Betty Wales, Freshman Part 28

"Do what little studying you intend to right away," Mary Brooks advised her freshmen. "Before you know it, it will be too warm to work."

"But at present it's too lovely," objected Roberta.

"Then join the Athletic a.s.sociation and trust to luck, but above all join the Athletic a.s.sociation. I'm on the membership committee."

"Can I get into the golf club section this time?" asked Betty, who had been kept on the waiting list all through the fall.

"Yes, you just squeeze in, and Christy Mason wants you to play round the course with her to-morrow."

"I'm for tennis," said Katherine. "Miss Lawrence and I are going to play as soon as the courts are marked out. By the way, when do the forget-me-nots blossom?"

"Has Laurie roped you into that?" asked Mary Brooks scornfully.

"Don't jump at conclusions," retorted Katherine.

"I didn't have to jump. The wild ones blossom about the middle of May.

You'll have to think of something else if you want to make an immediate conquest of your angel. And speaking of angels," added Mary, who was sitting by a window, "Eleanor Watson is coming up the walk."

The girls trooped out into the hall to greet Eleanor, who met them all with the carefully restrained cordiality that she had used toward them ever since the break with Betty. Yes, Bermuda had been charming, such skies and seas. Yes, she was just a week late--exactly. No, she had not seen the registrar yet, but she had heard last term that excuses weren't being given away by the dozen.

"I met a friend of yours during vacation," began Betty timidly in the first pause.

Eleanor turned to her unsmilingly. "Oh yes, Mrs. Payne," she said. "I believe she mentioned it. I saw her last night in New York." Then she picked up her bag and walked toward her room with the remark that late comers mustn't waste time.

The next day at luncheon some one inquired again about her excuse.

Eleanor shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, that's all right; you needn't be at all anxious. The interview wasn't even amusing. The week is to be counted as unexcused absence--which as far as I can see means nothing whatever."

"You may find out differently in June," suggested Mary, nettled by Eleanor's superior air.

"Oh, June!" said Eleanor with another shrug. "I'm leaving in June, thank the fates!"

"Perhaps you'll change your mind after spring term. Everybody says it's so much nicer," chirped Helen.

"Possibly," said Eleanor curtly, "but I really can't give you much encouragement, Miss Adams." Whereat poor Helen subsided meekly, scarcely raising her eyes from her plate through the rest of the meal.

"Better caution your friend Eleanor not to air those sentiments of hers about unexcused absences too widely, or she'll get into trouble," said Mary Brooks to Betty on the way up-stairs; but Betty, intent on persuading Roberta to come down-town for an ice, paid no particular attention to the remark, and it was three weeks before she thought of it again.

She found Eleanor more unapproachable than ever this term, but remembering Nan's suggestion she resolved to bide her time. Meanwhile there was no reason for not enjoying life to the utmost. Golf, boating, walking, tennis--there were ten ways to spend every spare minute. But golf usually triumphed. Betty played very well, and having made an excellent record in her first game with Christy, she immediately found herself reckoned among the enthusiasts and expected to get into trim for the June tournament. Some three weeks after the beginning of the term she went up to the club house in the late afternoon, intending to practice putting, which was her weak point and come home with Christy and Nita Reese, another golf fiend, who had spent the whole afternoon on the course.

But on the club house piazza she found Dorothy King. Dorothy played golf exceedingly well, as she did everything else; but as she explained to Betty, "By junior year all this athletic business gets pretty much crowded out." She still kept her membership in the club, however, and played occasionally, "just to keep her hand in for the summer." She had done six holes this afternoon, all alone, and now she was resting a few moments before going home. She greeted Betty warmly. "I looked for you out on the course," she said, "but your little pals thought you weren't coming up to-day. How's your game?"

"Better, thank you," said Betty, "except my putting, and I'm going to practice on that now. Did you know that Christy had asked me to play with her in the inter-cla.s.s foursomes?"

"That's good," said Dorothy cordially. "Do you see much of Eleanor Watson these days?" she added irrelevantly.

"Why--no-t much," stammered Betty, blushing in spite of herself. "I see her at meals of course."

"I thought you told me once that you were very fond of her."

"Yes, I did--I am," said Betty quickly, wondering what in the world Dorothy was driving at.

"She was down at the house last night," Dorothy went on, "bl.u.s.tering around about having come back late, saying that she'd shown what a bluff the whole excuse business is, and that now, after she has proved that it's perfectly easy to cut over at the end of a vacation, perhaps some of us timid little creatures will dare to follow her lead. But perhaps you've heard her talking about it."

