“Congratulations!” cried Anne, jumping up from the bed and flinging open the door. “Girls,” she called to the corridor at large, “Pat’s got her reward!”
From all the rooms on that floor flocked various members of the Gang to gather joyfully around Patricia, exclaiming over the crisp new bills as happily as if they were the property of each individual there.
“You’ll have to go over and thank Mrs. Brock, Pat,” declared Katharine mischievously.
“I shall express my gratitude in a very formal, but sincere, note,” replied Patricia, tucking the bills into her hand bag.
“How are you going to spend it!” inquired Clarice, who was wandering restlessly around the room, examining articles on dressers and desks.
“I’m not sure. Probably lay it aside for a while.”
“You might donate it to the scholarship fund, and then this house wouldn’t have to take part in the annual entertainment to raise money for it,” suggested Lucile.
“Don’t you do it!” was Frances’ prompt veto. “Spend it on yourself.”
“Speaking of our stunt for the 25th, we’ve got to have a meeting and decide what we are going to do,” declared Jane firmly.
“Let Pat and Jack do that dance they put on the other night,” suggested Anne.
“The very thing! It could be part of a ballet,” agreed Katharine.
“Will you?” asked Jane, as Patricia looked doubtful.
“If Jack will; but maybe he won’t want to.”
“Why not?” demanded Betty.
“I don’t know; but you can never tell what ideas a fellow has about that sort of thing.”
“Well, I hope he agrees to it; for you’re both a peach of a dancer,” commented Katharine.
“Kay! Your English!” objected Frances.
“I don’t care. You know what I mean.”
“Ask Jack today, will you, Pat?” asked Jane. “Then we can build up the rest of our stunt around you two. We’ll need some of the other boys, too; so Jack need not fear being conspicuous.”
“I’ll see him after Shakespeare class,” promised Patricia.
She was as good as her word, and reported to the committee that evening that Jack had accepted, after much urging. Rehearsals began immediately amid great secrecy; for each group tried to keep its contribution to the entertainment a secret until the night it was presented. Besides Patricia, only Anne, Katharine, Hazel and Frances of the Alley Gang were to take part, with Jane as director of the Arnold Hall production.
“There are loads of better actors than we are among the girls upstairs,” was Jane’s reply to Frances’ protest at not having all the Gang in the affair. “And it’s only right to use as many as we can. They think we’re too prominent in the house as it is, and it wouldn’t look well to keep the whole show to ourselves. They have exactly as much right to be in it as we have.”
Frances pouted, flounced out of the room, and disappeared for the rest of the evening.
“What’s the matter with her?” inquired Betty, who had collided with Frances in the doorway.
“Peeved because the whole Gang isn’t to be used in our act.”
“I must confess I thought you had your nerve with you to leave Clarice out,” commented Betty, helping herself to a piece of candy from a box on Jane’s dresser.
“I suppose I have brought down Mrs. Vincent’s disapproval on myself; but while I have nothing against Clarice personally, it seems to me hardly fitting for a girl who is always behind in her studies, and who has been quite so talked about, to represent Arnold Hall in the big entertainment of the year.”
“Jane always stands by her guns,” remarked Anne admiringly, as she shook out the costume she was working on.
“How well I know that,” laughed Ruth. “I have yet to see her back down from any stand she has taken.”
“Well, I hate people who are always changing their minds,” admitted Jane, gazing critically at a poster she was making for the entertainment. “Make a decision, and then stick to it. That’s my motto.”
Nemesis, the goddess of vengeance, who the ancient Greeks believed listened to the boasts of mortals and promptly punished them, must have made a heavy mark against Jane’s name just then.
CHAPTER XXI
PAT’S SACRIFICE
“But, Dean Walters, she does not seem really bad.”
“There have been many complaints of her, Mrs. Vincent, and her actions are causing most unfavorable comment outside as well as inside college circles. It is not desirable for the institution to retain such a girl.”
