Molly Brown's Junior Days

“What happened next?” repeated Molly.

“Yes. I want you to begin and tell me the whole thing from beginning to end.”

Molly rested her chin on her hand and looked out of the window. This is what had been familiarly spoken of in college as being “on the grill.”

“What do you want us to tell, Miss Walker?” asked Nance with a surprising amount of courage in her tones.

“I want to know,” said the President sternly, “where you were between twelve and one o’clock on Friday night.”

“We were on the lake,” announced Nance, with keen appreciation of the fact that when President Walker made a direct question she expected a direct answer and there was no getting around it.

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“You mean to tell me that you three girls went rowing on the lake alone at that hour? What escapade is this?”

Her voice was so stern that it made Molly quake in her boots, but Nance was as heroic as an early Christian martyr.

“It was not a mad escapade. We did it because we had to,” she answered.

“Why?”

Nance paused. This was the crucial point. It looked as if Miss Walker must be told about Judy’s folly, or themselves be disgraced.

“They came for me,” announced a hoarse voice from the door.

It was such an unexpected interruption that all three women started nervously, but if Molly and Nance had been more observant they would have noticed the President stifle a smile which twitched the corners of her mouth.

Judy, in a long red dressing-gown, her hair in great disorder and her eyes glittering feverishly, came trailing into the room. In one hand she grasped Nance’s slipper and with the other she made a dramatic gesture, pointing to herself.

“They came for me,” she repeated. “I had been angry and said cruel, unjust things to Molly. Everybody went off and left me after the play. I was locked out and I was so unhappy, I wanted to be alone. Water always comforts me. You see, I was born at sea, and I took a canoe from the boat house and paddled into the middle of the lake. Then those two Sweet Spirits of Niter came for me, and the canoe upset and I – I dropped my slipper somewhere, 5-B is the number – I don’t know who found it – here’s its mate – ” Judy waved the slipper over her head and laughed wildly.

“The child’s delirious,” exclaimed Miss Walker, smiling in spite of herself.

They persuaded Judy to get back into bed and the President sent Nance flying for the doctor. Presently, when Judy had dropped off to sleep again, Molly finished the story of that exciting evening.

“But, my dear,” said the President, slipping her arm around Molly’s waist and drawing her down on the arm of the chair, “what prompted you to go to the lake and nowhere else?”

“I can never explain really what it was,” replied Molly. “I dreamed that someone said ‘hurry.’ I wasn’t even thinking of Judy when I started to dress. You see, we thought she had gone to bed. I hadn’t thought of the lake, either. It was just as if I was walking in my sleep, Nance said. Then we found Judy wasn’t in her room, and I knew she needed me. I remember we ran all the way to the lake.”

“Strange, strange!” said Miss Walker.

She drew Molly’s face down to her own and kissed her. There were tears on the President’s cheek and Molly looked the other way.

“Sometimes, Molly,” she said after a moment, “you remind me of my dear sister who died twenty years ago.”

It was a good while before Nance returned with Dr. McLean and in the interval of waiting Molly and Miss Walker talked of many things. Molly told her how they had buried the slipper on Round Head, and of how they had seen the Professor and been frightened. They talked of Judy’s temperament and of what kind of mental training Judy should have to learn to control her wild spirits. From that the talk drifted to Molly’s affairs, and then she asked the President to do her the honor of drinking a cup of tea in her humble apartment. The two women spent an intimate and delightful hour together, with Judy sound asleep in the next room, and no one to disturb them because of that blessed Busy sign.

At last Dr. McLean came blustering in, and, seeing the President and Molly in close converse over their cups of tea, chuckled delightedly and observed:

“They are all alike, the women folk – the talk lasts as long as the tea lasts, and there’s always another cup in the pot.”

“Have a look at your patient, doctor,” said Miss Walker, “and we’ll save that extra cup in the pot for you.”

The doctor was not disturbed over Judy’s delirium.

“It’s joost quinine and excitement that’s made her go a bit daffy,” he said. “Keep her quiet for a day or so. She’ll be all right.”

Imagine their surprise, ten minutes later, when Margaret Wakefield and the Williamses, peeping into the room, found Molly and Nance entertaining the President of Wellington and Dr. McLean at tea. The news spread quickly along the corridor and when the distinguished guests presently departed almost every girl in the Quadrangle had made it her business to be lingering near the stairway or wandering in the hall.

