Marjorie Dean College Freshman Part 9

"I wonder if I can be of service to you," she said quickly. Courtesy had not deserted her. _She_ could, it seemed, pay proper attention to the needs of the stranger.

"I wish you would be so kind as to tell us where we will find Miss Remson. We are entering freshmen, and are to live at Wayland Hall."

Marjorie introduced herself and friends to the other girl, stating also from whence they had come.

"Oh, you are the Sanford crowd!" exclaimed the girl. "Why, Miss Weyman was to meet you at the train! She went down to the garage for her car.

Two soph.o.m.ores from her club, the Sans Soucians, were to go down with her to the five-fifty train. They left here in plenty of time for I saw them go. They must have missed making connections with you somehow. I forgot to introduce myself. I am Helen Trent of the soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s."

The Lookouts having expressed their pleasure in meeting this amiable member of the soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s, Miss Trent led the way inside and ushered them into the reception room. It was a medium-sized room, done in two shades of soft brown and furnished with a severely beautiful set of golden oak, upholstered in brown leather. The library table was littered with current magazines, giving the apartment the appearance of a physician's receiving room.

Seized by a sudden thought, Jerry turned to their new acquaintance and asked: "Does the Miss Weyman you spoke of drive a large gray car?"

"Why, yes." Helen Trent opened her blue eyes a trifle wider in patent surprise. She was speculating as to whether it would be within bounds to inquire how the questioner had come by her knowledge.

Jerry saved her the interrogation. "Then we saw her, just as we drove out of the station yard. She was driving this gray car I mentioned. It looked to me like a French car. There must have been seven or eight girls in it besides herself."

"It was Natalie you saw. There isn't another car like hers here at Hamilton. It is a French car."

Jerry turned to Marjorie, a positive grin over-spreading her plump face.

"Right you were, wise Marjorie, about the mistake business. Perhaps time may restore our shattered faith in the Hamiltonites. What did you say Veronica?" She beamed mischievously at Ronny.

"I did not say a single word," retorted Ronny. "I am glad Marjorie was right, though."

Helen Trent stood listening, her eyes betraying frank amus.e.m.e.nt at Jerry, her dimples threatening to break out again.

"We were a little bit disappointed because not a soul spoke to us after we left the train. We had looked forward to having a few Hamilton upper cla.s.smen, if only one or two, speak to us. Perhaps we were silly to expect it. To me it seemed one of the nicest features of going to college. I said I thought there must have been a mistake about no one meeting us. That is what Geraldine meant."

Marjorie made this explanation with the candor of a child. Her brown eyes met Helen's so sweetly and yet so steadfastly, as she talked, that the soph.o.m.ore thought her the prettiest girl she had ever seen. Helen's sympathies had enlisted toward the entire five. Even Lucy Warner had struck her as a girl of great individuality. A slow smile touched the corners of her lips, seemingly the only outward manifestation of some inner cogitation that was mildly amusing.

"I am glad, too, that it was a mistake," she said, her face dropping again into its soft placidity. "We wish our freshmen friends to think well of us. We sophs are only a year ahead of you. It is particularly our duty to help the freshmen when first they come to Hamilton. I would have gone down to the station today to meet you but Natalie Weyman took it upon herself. I have this special exam to take. I have been preparing for it this summer. It is in trigonometry. I failed in that subject last term and had to make it up this vacation. I only hope I pa.s.s in it tomorrow. Br-r-r-r! the very idea makes me shiver."

"I hope you will, I am sure." It was Ronny who expressed this sincere wish. She had quickly decided that she approved of Helen Trent.

Certainly there was nothing sn.o.bbish about her. She showed every mark of gentle breeding.

"I am afraid we may be keeping you from what you were about to do when we stopped you." Lucy Warner had stepped to the fore much to the secret amazement of her friends. A stickler for duty, Lucy's training as secretary had taught her the value of time. During that period that she spent in Miss Archer's office, her own time had been so seriously encroached upon that she had made a resolution never to waste that of others.

"Oh, no; I can pick up my own affairs again, later. None of them are important except my exam, and I am not going to worry over that. If you will excuse me, I will go and find Miss Remson. She will a.s.sign you to your rooms. Dinner is on now. There goes the bell. It is later this one week; at a quarter to seven, on account of returning students. It's on until a quarter to eight. Beginning next week, it will be on at precisely half-past six and off at half-past seven. After that you go hungry, or else to Baretti's or the Colonial. Both are quite near here.

No more explanation now, but action."

With a pleasant little nod the soph.o.m.ore left the reception room in search of Miss Remson, the manager of Wayland Hall. She left behind her, however, an atmosphere of friendliness and cheer that went far toward dispelling the late cloud of having been either purposely or carelessly overlooked.

CHAPTER XI.-SETTLING DOWN AT WAYLAND HALL.

"Yes; to be sure. I have the correspondence from all of you Sanford girls. I think there has been no mistake concerning your rooms. Just a moment."

Miss Remson, a small, wiry-looking woman with a thin, pleasant face and partially gray hair, bustled to a door, situated at the lower end of the room. Thrown open, it disclosed a small, inner apartment, evidently doing duty as the manager's office. Seating herself before a flat-topped oak desk, she opened an upper drawer and took from it a fat, black, cloth-covered book. Consulting it, she rose and returned with it in her hand.

"Miss Dean and Miss Macy made application for one room together, Miss Harding for a single room, provided a cla.s.smate, who expected to enter Wellesley, did not change her mind in favor of Hamilton. In that case she would occupy the room with Miss Harding. Miss Lynne applied for a single and afterward made request that Miss Warner might share it with her. Am I correct?"

The manager spoke in an alert tone, looking up with a slight sidewise slant of her head that reminded Marjorie of a bird.