“It seems to me that the crowd she was in with for a while is largely responsible. I feel quite sure that Clarice was not entirely to blame in that last affair.”
“Might it not have been better to have verified your suspicions at the time, and brought them to my attention, instead of waiting until now to mention them?”
“Well—she—she naturally would not wish to betray her friends—and I—I—”
“Be that as it may, one more escapade will automatically sever Miss Tyson’s connections with Granard College. I leave it to you to make my decision known to the young lady.”
Patricia drew a long breath of relief as the two women left the library alcove next to the one in which she had been an unwilling eavesdropper.
Not long ago, a noisy party on the top floor, one night when the chaperon was at a concert, had brought a shower of complaints from private houses surrounding Arnold Hall. Exactly who else beside Clarice had attended the spread, no one knew; for she was the only one who owned up when the matter had been made the object of a very solemn house meeting a couple of days later. The affair had crystallized Clarice’s standing in the Hall; for the law-abiding students felt that the honor and reputation of their house had been tarnished. Secretly they wished that the ringleader might be sent to room elsewhere, but gossip whispered that the chaperon was especially interested in Clarice by reason of a long-standing friendship with one of the girl’s relatives.
Patricia was sure, however, that underneath the veneer of lawlessness, the girl was fine and true. She was the only one who had “owned up” and she wouldn’t divulge the names of the other culprits. Too bad she got in with that crowd of girls who roomed outside of the dormitories. They were less hampered by rules and regulations, and gladly welcomed Clarice with her generous allowance and her readiness for all kinds of fun. She was always easily led by anyone who was friendly toward her, and on several occasions she had been taken advantage of by the crowd. It was a pity that a girl who was capable of doing good work, and possessed of qualities which, if developed, would make her amount to something, should be playing around with those idlers who had come to college principally for a good time. Somebody really ought to rescue her.
“I suppose I might undertake the job,” thought Patricia reluctantly. “Clarice responds to flattery and petting like a pussy cat. Yet even if I wanted to (which I really don’t) I haven’t the time. It would mean constant attention, and would probably ruin my standings.”
Patricia shook herself, as if to be rid of the whole troublesome business, and resolutely opened her book. Next day’s assignment was difficult, and required perfect concentration.
“One more escapade—sever connections—”
Bother! Why need those relentless words ring in her ears? It was the duty of Mrs. Vincent, as chaperon, to advise and guard the girls under her care. Inefficient little Dolly! The only methods she knew how to use were reprimands and warnings, neither of which would do in this case. The redemption of Clarice must be effected by one who would win and hold her affection; who could, and would, detach her from the outside crowd, and unite her to the girls from Arnold Hall.
Patricia gave up further attempts to study, and sat arguing with herself until a bell rang and the janitor came in to close the building. With a start she packed up her books, hurried out, and walked briskly across the campus in the direction of the Hall. The girls, unless special permission had been granted, were expected to be in the house at ten o’clock, and it was within a quarter of that hour. A passing automobile forced her to pause at the corner where a street light clearly revealed the faces of the occupants of the car: Clarice and Bert King!
Quick anger filled Patricia’s heart. How could anyone, with any sense at all, go right out on top of a warning? She could not have obtained permission, because all her privileges had been used up. Calender Street led directly out to Driftwood Inn, where there was a dance every Thursday night. Evidently that was their destination. No use bothering one’s head about a girl who was quite so reckless. A sheer waste of time and energy!
Thursday night? This was the evening that the chaperons played bridge at the Faculty Club. Possibly Mrs. Vincent had gone directly there from the library. In that case, very likely she had not yet seen Clarice. That put a different face on the matter. Poor Clarice! Rushing so gayly away to the Inn for a good time, she would return to find herself expelled. Hardly fair; yet the Dean had said distinctly that one more escapade, and she always kept her word. In view of her recent reprimand, Mrs. Vincent would not be likely to spare Clarice this time.