Only one person heard nothing of it, and that was Minerva Higgins, who, after Vespers, had taken a long walk. Nobody told her about it afterward, because she was not popular with the Quadrangle girls and had formed her associations with some freshmen in the village. When it was given out that evening that Miss Walker had come to see about Judy, who had been quite ill, the talk died down.

Having dropped the heavy load of responsibility they had been carrying for two days, Molly and Nance felt foolishly gay. Molly made Miss Walker a box of cloudbursts before she went to bed, while Nance read aloud a thrilling and highly exciting detective story borrowed from Edith Williams, whose shelves held books for every mood.

“By the way, Nance,” observed Molly, when the story was finished, “how do you suppose Miss Walker found it all out?”

“Why, Professor Green, of course,” answered Nance in a matter of fact voice. “There was never any doubt in my mind from the first moment she came into the room.”

“What?” cried Molly, thunderstruck.

“There was no other way. He saw us burying the slipper and I suppose he thought it his duty to inform on us.”

“He didn’t feel it his duty to inform on Judith Blount when she cut the electric wires that night,” broke in Molly.

“Perhaps he didn’t think that was as wrong as rowing on the lake with boys from Exmoor. Besides, she was his relative.”

Molly took off her slipper and held it up as if she were going to pitch it with all her force across the room. Then she dropped it gently on the floor.

“I’m disappointed,” she said.

CHAPTER XI.

A SWOPPING PARTY AND A MOCK TRIAL

There was never any tedious convalescing for Judy; no tiresome transition from illness to health. As soon as she determined in her mind that she was well, she arose from her bed and walked, and neither friendly remonstrances nor doctor’s orders could induce her to return.

On Monday morning she appeared in the sitting room wearing a black dress with widow’s bands of white muslin around the collar and cuffs. Molly and Nance were a little uneasy at first, thinking that the delirium still lingered, but Judy seemed entirely rational.

“Why, Judy,” exclaimed Molly, “are you a widow?”

“I shall wear mourning for awhile,” answered Judy solemnly, ignoring Molly’s facetious question. “It is my only way of showing that I am a penitent. I can’t wear sackcloth and ashes as they do in Oriental countries or flagellate my shoulders with a spiked whip like a mediæval monk; nor can I go on a pilgrimage to a sacred shrine. So I have decided to give up colors for awhile and wear black.”

Molly kissed her and said no more. She knew that Judy went into everything she did heart and soul even unto the outward and visible symbol of clothes, and if wearing black was her way of showing public repentance she felt only a great respect for her friend’s sincerity of motive.

“But what are we to tell people when they ask if you have gone into mourning, Judy, because they certainly will?” demanded Nance, taking a more practical and less romantic view of the situation.

“Tell them I’m doing penance,” answered Judy, and thus it got out around college that Judy was making public amends for her angry words to Molly, and there was a good deal of secret amusement, of which Judy was as serenely unconscious as a pious pilgrim journeying barefoot to a holy tomb.

In the midst of these happenings there came a note one day from Mrs. McLean inviting the three young girls to the annual junior week-end house party at Exmoor. Their hosts were to be Andy McLean, George Green and Lawrence Upton and they were to stay at the Chapter House from Friday night until Sunday noon. It meant a round of gayeties from beginning to end, but to Molly it meant something almost out of reach.

“Clothes!” she exclaimed tragically, “I must have clothes. I can’t go to Exmoor looking like little orphan Annie.”

It was in vain that Judy and Nance offered to share their things with her. Molly obstinately refused to listen to them.

“I won’t need any colored clothes, anyhow,” said Judy.

“Yes, you will, Judy. You just must come out of those widow’s weeds for the house party,” Molly urged.

“No,” said Judy, “I’ve made a vow and until that vow is fulfilled I shall never wear colors. I’ve sent two dresses down to the Wellington Dye Works to be dyed black. Fortunately my suit is black already and so is my hat. Now, I have a proposition to make, Molly. I’m in need of funds more than clothes just now and I’ll sell you my yellow gauze for the contents of Martin Luther. He must be pretty full by now.”

