CHAPTER XXIX
THE “PERFECT NUMBER” IN AUNTS
Beth had something really wonderful to tell Molly Granger when the winter vacation was over and she met that young lady on the train bound for Rivercliff School.
And Molly listened in as rapt amazement as Beth had experienced when she listened to the public talk of “Miss Cynthia Emeline Fogg Freylinghausen,” as Molly ever after insisted upon calling their mysterious friend.
“And cracky-me!” giggled Molly. “If only Maude Grimshaw could know this! She was such a close personal friend of the heiress of the Freylinghausen millions. Oh, my aunt! as Cynthia herself would say. In my case—oh, my seven aunts! And Bethesda! They are all coming to our graduation.”
“Who are?” demanded the surprised, not to say startled, Beth. Molly did jump about so from one subject to another.
“My aunts. They have promised. Yea, verily, they have threatened. Do you suppose, if I tell Miss Hammersly they are coming, that she will feel it necessary to limit us all to fewer friends on graduation day?”
But that fondly-looked-forward-to day still seemed a long, long way ahead to Beth and her class at Rivercliff School. First, much chatter and wonder had to be expressed over the discovery that Cynthia Fogg was a “millionairess”—Molly’s designation, of course.
Madam Hammersly was really the most amazed person who ever wore a cap. She exclaimed to Beth once:
“Miss Baldwin, to think of my scolding that young lady so—and actually discharging her for incompetence!”
“But she was incompetent, wasn’t she?” laughed Beth. “Whatever Cynthia learned about the theory of domestic service, she certainly did not learn much about the actual practice thereof.”
“But—Miss Freylinghausen!” murmured the good lady, who had all the middle-class Englishwoman’s awe for riches and position.
Cynthia, at Mrs. Haven’s party, had been quite confidential with Beth. The latter learned that Cynthia had by no means started out with the intention of informing herself concerning the theory of domestic service. She was merely an idle, disappointed, rich girl, disgusted with her life.
She had actually run away from home—not from an institution—when the chums met her on the Water Wagtail. She was not then of age, and she had a guardian who had insisted on her going to Europe with his wife and daughters. It was he whom Cynthia (as Beth and Molly continued to call her) feared would follow her.
To hide her escapade the guardian announced that she had gone to Europe. Meanwhile, Cynthia was bothering the good madam at Rivercliff School.
“The dear thing!” she told Beth. “I shall always love and pity her, for I did make her so much trouble!”
“But my dear Miss Freylinghausen!” gasped Mrs. Haven, who was listening frankly to all this. “You do not mean to say that you were at that school with Beth?”
“Not in the literary department—in the domestic department,” laughed Cynthia. “Beth was really instrumental in getting me the job. And at that I could not keep it. I couldn’t suit Madam Hammersly—and I really tried, too. But Beth suited her. Beth showed herself to be the ‘better man of us two.’”
Miss Freylinghausen’s evident liking for Beth—her admiration for her, in fact—made its impression upon Mrs. Haven.
That lady’s eyes were often fixed upon the brilliant beauty of her old friend’s daughter during the remainder of the evening—and with a new expression in her own countenance.
But all this was “ancient history” now. Back at Rivercliff, Beth Baldwin had altogether too much of really vital importance to think of to be bothered by reflections upon either Larry’s mother or Larry himself.
As she had feared, the girl from Hudsonvale returned to school to face pronounced opposition in her own class. It did not so much matter about the dislike expressed by girls in the lower grades; but it was in the power of Laura Hedden, Miss Rice, and a few others of the seniors, to make Beth’s existence very unhappy indeed.
And the worst of it was, it did not seem to be a situation that Beth could control. She could not take affairs into her own hands, as she had on that long past occasion of the Red Masque. She could not withdraw herself now from the remainder of her class. Being its president, and a leader in all its activities, it would have been beneath her even to notice many of the slights and insults aimed at her. The sting of them was quite as sharp, however. This situation was harder to endure than any of Maude Grimshaw’s old-time persecutions.
At every business meeting of the senior class (and these became frequent as time went on), the schism against Beth was shown to be stronger. It did not do for her to propose the simplest thing; at once some girl jumped up with an objection or a counter-proposal.
“Why,” said the usually jolly Molly, quite seriously now, “I believe if we had to discuss right now whether ‘two and two make four,’ Hedden or Rice or somebody, would jump up and claim it didn’t. What’s the matter with you all, anyway?”
“Well, you’re not going to have everything all your own way, Molly Granger, so there!” said one of the obstructionists.