Mechanically Patricia entered the Hall and walked down the empty corridor to her own room. She was alone tonight; for Betty had gone home for the week end a day early. Mechanically she undressed, her brain busy creating and discarding ways and means of shielding the truant.
There was little doubt about Clarice’s ability to enter the house and get to her room unseen and unheard. That she had accomplished before by secret methods of her own. The greatest danger lay in room inspection, recently inaugurated. Every night, now, Mrs. Vincent made a tour of rooms about eleven o’clock to see if any of her charges were missing. In all probability, after the Dean’s recent hint that she had not been sufficiently on the alert, tonight would be the time for greater thoroughness than usual.
If there were only someone who could be placed in Clarice’s bed until after the ceremony had been concluded. No one of the girls, of course, would risk a demerit by absence from her own room, especially for Clarice; they disapproved of her too strongly.
Her own hair was almost exactly the shade of Clarice’s. There seemed no way except to sacrifice herself to the cause, and she rebelled against it.
“It is being deceitful, and that is wrong,” admonished an inner voice.
“It’s being very charitable,” contradicted another little voice. “By doing this, you’ll give Clarice a chance to complete her year’s work.”
“And next year,” came back the sneering suggestion, “she’ll act just the same as ever.”
“No such thing! You are going to help her keep away from undesirable companions, and develop her real self.”
The fact that she might not be back next year herself was entirely lost track of in the conflict between the opposing impulses.
When she was all ready for bed, Patricia opened her door quietly, paused to listen, then slipped noiselessly along the corridor to Clarice’s room. Cautiously turning the knob, she slipped into the dark room. Safe so far. Rolling herself in the bed clothes, she turned her face to the wall and burrowed deep into the pillows. Shaking with excitement, and too much disturbed to sleep, she lay listening to the trolley cars and automobiles which passed and repassed on the busy street, and to the little movements and noises inside. She heard Mrs. Vincent come in and go directly to her own room. Finally the clock in the hall sounded its soft chimes, then gave forth eleven measured strokes. Like a cuckoo, Mrs. Vincent promptly emerged from her room and crossed the hall to the table where the register lay. Presently, Patricia heard her put down the heavy book and start along the corridor. Now she was at Lucile’s door; now Anne’s; then Patricia’s own. A pause. Quick step around the room. Return to the register. Silence. Then the steps re-crossed the hall and stopped at Clarice’s door. The knob turned softly. Patricia held her breath. Suppose, after all, she should be caught, and Clarice’s absence discovered! The ray of a little flash light wavered over her head, darted about the room, and—disappeared. Half an hour later, Mrs. Vincent was in bed, fast asleep; then Patricia crept noiselessly back to her own room.
The students had just returned from breakfast the following morning, when Mrs. Vincent called Patricia into her room.
“Miss Randall,” she began, without preamble, “did you have permission to go out last night?”
“No, Mrs. Vincent.”
“You were not in your room at room inspection.”
Patricia was silent. The chaperon looked surprised.
“Where were you?” she asked at last.
“That I am not at liberty to tell you; but I can truthfully say that I was not doing anything of which I should be ashamed.”
“You realize, of course, that I shall have to report this to the Dean?”
“Yes, Mrs. Vincent.”
Baffled, rather annoyed, and wholly puzzled, the chaperon dismissed her.
By dinner time that evening the whole college seethed with the report that Patricia Randall had been required to withdraw from participation in the spring entertainment which was to be given the following Saturday. Little groups were gathered here and there excitedly discussing the astounding news.
“My dear, Patricia was out without permission last night—”
No one knew where!
“Her room was empty at inspection.”
“Dean Walters and Mrs. Vincent are furious because they couldn’t get her to say where she was.”
“Jack Dunn’s terribly upset, because they say she had one of the most important dance numbers with him!”
“Yes, and nobody else knows how to do it; and it’s too late to coach anyone.”
“It is a shame! That part will just have to be omitted.”
“What do you suppose possessed Patricia, of all people, to start breaking rules, and then be so secretive about it?”
