Marjorie Dean, College Junior

CHAPTER XXII—PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE

The approach of the Christmas holidays called a halt in the internal war which raged between the Sans and their two betrayers. Having delivered her ultimatum to Elizabeth Walbert, Leslie promptly proceeded to forget her, so far as she could. As a result of the tactics she had pursued with both Dulcie and Elizabeth, she was more at ease than for a long time. She was confident she had bullied both to a point where they would hesitate before doing any more idle talking about the Sans’ misdemeanors. Every day which passed over her head without mishap to herself was one day nearer Commencement and freedom. She had no regret for her misdeeds. She was merely in fear lest they might be brought to light.

She had lost all interest in leadership at Hamilton. Her one idea now was to end her college course creditably and thus earn her father’s approval. Natalie Weyman was on better terms with her than were the other Sans. They found her moody indifference harder to combat than her bullying. She was interested in nothing the club did or wished to do. “Go as far as you like, but let me alone,” became her pet answer to her chums’ appeals for advice or an expression of opinion.

“The Sans have become so exclusive they’ve nearly effaced themselves from the college map,” Jerry remarked to Marjorie several days after their return from the Christmas vacation at home.

“They have had to settle down and do some studying, I presume,” was Marjorie’s opinion. “They used to be out evenings a good deal oftener than ever we were. I’ve wondered how they kept up at all.”

“Leila said that Miss Vale had been conditioned two or three times, and had to hire a tutor to help pull her through. I notice she doesn’t go around with any of the Sans. You remember I spoke of her having changed her seat at table the next day after that fuss up in Miss Cairns’ room.”

“I have seen her with Miss Walbert a good deal lately. It seems odd, Jeremiah, that, after all the trouble we had with those girls as freshies and sophs, we should be almost free of them this year. It has been such a beautiful, peaceful year, thus far. We’ve had the gayest, happiest kind of times. If only we could keep Leila, Vera, Kathie and Helen with us next year everything would be perfect.”

“Would it? Well, I rather guess so. Gives me the blues every time I stop to think about losing them. Just when we are traveling along so pleasantly, too. Here we are, victorious democrats. We know Miss Susanna, even if we don’t dare boast of it. We’ve been entertained at Hamilton Arms; something President Matthews can’t say. You and Robin are successful theatrical managers. Oh, I can tell you, everything is upward striving.

    “’Tis  as  easy  now  for  hearts  to  be  true,
    As  for  grass  to  be  green  and  skies  to  be  blue.
    ’Tis  the  natural  way  of  living”

gayly quoted Marjorie, patting Jerry’s plump shoulder in her walk across the room to find a pencil she had mislaid.

“I wish we would hear from Miss Susanna,” she continued, a little wistful note in the utterance. “Perhaps she did not like our Christmas remembrance. She doesn’t like birthday observances. She loves flowers, though. So she couldn’t really regard those we sent her as a present. And that letter was delightful, I thought. We may have made a mistake in sending the wreath.”

The letter to which Marjorie referred was a composite. Each of the nine girls had contributed a paragraph. They had tucked it into a box of long-stemmed red roses which they had selected as a Yule-tide offering to the last of the Hamiltons. With it had gone a laurel wreath, to which was attached a large bunch of double, purple violets. They had asked that the wreath be hung in Brooke Hamilton’s study above the oblong which contained the founder’s sayings.

“I don’t believe Miss Susanna is on her ear at us,” observed Jerry inelegantly. “She will write when she feels like it. Maybe she thought it better to postpone writing until she was sure we were all back at college after Christmas. When did you last hear from her?”

“Not since she sent me the money for the tickets for the show. I bought those tickets for her myself. She didn’t understand, I guess. I re-mailed the money to her, explaining that they were from me. Since then I have heard not a word from her. I should have taken the tickets back to her instead of mailing them, but I was so busy just then. Besides, I don’t like to go to the Arms without a special invitation.”

Almost incident with Marjorie’s worry over Miss Susanna’s silence came a note from her new friend, appointing an evening for her to dine at Hamilton Arms.

“I am not asking your friends this time,” the old lady wrote, “as I prefer to devote my attention to you, dear child. I could not answer the Christmas letter for I had no medium of expression. I loved it, and the flowers. Best of all, was the honor you did Uncle Brooke. You may show this letter to your friends, extending to them a crabbed old person’s sincere thanks and good wishes.”

Marjorie kept her dinner appointment with Miss Susanna and spent a happy evening with the old lady. Miss Hamilton showed active interest in the subject of the recent revue. The obliging lieutenant had brought with her a programme which the old lady insisted in going over, number by number, inquiring about each performer. She expressed a wish to hear Constance Stevens sing and asked Marjorie to bring Constance to Hamilton Arms if she should again come to Hamilton College.

“I was truly sorry to have missed that show,” the last of the Hamiltons frankly confessed. “It would never do for me to set foot on that campus. I should be on bad terms with myself forever after; on as bad terms as I am with the college.”

“I’ll tell you what we might do, Miss Hamilton,” Marjorie ventured. “We could give a stunt party here, just for you, at some time when it pleased you to have us here. Perhaps Constance would come from New York for a day or two. She isn’t so far away. Then Ronny and Vera would dance and Leila sings the most charming ancient Celtic songs.”

Her lovely face had grown radiant as she described her chums’ talents, and again, for her sake, Miss Susanna had softened toward all girlhood. She had assented with only half-concealed eagerness to Marjorie’s plan.

