Betty Gordon at Boarding School - Alice Emerson
"How splendid!" With characteristic enthusiasm Betty forgot her momentary
displeasure at Bob's method of keeping a secret. "When are you going,
Bob? Where is the school?"
"That's the best part," said Bob boyishly. "It's the Salsette Military
Academy, Betty, and it's right across the lake from the Shadyside school.
All five of the boys Mr. Littell told me of are friends of the Littell
girls, so you see it is going to be great fun all around."
"I never knew of anything so nice!" declared Betty. "Never! So you knew
when I told you about Shadyside that you were going to be so near!"
Bob nodded.
"Have to keep an eye on you," he said with mock seriousness, at which
Betty made a little face.
"You haven't much time to get ready," Mr. Gordon warned them. "The aunts
will leave Wednesday and our train pulls out at ten twenty-six on Friday
morning. Of course you will do your shopping in Washington and be guided
by the advice of Mr. and Mrs. Littell. I wish I could go to Washington
with you, but that is impossible now. You must write me faithfully, both
of you, though I suppose we'll have to expect the same delay between
letters that we've experienced before. Most of my time will be spent on a
farm thirty miles from a railroad. If you get into any difficulties, go
to the Littells, and for little troubles, help each other."
Mr. Gordon went on to say that while Bob and Betty were independent to a
greater degree than most boys and girls of their age, the same force of
circumstances that made this possible also gave them a heavier
responsibility. He explained that each was to have an allowance and asked
that each keep a cash account to be submitted to him on his return from
Canada, not, he said, to serve as a check upon extravagant or foolish
expenditures, but that he might be better able to advise them and to
point out avoidable mistakes.
After supper that night he drew the boy aside for further discussion.
"I'm really leaving Betty in your charge," he said, and Bob stood fully
two inches taller. "Not that I think she will get into any serious
trouble, but there's no telling what a bevy of high-spirited girls will
think up. And you know what Betty is when once started, she can not be
stopped. I rely on you to keep her confidence and hold her back if she
seems inclined to act rashly. The Littells are splendid people, but they
will be five hours' distance away, while you will be across the lake. I
put my trust in you, Bob."
Bob silently resolved to be worthy. Betty had been his first friend, and
to her he gave all the pent-up loyalty and starved affection of a lonely
boy nature. When Mr. Gordon came into his life, and especially when he
was made his legal guardian, Bob experienced the novel sensation of
having some one interested in his future. Though the various older men
he had met were more than willing to help him, Mr. Gordon was the only
one to succeed in winning over Bob's almost fanatical pride and the lad
who admired, respected, and loved him, would have done anything in the
world for him.
The next few days were extremely busy ones for Bob, the aunts, and Betty.
Miss Hope and Miss Charity were so excited at the prospect of a journey
that they completely lost their faculty for planning, and most of the
work fell on Bob and Betty. Luckily there was little packing to be done,
for the few bits of old furniture were to be sold for what they would
bring, and the keepsakes that neither Miss Hope nor her sister could
bring themselves to part with were stored in several old trunks to be
housed in the Watterby attic.
"Betty, child," her uncle's voice broke in upon Betty's orderly packing
one afternoon, "I know you're going to be disappointed, but we mustn't
cry over what can't be helped. I've had a wire and must leave for
Chicago Wednesday morning. You and Bob will have to make the Washington
trip alone."
"I knew it was too good to be true," mourned Betty, a tear dropping on
the yellowed silk shawl she was neatly folding. "Oh, dear, Uncle Dick, I
did want you to go with us part of the way!"
"Better luck next time," replied Mr. Gordon. "There's no use grumbling
over what you can't change."
This was his philosophy, and he followed it consistently. Bob and Betty,
though keenly disappointed they were not to have his companionship, tried
to accept the situation as cheerfully as he did.
The packing was hastened, and soon the old farmhouse was stripped and
dismantled, the trunks stored in the Watterby attic, the furniture
carried off to the homes of those who bought it, and the key delivered
to Dave Thorne, the section foreman, who would deliver it to the
superintendent.