In the little reception room of Arnold Hall sat the object of their discussions.
“I feel just as bad as you do, Jack,” she was saying to the serious-faced youth opposite her; “and I’d explain if I could; but I really can’t. The worst of it is cutting you out of the dance.”
“What about yourself?”
“Oh, that doesn’t matter—much.”
Patricia was examining the pleats in her skirt, laying each one carefully into its exact crease. If only she wouldn’t feel so like crying every time she talked about the entertainment. She had never been in anything as large as this before, and was looking forward to inviting some people down from home. How glad she was that she had held up the invitations!
“There is a way,” she continued, as soon as she could control her voice, “that the dance could be given just the same, if you will only agree.”
“I won’t make a solo of it, because it would be a complete frost. Anyhow, I don’t want to go on without you. I need you for inspiration,” he added, with a mischievous grin.
“It’s nice of you to put it that way, but your desire to make the affair a success should furnish enough ‘inspiration.’ The omission of that dance leaves an awful gap in the performance.”
“Don’t I know it?” gloomily.
“Well, then, ask Clarice Tyson to take my place.”
As if shot, the boy sprang from his chair. If Patricia had hurled a bomb at his head, he couldn’t have been much more shocked.
“Nothing doing!” he exclaimed violently.
“Hush! Don’t get so excited. Sit down and listen to me.”
The look of mingled astonishment and disgust on his face was so funny that Patricia almost had to laugh. Just in time, she succeeded in choking back her amusement. This was not a time for mirth; the case required diplomatic handling.
“In the first place, Clarice is perfectly familiar with that dance; and since she is a born dancer, she won’t embarrass you by ignorance and awkwardness.”
“She’ll not have a chance to,” muttered the boy.
“Don’t say that,” pleaded Patricia. “Jack, we’ve been good pals for some time now; can’t you do this for me, if we must put it on a purely personal basis? There is a special reason why I very much want to place Clarice before the public in a new role and under different auspices. Your position in the college is so solid, your reputation so—so irreproachable, that what you do or sponsor meets with the complete approval of the Powers-that-Be.”
“Baloney; but I’m beginning, I think, to see through your scheme.”
“And you will do it?” Eagerly the girl leaned forward and waited for his reply.
“I can’t take her by the hand and just drag her onto the stage with me Saturday night,” objected Jack irritably.
“Of course not. Tell Jane you know a girl who is well able to take my place, and ask if you may substitute her. Jane is so busy and worried over the affair that she’ll be delighted, and probably will ask no questions.”
Jack considered the question gravely, while Patricia watched his face hopefully.
“Will you, Jack?” she begged. “Please say you will.”
“All right,” he agreed gruffly. “I’m not at all keen, I must confess, at appearing so publicly with the celebrated Clarice; but if you say so, it must be done. Probably will cause a tempest in a teapot, but—”
“I’ll take care of that,” cried Patricia joyfully; “and thanks a lot. I’ll do something big for you some day.”
Jack drew from his pocket a small note book and scribbled a few lines on one of its pages.
“What are you doing?” asked Patricia curiously.
“Just making a note of that promise.”
At that moment the clock struck half past ten.
“I must get out of here before I’m put out,” said Jack, getting up and starting for the hall. At the outside door, he paused.
“By the way, Pat, how does Clarice happen to know that dance?”
“I taught it to her this afternoon,” was the startling reply, as Patricia closed the door.
On her way to her own room, she stuck her head into Jane’s.
“Jack knows a girl he can get to sub for me Saturday night,” she said. “Will it be all right?”
Jane jumped up with a sigh of relief. “I’ll say so!” she ejaculated. “Oh, boy! How worried I’ve been at the idea of leaving out that dance!”
“I’m so very sorry to have made all this trouble for everybody,” faltered Patricia, with tears in her eyes; “but I just couldn’t help it.”
“Don’t, dear!” whispered Jane, putting both arms around the girl. “The Gang’s back of you, whatever you do.”