Two days after Marjorie’s visit to her, she sent her a check for five hundred dollars, asking that it be placed with the money earned from the revue. The youthful managers had charged a dollar apiece for tickets with no reservations. To their intense joy and amusement, the gross receipts amounted to six hundred and seventy-two dollars. Their only expenses being for printing and lighting the gymnasium, they had, counting Miss Susanna’s gift, a little over one thousand dollars with which to start the beneficiary fund.

Anna Towne had done good work among the girls off the campus. Due to her efforts they had been brought to look upon the new avenue of escape from signal discomfort, now open to them, as an opportunity to be embraced. Marjorie had said conclusively that the funds at their disposal were to be given, not lent. She argued on the basis that money thus easily gained should be distributed where it would benefit most, then be forgotten. The girls who were struggling along to put themselves through college would have enough to do to earn their living afterward without stepping over the threshold of their chosen work saddled with an obligation.

It took tact, delicacy and more than one friendly argument to establish this theory among the sensitive, proud-spirited girls for whose benefit the project had been carried out. Gradually it gained ground and a new era of things began to spring up for those who had sacrificed so much for the sake of the higher education. The money so easily earned by Ronny’s nimble feet, Constance’s sweet singing and the talent of the other performers revolutionized matters in the row of cheerless houses, in one of which Anne Towne resided. Ability to pay a higher rate for board brought better food and heat. The drudgery of laundering was lifted, the work being intrusted to several capable laundresses in the vicinity. Those who had kept house abandoned cooking and took their meals at one or another of the boarding houses. According to Anna Towne, the restfulness of the changed way of living was unbelievable.

As successful theatrical managers, Robin and Marjorie had rosy visions of a dormitory built where several of the dingy boarding houses now stood. Perhaps by next year they would have the means to buy the properties. They purposed agitating the subject so strongly, during their senior year, that, at least, a few of the students among the other three classes would be willing to go on with the work.

Both had agreed that they had set themselves a hard row to hoe, yet neither would have relinquished the self-imposed task. In the first flush of their ambition they had asked Miss Humphrey to ascertain, if she could, whether the regulations of the college forbade the erection of more houses on the campus. She had returned the answer, that, owing to a peculiar will left by Mr. Brooke Hamilton, the consent to build on the campus would have to come from Miss Hamilton, who had been prejudiced against Hamilton College for many years.

This was a disturbing revelation to Marjorie. She was fairly certain that Miss Susanna would never give any such consent. She therefore promptly abandoned the idea and laid her plans for the outside territory.

As the winter winged away Marjorie made more than one visit to Hamilton Arms. Occasionally her chums accompanied her. The Nine Travelers gave their stunt party at the Arms on Saint Valentine’s eve. To please their lonely hostess they dressed in the costumes they intended wearing at the masquerade the next evening. Constance and Harriet managed to get away from the conservatory for three days, and a merry party ate a six o’clock dinner with Miss Susanna so as to have plenty of time for the stunts afterward.

Discreet to the letter, their visits to Hamilton Arms were known to no one outside their own group. Over and over again, when alone with the old lady, she would say to Marjorie: “I had no idea girls could be honorable. I had always considered boys far more honest and loyal.”

“You and Miss Susanna Hamilton are getting very chummy, aren’t you?” greeted Jerry, as Marjorie sauntered into their room one clear frosty evening in March, after having had tea at Hamilton Arms.

“I don’t know whether we are or not.” A tiny pucker decorated Marjorie’s forehead. “I always feel a little uncertain of how to take her. She is kindness itself, then, all of a sudden, she turns crotchety and says she hates everything and everybody. Then she generally adds, ‘Don’t take that to yourself, child.’”

“She thinks a lot of you or she wouldn’t be so friendly with you. She looks at you in the most affectionate way. I’ve noticed it every time we have been to the Arms with you.”

“I am glad of it. I was fond of her before I met her. Captain would like her. So would your mother, Jeremiah. Next year when our mothers come to Hamilton to see us graduate, I hope Miss Susanna will like to meet them. Only one more year after this. Oh, dear! I do love college, don’t you?” Marjorie began removing her hat and coat, an absent look in her brown eyes.

“I have seen worse ranches,” Jerry conceded with a grin. “Speaking of ranches reminds me of the West. The West reminds me of Ronny. Ronny promised to help me with my French tonight. Mind if I leave you? Such partings wring the heart; mine I mean. You go galavanting off to tea with no regard for my feelings.” Jerry gave a bad imitation of a sob, giggled, and began gathering up her books.

“I’ll try to have more consideration for your feelings hereafter,” Marjorie assured, a merry twinkle in her eyes.

“I’ll believe that when I see signs of reform,” Jerry threw back over her shoulder as she exited.

Left alone, Marjorie tried to shut out the memory of Hamilton Arms and settle down to her studying. The fascination the old house held for her remained with her long after she had left it behind her on her now fairly frequent visits there. Nicely launched on the tide of psychology, an uncertain rapping at the door startled her from her absorption of the subject in hand. It flashed across her as she rose to answer the knocking that it had been done by an unfamiliar hand. None of the girls she knew rapped on the door in that weak, hesitating fashion.

As she swung open the door she made no effort to force back the expression of complete astonishment which she knew had appeared on her face. Her caller was Dulcie Vale.

CHAPTER XXIII—AN AMAZING PROPOSAL

“I saw no faces, but I knew Miss Cairns’ and Miss Weyman’s voices,” Marjorie said with a suspicion of stiffness. She was not pleased to hear Dulcie preface her remarks with implied aspersions against the Sans. She knew that the latter had quarreled with her. She guessed that pique might have actuated the call.

“You never told anyone a single thing about it, did you?” The question was close to wistful. It seemed remarkable to Dulcie that Marjorie could have kept the matter secret.

“No.” Marjorie shook her head slightly.

