Dolly's College Experiences Part 9

"What a sn.o.b she is."

"We all know that. I was rather curious to hear what our president would say. She did not say much. She is like Grant. She knows the wisdom of silence. She told Miss Dunbar that she did not agree with her at all. Then she made the first personal remark that I ever heard her make. She said that as far as she was concerned, she had no wealth, and while she was proud of her family, herself, she had no idea that Ward McAllister would ever have admitted them to his sacred list of four hundred."

"Good for her. She told the truth, and yet the girls did not realize just how true it was, I presume. She has an air about her that seems to betoken wealth and distinction. How misleading appearances are."

"Yes, aren't they? Well, the facts will be sure to come out some day, for this world is small, after all, and what we learned, others will be sure to learn, too. There is no harm at all in it, but Miss Dunbar and that set of girls who fawn so around her, would never speak to her again. You'll see."

"I don't like to think that you are a true prophet, Dolly, for the sake of our s.e.x. Why should we be more ungenerous to Margaret Hamilton than the Harvard boys are to Mr. Steele?"

"There is no reason at all why we should be, and if the test ever comes, I, for one, shall stand by her."

"And I, too," said Beth. "Though I hope the necessity will never arise." It did, however, and the two girls proved true to their promises.

College Hall was crowded that evening. Friends from the town had been invited, and everyone was anxious to see what the freshmen cla.s.s could do. Whispers of something a little beyond the ordinary had gotten out, and all were expectant.

There was a spontaneous burst of applause when the curtain went up, and showed the picturesque setting of the first scene, representative of the grove in the college grounds. The girls were at their best, and everything went smoothly during the first three acts. The fourth act was the last, and the most difficult singing and acting came in it. All had gone perfectly so far, and the cla.s.s president's face began to look serene and confident.

Miss Willing's solo was near the end. There had been no flaw up to that point, but when it came time for her to break in with the merry, half-saucy characterization of the other cla.s.ses, there was an ominous silence. Dolly and Beth, glancing at her, and recalling what Margaret Hamilton had said, realized that the girl's memory had failed her entirely, just through sheer nervousness. The president's face turned pale. She had so wished this to be a most notable success; it seemed imperative to her, for many reasons. She wished to please one most dear to her, and then, too, if she could win these laurels for her cla.s.s, no matter what might happen in the future, the girls could not be utterly ungrateful to her.

And now Ada Willing was turning her wonderful success in to a most disastrous defeat. It all meant so much to Margaret Hamilton. She recalled the words perfectly herself, and longed to take the solo into her own hands, but this was a soprano solo which she could not hope to compa.s.s with a contralto voice. She was tasting the full bitterness of defeat, when a voice broke out with the solo, clear, sweet, piquant--not Ada Willing's voice, but Beth's. And Beth put a verve and daring into the words which Miss Willing was perfectly incompetent to do.

Verse after verse flowed on, smoothly, triumphantly. The whole hall was shaking with unrestrained laughter. The president's color came back to cheeks and lips. Beth had saved the day; she was doing better than Ada Willing could have done, for she was an inimitable actress, and in her song she rapidly personified soph.o.m.ores, juniors and seniors, as well as professors, in a manner that was perfectly unmistakable.

The applause was so generous and long-continued, that Beth was forced to repeat some portions several times. When the curtain went down shortly after that, for the last time, Beth was surrounded by rapturous cla.s.smates who were ready to fall on her neck or carry her around the grounds, for thus saving their reputation.

"Come and meet my mother, will you not--you and Miss Alden?" Margaret Hamilton said after she had tried in a somewhat tremulous tone to thank Beth for her ready wit. "I would like to have you both meet her."

"I did not know that she was here," Dolly said in surprise. "I thought your home was in the West."

"We did live in Chicago until recently. Now we have no home exactly.

Mother and I are all there are in the family, and she will board here in town so as to be near me. She might as well, there is no reason why we should be separated by several hundred miles now."

With much silent bewilderment, Beth and Dolly followed Miss Hamilton to one corner of the room, where they found Mrs. Hamilton engaged in conversation with Professor Newton.

"Thank you so much for looking after Mother a little, Professor Newton," Margaret said gratefully. "I was in such haste that I did not have time to introduce her to anyone else before our entertainment,"

and then she presented Beth and Dolly.

The girls scrutinized her closely. She was dressed in black, but with a certain quiet style that convinced Dolly that Margaret had supervised the making of the gown. The face was not handsome, but it was good-natured, and denoted a large amount of practical common sense.

The girls sat down on either side of her. They had their own reasons for wanting to know more of their cla.s.s president's mother. She was evidently br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with pride and love for Margaret. In the course of their conversation it became very evident that she knew nothing of "society's small talk," or of the subjects that college girls often bring up naturally in connection with their studies.