“It’s good of you to say that, especially when I can’t clear myself.”
“Maybe later on something will happen to clear things up for you,” suggested Ruth.
Pat looked at her quickly, wondering if the girl suspected anything; but Ruth, who was placidly combing her hair, smiled at her in the mirror so innocently that her fears were allayed.
“Pat’s shielding some one,” declared Ruth, after Patricia had gone. “We’ll have to find out who it is.”
“Oh, Ruthie,” groaned Jane, distractedly, “don’t suggest my doing anything until after this blamed entertainment is over.”
Ruth said no more, but she made up her mind that Pat must be cleared.
CHAPTER XXII
CLARICE
Rehearsals for the ballet in which Jack and his partner were featured had ended before Patricia was banned; so it was not until Saturday night that Jane discovered who the sub was to be.
“What is she doing here?” whispered the harried director to Frances, who had sufficiently recovered from her annoyance to help with the make-up.
“Who?” inquired Frances, busy laying out grease, paint, and powder.
“Clarice. She’s out there on the stage as large as life. We can’t have any unnecessary people back here.”
Just then Jack approached his partner, and as they practiced a couple of difficult steps together, the awful truth dawned upon Jane. Though usually slow to anger, her temper suddenly flared up at the trick which had been played on her.
“I think that’s just contemptible!” she exclaimed, rapping a brush sharply on the table.
“What on earth is the matter?” inquired Ruth, who had just entered with an armload of costumes.
“For Pat and Jack to have given Clarice a part in the dance without telling me.”
“But,” said Ruth, “you didn’t ask Pat who was to take her place. I wondered at the time.”
“I never dreamed of its being Clarice! I thought it was some friend of Jack’s.”
“I have an idea,” cried Frances. “It isn’t for nothing Pat’s turned over her boy friend to Clarice. It’s my opinion that it is Clarice Pat is shielding.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Ruth.
“I just have a hunch, and I’m going to ferret out the truth.”
“What’s the use of that now?” asked Jane.
“Lots of use; for it would restore Pat to the good graces of—”
“But we couldn’t go out and squeal on someone else,” objected Jane.
“For cats’ sake, girls, stop talking and get busy,” pleaded the harassed director. “We’ll never be ready for the curtain at eight-fifteen.”
It was not until the very end of the long program that the Arnold Hall girls went on. A series of dances made up the scene, which was in a forest. The dance specialty by Jack and Clarice was just over when little Sylvia, the niece of Dean Walters—as a lost princess—danced to the front of the stage.
Excited by the crowd, she flung out her arms and fluffy skirts as she came forward. A sudden whirl brought her up against a torch held by one of the woodsmen, and in an instant she was ablaze. Like a flash, Clarice upset a huge jar of daisies and rolled the child back and forth on the soaked rug. While the curtain was hastily rung down, Clarice picked up the child and tried to soothe her. The fluffy dress was a wet, charred rag, but Sylvia was unharmed.
“Darling,” choked Dean Walters, snatching the child, “it was the quickest—” she began. Then turning to Clarice, she said, “Come in to see me tomorrow.”
“Isn’t it lucky I had to give up the part!” said Pat to Jack. “I should never have known what to do. And since the kiddie wasn’t harmed, how wonderfully it will help to reinstate Clarice.”
Frances, who was in the woodsmen’s hut just back of them, heard no more; but this much was enough.
“Clarice,” cried Mrs. Vincent, “are you burned at all?”
“Not a bit,” replied the girl, a bit shaky, now the excitement was over.
“What ever could I have said to Albert—to your father—if any harm had come to you!”
“Well, none did,” said Clarice, starting for the dressing room.
“She’s tired and excited,” said Jane kindly, as the chaperon’s lips quivered and her troubled eyes followed the progress of her favorite across the stage.
“Did you ever know anybody to act so quickly?” demanded Mrs. Vincent proudly. “Most people didn’t know what had happened. I guess the Dean won’t be quite so ready to—” Realizing suddenly that she was saying too much in her excitement, she stopped abruptly and hurried off the stage.
