Ann Arbor Tales Part 25

HILDA. Who; Herbert and Minnie? Of course they did.

JAMIE. Do you think they care anything for each other?

HILDA. Do I think so? Why, how should I know?

JAMIE. You're her room-mate, aren't you?

HILDA. Oh, yes, I'm her room-mate; but I might as well not be for all she tells me about herself.

JAMIE. Does she ever say anything about him?

HILDA. Not a word.

JAMIE [_somewhat sarcastically_]. She seemed willing enough to go to the picnic; and I don't remember that she protested very violently when I suggested we go in separate carriages.

HILDA. Of course she wanted to go. Any girl likes a good time now and then on a Sat.u.r.day, after working hard all the week. And Minnie does work hard. But her wanting to go doesn't prove anything. And as for the separate carriages, no girl likes to be bundled in with a crowd.

JAMIE. Yes, maybe that's so. As far as I'm concerned, I'm glad she didn't protest.

HILDA. So am I. Do you think Herbert cares for her?

JAMIE. Oh, I don't know. I'm not very well acquainted with him. He's always stuck in that musty old laboratory. I don't see him often. I'd never have thought of including him in the picnic, to-day, if you hadn't suggested it.

HILDA. Oh, well, there wasn't any one else; I couldn't go and leave Minnie. He'd called here two or three times, and he took her to the Forty Club once; I thought he'd do.

JAMIE. He did, I guess. They hadn't much to say to each other, but maybe they had a good time all the same.

HILDA. Well, you know, she never has very much to say, nor he either, for that matter.

JAMIE. I know it; all I could think of, seeing them up in front of the boat, was a pair of owls.

HILDA. Don't make fun of them, Jamie. Minnie's _awfully_ bright. Why she's made up her mind to come back next year and take her Master's degree. Think of that!

JAMIE. Is that so? I wonder if Herbert's coming too.

HILDA. I don't know. I've never heard him say. I don't believe Minnie knows either. He's a splendid student, too. [_Anxiously._] I don't see why in the world they don't come. Jamie, maybe they've had an accident!

JAMIE. Oh, no, they haven't. That old giraffe of theirs couldn't run away. They're walking up from the livery now, like as not, just as we did. They'll be here in a minute. Maybe we came in faster than we thought. It's a good ten miles, and with their horse it would take 'em half again as long as it did us.

HILDA. Maybe.

JAMIE [_irrelevantly_]. Jove! What a magnificent night this is!

HILDA. Isn't it? And see how round the moon is--it's perfectly lovely.

JAMIE. Dearest!

HILDA. What?

JAMIE. I love you.

HILDA [_pressing his arm_]. Sweetheart!

JAMIE. I do. [HILDA _murmurs incoherently._]

Tired of scurrying, the silent moon shines down upon these two of all the world, regardless. They lapse into silence--he holding one of her hands--and gaze at the pale orb of night floating up the sky. A couple turn the corner, south of the house. The young man is tall and angular.

He wears huge spectacles. His face is thin and wan, very like that of the girl beside him. Indeed, they have many physical characteristics in common. She, too, wears spectacles. Her mouth is straight, her complexion cloudy, but her eyes give evidence of an active brain behind them. He carries a luncheon basket awkwardly. At the corner they stop and he turns away as she lifts her dark cloth overskirt, and searches for her pocket. The quill, riding her curled-brimmed straw-hat at an angle of danger, sways impatiently.

HERBERT [_calmly_]. Something appears to annoy you--have you----

MINNIE [_impetuously_]. I've lost my key! Now isn't that aggravating! To think anything so perfectly absurd should----

HERBERT. The others haven't yet arrived apparently. Possibly we might----

MINNIE [_with surprise_]. Oh, I wouldn't have you wait for the world! It must be one o'clock! [_She glances up at a window of the second floor._]

No, evidently, they haven't come. There's no light. Of course Hilda would wait. Well, we'll ring and arouse the landlady; that's all.

HERBERT [_solicitously_]. _Please_ don't think it would annoy me to wait for your room-mate and her friend--here on the porch. It wouldn't in the least, I a.s.sure you. Besides, it always puts one out to be awakened late at night, and I dare say your landlady isn't a young person.

MINNIE [_smiling_]. It's _very_ good of you. She _isn't_ young; she's quite old. Quite as old, I think, as my mother. Still I _could_ ring, you know.

HERBERT. Oh, don't, please don't; that is, don't on my account. This isn't late for me. I often study till two. Besides, to-morrow will be Sunday, and one isn't required to be about so early on Sunday.

MINNIE [_still smiling_]. I think it would be a trifle more accurate if you had said, "This is Sunday." I am positive it is after midnight. Have you a watch?

HERBERT. I am exceedingly sorry, but--but I didn't wear my watch to-day; being around the water, I thought--I thought, I might lose----

MINNIE. Yes, one does have to be careful around the water. I've lost my key, I know!

HERBERT. I can't tell you how sorry I am.

MINNIE. And the injustice of it is that you must be the one to suffer--waiting here for Hilda.

HERBERT. I shan't suffer; it will be a pleasure, believe----

MINNIE. It's very good of you, of course; but you are quite sure I hadn't better ring?

HERBERT. Quite. Don't do it, really. It's a lovely night, and----

MINNIE. Well, we'd better sit on the porch, then, it's rather damp here, don't you think? [_She moves toward the south steps._]

HERBERT [_following_]. Yes, I believe it is rather damp. There's been a heavy dew. One can't afford to get one's feet wet with so much bronchitis about.

MINNIE [_sitting on the top step_]. No indeed--I can't imagine where they can be! They were ahead of us all the way in. Why didn't we think to ask at the livery if----

HERBERT. I'm sure it wouldn't have done any good. You see they didn't get their horse where I got ours.

MINNIE. Oh, yes, to be sure. [_Anxiously._] But where in the world can they be?