“Did your friends ever say a word about it? Those were your friends who burst in on us and made such a noise, weren’t they? Who was the one who looked so horrible and blew out the candles?” Dulcie seemed suddenly to give over to curiosity.

“I can’t answer your questions, Miss Vale.” Marjorie could not repress the tiny smile that would not stay in seclusion. “I wish you would sit down and tell me frankly why you came to see me. You have not been in my room since the night of my arrival at Wayland Hall as a freshman.”

“I know.” Dulcie’s gaze shifted uneasily from Marjorie’s face. “I thought I would come again,” she excused, “but——”

The steadiness of Marjorie’s eyes forbade further untruth. She became suddenly silent. Very humbly she accepted the chair her puzzled hostess shoved forward. Marjorie sat down in one at the other side of the center table.

“I suppose you’ve heard all about my trouble with the Sans,” the visitor commenced afresh and awkwardly. “I don’t belong to the Sans Soucians now. I wouldn’t stay in a club with such dishonorable girls. I simply made Leslie Cairns accept my resignation. She was wild about it.”

Now safely launched upon her story, Dulcie began to gather up her self-confidence. “You see, my father, who is president of the L. T. and M. Railroad, has done a great deal for the Sans. You know we have always come to Hamilton in the fall in his private car. I have lent the Sans money and done them endless favors, yet they couldn’t be even moderately square with me.” She fixed her eyes on Marjorie after this outburst as though waiting for sympathy.

“I have heard nothing in regard to your having left the Sans Soucians. I have noticed that you were no longer at the table where you formerly sat at meals.” Marjorie could not honestly concede less than this.

“Didn’t you hear us fussing one night in Leslie’s room? It was before Christmas. That was the night I called them all down. I was so angry! I went into a perfect frenzy! I’m so temperamental! When I am really in a rage it simply shakes me from head to foot.” There was a faint impetus toward complacency in the statement.

“Yes; I heard a commotion going on up there one evening, but only faintly. My door was closed. I didn’t pay any attention to the noise, for it did not concern me.” Marjorie was struggling against an irresistible desire to laugh. To her mind Dulcie was the last person she would have classed as temperamental.

“The rest of that crowd were just as noisy as I, but Leslie Cairns blamed me for it all. She told Miss Remson it was I alone who made the disturbance. I’ll never forgive her; never. What I thought was this, Miss Dean. The Sans deserve to be punished for hazing you. I was a victim, too, that night. They made me go along with them, and I didn’t wish to go. I came home with my eye blackened. I won’t say how it happened, only that Leslie Cairns was to blame. I know about the whole plan for the hazing. Leslie rented that house for six months and paid the rent in advance so as to have a good place to take you. She would have left you there all night but Nell Ray and I said we would not stand for that. We were the only ones who stood up for you. Leslie Cairns was the Red Mask.

“You know that Doctor Matthews is awfully down on hazing,” Dulcie continued, taking a fresh supply of breath. “I thought if you would go with me to his office we could put the case before him. So long as I have all the facts of that affair and you and I were the ones hazed, he would certainly expel those Sans from Hamilton. You could say, just to clear me, that you knew I was hazed, too. That is, I was forced to go with them against my will. You see I had said I wouldn’t have a thing to do with it. I put on a domino that night over my costume and started across the campus by myself. Half a dozen of the Sans headed me off and simply dragged me along with them. I couldn’t get away from them, either. If that wasn’t hazing, then what was it?”

Marjorie was sorely tempted to reply, “Nothing but a yarn.” She did not credit Dulcie’s story and was growing momentarily more disgusted with the author of it.

“I can get away with it nicely if you will help me.” Dulcie evidently took Marjorie’s silence as favorable to her plan. “I’ve resigned from the Sans of my own accord. That will be in my favor. Matthews doesn’t like Leslie. You know she received a summons after Miss Langly was hurt. Maybe the doctor didn’t call her down! With you on my side. Oh, fine! I can see the Sans packing to leave Hamilton in a hurry!” Dulcie brightened visibly at the dire picture her mind had painted of her enemies’ disaster. “I can tell you a lot more things against them, too. Leslie is afraid all the time that Miss Remson will find out how she worked that stunt to keep us our rooms here. She——”

Marjorie interrupted with a quick, stern: “Stop, Miss Vale! I don’t wish to hear such things. I listened to what you said about the hazing as that concerned myself only. I have no desire to know the Sans’ private affairs. Whatever they may have done that is against the rules and traditions of Hamilton they will have to answer for. In the long run they will not be happy. I would not inform against them to President Matthews or anyone else.”

“Would you let them go on and be graduated after what they have done against both of us?” demanded Dulcie, her voice rising.

“It has not hurt me; being hazed, I mean,” was the calm reply. “I do not approve of hazing. I would not take part in any such disgraceful thing. Still, I do not believe in tale-bearing. You will gain more, Miss Vale, by going on as though all that has annoyed and hurt you had never been. Whoever has wronged you will be punished, eventually. The higher law, the law of compensation, provides for that.”

“I don’t know a thing about law. I wouldn’t care to take the matter into court.” Marjorie’s little preachment had gone entirely over the stupid senior’s head. Leslie had often remarked, and with truth, that Dulc was “thick.”

“I mean by the higher law, ‘As ye mete it out to others, so shall it be measured back to you again,’” Marjorie quoted with reverence.

“Oh, I see. You mean what the Bible says. Uh-huh! That’s true, I guess.” Dulcie looked vague. “I’m sorry you won’t help me, Miss Dean. I feel that Doctor Matthews ought to know what’s going on, when it is as serious as hazing.”

