. “You’ll be sorry if you go home with Miss Harding.” She could not resist this last fling. “You’ll lose caste on the campus. Remember, she has invited you as a last choice.”

“I am not going home with Miss Harding.” Doris brought one slippered foot down with an angry stamp. “I suppose I ought to thank you for telling me what you have. I don’t feel like thanking anyone for anything. I shall go to New York for Christmas.”

“With Miss Cairns?” eagerly quizzed Julia.

“Yes, with Miss Cairns,” Doris answered; then added bitterly: “She has invited me to go there with her because we are friends; not because she feels sorry for me.”

CHAPTER IX

DEFEATING HER OWN HAPPINESS

When the door had closed on her gossiping caller Doris sat down again at the table. She leaned her beautiful head on her white, dimpled arms and gave herself up to brief disconsolate reverie. Now that she was alone she wondered whether what Julia Peyton had said about Muriel Harding was strictly true. There was one way in which she could find out with certainty. She would ask Muriel point-blank if it were true that four off-campus girls had refused her invitation. She would ask Muriel, also, where she had gained so much information regarding herself. When she endeavored to recall Julia’s exact words she found they did not mean much. Julia’s reluctant inflections, her stammering pauses, had implied so much more than words.

Julia’s object in warning Doris against Muriel had been double. Since the evening when she had made complaint against the noise in Room 15 she had shown marked hostility to the knot of post graduates at Wayland Hall. She and Clara Carter had encouraged Doris in her half fancied dislike for them. She had noted the new spirit of friendliness growing between Doris and Muriel with every intention of crushing it if she could. She kept up a zealous watching and longing for an opportunity to create dissention between them. She had a habit of dropping in on Doris in her room when Muriel was there purposely to see how things were between the two. She never spoke to Muriel, however.

About the time she had begun to despair of making mischief between them she was delighted to overhear a group of chattering freshmen in the gymnasium one afternoon gaily discussing their Christmas plans. What most pleased her were the remarks of one of them: “Isn’t it too bad? Miss Harding can’t find a single dorm to trot home with her. They are all attached. It’s too bad for her. I mean. Of course it’s lovely for the dorms.”

The jealous, prejudiced girl had chosen to place an entirely different construction upon the remarks from that intended by the merry little freshman. By the time she had repeated the remarks to Clara Carter, her roommate, with embellishments, they had assumed an ugly tone. Clara also contributed a few opinions which did not improve matters.

Added to this it needed but the rumor that Doris Monroe was going home with Miss Harding for the holidays to set the mischief-making pair of sophomores to work. Julia was of the opinion that since Doris had planned to go home with Muriel she and Miss Cairns must have quarreled. If she could only set Doris against her roommate then Doris would go home for the vacation with her. She would have the pleasure of boasting that she had entertained the college beauty. She was confident that she would gain socially by having entertained Doris as her guest. With so much to be gained to her interest Julia had picked her hour and boldly braved the “Busy” sign and Doris’s “royal” manner. At the last she had not dared propose to Doris that her wrathful classmate should spend the vacation with her. She returned to her room to inform Clara, who was watching for her, that she had just missed getting into an awful mess.

With a pettish little jerk of her head Doris straightened in her chair. She picked up the letter she had been writing from the table and began reading it over. Then she sat staring reflectively at it, as though deliberating some very special course. Next instant and she had torn the unfinished letter in pieces. With the peculiar cresting of her golden head, always a sign of defiance, she reached for her fountain pen where it had rolled to one end of the table.

“Dear Leslie:” she wrote, her green eyes darkening with her unquiet thoughts. “If you really meant what you said when I left you the other day at the Colonial, then I will take you at your word. Miss Harding, my roommate, has invited me to go home with her. I prefer to go to New York with you, provided you will not feel that I am an incumbrance to your plans. Let me know immediately what you wish to do.

“Sincerely,“Doris Monroe.”

She read the brief note, folded it and prepared it for mailing. Then she tucked the envelope in her portfolio, but without a stamp. She glanced up at the clock. It was nearing six. Muriel would soon arrive. Of late she and Muriel had exchanged the cheerful, careless greetings of girlhood when they met in their room or on the campus. She had lately begun to find a roommate might be a congenial comfort instead of a tiresome inconvenience. Now it was all spoiled. Muriel had pretended pity for her to other students. Of all things detested, Doris most disliked being pitied.

In spite of her anger against Muriel, Doris could do no less than admit to herself that Julia Peyton’s word was not to be taken above Muriel’s. Yet she was sullenly convinced that Muriel must have said something pitying about her to someone. How else could Julia have heard it? A bright flush dyed her face as she thought of herself as being a last-resort guest. Perhaps Muriel had been asked by Miss Dean to invite her, merely as a welfare experiment. She had heard that Miss Dean was fond of making such experiments. It was outrageous that she should have been selected as the victim of one. Other far-fetched, flashing conjectures visited her troubled brain as she waited for Muriel’s coming. She could not decide whether to treat Muriel with friendliness, asking her frankly for an explanation, or to resort once again to her old-time haughty indifference.