The following day, Jane, Anne, Frances, and Ruth were sitting on a bench in Reservoir Park, facing the west. A beautiful sunset was dyeing the sky a brilliant crimson and gold. They had gone for a walk after dinner, and now were resting and discussing the events of the preceding evening.
“It’s very clear to me,” Frances was saying emphatically, “that the Dean must have decided upon something drastic regarding Clarice; that Pat knew about it, and got into trouble helping her out.”
“And then thought it might show the Dean that the girls liked and trusted the real Clarice if she had a big part in the show,” continued Anne, tracing a pattern in the dust of the path with a small twig.
“I know that she, herself, taught Clarice that dance,” contributed Ruth, who was industriously pulling a daisy apart, meanwhile saying to herself, “‘He loves me; he loves me not.’ Clarice told me so when I pressed the question last night as to where she had learned it.”
Jane, who had been listening silently with thoughtfully knitted brows and a puzzled expression in her honest grey eyes, now sprang up and faced the three on the bench.
“I think I have it!”
“What?” demanded Ruth in alarm. “Not measles!” In one of the dormitories there was a mild epidemic of that disease of childhood.
“Oh, no,” laughed Jane, “but listen! The night Pat was missing from her room, I was in the bathroom between ten-thirty and eleven. You remember, Ruthie, I told you that the salad we had at dinner made me feel sick?”
Ruth nodded.
“While I was in there, I heard someone cross the hall and go very softly into Clarice’s room—it’s right next to the bathroom, you know. It didn’t sound like Clarice, for she puts her heels down so hard; and the person was very quiet. At the time, I didn’t pay much attention, or try to figure it out; I was feeling pretty sick. But since you’ve been talking, this suddenly all came back to me. Do you know what I think? I’ll bet that Pat discovered Clarice was out for a good time somewhere, and took her room so her absence wouldn’t be noticed. Their hair is about the same shade, and in the dark it would be easy to—”
“Jane! Jane!” cried Anne joyfully. “I believe you have solved the puzzle.”
“Listen,” Frances broke in, “to what I overheard Pat say last night!” And she repeated what she heard of Patricia’s conversation with Jack.
“I’ll bet the Dean intended to drop Clarice if she got another demerit,” said Ruth, when Frances had finished.
“And it fits right in with what Dolly started to say last night,” said Jane, nodding with satisfaction.
“Now all we need to know is whether Clarice was out after hours last Thursday,” concluded Anne; “and when we get home, I’m going to ask her.”
“And if she was?” queried Jane.
“Then—I think—” replied Anne slowly, “that I shall tell her what we suspect. I was with Clarice quite a bit the first of last year, and got to know her fairly well. There’s more good in her than one would suspect, and she’s the last person who’d let anybody else take her punishments.”
“But, Anne,” protested Jane, as they rose to go. The brilliant colors of the sky had faded, and it was beginning to get dark. “Won’t you be undoing all that Pat tried to bring about?”
“No, for the Dean had a long talk with Clarice this afternoon, and they understand each other perfectly. I imagine that Clarice was quite frank about herself, for she told me the Dean was just lovely to her, and regretted their not having understood each other before. Clarice has pretty much of a crush, and she’ll do anything for a person she loves. You see, Clarice’s mother died a number of years ago, and Mr. Tyson has lived in boarding houses and hotels ever since. He adored Clarice, and simply spoiled her, until she became very headstrong. Then he decided to send her to college in the hope that its discipline and associations would sort of make her over—”
“But, Anne,” interrupted Jane; “if you knew all this, why didn’t you tell us before? We might have helped, instead of sitting in judgment on her so often.”
“I didn’t know all of it until this morning, and you’d never guess who told me. Dolly.”
“Dolly!” exclaimed the other girls simultaneously.
