The Girl from Arizona Part 18

"Why, no, I don't think so," said Marjorie, innocently, "at least not any more than he paid to any of us. He was very polite to everybody, and I think he's the nicest boy I've ever met."

"Probably that is because you have never met many people except Mexicans and Indians," remarked Elsie sarcastically.

Marjorie, who had a quick temper of her own, flushed angrily, and was just going to say something sharp when Mrs. Carleton called them to get ready for church. Sunday was always a homesick day with Marjorie; there was not so much to do as on week-days, and she generally wrote a long home letter in the afternoon. Mr. Carleton had returned in time for breakfast, but it was not until after luncheon that Marjorie succeeded in getting him to herself. Then he proposed taking a walk, and asked the girls to accompany him. Elsie protested that she was too tired after the exertions of yesterday, but Marjorie gladly accepted her uncle's invitation, and it was during that walk that she told her little story, concealing nothing not even the battle royal with the brutal driver. Mr.

Carleton could not help smiling over his niece's account of that affair, although he grew grave again in a moment, and told Marjorie she must never interfere in such a case. But he saw nothing wrong in her having accepted Mrs. Randolph's invitation.

"I daresay your aunt is right in wishing you to consult her before accepting invitations as a rule," he said, "but in this case I really don't see how you could have acted differently. The Randolphs are charming people, and it was very kind of them to offer to take you with them. It would have been scarcely courteous to refuse."

Marjorie returned from her walk with a much lighter heart, and in writing a long and detailed account of the game to her father, she quite forgot to worry over Elsie's sulks, or Aunt Julia's warnings.

When the two girls arrived the next morning at the building where Miss Lothrop held her daily cla.s.ses, they found several of their cla.s.smates gathered in an eager group, all talking fast and earnestly.

"The most interesting thing is going to happen," announced Gertie Rossiter, pouncing upon the two new arrivals. "Lulu is getting up a club, and she wants us all to join."

"What sort of a club?" inquired Elsie, doubtfully.

"Oh, an awfully nice one. It's to meet at our different houses on Friday evenings, and we are to sew for the poor for the first hour, and dance and play games the rest of the evening."

"I don't believe I should care to join," said Elsie, indifferently, as she took off her hat, and smoothed out her crimps; "I hate sewing."

"So do I, but the sewing is only for the first hour, and the rest will be such fun. The boys will be invited to come at nine and stay till half-past ten."

"Boys!" repeated Elsie her face brightening; "are there to be boys in the club, too?"

"Yes, but of course they can't sew, so Lulu is going to put them on the amus.e.m.e.nt committee. My brother Rob is going to be asked, and Bessie's two cousins, and any others we can think of. You'll be sorry if you don't join, Elsie; it's going to be splendid."

"I never said I wasn't going to join," said Elsie loftily, and sauntering over to the window where Lulu Bell and several other girls were still in earnest conversation, she inquired with an air of would-be indifference:

"What's all this about a club somebody is getting up?"

"It's Lulu," said Winifred Hamilton, proudly; "she thought of it yesterday and we all think it's such a good idea."

"The first meeting is to be held at my house next Friday evening," Lulu explained, "and every member has got to read an original poem."

"What for?" demanded Elsie, beginning to look rather blank. "I don't see what poems have to do with a sewing club."

"Oh, we all have to be initiated," said Lulu, "the way college boys are, you know, and the way we are going to initiate is to make everybody write a poem. It needn't be more than eight lines, and it doesn't matter what it's about, so long as it's poetry. It will be such fun reading the poems and deciding which is the best. The one who writes the best poem is to be president of the club. It will be decided by vote."

"I think the club sounds very interesting," said Elsie, with a little air of condescension, "but if I were you I would give up the initiation; it's so silly."

"Oh, the initiation is half the fun!" cried Lulu and Bessie both together, and Lulu, who was not very fond of Elsie, added with decision:

"Any one who isn't willing to take the trouble to write a poem can't join the club."

"I am sure I have no objection to writing a poem," said Elsie, shrugging her shoulders. "It's perfectly simple; I could write one every week if I chose, but it's so foolish."

Bessie and Gertie looked at each other, and Gertie formed the word "brag" with her lips, but did not say it aloud. Marjorie saw the look that pa.s.sed between the two girls, and her cheeks grew suddenly hot.