"I heard her say a little about it," admitted Betty, suddenly remembering Mary Brooks's remark. Had the "trouble" that Mary had foreseen anything to do with Dorothy's questions?

"She's said a great deal about it in the last two weeks," went on Dorothy. "Last night after she left, her senior friend, Annette Cramer, and I had a long talk about it. We both agreed that somebody ought to speak to her, but I hardly know her, and Annette says that she's tried to talk to her about other things and finds she hasn't a particle of influence with her." Dorothy paused as if expecting some sort of comment or reply, but Betty was silent. "We both thought," said Dorothy at last, "that perhaps if you'd tell her she was acting very silly and doing herself no end of harm she might believe you and stop."

"Oh, Miss King, I couldn't," said Betty in consternation. "She wouldn't let me--indeed she wouldn't!"

"She told Annette once that she admired you more than any girl in college," urged Dorothy quietly, "so your opinion ought to have some weight with her."

"She said that!" gasped Betty in pleased amazement. Then her face fell.

"I'm sorry, Miss King, but I'm quite sure she's changed her mind. I couldn't speak to her; but would you tell me please just why any one should--why you care?"

"Why, of course, it's not exactly my business," said Dorothy, "except that I'm on the Students' Commission, and so anything that is going wrong is my business. Miss Watson is certainly having a bad influence on the girls she knows in college, and besides, if that sort of talk gets to the ears of the authorities, as it's perfectly certain to do if she keeps on, she will be very severely reprimanded, and possibly asked to leave, as an insubordinate and revolutionary character. The Students'

Commission aims to avoid all that sort of thing, when a quiet hint will do it. But Miss Watson seems to be unusually difficult to approach; I'm afraid if you can't help us out, Betty, we shall have to let the matter rest." She gathered up her caddy-bag. "I must get the next car. Don't do it unless you think best. Or if you like ask some one else. Annette and I couldn't think of any one, but you know better who her friends are."

She was off across the green meadow.

Betty half rose to follow, then sank back into her chair. Dorothy had not asked for an answer; she had dropped the matter, had left it in her hands to manage as she thought fit, appealing to her as a friend of Eleanor's, a girl whom Eleanor admired. "Whom she used to admire,"

amended Betty with a sigh. But what could she do? A personal appeal was out of the question; it would effect nothing but a widening of the breach between them. Could Kate Denise help? She never came to see Eleanor now. Neither did Jean Eastman--why almost n.o.body did; all her really intimate friends seemed to have dropped away from her. And yet she must think of some one, for was not this the opportunity she had so coveted? It might be the very last one too, thought Betty. "If anything happened to hurt Eleanor's feelings again, she wouldn't wait till June.

She'd go now." She considered girl after girl, but rejected them all for various reasons. "She wouldn't take it from any girl," she decided, and with that decision came an inspiration. Why not ask Ethel Hale? Ethel had tried to help Eleanor before, was interested in her, and understood something of her moody, many-sided temperament. She had put Eleanor in her debt too; she could urge her suggestion on the ground of a return favor.

In an instant Betty's mind was made up. She looked ruefully at her dusty shoes and mussed shirt-waist. "I can't go to see Ethel in these," she decided, "but if I hurry home now I can dress and go right up there after dinner, before she gets off anywhere." The putting must wait. With one regretful glance out over the green, breezy course Betty started resolutely off toward the dusty highway and the noisy trolleys.

CHAPTER XVII

AN OUNCE OF PREVENTION

"I wish I could do it, Betty, but I'm sure it wouldn't be the least use for me to try. I thought I had a little hold on her for a while, but I'm afraid I was too sure of her. She avoids me now--goes around corners and into recitation rooms when she sees me coming. You see--I wonder if she told you about our trip to New York?"

Betty nodded, wishing she dared explain the full extent of her information.

"I thought so from your coming up here to-night. Well, as you've just said, she's very reserved, strangely so for a young girl; when she lets out anything about herself she wishes that she hadn't the next minute."

"Yes, I've noticed that," admitted Betty grudgingly.

"And so, having once let me get a glimpse of her better self, and then having decided as usual that she wished she hadn't, she needed a proof from me that I was worthy of her confidence. But I didn't give it; I was busy and let the matter drop, and now I am the last person who could go to her. I'm very sorry."

"Oh, dear!" said Betty forlornly.

"But isn't it so? Don't you agree with me?"

"I'm afraid I do."

"Then go back and speak to her yourself, dear. She's very fond of you, and I'm sure a little friendly hint from you is all that she needs."