Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School Part 18

It was Cologne who declared Nita "wallowed" in slang, because the Nicks had decided that no ready-made slang should be used at meetings, and Nita persisted in ignoring the rule. Each new term brought the season's current phrases back in the custody of the sandy-haired Nita and now, on the first night, her companions took precious good care to remind her of the transgression.

Altogether Dorothy found it difficult to keep track of anything like conversation, and was forced to say "yes" and "no" on suspicion. Tavia had better luck, Edna Black (christened Ebony Ned) took her in charge at once, and the two (Ned had already established her reputation as a black sheep), dashed off down the corridor, bursting in on unsuspecting "Babes" (newcomers), and managing, somehow or other, to upset half-emptied trunk trays, and do damage generally.

"h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!" came a shout from the first turn or senior row.

"Come, somebody, and fan me!"

"That's 'd.i.c.k,'" Ned told Tavia. "Molly Richards, but we call her d.i.c.k. By the way, what shall we call you? What is your full name?

The very whole of it?"

"Octavia Travers! Birthday is within the octave of Christmas,"

declared the Dalton girl impressively.

"Oct or Ouch! That sounds too much like Auch du lieber Augustine, or like a cut finger," studied Edna. "Better take yours from Christmas--Chrissy sounds cute."

"Yes, especially since I have lately had my hair cut Christy--after our friend Columbus," agreed Tavia, tossing back her new set of tangles.

"I was in a railroad accident, you know, and lost my long hair. I had the time of my life getting it cut off properly, in a real barber shop.

Dorothy's cousins, two of the nicest boys, were with us--Dorothy went too. It was such fun."

"All right, it shall be Chrissy then," decided Edna. "It's funny we always turn a girl's name into a boy's name when we can. Let's go and see d.i.c.k," and at this she dragged Tavia out of the corner of the hall where they had taken refuge from a girl who was threatening them for upsetting all her ribbons and laces.

"Oh, there you are, Ned Ebony," greeted Molly as the two bolted into her room. "Where's everybody. I haven't seen Fiddle yet."

"Viola Green?" asked Tavia. "Funny I should have thought of that name for her."

"You knew she plays the fiddle adorably."

"No, but I knew she had been named after her grandfather's violin.

What a queer notion."

"Queer girl, too," remarked Molly, "but a power in her way. Did she come up yet?"

"On our train," said Tavia, too prudent, for once in her life, to tell the whole story.

"She is going to cut the Nicks," announced Edna. "She told me so first thing. Then she slammed her door and no one has caught a glimpse of her since."

Tavia was fairly bursting with news at this point, but she had promised Dorothy not to interfere with Viola in any way and she wisely decided not to start in on such dangerous territory as Viola's visit to Dalton.

So the matter was dropped, and the girls went forth for more fun.

Dorothy had met Miss Higley, Mrs. Pangborn's a.s.sistant. She proved to be a little woman with gla.s.ses, the stems going all the way back of her ears. She seemed snappy, Dorothy thought, and gave all sorts of orders to the girls while pretending to become acquainted with Dorothy.

"The crankiest crank," declared one girl, when the little woman had gone further down the hall with her objections. "But, really, we need a chief of police. Don't you think so?"

"Isn't Mrs. Pangborn chief?" asked Dorothy.

"Oh, she's president of the board of commissioners," replied Rose-Mary.

"Miss Honorah Higley is the chief of all departments."

"And Miss Crane?" inquired Dorothy. "I have met her."

"Oh, she's all right," declared the informer. "Camille Crane is a dear--if the girls do call her Feathers."

"I thought all that nick-name business was done in colleges," remarked Dorothy. "Every one here seems to have two names."

"Couldn't possibly get along without them," declared Cologne. "I've been Cologne since my first day--what have they given you?"

"I haven't heard yet," said Dorothy, smiling. "But I do hope they won't 'Dot' me. I hate dots."

"Then make it Dashes or Specks, but you must not be Specks. We have one already."

"Glad of it," returned Dorothy. "I don't like Specks either."

"I guess we will make it 'D. D.' That's good, and means a whole lot of things. There," declared Cologne. "I've had the honor of being your sponsor. Now you must always stick by me. D. D. you are to be hereafter."

"That will tickle Tavia," declared Dorothy. "She always said I was a born parson."

"Better yet," exclaimed Cologne. "Be Parson. Now we've got it. The Little Parson," and away she flew to impart her intelligence to a waiting world of foolish schoolgirls.

CHAPTER XIV

THE INITIATION

The first days at Glenwood revolved like a magic kaleidoscope--all bits of brilliant things, nothing tangible, and nothing seemingly important.

Dorothy had made her usual good friends--Tavia her usual jolly chums.

But Viola Green remained a mystery.

She certainly had avoided speaking to Dorothy, and had not even taken the trouble to avoid Tavia--she "cut her dead." Edna tried to persuade Tavia that "Fiddle" was a privileged character, and that the seeming slights were not fully intended; but Tavia knew better.

"She may be as odd as she likes," insisted the matter of fact girl from Dalton, "but she must not expect me to smile at her ugliness--it is nothing else--pure ugliness."

Dorothy had sought out Viola, but it was now plain that the girl purposely avoided her.

"Perhaps she is worrying about her mother, poor dear," thought the sympathetic Dorothy. "I must insist on cheering her up. A nice walk through these lovely grounds ought to brighten her. And the leaves on these hills are perfectly glorious. I must ask her to go with me on my morning walk. I'll go to her room to-night after tea--during recreation. I have not seen her out a single morning yet."

So Dorothy mused, and so she acted according to the logical result of that musing. At recreation time that evening Dorothy tapped gently on the door of Number Twelve.

The door was slightly ajar, and Dorothy could hear the sounds of papers being hastily gathered up. Then Viola came to the entrance.

"May I come in?" asked Dorothy, surprised that Viola should have made the question necessary.

"Oh, I am so busy--but of course--Did you want to see me?" and there was no invitation in the voice or manner.

"Just for a moment," faltered Dorothy, determined not to be turned away without a hearing.

Viola reluctantly opened the door. Then she stepped aside without offering a chair.