Marjorie felt her patience winging away. She wished Jerry would suddenly return and thus end the interview. It was evident Dulcie intended to report the hazing, despite her refusal to become a party to the report. That meant she would be dragged into the affair.

“I wish you would not go to Doctor Matthews about the hazing, Miss Vale,” she said abruptly. “If I, who was put to more inconvenience than you by it, have never reported it, I see no reason why you should. If you should succeed in having your former chums expelled you would feel miserably afterward for having betrayed them, no matter how much they might have deserved it.”

“I surely should not.” Dulcie’s short upper lip lifted in scorn. “I would love to see them disgraced. They tried to down me. I have a splendid case against them because you are so well-liked on the campus. The use of your name will be of great help. Sorry you won’t stand by me. You’ll have to admit the truth if you are sent for at the office,” she ended as a triumphant afterthought.

Marjorie contemplated her visitor in some wonder. The small, mean soul of the vengeful girl stood forth in the smile that accompanied her threatening utterance. It seemed strange to the upright lieutenant that a young woman with every material advantage in life could be so devoid of principle.

“Do not count on me.” Marjorie’s reply rang out with deliberate contempt. “If I were to be summoned to Doctor Matthews’ office concerning the hazing, I would answer no questions and give no information.”

This time it was Dulcie who lost patience. She rose with an angry flounce. Sulkiness at being thus thwarted replaced her earlier attempt at amenability.

“I might have known better than ask you,” she sputtered, giving free rein to her displeasure. “I shall do just as I please about going to Matthews. I hope he sends for you. He will make you admit you were hazed by the Sans. Goodnight.” She switched to the door. Her hand on the knob, she called over one shoulder: “I don’t blame Les for having named you ‘Bean.’ You are just about as stupid as one.”

CHAPTER XXIV—“THERE’S MANY A SLIP”

“I wished with all my heart that you would walk in and end the interview. She had so little honor about her I felt once as though I couldn’t endure having her here another minute. Then she took herself off so suddenly I was amazed.”

“Do you think she will go to Doctor Matthews?” Ronny asked rather skeptically. “Possibly what you said will take hold on her after all.”

“No. She will go,” Marjorie predicted with conviction. “She is determined on that. Maybe not right away. Goodness knows how much trouble it will stir up.”

“You’re right,” nodded Jerry. “Bring the Sans to carpet and they will probably name us as the crowd who broke in on their ridiculous tribunal. What then?”

“If we are accused of any such thing we can only tell the truth,” smiled Lucy. “We were in our masquerade costumes. We weren’t wearing dominos, but our own coats and scarfs. We went to rescue Marjorie. We were not out on a hazing expedition.”

“The only thing we should not have done, perhaps, was to blow out the candles,” declared Ronny with a reminiscent chuckle. “That was my doing. Some of the Sans might have been quite seriously hurt in the dark. They deserved the few bumps they garnered. I’m not sorry for that part of our rescue dash on them.”

“What a wonderful time we’ll have if we are brought up to face the Sans in Doctor Matthews’ office. Lead me to it; away from it, I had better say.” Jerry made a wry face.

“Don’t worry. I shall be on outpost duty,” laughed Lucy. “I am going to begin substituting for the Doctor tomorrow morning. Miss Humphrey sent for me after biology this P.M. to ask me if I would. Miss Sayres has bronchitis. I am so far ahead in my subjects I can spare two weeks to the doctor’s work. I was at Lillian’s house for dinner tonight, so I didn’t have a chance to tell you girls the news. If this affair comes up while I am working for the doctor, I shall no doubt hear of it. So long as we are all concerned in it, I shall feel I have the right to tell you if Miss Vale starts trouble.”

The Lookouts were not in the least worried over their own position in the matter. While they might not escape reprimand, they had done nothing underhanded nor disgraceful. According to Jerry they had “sprung a beautiful scare where it was needed.”

During the first week of her secretaryship for the doctor, Lucy heard nothing that would indicate the promised exposé on Dulcie’s part. They saw her several times on the campus or driving with Elizabeth Walbert, apparently well pleased with herself. It was Jerry’s opinion that she had built upon Marjorie’s aid. Being denied this, she had abandoned the project as too risky to undertake alone.

One thing lynx-eyed Lucy discovered concerning the secretary was her extreme carelessness in filing. More than once the doctor’s patience and her own were taxed by protracted hunts on her part for correspondence on file.

“I exonerate you from blame for this, Miss Warner,” the kindly doctor declared more than once. “I have spoken to Miss Sayres of this fault. I shall take it up with her again when she returns.”

As the first week merged into the second and the second into the third, and still Lucy remained as the doctor’s secretary, the two began to be on the best of terms. Quick to appreciate Lucy’s remarkable brilliancy as a student, not to mention her perfect work as secretary, the doctor and she had several long talks on biology, mathematics, and the affairs of Hamilton College as well.

During one of these talks a gleam of light shone for a moment on the mystery Lucy never gave up hoping to solve. In mentioning Wayland Hall, the president referred to Miss Remson as one of his oldest friends on the campus. “I have not seen Miss Remson for a very long time,” he said with a slight frown. “Let me see. It will be——can it be possible?——two years in June. And she living so near me! She used to be a fairly frequent visitor at our house. I must ask Mrs. Matthews to write her to dine with us soon. Kindly remind me of that, Miss Warner; say this afternoon before you leave. I will make a note of it.”

Lucy reminded him of the matter that afternoon with a glad heart. She confided it to her Lookout chums and they rejoiced with her. She would have liked to tell Miss Remson the good news but courtesy forbade the doing. The Lookouts agreed among themselves that it showed very plainly who was responsible for the misunderstanding.