Elsie was certainly very clever, but she could not help feeling that it would be better taste on her cousin's part not to talk about it.

"I wish I found it easy to write a poem," said Winifred, mournfully. "I never made a rhyme in my life, but Lulu says I've got to try. She made me write a story once when we were little girls, and it was the most awful nonsense you ever heard. Have you ever written a poem, Marjorie?"

"Only a few silly doggerels. One of my aunt's favorite games is capping verses, and we used sometimes to play it on winter evenings."

Just then more girls arrived, and in a few moments Miss Lothrop rang her bell, and school began.

"Well, Marjorie, what do you think of the idea of the club?" Elsie inquired of her cousin, as the two were walking home from school together that day.

"I think it will be splendid," declared Marjorie, heartily. "Lulu must be a clever girl to have thought of such a plan, especially of the initiation. I am sure the poems will be great fun."

"They won't amount to anything," said Elsie, with her superior smile.

"n.o.body will write a decent poem, and I do hate poetry that isn't really good. Papa would never allow me to learn anything but the cla.s.sics."

"Lulu says we mustn't read our poems to any one until the night of the initiation," said Marjorie. "I know yours will be splendid, Elsie; you are so clever."

Elsie smiled, well pleased by the compliment, and added rather irrelevantly:

"I asked Lulu why she didn't invite Beverly Randolph to join the club.

He hasn't many friends in New York and might enjoy it. She says he is older than any of the other boys, but she would be glad to have him if he cares to join, so I am to ask him and let her know to-morrow. The boys are not to be initiated, because they are only the amus.e.m.e.nt committee, but they are all to come to the first meeting, and vote on the poems."

Nothing more was said on the subject just then, but Elsie was careful to deliver the message to Beverly that evening, and the invitation was readily accepted.

"The girl who writes the best poem is to be president, you know," Elsie explained, with her sweetest smile. "You must be sure to come to the first meeting and vote for the one you like best."

"I am afraid I'm not very well up on poetry," said Beverly, laughing.

"It's a lucky thing the boys aren't expected to write poems as well as the girls; I am sure I should disgrace myself hopelessly if I were to attempt anything original."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't," Elsie protested. "You have no idea how easy it really is. Of course some of the poems will be dreadfully silly, but you don't have to vote for them."

It was Thanksgiving week, so school closed on Wednesday, not to open again till the following Monday. Elsie had several invitations for the holidays, but Marjorie, whose New York acquaintances were still limited to the girls at Miss Lothrop's, had only the first meeting of the Club on Friday evening to which to look forward. She wrote her poem on Wednesday evening, while Elsie was at a theater party, and although far from satisfied with it, decided that it would have to do, as she had several hard lessons to prepare for Monday, and there was no more time for writing poetry.

"Of course it won't be nearly as good as Elsie's," she told herself cheerfully. "She is sure to be voted president."

She had asked her cousin that evening if she had written her poem, and Elsie had replied carelessly that there was plenty of time, and she would probably do it to-morrow.

"It really isn't worth bothering about," she had added, with some scorn; "it won't take me half an hour."

The next day was Thanksgiving, and the Carletons and their niece were invited to a family dinner at Mrs. Lamont's. Elsie spent a long time in her room that afternoon, and came out looking rather cross. Marjorie, going into her cousin's room for something later in the day, noticed that the waste-paper basket was full of torn papers.

"I wonder if she can be having trouble with her poem," Marjorie thought innocently, but when she questioned Elsie on the subject, that young lady colored angrily, and replied that of course she wasn't, and she did wish people would stop talking about that silly Club; she was sick of the subject and had a great mind not to join at all.

The dinner at the Lamonts was very pleasant, and Marjorie could not help being conscious of the fact that she looked unusually well in her new dress. Every one was kind to the little Western girl, and she liked Mrs.

Lamont and her daughter better than ever. The Ward family were also of the party, and Marjorie was introduced to the Yale boy, Percy, whom she found most agreeable, though not, as she wrote her mother afterward, quite so nice as Beverly Randolph.

"Why didn't you tell me what a jolly girl Marjorie Graham was?" Percy demanded of Elsie, when the cousins were alone together for a moment after dinner.

Elsie flushed.

"I didn't know you'd like her," she said, evasively. "She's dreadfully young for her age, and not a bit like the New York girls."