“No,” said another. “Too many things have been cut and dried for us. We want to have something to say about what the senior class does.”
“Who’s we?” demanded Molly, warmly.
“Point of order!” drawled one girl. “Has Miss Granger been called to the chair, pro tem?”
Beth began heartily to wish that Molly was chairman at these disorderly meetings—or somebody besides herself. When the opposition could not gain its point, very often the quarrelsome girls were so noisy that the session adjourned without having accomplished the object for which it had been called.
Of course, her inability to control the meetings counted against Beth. Reports of them circulated through the school and quickly reached the ears of the teachers. Miss Hammersly would be the last to know about the friction in the senior class; but she must know in time, and she would then call the class president to account.
Long as the time seemed to June, the days passed only too swiftly. The senior class of Rivercliff considered itself, of course, quite a wonderful body of young ladies. And Miss Hammersly did all in her power to inspire them with the belief that the whole world lay open before them to be conquered.
Beth kept busily at work with both her books and her needle. She was piling up quite a little sum of money—there was a new object in view.
Mr. Baldwin was doing very well with one of his inventions, and a second one promised to make both him and Larry Haven moderately wealthy. The family was not likely to need her financial aid after all. When she began to teach, her salary would be her own.
And now that she had so much money saved, Beth wished to try to recover Great-grandmother Lomis’ corals. She had learned from her mother who had the heirloom; she was sure Mrs. Haven never wore the corals; she desired very much to buy them back from Larry’s mother.
For, after all, Beth was a real girl and loved jewelry and the like just as much as any other girl.
This hope, however, was not the first thought in her mind. She neglected none of her senior class tasks for the sake of earning more money. She had even passed a good deal of her work over to another girl in a lower class, who needed to help herself through school. The doctrine of independence was beginning to be established at Rivercliff School in spite of such girls as Laura Hedden.
Social affairs were always of more importance to the senior class than to any of the other girls. The members of the senior class being really the hostesses at the monthly “hop,” considerable time and thought had to be given by the social committee to these occasions.
Beth, as class president, was chairman of this social committee; but she saw so much opposition arrayed against her that she feared the good times of the other girls would be spoiled if she did not withdraw. Her act in doing this—with the excuse that she was too busy to fulfil the duties attached to the chairmanship—did not please either her own friends or the opposition.
“Say! what do you do that for?” Molly Granger demanded. “Want to ‘crab the film?’ We need you to suggest ideas—and carry ’em out, too. Now, you just see! The hop this week will be a fizzle.”
“Oh, be an optimist, honey,” Beth said, laughing. “Look on the bright side.”
“That’s all right. I know how to be an optimist,” Molly returned, though still resentfully. “It’s like the old fellow with the two teeth.”
“Who was he?” asked her chum.
“Why, this poor old chap could only eat the plainest kind of food, and couldn’t read anything, or play anything, or make anything. Just the same he seemed pretty cheerful and thought this world a pretty fine place to live in.
“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’m goin’ on eighty-two. I’ve been bald-headed thirty years, a widower for twenty-five, had indigestion nearly all my life, can’t hear unless folks holler at me, can’t see to read, ain’t reliable on my feet any more, and I’ve only got two teeth left—but, thank God, they hit!’
“That’s an optimist,” concluded jolly Molly. “But there’s nothing very optimistic in the outlook for our evening parties if you back out, Bethesda. I can’t see what you are thinking of.”
Beth dared not tell her chum just what she really was thinking of. It seemed to Beth Baldwin that the only way to stop friction in the senior class was for her to resign as class president.
Larry Haven seemed to have considerable business to see to for his clients at Jackson City or in the vicinity that spring. And he came frequently to Rivercliff to call. On the other hand, Mr. Roland Severn was quite a favorite with Miss Granger. One or the other, sometimes both, were at the senior receptions all those last months of Beth and Molly’s stay at Rivercliff.
On the very evening to which Molly looked forward so apprehensively, both Larry and Roland Severn appeared as guests of the senior class. Beth had considered retiring to Number Eighty after supper and not coming down for the party at all; but she was glad she had not done this when she saw the boys. Larry would have been sure to make inquiries and that would have called attention to the trouble in the senior class.
That the opposition to Beth as president was really increasing, was plain to all the observant girls. If Beth chanced to pass certain groups the laughter and chatter ceased instantly. At other times scornful glances and sharp speeches were flung at the class president.