At the beginning of the fourth week Miss Sayres returned. Lucy could only hope that Doctor Matthews had not forgotten to remind his wife of the dinner invitation. She was sure, had Miss Remson received it, that she would have mentioned it to them. She would have wished the Nine Travelers to know it. Whether Miss Remson would have accepted it was a question. She had her own proper pride in the matter. The girls had agreed that should she mention it, Lucy was then to tell her of the conversation with Doctor Matthews.

“Queer, but Miss Remson hasn’t said a word about receiving that invitation,” Ronny said to Lucy one evening shortly before the closing of college for the Easter holidays. “The doctor must have forgotten all about it. That shows his conscience is clear. It would appear that he doesn’t even suspect Miss Remson has a grievance against him.”

“I am sure he forgot it.” Lucy looked rather gloomy over the doctor’s omission. “It was such a fine opportunity, and now it’s lost. If I should work for him again I might remind him of it. If I did, I’d do more than mere reminding. I’d ask him to try to see Miss Remson and tell him I thought there had been a misunderstanding. I would have said so this time, but when he spoke of inviting her to their house for dinner, I supposed the tangle would be straightened post haste.”

“He may happen to recall it months from now,” Ronny consoled. “That’s the way my father does. Men of affairs hardly ever forget things for good. Sooner or later a memory of that kind crops up again.”

While Lucy worried because the doctor had forgotten his kindly intention toward their faithful elderly friend, Leslie Cairns was plunged in the depths of apprehension because of Lucy’s substitution for Laura Sayres. Each day she wondered if the sword would fall. She visited Laura and made her worse by her irritating questions regarding the secretary’s methods of filing. Was there any danger of old Matthews going through the files himself? Was Laura sure that she had eliminated every bit of evidence against them? Was she positive she had destroyed the letter Miss Remson had written him, supposedly? Nor had Leslie any mercy on the secretary’s weakened condition. Laura bore her unfeeling selfishness without much protest. Leslie had given her one hundred dollars in her first visit. This palliated the senior’s faults.

When at the end of the third week nothing had occurred of a dismaying nature, Leslie began to believe that her college career was safe. With Easter just ahead, a very late Easter, too, only two months stretched between her and Commencement, that dear day of honor and freedom for her. She had worried but little over Dulcie’s threats. Elizabeth Walbert’s parting shot, “You’ll be sorry,” crossed her mind occasionally. She attached not much importance to it at first and less as winter drew on toward spring.

Dulcie Vale, however, was only biding her time. She never relinquished for an hour her resolve to bring disgrace upon the Sans. Leslie having ordered her chums to steer clear of Bess Walbert, the latter also burned for revenge. She and Dulcie, after one glorious quarrel over what each had said about the other to Leslie, had made up and joined forces. They had a common object. Thus they clung together. They made elaborate plans for retaliation, only to abandon them for the one great plan, the betrayal of the Sans to Doctor Matthews.

Dulcie had at first decided to go to the president of Hamilton College within a few days after her unsuccessful talk with Marjorie. Then she thought of something else which pleased her better. She would wait until after Easter. If the Sans were expelled from college just before Easter, they would endeavor to slip away quietly, making it appear that they had left of their own accord. If she waited until they had returned, the blow would be far more crushing.

Regarding herself, Dulcie had her own plans. Her family, including her father, were in Europe. Her mother would not return until the next July. Her father, luckily for her, was to be in Paris until the following January. Her mother allowed her to do as she pleased. What Dulcie intended to do to please herself was to leave Hamilton on the Easter vacation not to return. She was not too stupid to realize that the Sans, accused of many faults by her, would turn on her en masse and implicate her. She could not hold out against them if arraigned in the presence of Doctor Matthews. She was also too heavily conditioned to graduate, and she hated college since her ostracization by the Sans. She was more than ready to leave. She would walk out and let her former chums bear the consequences. They had not spared her. She would not spare them.

CHAPTER XXV—WHEN THE SWORD FELL

Over and over again she wrote the damaging letter to Doctor Matthews. She wrote at first at length, putting in everything she could think of against the Sans. She made effort to stick to facts. There were enough of them to create havoc. Then she rewrote the letter, eliminating and revising until the finished product of her spite was worded to suit her. It was necessarily a long letter and could not fail in its object.

When college closed for Easter, Dulcie shook the dust of Hamilton from her feet and took her letter to New York with her. She did not inform the registrar that she would not return. She would write that from New York. The day after college reopened, following the ten days’ vacation, Dulcie mailed four letters. One to Elizabeth Walbert, one to Miss Humphrey, one to Leslie Cairns, and the letter.

Those four letters created amazement, displeasure, consternation, according to the recipient. Miss Humphrey was annoyed as only a registrar can be annoyed by such a procedure. Elizabeth Walbert was surprised and miffed because Dulcie had not confided in her. Doctor Matthews’ indignation soared to still heights. Leslie Cairns opened her letter at the breakfast table. She read the first page and hurriedly rose, tipping over her coffee in her haste. Paying no attention to the stream of coffee which flowed to the floor, she rushed from the dining room to her own. Locking the door, she sat down with trembling knees to read the letter. She read it twice, uttered a half sob of agony and threw herself face downward on her bed. The sword had fallen, the end had come.

Of the four letters, the one Dulcie had written her was the shortest and read:

“Leslie:

“When you read this you will not feel so secure as you did the night you humiliated me so. You thought I would not dare say a word about a number of things because I was afraid of being expelled from college. You will see now that you made a serious mistake; so serious you won’t be at Hamilton long after President Matthews receives the letter I have written him. I have told him everything. The Sans are in for trouble with him. It doesn’t make a particle of difference to me what happens to you and your pals, for I am not coming back to Hamilton. My letter to Doctor Matthews is convincing. You will surely receive a summons. What? Oh, yes! I think I have proved myself almost as clever as you.