The hospitable Watterbys had insisted that the travelers should all stay
with them until the time for their several departures, and Bob and Betty
had a last glorious ride on Clover and the ungainly white horse while
the aunts rested and put the final touches to their preparations for
their journey.
The next morning all was bustle and hurry, for the aunts were to start on
their trip and Mr. Gordon must be off to Chicago. Miss Hope insisted on
being taken to the station an hour before their train was due, and when a
puff of steam up the track announced the actual approach of the train the
two old ladies trembled with nervousness and excitement. Mr. Gordon
guided them up the steps of the car, after a tearful farewell to Bob and
Betty, and saw that they were settled in the right sections. He spoke to
the conductor on the way out, and tipped the porter and maid liberally to
look after the travelers' comfort.
CHAPTER IV
MORE GOOD-BYES
"They'll feel better presently," he remarked, rejoining Bob and Betty on
the platform. "I know the boarding house they've chosen is fine in every
way and they're going to have a delightful winter."
The train started slowly, and the black silk gloves of the aunts waved
dolorously from the window. They were embarked on their adventure.
"Don't look so solemn, Betty," teased her uncle. "If I'm not mistaken
that's the smoke from my train. I don't want any one to weep over my
departure."
"I could, but I won't," Betty assured him bravely. "You won't get sick or
anything, will you, Uncle Dick? And you'll write to me every week?"
"Like a clock," he promised her. "There goes the agent with my bags--this
is the local, all right. Good-bye, Bob. Remember what I've asked of you."
Mr. Gordon wrung Bob's hand and smiled down into the blue eyes lifted so
fervently to his.
"You're my boy, too," he said clearly. "Don't forget, lad, if you need
me."
Then he swept Betty into his arms.
"Be a good girl, Sweetheart," he murmured, kissing her.
They watched him climb up the steps of the snorting, smoky local, saw his
bags tossed into the baggage car, and then, with a shrill grinding of
wheels, the training resumed its way. As long as they could see, the tall
figure in the gray suit stood on the platform and waved a white
handkerchief to them.
"Oh, Bob, don't let me cry," begged Betty, in a sudden panic.
"Everybody's watching us. Let's go somewhere, quick."
"All right, we will," promised Bob. "We'll take the car to Doctor
Morrison. Hop in, Betsey, and dry your eyes. You're going traveling
yourself day after to-morrow."
"I wasn't really crying," explained Betty as she settled herself in the
shabby car that had belonged to her uncle; he had sold it to the town
physician. "But doesn't it give you a lonesome feeling to be the one
that's left? I hate to say good-bye, anyway."
Bob's experience with motors was rather limited, and what slight
knowledge he possessed had been gained in a few lessons taken while
riding with Mr. Gordon. However, the boy was sure that he could drive the
car the brief distance to the doctor's house, and Betty shared his
confidence. From the Morrison house it was only a short walk to the
Watterby farm, where they were to stay until they left for the East.
Betty forgot to cry as Bob started the car so suddenly that it shot
forward like a live thing. He jammed on the brake and brought it to a
standstill so abruptly that Betty came very near to pitching through the
windshield.
"Couldn't you do it--er--more gently?" she hinted delicately.
"Hold fast and I'll try," grinned Bob. "As a chauffeur I'd be a
good iceman."
The second time he managed better, and the battered little car moved off
with less disturbing results.
In a very few minutes they had reached Doctor Morrison's garage.
The doctor urged Bob and Betty strongly to stay to supper with him and
promised beaten biscuit and honey, but although they knew the skill of
his old Southern cook very well, they had promised Grandma Watterby to be
there for supper and such a promise could not be disregarded.
"Well, anyway," said Betty soothingly, as they walked on toward the
Watterby farm, "when we ride Clover and Reuben up to the fields we won't
have to worry about how to make them go."
"No, that's so," agreed Bob. "But, Betty, I hate to think of giving up
Reuben. He isn't much to look at, but he has been a mighty good horse."
"I'd feel worse," declared Betty, "if we had to sell them to strangers.
We wouldn't know how they would be treated then. Now we are sure they
will be cared for and petted and they won't miss us."