With two such gallants as Larry and Roland (for both hovered about Beth and Molly), neither of the girl chums could feel neglected. Indeed, jolly Molly would not have been neglected in any case, for she was popular with almost everybody, despite her partizanship in Beth’s cause.
If there were any boys at these parties at all, they were sure to give Molly Granger plenty of attention. Her tongue was the smartest of all her class—and she could say funny and bright things without putting any sting into them.
Some of the other seniors were popular with the visitors, too; but not all. Miss Rice, for instance, although one of the best dressed girls in the school, was almost sure to be a wallflower. She danced now and then with some other girl; the remainder of the time she either sat alone, or joined some equally neglected group.
That is, unless Larry Haven or Roland Severn asked for the honor of being her partner. Always, if they were present, these young men each danced with Miss Rice at least once. There were, likewise, other wallflowers with whom these two danced.
Though a good skater, Miss Rice was not a good dancer. And she possessed no flow of small talk and few of the graces that are supposed to attract young men. Besides, she was downright homely.
Nevertheless, Miss Rice had a bright mind—too bright to believe, for a moment, that her own personal attractions caused the two young men to put themselves out solely for her pleasure.
Of course, as Miss Hammersly would not have allowed any of her girls to dance continually with the same partners, Larry and Roland could not hover about Beth and Molly all the evening. But they could easily have found more attractive girls than the ones they often selected when Beth and Molly were dancing with other partners.
On this particular evening Miss Rice retired to Madam Hammersly’s room to repair a small tear in the lace of her skirt. The door was not closed; but there was a heavy portière between the room and the hall and anybody outside would not have guessed the girl’s nearness.
“Well, Severn, old boy, have you done your duty among the ‘overlooked ladies’ this evening?” asked a masculine voice.
“I should hope so,” was Roland’s reply. “And twice with Miss Rice.”
“You’ve nothing on me there,” said Larry Haven. “I shouldn’t want to displease Beth, but sometimes it’s a bore to dance with these wallflowers.”
“Now you’ve said it!” young Severn agreed, with feeling.
“But Beth says I can’t come at all to these ‘shindigs’ if I don’t help give the unpopular girls a good time. And she picks the ones I must dance with, too,” and Larry chuckled rather ruefully.
“She said as much to me,” Roland Severn acknowledged. “She’s an awfully thoughtful, kind-hearted girl.”
“She’s a dear,” agreed Larry, warmly. “Beth was always just the best ever. Thinks about others more than she does of herself.”
The two young men walked away. Miss Rice remained in the semi-darkness of the madam’s room for some time—long enough to feel that her cheeks were cool again and that the tears were gone from her eyes.
The thoughtless words of the two careless young men served an unexpected purpose. For once good grew from evil—sweet from the bitter. Ill-tempered as Miss Rice had shown herself to be, she was not shallow like Laura Hedden and some of the others who were opposed to Beth Baldwin in school affairs.
She saw at once that Beth, without suspecting that Miss Rice or the other wallflowers would ever know about it, had used her influence with the two most popular young men attending the school dances to insure the neglected members of the senior class the pleasure of having male partners.
Of course, as a member of the social committee, it had been Beth’s duty to see that all were made happy if possible; but Miss Rice well knew that it was something besides duty that had suggested to the class president this particular way of aiding in the pleasure of the social occasion for all in the senior class.
To girls in general, and of the age of Beth’s classmates, the attentions of young men are as pleasing and satisfactory as anything in life. It gives even an awkward girl more confidence in herself to be singled out as a dancing partner by young men.
The chums, however, really had little time for “boys,” as Molly scoffingly called them. “Too much to do. And seven aunts to see me duck from under the scholastic yoke,” added the jolly one.
Miss Rice’s discovery, made as she mended her torn lace in the madam’s room, bore fruit. She was really a serious-minded girl.
She could recall now many thoughtful and helpful things Beth Baldwin had proposed for the good of the senior class. Many of these suggestions Miss Rice, herself, and the Laura Hedden crowd had opposed with both vigor and venom.
In fully a dozen cases the awakened girl had to admit that Beth Baldwin’s plans had proved wise. Her withdrawal now from the chairmanship of the social committee was likely to be a real catastrophe.
After all, Miss Rice was loyal to Rivercliff; and she believed that others of the obstructionists were, too. Was their opposition to the will of the majority of the senior class—and especially to Beth Baldwin—going to be of any good in the end?
“Even if we make her resign the presidency,” she told some of her confidants the day following the evening party, “it will create a terrible row. And Miss Hammersly will be just as hurt as she can be.”
