Brenda's Ward Part 29

Though she spoke briskly, Martine felt a little depressed--for Martine.

As she lifted trunk-trays, and folded skirts, and packed things in little boxes, she could not help thinking how much pleasanter it would be to spend the morning in Sander's Theatre, listening to witty speeches, or later walking about the college grounds, with Elinor and Kate and half a dozen attendant undergraduates.

"If only mother hadn't been sick--"

Then she suppressed the thought, ashamed of her own selfishness.

At twelve o'clock she glanced around the room with undisguised satisfaction.

"There, Angelina, we can easily finish to-morrow. Only two trunks and one box left, and some little odds and ends to do at the last moment.

Oh, dear, I must get away quickly--the rooms look so bare."

The fatigue that Martine had hardly before admitted to herself, almost overcame her while she was dressing. Bending, climbing, wielding a hammer, undoubtedly strengthen the muscles in the long run. Yet the process of muscle-building is often accompanied by sensations that an amateur athlete might pardonably call "weariness."

Consequently, Martine must not be blamed if for a moment her spirit weakened as she looked at the white gown that Angelina had spread out for her on the divan.

"I can't go," she said; "I am too tired. I ought to have waited for Lucian's Cla.s.s Day, and if he is never to have a Cla.s.s Day--why, then I am never to have any fun. If we are so poor that he cannot finish college, then I shall be too poor to go to parties--or--or anything."

There is nothing worse for a girl's spirits than self-pity. As Martine bent over the dress on the divan, a big tear splashed on one end of the silk sash. This was followed by a second tear, and then the absurdity of the situation produced the rainbow. The rainbow in this case was the smile that flashed amid the tears, the smile that made the tears seem absolutely absurd as Martine caught sight of herself in the gla.s.s.

"What a baby I am! Here I am going to join two of my best friends who have promised me a splendid time, and just because I am a little tired, I feel as if the world were falling to pieces."

A cool bath--an hour of leisurely dressing--a few compliments from Angelina--and Martine was herself again.

She knew that her mother would not altogether approve of her going alone to Cambridge, and she regretted that she had not allowed Amy to send some one for her, as at first she had suggested.

Just as she was wondering whether, if she could afford a carriage, her mother would approve of her driving to Cambridge alone, she heard Angelina's--

"Walk in, please. Yes, ma'am, she hasn't gone yet," and then she recognized the pleasant voice of Mrs. Redmond, saying,--

"Tell her she need not hurry. I can wait."

"But I can't wait--not a single minute," and Martine, rushing from the little bedroom, almost flung herself into Mrs. Redmond's arms.

"There, there, my dear child--it's a warm day, and our clothes--"

"Will not stand crushing. I know it, and how sweet you look in that soft gray. But I thought you were at Cambridge."

"Oh, no, I was not invited to the feast of reason this morning. I am going out merely for the frivolities of the afternoon. I forgot to write you that I had promised your mother I would call for you. I realized my oversight only as I started. Perhaps you have made other plans?"

"I have been too busy for plans. Mamma forgot to tell me you were coming. An hour ago I thought I was too busy to go to Cambridge, but now--it just delights me to think of going with you."

The ride in an open car over the long bridge soothed Martine. She almost forgot that she had been tired. When Mrs. Redmond drew from her the story of her recent responsibilities, the young girl made light of the difficulties that had beset her. She was always happy with Mrs. Redmond, and the latter's quick understanding of her present trials lessened the trials themselves.

When they reached Harvard Square, Martine's spirits rose.

"There's no doubt I love a crowd," she said. "This makes me think of a country fair, only the people are better dressed, and there are no fakirs."

"My dear child--a country fair!"

"I mean the atmosphere is somewhat the same--oh, there are Amy and Fritz."

Somewhere from the crowd pouring out from one of the smaller college gates, Amy and Fritz were approaching the spot on the sidewalk where Martine and Mrs. Redmond were standing.

"I am delighted to see you, children," said Mrs. Redmond. "I was secretly wondering where we should go next--to Fritz' rooms or to the Pudding."

"Oh, to the Pudding at once," responded Fritz; "you are none too early.

As for Amy--"

"I shall never dare look a strawberry in the face again. Early as it is, I have already eaten so many, and, oh, mamma, it is all so delightful.

Fritz and I have already been at the Pudding, and now we'll go back with you."

At this point Mrs. Redmond interfered. She a.s.sured Fritz that she and Martine were quite able to take care of themselves.

"It is the Senior's day," she said; "and Martine and I are here only incidentally. One of us is too old, and the other too young--almost too young--to be exacting about Cla.s.s Day. Martine's best time will come when Lucian graduates."

"Run, Amy," exclaimed Martine. "It's delightful to see you and Mr.

Tomkins getting on so well. You usually try to send him away somewhere; but now you are ready to go where he goes, and so your mother and I won't detain you for even a minute."

"Let us hurry, then," said Amy, turning to Fritz. "If Martine is in one of her mischievous moods, we cannot tell when she will stop teasing."

"At my rooms at four," cried Fritz, as he and Amy left the others at the entrance to the Pudding spread.

From this moment for the rest of the day, Martine not only forgot that she was tired, but her recent troubles seemed altogether of the past. In spite of the great crowd, a number of her Chicago friends found Martine in the corner where Mrs. Redmond made her sit. It is true that she had not even a word with Hazen Andrews, her special host, who, like most Seniors, was thoroughly occupied looking after relatives and the girls of the older set, to which Martine did not belong.

She had not many friends among the Seniors, though two or three in their flowing gowns, mortar-boards in their hands, came up to speak to her or Mrs. Redmond.

"Isn't it fun?" cried Martine to the latter. "It's like taking a journey somewhere, and running upon all kinds of people that one hasn't seen for a long time--only one seldom sees so many persons one knows on a single journey."

Promptly at four o'clock Mrs. Redmond and Martine met Amy and a number of her friends at Fritz' rooms, and together they all went over to the Memorial delta where the statue exercises were held.

"It's dazzling!" cried Martine, looking about at the tiers and tiers of gayly dressed girls and women; "only more beautiful than a flower garden, because it's more alive, this garden of people. I wish we could see Elinor here."

"My dear little girl, this is a great pleasure," said a voice at Martine's elbow, and turning to the left, to her great surprise, Martine found her neighbor to be a Chicago friend of her father.

"Didn't know I was an old Harvard man! Well, the West does take the starch of culture out of us. I'm going down there among the graduates after a while. I'm holding these seats for my niece and a friend, who thought they could never find it unless I was here as a landmark. They failed to meet me, as people always fail on Cla.s.s Day. Let me see, Lucian doesn't graduate this year?"

"No, he isn't in Cambridge; he has gone to join father."

"Yes, yes, of course; this has been a hard year for your father."

The tears came to Martine's eyes.

"Bless my soul, child, don't cry. It's coming out all right. Everyone must have some business cares, and up to the present your father has been remarkably successful. But money isn't everything!"

"That's just it," responded Martine. "The money doesn't matter at all--to me. But we are afraid that father is breaking down--that's why Lucian has gone to South America; and we can't hear for some time just how things are."

"Well, well! I didn't realize that things were going so badly--at least you must think they are going badly, or you wouldn't look downcast. A bright girl like you should always look on the bright side of things.

But so far as your father's business is concerned, I may tell you that it is likely to take a turn for the better--at present I am not at liberty to say more. It's this news about his health that troubles me.