Marjorie Dean's Romance. Chase Josephine
and Dean, and how altogether great-spirited he was. She listened without saying much. She was half through luncheon when I sat down at her table. She left the restaurant as soon as she had finished her dessert. Next day I received a four line note from her. She said in it that she had changed her mind about not being featured at a musicale. ‘I wish to do my part to help the dorm’ girls,’ was the line that made Robin execute a hornpipe.”
“The infallible Guiseppe again to the rescue,” Vera said lightly, yet with a certain pleased intonation which expressed the appreciation underlying it.
“Attraction number four.” Amid the gratified murmur which followed Robin’s recital, Marjorie set down the musicale in her book. “What is Miss Oliver’s program, Robin? Of course you’ve seen her since you received her note.” Marjorie knew that Robin was sure of her prize.
“Three Chopin numbers and Beethoven’s ‘Sonata Appassionata.’ Phil is going to play one of Brahm’s Hungarian dances and Jensen’s ‘Romance.’ Verna Burkett is going to sing. She has a glorious contralto voice, and Reba Hoffman, that little blonde German dorm will give a ’cello number. I am anxious to exploit dorm talent, too. It’s going to be a hummer of a program. I think we ought to charge two dollars apiece for the tickets, the same as we charge for our revues. What do you think about it, Marjorie?” Robin earnestly consulted her partner. “You know we only charged a dollar and a half for tickets for the last musicale.”
“I don’t believe two dollars a seat will be considered robbery. We always reserve free seats for the dormitory girls at all the shows. The other Hamiltonites can afford to pay two dollars apiece for the kind of entertainment we shall offer. They’d have to pay from two to three dollars apiece for good seats at a special benefit musicale wherever they might go,” was Marjorie’s candid reply. “I don’t wish to seem priggish, but they could spend their allowance checks for no better cause.”
“True as truth, good partner,” Robin agreed, with a saucy little nod. “Oh, dear,” she changed to plaintive in a twinkling. “I wish we might use the Hamilton Concert Hall for the musicale. Think of the money we’d take in. Greek Hall is hardly more than half as large.”
“Why can’t you use it?” asked Lucy Warner with crisp suddenness.
“No one has the nerve to ask Prexy for the use of it, my child.” Vera bent a benign glance upon Lucy which contrasted oddly with her doll-like daintiness.
“Why not?” Lucy persisted.
“Prexy has yet to come to one of our shows, Luciferous,” Marjorie said quietly. “We’ve always sent him tickets, and Mrs. Prexy and her friends have come to them. But he never has. He approves of the dormitory enterprise. He has been friendly with me on all occasions, but – ” Marjorie smiled – “he never appears at our revues.”
“It’s the one thorn on Page and Dean’s rosebush,” laughed Robin. “Besides, Luciferous, we’ve never felt like trying to break into the regular college lecture and concert programs with our shows. It’s more a matter of deference than anything else. If he had ever offered the hall to us, we’d have accepted the offer instanter. But he never has.”
“I believe it never occurred to him,” Lucy said bluntly. “I wish I’d known long ago. I’ll ask him tomorrow for the use of it.”
“Lu-ciferous!” Muriel beamed on Lucy with a radiance too joyous to be genuine. “You deserve a citation. That is you will deserve one if you put the Prexy problem across. Do so, and I will cite your good conduct tomorrow evening in this very room at precisely seven o’clock. You will receive a tin star, three whacks on the shoulder and a ticket to the Hamilton Movie Palace. Popcorn and pink lemonade will be served to all.” Muriel effulgently included the rest of the party in the generous invitation.
The next five minutes were spent in jubilantly rushing Lucy. She received approving pats on the shoulders, pats on the back and pats on the head. Each Traveler tried to outdo the other in contributing funnily approving remarks. Muriel smilingly proposed raising Lucy to Jerry’s and her shoulders and parading about the room with her. Jerry and Lucy both had strong objections to the honor walk.
“I wouldn’t trust either of you to carry me two feet,” Lucy declared mirthfully. “Now never mind rushing me further. Leila beguiled us here with the promise of hearing something extraordinary. I have yet to hear it.”
“So I did.” Leila surveyed the Travelers, whose attention had quickly returned to her, her bright blue eyes asparkle. “Now this is what I have to say.”
As she laid her plan before her chums, a constant chorus of gurgles, giggles and chuckles accompanied her words. The instant she paused Jerry raised a not too loud cheer of approbation which the others echoed.
“I am indebted to you, Matchless Muriel, for suggesting the proper kind of refreshments. You may believe that popcorn and pink lemonade will be served at our party along with gum drops and peppermint sticks. I had not yet thought of the eats until you spoke. Now I shall get up a fine spread.” Leila’s tone conveyed her deep satisfaction.
“It will be oceans of fun.” Muriel had already begun to laugh as she thought of what her part in the event should be.
“The gentlemen of the campus may have to hunt diligently for suitable wardrobe. I shall see about mine at once.” Vera giggled softly.
Her naive remark was the signal for a fresh explosion of mirth. In a room further along the hall a girl moodily rested her pen to listen to the breath of laughter wafted faintly to her through walls and closed doors. Doris Monroe tried to frown at the distant sounds of harmonious comradeship. She found that she was not angry. She was despondent because she was lonely. She was beginning to glimpse a side of college life, wholly desirable, but, unfortunately for her, beyond her reach.
CHAPTER VII
THE DARK TOWER
Doris Monroe had seen Marjorie and Jerry in the dining room of Wayland Hall that evening. She knew the Travelers were holding a social session in Leila’s and Vera’s room and somberly envied them their fun. Things had been distressingly dull for her since her return from the holiday vacation spent with Leslie Cairns in New York.
She had thoroughly enjoyed herself in New York after Mrs. Gaylord, Leslie’s chaperon, had appeared at the Essenden, the apartment hotel in which Leslie had engaged the Dresden suite of rooms. Leslie, too, had been more agreeable during that short, blissful two weeks of fine dressing, expensive dinners, luncheons and theatres than Doris had known her to be either before or since the vacation.
The few times she had been in Leslie’s company after their return to Hamilton, Leslie had been preoccupied, irritable and altogether unpleasant. She had been so patently uncongenial that Doris had preferred to keep away from her on the plea of study. This plea was at least sound. Doris had had her hands full for a time in trying to stave off being conditioned in mathematics.
She had known nothing of Leslie’s downfall as a business woman. It was at least three weeks after Leslie had reluctantly obeyed her father’s mandate and left Hamilton for New York before she had written Doris a letter from an apartment on Central Park West which Mrs. Gaylord had secured for the two as a residence.
In the letter Leslie had stated that she would return to Hamilton for a few days early in April. She had not, however, explained her sudden departure, nor had she mentioned the disruption of her garage enterprise. Doris had answered the letter, feeling secretly relieved that Leslie was not in Hamilton. She had a shrewd idea that Leslie’s father might be responsible for Leslie’s return to New York. She had heard enough of the conversation between Leslie and her chaperon on the occasion, when Mrs. Gaylord had arrived unexpectedly at the Essenden, to guess that Leslie and her father were not on very congenial terms.
Leslie had left Doris the Dazzler, the white car she was so fond of driving. She had said nothing in her letter about it, nor had she mentioned the sum of money which she had placed to Doris’s account in a Hamilton bank. Doris had not yet been able to return the seventy-five dollars she had drawn of the five hundred Leslie had placed in bank to her credit. She was resolved on doing so before the close of college in June. Selfishly indifferent