“Let her be!” snapped one of Laura Hedden’s particular friends. “What business has she to let a pauper come to Rivercliff, anyway?”
“Now, that’s all nonsense, and we know it,” said Miss Rice, boldly. “In the first place, it’s been awfully handy to have a girl like Beth Baldwin here to do mending and sewing and the like, for us lazy ones. I don’t like the girl, that’s all.”
“Then what are you fussing about her for?” demanded another of the party.
“Because I see we’re fighting the best interests of the class and the school. And for another thing,” added Miss Rice, turning a fiery red.
“What’s that?” was the general cry.
“Well—just because Beth Baldwin is a whole lot more decent and forgiving than I would ever be if I were in her place,” blurted out Miss Rice. “What do you think?”
Heatedly and baldly, she told of the discovery she had made the evening before. It was not an easy thing for a girl to confess—that she was unattractive, a veritable wallflower. And some of these very girls she talked to were in that same class. But having spurred her courage up, Miss Rice went through with her confession.
“And that’s the sort of girl Baldwin is,” she concluded, rather breathlessly. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a girl here who would have so secretly heaped coals of fire on her enemy’s head.
“Come, now! let us be honest—let us be fair. I don’t like poverty-stricken girls, or girls who come to Rivercliff as Beth Baldwin did, any better than heretofore. But she has beaten me. I don’t mean only in that skating race. She has beaten me in being decent!
“I admit that Miss Hammersly seems to favor her, and the teachers are always boosting Baldwin. But I guess there is good reason for their doing so. I have been acting the dog-in-the-manger part. Never again; I’m going to bury the hatchet right here and now.”
“Bury the hammer, I guess you mean, Rice,” giggled one of her hearers, nervously.
“All right. I’m going to stop knocking. Just as sure as you live, as Molly Granger says, ‘every knock is a boost.’ We might as well stop fighting Beth Baldwin.”
Of course, they did not all agree with the girl whose conscience had been awakened. Laura Hedden was by no means of the same type as Miss Rice. Laura managed to hold some of the opposition together.
But before the month rolled around and the date of another of the school parties approached, a paper was circulated in the senior class for signatures, asking Beth Baldwin to reconsider her resignation from the chairmanship of the social committee. The first signature on the paper was that of Miss Rice, followed by the names of several of the former “party of the opposition.”
“So, ‘all’s well that ends well,’” quoted jolly Molly Granger, happily. “You’ve just got to get back into harness, Bethesda. The ranks of the enemy are broken. It just proves what I’ve always said, my dear: You are the most popular girl who ever came to school here at Rivercliff.”
“I wonder!” murmured Beth.
“You wonder what?” questioned her chum.
“I wonder how Rice came to change so.”
But unless Beth Baldwin chances to read this narrative of Rivercliff School, she is likely never to be enlightened regarding this particular mystery. And at this time there was so much else of moment going on that she had little leisure to give to it.
The days were being counted at last. Such a fluttering in the dove-cote as graduation drew nigh! Dresses to try on, last examinations to take, trips to the milliner and shoe stores, theses to write, conditions to make up, letters to write to friends and relatives, enclosing tickets to the formal exercises and invitations to the various receptions and teas.
“Seven tickets to Hambro,” groaned Molly. “I tried to get Miss Hammersly to have a booth, or private box, built for my aunts. But what do you suppose she said to me, girls?” groaned Molly.
“What did she say?” was the response.
“‘Do you suppose you are the only person who has aunts, Miss Granger?’”
“Never mind, my dear,” said Stella. “Perhaps all of them won’t come to the exercises.”
“Not all come?” cried Molly. “That would be awful. Seven is the perfect number in aunts. I could not spare one of the dears. Why, if Aunt Celia, Aunt Catherine, Auntie Cora, Aunt Carrie, Aunt Charlotte, Aunt Cassie and Aunt Cyril did not appear at Rivercliff to see me graduate, I—I—— Well! I should not feel as though I were graduated, that’s all!”
All this only a day or two before the great occasion. Beth was taking home to one of her best customers the last piece of work she would do at Rivercliff School. As she crossed the Boulevard she was suddenly conscious of an old-fashioned family equipage, a pair of fat bay horses, a fat footman and a fatter coachman, which drew across her line of vision and stopped. And there was a fat brown hand, on which sparkled several diamonds, waving to her from the carriage window.
It was Mrs. Ricardo Severn. She beckoned Beth to come near.