“You remember the break she made last night about ‘Albert’? Well, I think she wanted to explain that a bit; so she waited for me after church, and on the way home told me what I have just repeated to you. She met Mr. Tyson and Clarice at the seashore, somewhere in Massachusetts, a couple of years ago; and I guess, again last summer.”
“Then that’s why she’s so fond of Clarice,” remarked Frances; “and I’ll bet my last dollar she’s fond of ‘Albert’ too. Where does he live?”
“Boston.”
“Ah, ha! She gets a letter from Boston every week!” cried Frances triumphantly.
“How do you know?” demanded Jane.
“Have you forgotten that I bring down the mail at noon every day?”
Jane did not reply; for they were by that time at the door of Arnold Hall. As soon as they entered, Anne went in search of Clarice; and nobody saw either of them again that night.
CHAPTER XXIII
SOLUTIONS
The girls of Granard College had finished Monday night’s dessert of chocolate blanc mange, and were restlessly waiting for the signal to leave the dining room, when Clarice, who was sitting at the end of the Arnold Hall table, rose quietly and stood facing her companions.
“I’ve got something to say, girls,” she began abruptly, her big black eyes turned on one after another of the members of the Alley Gang, and coming to rest on Patricia. “Last Thursday night I stayed out after hours without permission. Accidentally Pat found it out—also, what I didn’t know at the time, that if I got another demerit I’d be dropped from college. Like the good sport she is, she occupied my bed until after inspection that night. You all know what a jam she got into, but I was so dumb that I didn’t put two and two together until last night.” Clarice’s fixed gaze here shifted from Patricia’s flushed face to Anne’s. The friendly smile which flashed to her from Anne’s red lips made her falter for a moment. Quickly, however, she recovered her poise, and continued. “I’ve seen the Dean, and explained the whole affair to her; as well as to Mrs. Vincent. And, Pat’s slate is clean.”
Clarice turned from the table, and before the astonished girls could move, had darted out of a side door which was directly behind her. Then pandemonium broke loose.
“Three cheers for Clarice and Pat!” cried Katharine, waving her arms excitedly.
An immediate and hearty response centered the attention of the entire dining room upon the Arnold Hall table; and as the girls left the building they were besieged by the other students to know the cause of the demonstration.
Although examinations loomed in the near future, no one could study in Arnold Hall that evening; everyone was too excited, and too happy, to settle down. The members of the Alley Gang roamed restlessly in and out of one another’s rooms, talking incessantly, while sampling the “eats” which had arrived in several boxes from home that day. Patricia had managed to get Clarice for a few moments alone in order to say some things which couldn’t be said in public.
“Please don’t, Pat,” protested the other girl. “I’m so far in debt to you that—”
“But, Clarice,” interrupted Patricia, putting her hand forcibly over her friend’s mouth to check further talk about indebtedness, “I want to know how things stand with you. You won’t be dropped?”
“No, everything’s all right. The Dean was lovely, and from now on I’m going to make good.”
“I’m so glad,” began Patricia, “and I know that you can.”
Just then Anne appeared, and announced that Rhoda had a telephone message for Patricia.
Sliding off the porch railing, on which they had been perched, the two girls followed Anne into the house.
“Mrs. Brock would like you to come right over, Miss Randall,” said Rhoda, when the trio presented themselves before the Black Book table where the maid was sitting.
“How exciting!” cried Anne. “What do you think she wants?”
“I’ll have to go and find out, I suppose,” sighed Patricia wearily. The strain of the week was beginning to tell on even her sturdy constitution, and she longed to go to bed.
“Come back as soon as you can,” begged Anne, going as far as the door with her, “and tell us all about it. We won’t have many more talkfests.”
“No; and it makes me just sick to think of leaving here the last of next week,” whispered Patricia sadly, dashing away a couple of tears.
“Never mind, old dear,” said Anne. “Maybe something will turn up to bring you back next fall.”