Reuben and Clover, Mr. Gordon had said, were to be disposed of as Betty
and Bob chose. The horses were theirs to give away or sell as they
preferred. Bob had instantly decided to give his mount to Dave Thorne,
the section foreman, who had shown him many kindnesses and who was
delighted to get a trained saddle horse. Horses were very scarce in that
section of the country, and Mr. Gordon had gone to considerable trouble
to get these.
Betty had elected to give Clover to the new superintendent's daughter,
the girl who was to move with her parents into the old Saunders
farmhouse. Betty had never seen her, but knew she was about fourteen or
fifteen and eager to learn to ride.
The day before they were to start for Washington, Bob and Betty rode the
horses up to the oil fields and gave them into the charge of Dave
Thorne. The superintendent was already on the ground but his family and
furniture were not due for a week.
Clover and Reuben bore the parting better than their young mistress and
master, and Betty was glad when all the good-byes had been said and they
stepped into the Watterby car which Mrs. Watterby had driven up for them.
The fields were about eight miles from her house.
"You'll be happier when once you're on the train, Betty," said good Mrs.
Watterby, glancing swiftly at Betty's clouded face, "This going around
saying good-bye to people and things is enough to break anybody up. Now
to-morrow me and mother won't weep a tear over you--you'll see. We're
glad you're going to school to have a good time with all those young
folks. Now what's that Chinaman want?"
Lee Chang came running from the bunk house, waving something tied in
white paper.
"Apple tart, Miss Betty!" he called imploringly. "Velly nice apple
tart--maybe the cook at that school no make good tarts."
Betty took the package and thanked him warmly and they drove on.
"People are so good to me," choked the girl. "I never knew I had so
many friends."
"Well, that's nothing to cry over," advised Bob philosophically. "You
ought to be glad. Do I get a crumb of the tart, Betsey?"
He spoke with a purpose and was rewarded by seeing Betty's own sunny
smile come out.
"You always do," she told him. "But wait till we get home. I want Ki to
have a piece, too."
Ki, it developed, when they reached the Watterby farm, had been busy with
farewell plans of his own.
"For you," he announced gravely to Bob, handing him an immense hunting
knife as he stepped out of the car.
"For you," he informed Betty with equal gravity, presenting her a little
silver nugget.
They both thanked him repeatedly, and he stalked off, carrying his piece
of the apple tart and apparently assured of their sincerity.
"Though what he expects me to do with a hunting knife is more than I can
guess," laughed Bob.
CHAPTER V
A REGULAR CROSS-PATCH
"Be sure you send me a postal from Washington. I never knew anybody from
there before," said Grandma Watterby earnestly.
"And don't get off the train unless you know how long it's going to
stop," advised Will Watterby.
"Do you think you ate enough breakfast?" his wife asked anxiously.
Bob and Betty were waiting for the Eastern Limited, and the Watterby
family, who had brought them to the station, were waiting, too. The
Limited stopped only on signal, and this was no every day occurrence.
"We'll be all right," said Bob earnestly. "You can look for a postal from
Chicago first, Grandma."
Then came the usual hurried good-byes, the kisses and handshakes and the
repeated promises to "write soon." Then Bob and Betty found themselves in
the sleeper, waving frantically to the little group on the platform as
the Limited slowly got under way.
"And that's the last of Flame City--for some time at least,"
observed Bob.
Betty, who had made excellent use of lessons learned in her few previous
long journeys, took off her hat and gloves and placed them in a paper bag
which Bob put in the rack for her.
"I did want a new hat so much," she sighed, looking rather
enviously at the woman across the aisle who wore a smart Fall hat
that was unmistakably new. "But Flame City depends on mail order
hats and I thought it safer to wait till I could see what people
are really wearing."
"You look all right," said Bob loyally. "What's that around that woman's
neck--fur? Why I'm so hot I can hardly breathe."
"It's mink," Betty informed him with superiority. "Isn't it beautiful? I
wanted a set, but Uncle Dick said mink was too old for me. He did say,
though, that I can have a neckpiece made from that fox skin Ki gave me."