“He’s plumb full,” answered Molly proudly. “I hadn’t realized how much I had put in until I tried to drop a quarter in this morning, and lo, and behold, he couldn’t accommodate another cent.”

She held up the china pig and shook him.

“How much should you think he’d hold altogether?” asked Judy. “I don’t want to be getting the best of the bargain and perhaps Martin Luther is worth more than the dress.”

“No, no,” protested Molly. “He could never be worth that much. I think he has about fifteen dollars in his tum-tum. I’ve put in all the money I earned from cloudbursts and about ten dollars, changed up small, for tutoring.”

Judy insisted on adding a blue silk blouse and a pair of yellow silk stockings to the collection to be sold.

“I’ll sell them to someone else if you won’t buy them,” she announced, “and if you need a dress, you might as well take this one off my hands.”

“Well,” Molly finally agreed, “we’ll break open Martin, and count the money and, if there’s anything like a decent sum, I’ll buy the dress. Let’s make a party of it,” she added brightly. “I’ll cut the hickory-nut cake that came from home last night, and Nance can make fudge.”

It was like Molly’s passion for entertaining to turn the breaking open of the china bank into a festival. Nance had once remarked it was one thing to have a convivial soul and quite another to have the ready provisions, and Molly never invited her friends to a bare board.

“Try on the dress and let’s see how you look in it, Molly dear,” ordered Judy. “We’ll open the bank to-night with due ceremony, but I want to see you in the yellow dress now.”

The two girls were about the same height and build. Molly was not so well developed across the chest as her friend and was more slender through the hips. But the dress fitted her to perfection.

“Oh, you’re a dream,” cried Nance, when Molly presently appeared in the yellow dress.

“Molly, you are adorable,” exclaimed Judy. “You always look better in my clothes than I do.”

“They always fit me better than my own,” said Molly, looking at herself in the mirror over the mantel. “I feel like a princess,” she ejaculated, blushing at her own charming image. “Oh, Judy, I have no right to deprive you of this lovely gown. Your mother, I’m sure, would be very angry.”

“Mamma is never angry,” said Judy. “That is why I am so impossible. Besides, I told you I needed the money. I have spent all my allowance and I won’t get another cent for two weeks.”

Molly took off the dress and laid it carefully in the box, stuffing tissue paper under the folds to prevent premature wrinkles. Her eyes dwelt lingeringly on the pale yellow masses of chiffon and lace.

It would certainly be the solution of her troubles, and oh, the feeling of comfort one has in a really beautiful dress! She put the top on the box and pushed it away from her.

“I’ll decide in the morning, Judy. I can’t make up my mind quite yet. It seems like highway robbery to take the most beautiful dress you have and the most expensive, too, I am certain.”

“I tell you I never liked the color,” cried Judy. “I’m determined to wear black. When I have on black I feel superior to all persons wearing colors. It gives me dignity. There is a richness about robes of sable hue. Some day I’m going to have a black velvet evening dress made quite plain with an immense train stretching all the way across the room. My only ornaments will be a great diamond star in my hair and a necklace of the same, and I shall carry a large fan made of black ostrich feathers.”

The girls laughed at this picture of magnificence and as Molly hurried away to invite the guests to the spread she heard Nance remark:

“You’ll look like the bride of the undertaker in that costume, Judy.”

“Not at all. I shall look like the Queen of Night, Anna Oldham.”

Judy went to the door and looked out. Molly was safely around the corner of the Quadrangle.

“Nance,” she continued, “don’t you think Molly would let me give her the dress?”

Nance shook her head.

“I am afraid not. You know how proud she is. It’s going to be hard to persuade her to buy it at that price. You know it’s worth lots more.”

Judy sighed.

“If I could only do something,” she said. “If I only had a chance.”

“Perhaps the chance will slip up on you, Judy, when you least expect it. That’s the way chances always do,” said Nance.

It occurred to Judy, thinking over the matter of the yellow dress later, that it might be fun to have a “Barter and Exchange Party,” and if all the girls were swopping things Molly could be more easily persuaded to take the yellow dress. All guests therefore were notified to bring anything they wanted to swop or sell to the rooms of the three friends that night.