When the maid at Big House ushered Patricia onto a large screened porch, she was astonished to see Jack sitting beside a lamp whose soft light illuminated the entire veranda. After brief greetings had been exchanged, Mrs. Brock said abruptly:
“I have a story to tell you children.”
Her visitors exchanged amused glances over the appellation.
“I’ll make it brief; for I know that the reminiscences of old people bore the young. When I was a girl, about your age, I had two very dear chums: one was Mary Pierce.”
Patricia leaned eagerly forward in her chair at the sound of her mother’s maiden name, but Mrs. Brock continued without appearing to notice the girl’s surprise.
“The other,” she went on, “was Gertrude Neal.”
Here Jack started up in astonishment, as he, too, recognized the name of his mother. Again Mrs. Brock went on without a pause.
“That surprises you, for I seem much older than your mothers. As a matter of fact, I was several years older than the other girls, and a long illness a few years ago makes me appear much more ancient than I really am. But to go on with my story. We were very congenial, and almost inseparable.” A smile at some memory flickered across the woman’s face, completely transforming the immobile features with which her listeners were familiar. A look of regret and sadness almost immediately replaced the smile, as she continued:
“Unfortunately, it was too happy a friendship to last. We had a serious misunderstanding, in which I was mostly to blame. In fact the affair was the cause of considerable injustice being suffered by Mary and Gertrude. I’m not going into details—it’s over now, and they probably forgot all about it; but anyhow, we separated, and I have never seen either of them since. An aunt took me abroad, and one thing or another detained me there until last year. My return revived old memories and affections; yet my pride kept me from going directly to my friends. I felt, however, that I wanted to do something to make up, at least in part, for the trouble I had caused; so I decided to make you children a little gift and at the same time find out what you were like. I bought Big House because it was located so close to the college my father attended, then sent you the money for the year’s expenses.
“Rhoda, my secretary and companion, I managed to place in Arnold Hall as a maid, so she could give me all kinds of information about Patricia; and I hired a private detective, Norman Young, to do my secretarial work and at the same time spy on Jack. The game is played out now, and I hope the year has been as satisfactory to you as it has to me. Wait a minute,” as Patricia again tried to speak. “I have an offer to make. I’m going to get a car; for I find I cannot walk as much as I used to; and if Jack cares to take the position as chauffeur in return for his next year’s college expenses, I fancy we can come to a satisfactory agreement. The hours would not interfere at all with college work, and,” she paused and looked questioningly at the boy, “you won’t have to live with me.”
“Mrs. Brock, I don’t know what to say, except to thank you for all your kindness to me, and to accept gratefully your most generous offer. I—”
“All right then; that’s settled,” interrupted Mrs. Brock, turning toward Patricia. “I need someone to look after my library and read to me. If you could fit that work in with your college duties, I shall be responsible for your next year’s expenses. Of course you’ll live at Arnold Hall.”
“Mrs. Brock,” began Patricia; then much to everyone’s distress she burst into tears. “If you only knew,” she sobbed, “how much I wanted to come back here, and how afraid I have been that I couldn’t—”
“Then I’ll expect you both to report here on September 20,” interrupted Mrs. Brock, “four days before college opens. Don’t try to tell me how grateful you are. I guess I know. Good night.”
Patricia kissed the white face of the little woman, and Jack followed her example. Neither spoke until they were out on the street.
“Some fairy godmother!” exclaimed Jack.
“Oh, Jack, isn’t she wonderful?”
“And the best of all,” said Jack, “is that we’ll be here together again. You’ve become a sort of habit with me, I guess.”
Patricia smiled happily in the darkness. “And now,” she exulted as they reached Arnold Hall, “I must go in and tell the girls the joyful news.”
The End
Transcriber’s Notes
- Preserved the copyright notice from the printed edition, although this book is in the public domain in the country of publication.
- Silently corrected a few typos (but left nonstandard spelling and dialect as is).
- Rearranged front matter to a more-logical streaming order and added a Table of Contents.
- In the text versions, delimited text in italics by _underscores_.