“Dulciana Maud Vale.”

Not far behind Leslie came Natalie Weyman to her friend’s room. Startled by Leslie’s peculiar behavior she had followed her upstairs, her own breakfast untouched.

“Leslie,” she called softly, “May I come in? It’s Nat.”

“Go away.” Leslie’s voice was harsh and broken. “Come back after recitations this afternoon.”

“Very well.” Natalie retreated, puzzled but not angry. She was understanding that something very unusual had happened to Leslie. Her mind took it up, however, as presumably bad news from home. She hoped nothing serious had happened to Leslie’s father. Her shallow serenity soon returned and she went about her affairs smugly unconscious of what was in store for her.

Meanwhile, President Matthews was holding a long and unpleasant session with Laura Sayres. Dulcie had not failed to describe Laura’s part in the plot against Miss Remson. Now the incensed doctor was endeavoring to pin his shifty secretary down to lamentable facts.

Laura had always assured Leslie she would never divulge the Sans’ secrets under pressure. For a short period only she lied, evaded and pretended ignorance. Little by little the ground was cut from under her treacherous feet. Before the morning was over President Matthews had the complete story of the trickery which had brought misunderstanding between him and Miss Remson. Of the hazing Laura knew little; enough, however, to establish the truth of Dulcie’s confession.

“I have yet to find a more flagrant case of dishonorable dealing,” were the doctor’s cutting words at the close of that painful morning. “I trusted you. Knowing that, you should have been above trading upon my confidence. I cannot comprehend your object in allying yourself with these lawless young women. You say you are not a member of their club. Why, then, were their dishonest interests so dear to you?”

To this Laura made no reply save by sobs. She had crumpled entirely. One thing only she had rigorously kept back. She would not admit that she had been paid by Leslie Cairns for her ignoble services. If the doctor suspected this he made no sign of it. He dismissed her with stern brevity and was glad to see her go. Aside from her worthless character, she had not been a satisfactory secretary.

Immediately she was gone, he put on his hat and overcoat and set out for Wayland Hall. To right matters with his old friend was to be his second move.

Arriving at the Hall at the hour the students were returning for luncheon, his appearance caused no end of private flutter. Having, as yet, held no communication with Leslie, the older members of the Sans were thrown into panic, nevertheless. What they had least desired had come to pass. The Lookouts, on the contrary, were overjoyed. Helen Trent had spied the president and promptly passed the word of it to her chums.

To Miss Remson the surprise of her caller amounted to a shock. It did not take long for the manager to produce the letter she had received, purporting to be from Doctor Matthews.

“I never dictated any such letter,” was his blunt denial. “Yes, the signature is mine. I can only explain it by saying that it may have been traced and copied from another letter, or else it has been handed me to sign when I was in a hurry. Miss Sayres had an annoying habit of bringing me my letters for signature at the very last minute before I was due to leave my office. I dropped the matter of the way these girls at your house had behaved because I received a letter from you which stated that you had come to a better understanding with them and would like to have the matter closed. I deferred to your judgment, as always. I know no one better qualified as manager of a campus house than you.”

“I never wrote you any such letter,” avowed the manager. “Several of my devoted friends in the house among the students were confident that there had been trickery used. I was obliged to acquaint them with the fact that you had refused to act in the matter of transferring these girls to another campus house. My friends had suffered many annoyances at their hands. I had promised them of my own accord that these girls should be transferred. It has all been a sad misunderstanding. I am glad to have it cleared up.” Miss Remson avoided all mention of her own personal humiliation.

Returned to his office at Hamilton Hall after a late luncheon, Doctor Matthews requested Miss Humphrey to lend him her stenographer for the rest of the afternoon. His business correspondence attended to, he brought forth Dulcie Vale’s letter from an inside coat pocket and composed a stiff, brief summons. This summons the stenographer had the pleasure of typing seventeen times. A list of names which Dulcie had thoughtfully included in her letter furnished seventeen addresses. The Sans were curtly informed that Doctor Matthews required their presence in his office at Hamilton Hall at four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon.

Almost incidental with the time at which these notes were being typed, a bevy of white-faced girls had gathered in Leslie Cairns’ room to discuss the dire situation. Leslie had recovered from her first spasm of grief and fear and had let Natalie into her room immediately the latter had come from recitations. Natalie brought more bad news in the shape of an apprehensive report of the doctor’s call on Miss Remson.

During the afternoon Leslie had received a telephone call from Laura Sayres. Laura had refused to go into much detail over the telephone. She announced herself as having been discharged from the doctor’s employ and asserted that he knew “all about everything” without her having said a word of betrayal. Leslie had not stopped to consider whether she believed the secretary’s story or not. She had said: “You can’t tell me anything. I know too much already. Goodbye.” With that she had hung up the receiver. Her eyes blinded by tears of defeat and real fear, she had stumbled her way to her room. There she had spent the most unhappy afternoon of her life.

“It’s no use, girls. We are done. You may as well be thinking what excuse you can make to your families, for you will be expelled as sure as fate. Matthews’ call on Remson shows that Dulcie betrayed us. Sayres was fired by the doctor; all on account of that Remson mix-up. She didn’t see Dulcie’s letter, but I know he received it. Sayres called me on the ’phone.”

“But, Leslie, some of us don’t know a thing about how you worked that Remson affair! You never told us. I don’t see why we should be expelled for something we know nothing of.” Eleanor made this half tearful defense.

