Molly Brown's Freshman Days Part 9

The girls were still laughing joyously when Molly came in. Her face wore an expression of unwonted seriousness, and she was frowning slightly. Three things had happened that morning which worried her considerably.

The first shock came before breakfast when she had looked in her handkerchief box where she kept her funds promiscuously mixed up with handkerchiefs and orris root sachet bags and found one crumpled dollar bill and not a cent more. There was a kind of blind spot in Molly's brain where money was concerned, little of it as she had possessed in her life. She never could remember exactly how much she had on hand, and change was a meaningless thing to her. And now it was something of a blow to her to find that one dollar must bridge over the month's expenses, or she must write home for more, a thing she did not wish to do, remembering the two acres of apple orchard which had been sunk in her education.

"And it's all gone in silk attire and riotous living," she said to herself, for she had bought herself ten yards of a heavenly sky blue crepey material which she and Nance proposed to make into a grand costume, also she had entertained numbers of friends at various times to sundaes in the village. One of the other of her triple worries was a note she had received that morning from Judith Blount, and the third was another note, about both of which she intended to ask the advice of her two most intimate friends.

"What's bothering you, child?" demanded Judy, quick to notice any change in her adored Molly's face.

"Oh, several things. These two notes for one." She drew two envelopes from her pocket and opening the first one, began to read aloud:

"'DEAR MISS BROWN:

"'Since you come of a family of cooks and are expert on the subject, I am going to ask you to take charge of a little dinner I am giving to-morrow night in my rooms to my brother and some friends. I shall expect you to be chief cook, but not bottle-washer. You'll have an a.s.sistant for that; but I'd like you to wait on the table, seeing you are so good at those things. Don't bother about cap and ap.r.o.n.

I have them.

"'Yours with thanks in advance, "'JUDITH BLOUNT.'"

The note was written on heavy cream-colored paper with two Greek letters embossed at the top in dark blue. Judith lived in the Beta Phi House, which was divided into apartments, and occupied by eight decidedly well-to-do girls, the richest girls in college, as a matter of fact. It was called "The Millionaire's Club," and was known to be the abode of sn.o.bbishness, although Molly, who had been there once to a tea, had been entirely unconscious of this spirit.

Judy and Nance were speechless with indignation after Molly had finished reading the note.

"What do you think of that?" she exclaimed, breaking the silence.

"It's a rank insult," cried Nance.

"If you were a man, you could challenge her to a duel," cried Judy; "but being a girl, you'll have to take it out in ignoring her."

"It's written in such a matter-of-fact way," continued Molly, "that I can't believe it's entirely unusual. After sober, second thought, I believe I'll ask Sallie before I answer it."

"Speaking of angels--there is Sallie!" cried Judy, as that young woman herself hurried past the door on her way to a cla.s.s.

"What is it? Make it quick. I'm late now!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Sallie, popping her head in at the door with a smile on her face to counteract her abrupt manner. "Who's in trouble now?"

The three freshmen stood silently about her while she perused Judith's note.

"Did you ever hear of such a thing?" burst out Judy with hot indignation.

"Oh, yes, lots of times, little one. It's quite customary for freshmen to act as waitresses when girls in the older cla.s.ses entertain in their rooms. The freshies like to do it because they get such good food. I do think this note is expressed, well--rather unfortunately. It has a sort of between-the-lines superiority. But Judith is always like that. You just have to take her as you find her and ignore her faults. You'd better accept, Molly, with good grace. You'll enjoy the food, too.

To-morrow--let me see, that's New England boiled dinner night, isn't it?

You'll probably have beefsteak and mushrooms and grape fruit and ice cream and all the delicacies of the season."

"Very well, if you advise it, I'll accept, like a lady," said Molly resignedly.

"It's customary," answered Sallie, smiling cheerfully and waving her hand as she hurried down the hall.

"Well, that's settled," continued Molly sighing. Somehow, Judith Blount did get on her nerves. "Now, the other note is even more serious in a way. Listen to this."

Before reading it, she carefully closed the door, drew the other girls into the far end of the room and began in a low voice:

"'DEAR MISS BROWN:

"'May I have the pleasure of being your escort to the soph.o.m.ore-freshman ball? Let me know whether you intend to wear one of your cerulean shades. The carriage will stop for us at eight o'clock. You might leave the answer at my door to-night.

"'Yours faithfully, "'FRANCES ANDREWS.'"

The girls looked at each other in consternation.

"What's to be done?"

"Say you have another engagement," advised Judy, who was not averse at times to telling polite fibs in order to extricate herself from a difficulty. But Molly was the very soul of truth, and even small fibs were not in her line.

"Hasn't any one else asked you yet?" asked Nance.

"No; you see, it's a week off, and I suppose they are just beginning to think of partners now."

"All I can say is that if you do go with her you are done for,"

announced Nance solemnly.

Molly sat down in the Morris chair and wrinkled her brows.

"I do wish she hadn't," she said.

"She just regards you as a sort of life preserver," exclaimed Judy.

"She's trying to keep above the surface by holding on to you. If I were you, I wouldn't be bothered with her."

"Of course, I know," said Molly, "that Frances Andrews did something last year that put her in the black books with her cla.s.s. She's trying to live it down, and they are trying to freeze her out. n.o.body has anything to do with her, and she's not invited to anything except the big entertainments like this. I can't help feeling sorry for her, and I don't see how it would do me any harm to go with her. But I just don't want to go, that's all. I'd rather take a beating than go."

"Well, then you are a chump for considering it!" exclaimed Judy, whose self-indulgent nature had little sympathy for people who would do uncomfortable things.

"Then, on the other hand," continued Molly, "suppose my going would help her a little, don't you think it would be mean to turn her down? Oh, say you think I ought to do it, because I'm going to, hard as it seems."

Nance went over and put her arms around her friend, quite an unusual demonstration with her, while Judy seized her hand and patted it tenderly.

"Really, Molly, you are quite the nicest person in the world," she exclaimed. Then she added: "By the way, Molly, can you spare the time to tutor me for a month or so? I don't know what the rates are, but we can settle about that later. Nance tells me I must get busy or else take my walking papers. I'd be afraid of a strange tutor. I'm a timid creature.

But I think I might manage to learn a few things from you, Molly, dear."

Did Judy understand the look of immense relief which instantly appeared on Molly's sensitive face? If she did she made no sign.

"Now, don't say no," she went on. "I know you are awfully busy, and all that, but it would be just an act of common charity."

"Say no?" cried Molly, laughing lightly. "I can hardly wait to say yes,"

and she cheerfully got out six pairs of muddy boots from the closet, enveloped herself in a large ap.r.o.n, slipped on a pair of old gloves and went to work to clean and black them. Molly had become official bootblack at Queen's Cottage at ten cents a pair when they were not muddy, and fifteen cents when they were.

When she had completed her lowly job she sat down at her desk and wrote two notes.

One was to Judith Blount, in which she accepted her invitation to wait at table in the most polite and correct terms, and signed her name "Mary Carmichael Washington Brown."

The second letter, which was to Frances Andrews, was also a note of acceptance.

Then Molly removed her collar, rolled up her sleeves, kicked off her pumps--a signal that she was going to begin work--and sat down to cram mathematics,--the very hardest thing in life to her and the subject which was to be a stumbling block in her progress always.