"That is the way we meant it to be. I hope there have been no changes in the programme." Jerry had const.i.tuted herself spokesman.

"None, whatever. I have a request to make of Miss Harding." Unerringly she picked out Muriel, though Marjorie had only gone over their names to her once by way of general introduction. "Would you be willing to take a room-mate? We have so many applications for Wayland Hall to which we simply can pay no attention save to return the word 'no room.' This particular application of which I speak has been made by a junior, Miss Hortense Barlow. She was at Wayland Hall during her freshman year, but left here to room with a friend at Acasia House during her soph.o.m.ore year. Her friend was a junior then and was therefore graduated last June. Miss Barlow is most anxious to return to this house."

Muriel looked rather blank at this disclosure. She was not at all anxious for a room-mate, unless it were a Lookout, which was out of the question.

"I hardly know yet whether I should care to take a room-mate," she said, with a touch of hesitation. "I will decide tonight and let you know tomorrow morning. Will that be satisfactory?"

"Perfectly, perfectly," responded Miss Remson, and waved her hand as though urbanely to dismiss the subject. "I will show you young women to your rooms myself. Dinner, this week, is from a quarter to seven until a quarter to eight." She repeated the information already given them by Helen Trent. "That means that no one will be admitted to the dining room after a quarter to eight. We are making special allowances now on account of returning students."

With this she led the way out of the reception room and up the stairs.

Down the hall of the second story she went, with a brisk little swishing of her black taffeta skirt that reminded Marjorie more then ever of a bird. At the last door on the left of the hall she paused.

"This is the room Miss Lynne and Miss Warner are to occupy," she announced. "Directly across find the room Miss Macy and Miss Dean are to occupy." She turned abruptly and indicated the door opposite. "Miss Harding's room is on the third floor. I will conduct you to it, Miss Harding. I trust you will like your new quarters, young ladies, and be happy in them."

Immediately she turned with "Follow me, Miss Harding," and was off down the hall. It was a case of go without delay or lose her guide. Making a funny little grimace behind the too-brisk manager's back, Muriel called, "See you later," and set off in haste after Miss Remson. She had already reached the foot of the staircase leading to the third story.

"She's the busiest busybody ever, isn't she?" remarked Jerry. Marjorie, Ronny and Lucy at her back, she opened the door of her room and stepped over the threshold. "Hmm!" she next held forth. "This place may not be the lap of luxury, but it is not so bad. I don't see my pet Circa.s.sian walnut set or my dear comfy old window seat, with about a thousand, more or less, nice downy pillows. Still it's no barn. I only hope those couch beds are what they ought to be, a place on which to sleep. They're more ornamental to a room than the regulation bed. I suppose that's why they're here."

"Stop making fun of things, you goose, and let's get the dust washed off our hands and faces before we go down to dinner. I am smudgy, and also very hungry, and it is almost seven o'clock," Marjorie warned. "We haven't a minute to lose. A person as methodical as Miss Remson would close the dining room door in our faces if we were a fraction of a minute late."

"Don't doubt it. Good-bye." Veronica made a dive for her quarters followed by Lucy.

"You and I _will_ certainly have to hurry," agreed Jerry, as she returned from the lavatory nearly twenty minutes later. Marjorie, who had preceded her, was just finishing the redressing of her hair. It rippled away from her forehead and broke into shining little curls about her ears and at the nape of her neck. Her eyes bright with the excitement of new surroundings and her cheeks aglow from her recent ablutions, her loveliness was startling.

"I won't have time to do my hair over again," Jerry lamented. "It will have to go as it is. Are you ready? Come on, then. We'll stop for Ronny and Lucy. What of Muriel? Last seen she was piking off after Miss Busy Buzzy. Hasn't _she_ the energy though? B-z-z-z-z! Away she goes. I hope she never hears me call her that. I might go to the foot of the stairway and howl 'Muriel' but that would hardly be well-bred."

"She will probably stop for us. You can't lose Muriel." Marjorie was still smiling over Jerry's disrespectful name for the manager. "For goodness' sake, Jerry, be careful about calling her that. Don't let it go further than among the Five Travelers. We understand that it is just your funny self. If some outsider heard it and you tried to explain yourself-well, you couldn't."

"I know that all too well, dear old Mentor. I'll be careful. Don't worry about me, as little Charlie Stevens says after he has run away and Gray Gables has been turned upside down hunting him. I presume that is Muriel now." A decided rapping sent Jerry hurrying to the door. About to make some humorous remark to Muriel concerning her late hasty disappearance, she caught herself in time. Three girls were grouped outside the door but they were not the expected trio of Lookouts.

CHAPTER XII.-UNEXPECTED CALLERS.

"Good evening," Jerry managed to say politely, amazed though she was at the unlooked-for callers.

"Good evening," came the prompt response from the foremost girl, spoken in a cool velvety tone that somehow suggested patronage. "Are you Miss Dean?"

"No, I am Miss Macy. Miss Dean is my room-mate. She is here. Will you come in?"

"Thank you." The caller stepped into the room, her two companions at her heels. She was a young woman of about the same height as Marjorie and not unlike her in coloring, save that her eyes were a bluish gray, shaded by long dark lashes, her eyebrows heavily marked. Her hair, a paler brown than Marjorie's, suggested in arrangement a hairdresser's art rather than that of natural beauty, pleasing though the coiffure was. Her frock of pale pink and white effects in silk net and taffeta was cut short enough of sleeve and low enough of neck to permit the white shapeliness of her arms and shoulders to be seen. While her features might be called regular, a close observer would have p.r.o.nounced her mouth, in repose, a shade too small for the size of her face, and her chin a trifle too pointed.