“Oh, that isn’t all.” Leslie’s loose-lipped mouth curled in a bitter smile. “There is the hazing business, too. Dulc told that, of course. Perhaps she told the ‘soft talk’ stunt Ramsey taught the soph team last year. I don’t know. All is over for us. I do know that. I expected to go into business with my father after I was graduated from Hamilton. Now!” She walked away from her companions and stood with her back toward them at the window.

“Perhaps it will blow over,” ventured Margaret Wayne. “I shall make a hard fight to stay on at Hamilton. I won’t be cheated out of my diploma, if I can help it. It’s our word against Dulcie’s.”

“That’s of no use to us now.” Leslie turned suddenly from the window with this gloomy utterance. “Remember Laura Sayres has been discharged from Matthews’ employ. Remson and Matthews have had an understanding. What chance have we? Sayres told me the doctor quizzed her for over two hours. She claims she told nothing against us. I know better. If Dulcie, the little wretch, had sprung this before Easter we might have saved our faces. She waited purposely. She and Walbert deliberately planned this exposé. Look for a summons soon. We won’t escape. I shall begin to pack tonight. So far as this rattletrap old college is concerned, I don’t care a rap about leaving it. All that is worrying me is: What shall I say to my father?”

CHAPTER XXVI—MAY DAY EVENING

“I claim the right to keep my own counsel,” she had returned, when pressed to relate the details of the incident. “I was not injured. I did not even contract a slight cold. I did not see the faces of those who hazed me. I know only two of the Sans Soucians personally, and these two slightly. My evidence would, therefore, be too purely circumstantial. I do not wish to give it. I beg to be excused.”

Not satisfied, two members of the Board had requested that she state the time and manner of her return to her house. Her quick assurance, “My friends found out where I was and came for me. We were all in the gymnasium at half-past nine, in time for the unmasking,” was accepted, not without smiles, by her inquisitors. She was allowed to go. She took with her a memory of two rows of white, despairing girl faces. It hurt her not a little. She could not rejoice in the Sans’ downfall, though she knew it to be merited.

At the end of the inquiry the verdict was unanimous for expellment, to go into effect at once. The culprits were given one week to pack and arrange with their families for their return home.

Leslie Cairns had received the major share of blame. Throughout the inquiry she had worn an exasperating air of indifference, which she had doggedly fought to maintain. Not a muscle of her rugged face had moved during the reading of the long letter written by Dulcie Vale to the president. She had laconically admitted the truth of it, coolly correcting one or two erroneous statements Dulcie had made. Afterward, in her room, she had broken down and sobbed bitterly. This no one but herself knew.

The disgraced seventeen left Hamilton for New York on the seventh morning after sentence had been pronounced upon them. They departed early in the morning before the majority of the Wayland Hall girls were up and stirring. Marjorie was glad not to witness their departure. She had not approved of them. Still they were young girls like herself. She experienced a certain pity for their weakness of character. Jerry, however, was openly delighted to be rid of her pet abomination.

With the approach of May Day the Nine Travelers had something pleasant to look forward to. Miss Susanna had sent them invitations to dinner on May Day evening. Very gleefully they planned to deluge the mistress of Hamilton Arms with May baskets. These they intended to leave in one of the two automobiles which they would use. After dinner, Ronny had volunteered to slip away from the party, secure the baskets and place them before the front door. She would lift the knocker, then scurry inside, leaving Jonas, who was to be in the secret, to call Miss Susanna to the door.

When, as Miss Hamilton’s guests on May Day evening, they were ushered into the beautiful, mahogany-panelled dining room at Hamilton Arms, a surprise awaited them. The long room, an apartment of state in Brooke Hamilton’s day, was a veritable bower of violets. Bouquets of them, surrounded by their own decorative green leaves were in evidence everywhere in the room. They were the double English variety, and their fragrance was as a sweet breath of spring. A scented purple mound of them occupied the center of the dining table. It was topped by a familiar object; a willow, ribbon-trimmed basket. As on the previous May Day evening it was full of violets. Narrow violet satin ribbon depended from the center of the basket to each place, at which set a small replica of the basket Marjorie had left before Miss Susanna’s door, just one year ago that evening.

“I knew Miss Susanna would guess who went Maying a year ago this evening!” Jerry exclaimed. “After you had known Marvelous Marjorie a little while the guessing came easy, didn’t it?” She turned impulsively to Miss Hamilton.

“Yes; you are quite correct, Jerry,” the old lady made quick answer. “One year ago tonight was a very happy occasion for me. Violets were Uncle Brooke’s favorite flower. I cannot tell you how strangely I felt at sight of that basket. Jonas came into the library and asked me to go to the front door. He said in his solemn way: ‘There’s something at the door I would like you to see, Miss Susanna.’ He looked so mysterious, I rose at once from my chair and went to the door. I must explain, too, that the first of May was Uncle Brooke’s birthday. When I looked out and saw that basket of violets, it was like a silent message from him. Jonas had no more idea than I from whom the lovely May offering had come. He had heard the clang of the knocker, but when he opened the door there was not a soul in sight. The good fairy had vanished, leaving me a fragrant May Day remembrance.”

Marjorie had laughed at first sight of the familiar basket. She was still smiling, rather tremulously, however. The beauty of the decorations, the fragrance of the violets and the amazing knowledge that she had brought Brooke Hamilton’s favorite flower to the doorstep on the anniversary of his birth, made strong appeal to the fund of sentiment which lay deep within her, rarely coming to the surface.

“How came you to remember a crotchety person like me, child?” Miss Susanna’s bright brown eyes were soft with tenderness. She reached forward and took both Marjorie’s hands in hers.

Thus they stood for an instant, youth and age, beside the violet-crowned table. The other girls, lovely in their pale-hued evening frocks, surrounded the pair with smiling faces.