Nevertheless, she could talk well and interestingly on many commonplace themes, especially when her subject of conversation related more or less closely to her daughter. Her grammar was good, and her language quite as choice as one usually meets with in a casual acquaintance.

Dolly and Beth, watching their cla.s.smate closely, noticed with secret relief that she introduced her mother to all the members of the faculty, as well as to Miss Dunbar and to the most exclusive girls of the cla.s.s.

She did it with a quiet, una.s.suming dignity which her two close critics could not but admire.

The evening was over, the entertainment was universally conceded to have been the most unique and successful affair ever given by any freshman cla.s.s, and even the seniors owned frankly that they would be compelled to look to their laurels next term, or they would be quite outdone by the insignificant freshies.

Beth and Dolly had gone upstairs, the visitors had all departed, at least, so the girls thought. Dolly remembered a book which she needed from the library. They turned into the wing to get it, and Dolly ran on before to switch on the electric light which had just been turned off.

Margaret's voice, low but penetrating, reached them distinctly.

"I told several of the girls, Mother, that you were going to board in town so as to be near me."

There was a startled exclamation from Mrs. Hamilton. "Indeed, Mother, I had to do it. Of course you want to see me, and I want to see you.

If it is clearly known that you are boarding in town, I can readily get permission to go and see you as often as I have time. And you can come and see me every evening. As it is, I feel as if I were guilty all the time of doing something wrong."

"You haven't broken a single rule, Margaret. I would be just as careful about that, as you would, yourself."

"I know, but why should I sneak off up Murray's lane to meet my mother, and why should you have to go there every day through the woods, when one might just as well meet openly? It has often been almost impossible for me to get off alone at the time you go there. Believe me, Mother, my way is the best. I am not ashamed of you. I should not deserve any success in life if I were."

"I know all that, Margaret; at the same time, would you have been elected cla.s.s president or invited to your friend's house at Thanksgiving, if it were generally known that your mother had been a servant nearly all her life, and that your father had been merely a coachman? Of course, he had a good education, and if it had not been for that accident, we would have had our own little home. But when that happened, we just had to do the best we could, and he took a coachman's position with Mr. Worthington because that was the first thing that offered. And he kept it all his life. But would your fine friends feel the same toward you if they knew that?"

"No, they would not, Mother," Margaret answered in a low and rather sad tone. "It hardly seems fair, does it? I know that many of them would never speak to me again. I do not consider my affairs any business of theirs, and I promise you not to volunteer any information. On the other hand, Mother, I cannot meet you secretly any more. If you are really afraid that someone will recognize you here, you can stay in the town as quietly as you wish. I know that you are ambitious for me, Mother, and I will do the very best I can for us both. I want to succeed, too.

If I am absolutely cornered, I shall tell no lies, though. I have not done it so far, and I shall not hereafter. I suppose the truth may naturally be known some day, but I am not going to be ashamed of either of my parents, and you would be ashamed of me if I were, Mother."

"Yes, I suppose I would, Margaret, but if you can only get your education, now that Mr. Worthington made it possible, I shall be willing to stand in the background for four years. You were slighted all through the public schools as soon as anyone knew that you were just the daughter of Mr. Worthington's housekeeper, and it would be worse here."

"Well, never mind, Mother, if--"

And there, to the girls' relief Mrs. Hamilton and her daughter pa.s.sed out of hearing.

"_She_ is true blue, no matter whether her blood is blue or not," said Dolly softly. "Confess now, Beth dear, that you are glad she is our president."

"She makes a good one," Beth acknowledged, and then they separated, each going to her own room.

A moment later, however, there was a quick tap at Dolly's door, and Beth's excited face appeared.

"What do you think has happened, Dolly?"

CHAPTER VIII

"What is it, and has it anything to do with Mary? She isn't here, and I haven't the faintest idea where she is."

"It has nothing to do with Mary, but I hope Mary may be able to explain to us. Professor Arnold is in our room, and Margery is packing up everything she owns. They are going to take the five o'clock train tomorrow morning for New York. You know Professor Arnold lives there, too. She called me into my room, and spoke to me privately. She asked if I would object to rooming with you tonight, as she would like to sleep in my room herself."

"Just as if Margery were a prisoner and she the jailer," said Dolly, in an awe-struck tone.

"That is just about the size of it, my dear. Of course, I said I was sure you would take me in. Evidently Margery tried to slip off tonight, thinking that amid all the excitement she would not be missed. I wonder what she did!"

"And they go on the five o'clock train? No Latin for us then. Professor Arnold did not intend to go, I know, until Friday. We were to have all of our regular lessons tomorrow morning."

"We had better get to bed, or someone will be after us, even if today is an exceptional time."

"That's true, but where _is_ Mary?"

"Here," answered Mary's own voice, as the sitting-room door opened.