It turned out to be a very exciting affair. The divans were piled with exchangeable property. Jessie Lynch brought more things than anybody else, ribbon bows, silk scarfs, several dresses and a velvet toque. Millicent Porter, who now spent more time in the Quadrangle than at Beta Phi House, to the surprise of the girls, brought a rather dingy collection of things which no one would either swop or buy. But she enjoyed herself immensely. Edith Williams made two trips to carry all the books she wished to exchange for other books, clothes, hats or money. But Otoyo Sen had the most interesting collection and was the gayest person that night. She was willing to exchange anything she had just for the fun of it.

It was so exciting that they forgot all about Martin Luther until the time arrived for refreshments and they gathered about the hickory-nut cake, now a famous delicacy at Wellington.

“What surprises me is how pleased everybody is to get rid of something someone else is equally pleased to get,” observed Margaret. “Now, for instance, I have a black hat I have always hated because it wobbles on my head. I feel as if I had received a gift to have exchanged it for this green one of Judy’s. And Judy’s so contented she’s wearing my black one still.”

“Oh, but I am the fortunate one,” said Otoyo. “I have acquired an excellent library for three ordinary cotton kimonos.”

“But such lovely kimonos,” exclaimed Edith. “Katherine and I are in luck. Look at this pale blue dressing gown, please, for a French dictionary.”

“I have the loveliest of all,” broke in Molly, “amber beads.”

“But they did not appear becomingly on me,” protested Otoyo, not wishing to seem worsted in her bargains. “And what do I receive in exchange? A pair of beautiful knitted slippers for winter time, so warm, so comfortable.”

“They were too little for me,” announced Molly. “It was no deprivation to exchange them for a beautiful necklace. Really, Judy, this was a most original scheme of yours.”

“But what about Martin Luther?” asked someone. “I thought this spread was really for the purpose of counting up the pennies he had been accumulating.”

Molly took the china pig from the shelf and placed him on the table.

“How shall I break him?” she asked. “Shall I crush him with one blow of the hammer, or shall I knock off his head on the steam heater?”

“Poor Martin!” ejaculated Edith. “He’s not a wild boar to be hunted down and exterminated. He’s a kindly domestic animal who has performed the task set for him by a wise providence. I think he should choose his own death.”

“Every condemned man has a right to a lawyer,” said Margaret. “I offer my services to Martin Luther and will consult him in private.”

“We’ll give him a trial by jury,” broke in Katherine.

“But what’s he accused of?” demanded Molly.

“He’s accused of withholding funds held in trust for you,” put in Margaret promptly.

There was a great deal of fun at the expense of Martin Luther and his mock trial. Katherine presided as Judge. There were two witnesses for the defense and two on the other side, and Margaret’s speech for the accused would have done credit to a real lawyer. The jury, consisting of three girls, Otoyo, Mabel Hinton and Rosomond Chase – Millicent Porter had excused herself with the plea of a headache and departed – sat on the case five minutes and decided that the pig should be made to surrender Molly’s fund in the quickest possible time and by the quickest possible means.

It was almost time to separate for the night when Molly at last placed Martin Luther on a tray in the center of the table and with a sharp rap of the hammer broke him into little bits.

If interest had not been so concentrated on the amount of money hidden in the pig, perhaps it might have occurred to the company that Molly and her two friends had been playing a joke on them when they looked at the heap of ruins on the tray. But if this suspicion did enter the mind of anyone, it was dissolved at once at sight of Molly’s white face and quivering lips.

“My money!” she gasped.

What happened was this. When the china pig was demolished, there rolled from his ruins no silver money but a varied collection of buttons and bogus stage money made of tin. Only about a dollar in real silver was to be found.

“What a blow is this!” at last exclaimed Molly, breaking the silence.

“But what does it mean?” demanded Rosomond.

“It means,” said Nance, “that someone has taken all Molly’s savings out of the china pig and substituted – this.”

She pointed to the pile of stage money.

“But they couldn’t have done it,” cried Judy. “How could they have fished it up through such a small slot?”

“What a low, miserable trick!” cried Katherine.

It was a despicable action. Who among all the bright, intelligent students at Wellington could have been capable of such a dastardly thing? They agreed that it must have been a student. None of the college attendants could have planned it out so carefully.