“I—I don’t know,” stammered Marjorie. “I—I thought perhaps you would like it. I couldn’t resist putting it on your doorstep. We were all making May baskets to hang on one another’s doors. I thought of you. I knew you loved flowers, because I had seen you working among them. That’s all.”

“No, that was only the beginning.” Miss Susanna released Marjorie’s hands. “It gave me much to think of for many months; in fact until a little girl put aside her own plans to help a poor old lady pick up a basket of spilled chrysanthemums.”

Appearing a trifle embarrassed at her own rush of sentiment, Miss Hamilton turned to the others and proceeded briskly to seat her guests at table. While she occupied the place at the head, she gave Marjorie that at the foot. Lifting the little basket at her place to inhale the perfume of the flowers, something dropped therefrom. It struck against the thin water glass at her place with a little clang. Next instant she was exclaiming over a dainty lace pin of purple enameled violets with tiny diamond centers.

“I would advise all of you to do a little exploring.” Miss Susanna’s voice held a note of suppressed excitement.

Obeying with the zest of girlhood, the others found pretty lace pins of gold and silver, chosen with a view toward suiting the personality of each.

As Marjorie fastened her new possession on the bodice of the violet-tinted crêpe gown, which had been Mah Waeo’s gift to her father for her, she had a feeling of living in a fairy tale. Hamilton Arms had always seemed as an enchanted castle to her. She had never expected to penetrate its fastnesses and become an honored guest within its walls.

“Miss Susanna, when did you first guess that it was I who left you a May basket?” she asked, rather curiously. “Lucy and Jerry said you would find me out. I didn’t think so.”

“It was after Christmas, Marjorie,” the old lady replied. “Perhaps it was the bunch of violets on the wreath you girls sent for Uncle Brooke’s study that established the connection. I really can’t say. It dawned upon me all of a sudden one evening. I spoke of it to Jonas. The old rascal simply said: ‘Oh, yes. I have thought so for a long time.’ Not a word to me of it had he peeped. It furnished me with pleasant thoughts for so long, I decided that one good turn deserves another. I succeeded in surprising you children tonight, but no one could have been more astonished than I when I gathered in that blessed violet basket last May Day night.”

CHAPTER XXVII—CONCLUSION

“Nothing will seem the same,” grumbled Jerry. “With you four good scouts lifted out of college garden there will be an awful vacancy.” Jerry fixed almost mournful eyes on Helen. “Why couldn’t you girls have entered a year later or else we a year earlier?” she asked retrospectively.

“Cheer up, Jeremiah. The worst is yet to come.” Vera patted Jerry on the back. Standing behind Jerry’s chair she cast an odd glance at Leila. Leila passed it on to Helen, who in turn telegraphed some mute message to Katherine Langly.

“I can’t see it,” Jerry said, her round face unusually sober. “It is hard enough now to have to lose four good pals at one swoop. I sha’n’t feel any worse at the last minute tomorrow than I do tonight. I have an actual case of the blues this evening which even lemonade and cakes won’t dispel.”

“Let us not talk about it,” advised Veronica. “Every time the subject comes up we all grow solemn.”

“I’m worse off than the rest of you,” complained Muriel. “I am torn between two partings. I can’t bear to think of losing good old Moretense.”

“While we are on the subject of partings,” began Leila, ostentatiously clearing her throat, “I regret that I shall have to say something which can but add to your sorrow. I—that is——” She looked at Vera and burst into laughter which carried a distinctly happy note.

“What ails you, Leila Greatheart?” Marjorie focused her attention on the Irish girl’s mirthful face. “I am just beginning to see that something unusual is on foot. The idea of parading mysteries before us at the very last minute of your journey through the country of college!”

“’Tis a beautiful country, that.” Leila spoke purposely, with a faint brogue. “And did you say it was my last minute there? Suppose it was not? What? As our departed bogie, Miss Cairns, used to say.”

“Do you know what you are talking about?” inquired Jerry. “I hope you do. I haven’t caught the drift of your remarks—yet.”

“Do you tell her then, Midget.” Leila fell suddenly silent, her Cheshire cat grin ornamenting her features.

“Oh, let Helen tell it. She knows.” Vera beamed on Helen, who passed the task, whatever it might be, on to Katherine. She declined, throwing it back to Leila.

“What is this bad news that none of you will take upon yourselves to tell us?” Lucy’s green eyes sought Katherine’s in mock reproach.

“I have it.” Leila held up a hand. “Now; altogether! We are going to——” she nodded encouragement to Kathie, Vera and Helen.

“We are going to stay!” shouted four voices in concert.

“Stay where? What do——” Jerry stopped abruptly. Her face relaxed of a sudden into one of her wide smiles. She rose and began hugging Helen, shouting: “You don’t mean it? Honestly?”

The rest of the Lookouts were going through similar demonstrations of joy. For a moment or two everyone talked and laughed at once. Gradually the first noisy reception of the news subsided and Leila could be heard:

“It’s like this, children,” she said. “Vera wants to specialize in Greek. I am still keen on physics and psychology. Helen wants to make a new and more comprehensive study of literature, and Kathie is going to teach English. Miss Fernald is leaving and Kathie is to have her place. We’ve had all we could do to keep it from you. Vera and I might better be here next year than at home. We’d have not much to do there. We are anxious to help make the dream of the dormitory come true.”

“It is too beautiful for anything!” was Marjorie’s childish but heartfelt rejoicing. “With you four to help us next year we shall accomplish wonders. Oh, I shall love being a senior!”

What Marjorie’s senior year at Hamilton brought her will be told in “Marjorie Dean, College Senior.”