Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College Part 15

"He must be," said Ruth sadly. "I have only one thing that belonged to him, a heavy gold watch with his full name, 'Arthur Northrup Denton,'

engraved on the inside of the back case. It is a valuable watch, but I have always declared I would starve rather than part with it."

"Perhaps it may help you to find him some day," suggested Grace thoughtfully.

"Don't you know the name of the town in Nevada where he first lived?"

asked Anne.

"He went to Humboldt, and from there into the mountains," replied Ruth.

"Since that time all trace of him has been lost. I never knew my own story until on the day I became fourteen years of age. Then the matron told me. It was at the time that I was getting ready to go to live with the man and his wife of whom I have spoken. After that it seemed as though the whole world changed for me. I didn't mind being poor, nor having to work, for I had the glorious thought that perhaps my father was still alive and that some time I should see him again. I wrote several letters to him, sending them to Humboldt, but they always came back to me.

"After a while I gave up all hope and stopped writing. I couldn't bear to think of having more letters come back unclaimed. I tried to forget that I had even dreamed of seeing my father again, and began to put my whole mind on going to college. Now I am so thankful that I persevered and won the scholarship. There were times when I was very unhappy over leaving the only home I had ever known, outside the orphanage. Still I could not rid myself of the conviction that I had taken a step in the right direction. Later, when I met you girls, I was sure of it. Even though I didn't find my father, I found true and loyal friends who have crowded more pleasure and happiness into one short year than I ever had in all my life before."

"I'll lend you half of my father, Ruth," offered Arline generously. "He is almost as fond of you as he is of me. You remember he said so."

"Weren't you green with jealousy when he admitted it?" teased Anne.

"Not a bit of it," protested Arline stoutly. "I only wish Ruth were my sister."

"I'd like to be the one to find Ruth's father," mused Grace.

Anne smiled. "Even college can't uproot Grace's sleuthing tendencies.

She has an absolute genius for ferreting out mysteries."

"No, I haven't," contradicted Grace. "If I had--" she stopped. She had been on the point of remarking that she would have known who had stolen and used her theme.

"If you had what?" asked Arline curiously.

"If I had the genius of which Arline prattles, I'd be at the head of the New York Detective Bureau," finished Grace. And Anne alone knew that Grace had purposely subst.i.tuted this flippant answer to conceal her real thought.

CHAPTER XIV

GRACE MAKES A RESOLUTION

"What do you think has happened?" demanded J. Elfreda Briggs, bursting into the room where Anne and Grace were busily making up for lost time.

They had lingered at Vinton's until after eight o'clock. Then the thought of to-morrow with its eternal round of cla.s.ses had driven them home, reluctantly enough, to where their books awaited them. It was almost nine o'clock before they had actually settled themselves, and Elfreda's sudden, tempestuous entrance caused Anne to lay down her Horace with an air of patient resignation. "We might as well begin saying 'unprepared' now, and grow accustomed to the sound of our own voices," she announced.

"I think so, too," agreed Grace. "Well, Elfreda, why this thusness? What has happened? Have you been elected to the Pi Beta Gamma, or did you get an unusually large check from home?"

"Catch the P. B. Gammas troubling themselves about me," scoffed Elfreda.

"As for a check, I've written for it, but so far I've seen no signs of it. When I do lay hands on it we'll celebrate the event with feasting and merrymaking."

"Then I can't guess," sighed Grace. "You'd better tell us."

"Well," began Elfreda, her eyes twinkling, "I have a dinner invitation for to-morrow night at Martell's."

"That is nothing startling," scoffed Anne. "We've just come from Vinton's."

"But the rest of my news is remarkable," persisted the stout girl. "I am invited to dine"--Elfreda paused, then finished impressively--"with the Anarchist."

"You don't mean it!" Grace looked her surprise.

"Of course I mean it," retorted Elfreda. "I wouldn't say so if I didn't.

She delivered her invitation on the way over to chapel this morning. I'd give you an imitation of the way she did it if I hadn't accepted."

Grace shot a quick, approving glance toward Elfreda which the latter saw and interpreted correctly. "I wouldn't have thought about that last year, would I, Grace?" she asked shyly.

Grace laughed rather confusedly. "How did you guess so much? The way you stumble upon things is positively uncanny."

"Observation, my dear, observation," returned Elfreda patronizingly.

"One can learn almost everything about everybody if one keeps one's eyes open."

"You seem to carry out your own theory," admitted Grace smilingly. "Have you finished your work for to-night?"

"Years ago," declared Elfreda extravagantly. "Miriam hasn't, at least she was still studying when I left the room. I'll tell you what I'll do.

I'll make some fudge. Mrs. Elwood will let me have some milk and we have the rest of the stuff in our room. I'll send Miriam in here. Then I can have the whole room to myself. When it's done, I'll call you."

With a joyful skip that fairly jarred the furniture in the room Elfreda bounded through the doorway and vanished. Two minutes later Miriam appeared, an amused look on her dark face, several books tucked under one arm. "Driven from home," she declaimed, posing on the threshold, her free hand appealingly extended. "Will no one help me?"

"I will." Grace reached forth her hand, dragging Miriam into the room.

"Hurry through your lessons and we'll have a spread. I'm sorry you weren't with us to-night, but Anne and I weren't sure as to just how successfully our plan would work. Everything went smoothly, though."

Grace related briefly what had taken place at the dinner.

"I am glad Ruth and Arline settled their differences," commented Miriam.

"We all knew that Arline was at fault. She is such a dear little thing, one hesitates to say so."

"She was very sweet to-night," interposed Anne. "She asked Ruth's forgiveness and took the blame for their little coolness on her own shoulders."

"I don't wish to cause dissension in this happy band, but we really must stop talking and study," warned Grace. "I haven't made a satisfactory recitation this week, and I vote for reform."

"All right, my dear Miss Harlowe," flung back Miriam. "'Work, for the Night is Coming.'"

"You mean going," giggled Anne.

After this interchange of flippant remarks silence reigned, broken only by the sound of turning leaves or an occasional sigh over the appalling length of a lesson. The three girls were fully absorbed in their work when Elfreda poked her head in the room to announce that the fudge was made. "I've a bottle of cunning little pickles, and a box of cheese wafers. I made some tea, too. Hurry, or it will be half-past ten before we have time to eat a single thing."

"I can't possibly finish studying my Latin to-night," sighed Miriam.

"Every day the lessons seem to get longer. Miss Arthur hasn't a spark of compa.s.sion."

"Don't stop to grumble," commanded Elfreda. "Come along."

The half-past ten o'clock bell rang before the fudge was half gone. In fact, it was after eleven before the quartette prepared for sleep.

During the evening all thought of the troublesome theme had left Grace's mind. It was not until after she had turned out the light and gone to bed that it came back to her with such disagreeable force that for the time being all idea of sleep fled. For the first time since her entrance into Overton College she had incurred the displeasure of one in authority over her, and through no fault of her own.

As Grace lay staring into the darkness the recollection of that bitter time during her junior year at high school, when Miss Thompson had accused her of shielding the girl who had destroyed the princ.i.p.al's personal papers, came back, vivid and complete. Eleanor Savelli, now numbered among her dearest friends and a member of the Phi Sigma Tau, had been the transgressor, and Grace had refused to voice her suspicions. It had all come right in the end, although Miss Thompson's displeasure had been hard to bear.