“Who else has missed things?” asked Margaret with a sudden thought.

“I have,” replied Jessie, “but I never mentioned it because I’m so careless and it did seem to be my own fault. I lost five dollars last week out of my purse. I left it on the window sill in the gym. and forgot about it. When I came back later the purse was there, but the money was gone.”

“How horrid!” cried Molly, her soul revolting in disgust at anything dishonest.

“To tell you the truth I have not been able to find my gold beads for nearly two weeks,” put in Judy. “I haven’t seen them since – ” she paused and flushed, “since the night of our play. I remember leaving them on my dressing table that morning.”

Molly and Nance exchanged glances, recalling the mysterious visitor to their room that night.

Several of the other girls had missed small sums of money and jewelry which they had not thought of mentioning at the time.

“But how on earth was this managed?” demanded Jessie, pointing dramatically to the broken china pig.

“I suspect,” replied Molly, “that this is not the real Martin Luther. When I bought him there were several others just like him on the shelf at the store. Whoever did this must have bought another Martin and the stage money at the same time. They have a lot of it at the store, silver and greenbacks, too. I saw it myself when I bought Martin. They keep it for class plays, I suppose.”

There was a long discussion about what ought to be done. The housekeeper must be told, of course, next morning and a list of all missing articles made out, headed by Molly’s loss of almost fifteen dollars.

It was rather a tragic ending to the jolly hickory-nut cake party. Molly tried to laugh away her disappointment about her savings, but she could not disguise to herself what it actually meant.

“I’m afraid I can’t buy your dress, Judy,” she announced, when the company had disbanded. “I’ll mend up one of last year’s dresses. It will be all right. It’s a lesson to me not to place so much importance on clothes.”

Judy said nothing, but she made a mental resolution that Molly should have that dress.

The next morning the housekeeper was properly notified of what had happened and it was not long before the rumor spread that somewhere about college there dwelt a thief. So remote did such a person seem from the Wellington girls that the thief came to be regarded as a kind of evil spirit lurking in the shadows and gliding through the halls.

CHAPTER XII.

ALARMS AND DISCOVERIES

Several things of importance to this history happened during the week before the house party at Exmoor.

One morning, just before chapel, Molly was visited by several members of the Shakespearean Society, who presented her with a scroll of membership and fastened a pin on her blouse. They then solemnly shook hands and marched out in good order. By this token Molly became a full fledged member of that exclusive body. Margaret Wakefield, Jessie Lynch and Edith Williams were also taken into the society. Most of the other girls in the circle were elected to the various societies that day. Judy and Katherine became “Olla Podridas,” which, as all Wellington knows, is Spanish for mixed soup. Nance was elected into the “Octogons,” and all the girls belonged to one or the other of the two big Greek letter societies.

If Judy had any feelings regarding the Shakespeareans, she was careful to keep them well hidden under her gay and laughing exterior.

The Shakespeareans at Beta Phi House gave a supper for the new members, and later Millicent Porter, in a stunning, theatrical looking costume of old blue velvet, received them in her rooms. Margaret and Edith wore their best to this affair. The Shakespeareans were a dressy lot.

“I wonder why, in the name of goodness, they ever asked me to belong,” exclaimed Molly to herself, as she got into her white muslin, which was really the best she could do. “I wish I could surprise somebody with something,” her thoughts continued. “College friends are just like members of the same family. I can’t even surprise the girls with a shirtwaist. They are intimately acquainted with every rag I possess.”

Molly enjoyed the Beta Phi party, however, in spite of her dress, which Millicent Porter had dignified by calling it a “lingerie.”

“How much nicer you look than the other girls in more elaborate things,” she said admiringly.

Molly felt gratified.

“I don’t feel nicer,” she said. “I have a weakness for fine clothes. I love to hear the rustle of silk against silk. Your blue velvet dress is like a beautiful picture to me. I could look and look at it. There’s a kind of depth to it like mist on blue water.”

Millicent bridled with pleased vanity.

“It is rather nice,” she admitted modestly. “It’s a French dress made by the same dressmaker who designs clothes for a big actress. Don’t you want to see some of my work? I have put it on exhibition to-night. I thought it would interest the new members. The girls here are quite familiar with it, of course.”