"Don't see why you want to tie yourself up like an Eskimo," grumbled
Bob. "Well, we seem to be headed toward the door marked 'Education,'
don't we, Betsey?"
They exchanged a smile of understanding.
Bob was passionately eager for what he called "regular schooling," that
is the steady discipline of fixed lessons, the companionship of boys of
his own age, and the give and take of the average large, busy school.
Normal life of any kind was out of the question in the poorhouse where he
had spent the first ten years of his life, and after that he had not seen
the inside of a schoolroom. He had read whatever books he could pick up
while at Bramble Farm, and in the knowledge of current events was
remarkably well-posted, thanks to his steady assimilation of newspapers
and magazines since leaving the Peabody roof. But he feared, and with
some foundation, that he might be found deplorably lacking in the most
rudimentary branches.
Betty, of course, had gone to school regularly until her mother's
death. In the year that had elapsed she had thought little of
lessons, and though she did not realize it, she had lost to a great
extent the power of application. Systematic study of any kind might
easily prove a hardship for the active Betty. Still she was eager to
study again, perhaps prepare for college. More than anything else she
craved girl friends.
"Let's go in for lunch at the first call," suggested Betty presently. "I
didn't eat much breakfast, and I don't believe you did either."
"I swallowed a cup of boiling coffee," admitted Bob, "but that's all I
remember. So I'm ready when you are."
Seated at a table well toward the center of the car, Betty's attention
was attracted to a girl who sat facing her. She was not a pretty girl.
She looked discontented and peevish, and the manner in which she
addressed the waiter indicated that she felt under no obligation to
disguise her feelings.
"Take that back," she ordered, pointing a beautifully manicured hand at
a dish just placed before her. "If you can't bring me a poached egg
that isn't raw, don't bother at all. And I hope you don't intend to
call this cream?"
Bob glanced swiftly over at the table. The girl consciously tucked back a
lock of stringy hair, displaying the flash of several diamonds.
"Sweet disposition, hasn't she?" muttered Bob under his breath. "I'd like
to see her board just one week with Mr. Peabody."
"Don't--she'll hear you," protested Betty. "I wonder if she is all alone?
What lovely clothes she has! And did you see her rings?"
"Well, she'll need 'em, if she's going to snap at everybody," said Bob
severely. "Diamonds help out a cross tongue when a poor waiter is
thinking of his tip."
The girl was still finding fault with her food when Betty and Bob rose to
leave the car, and when they passed her table she stared at them with
languid insolence, half closing her narrow hazel eyes.
"Wow, she's bored completely," snickered Bob, when they were out of
earshot. "I don't believe she's a day older than you are, Betty, and she
is dressed up like a little Christmas tree."
"I think her clothes are wonderful," said Betty. "I wish I had a lace
vestee and some long white gloves. Don't you think they're pretty, Bob?"
"No, I think they're silly," retorted Bob. "You wouldn't catch Bobby
Littell going traveling in a party dress and wearing all the family
jewels. Huh, here comes the conductor--wonder what he wants."
The conductor, it developed, was shifting passengers from the car behind
the one in which Bob and Betty had seats. It was to be dropped at the
next junction and the few passengers remaining were to be accommodated in
this coach.
"You're all right, don't have to make any change," said the official
kindly, after examining their tickets. "I'll tell the porter you go
through to Chicago."
The car had been fairly well crowded before, and the extra influx taxed
every available seat. Betty took out her crocheting and Bob decided that
he would go in search of a shoe-shine.
"I'll come back and get you and we'll go out on the observation
platform," he said contentedly.
"Chain six, double crochet--into the ring--" Betty murmured her
directions half aloud.
"Right here, Ma'am?" The porter's voice aroused her.
There in the aisle stood the girl she had noticed in the diner, and with
her was a harassed looking porter carrying three heavy bags.
"Perhaps you would just as lief take the aisle seat?" said the girl,
surveying Betty as a princess might gaze upon an annoying little page. "I
travel better when I can have plenty of fresh air."
"You might have thought I was a bug," Betty confided later to Bob.
The diamonds flashed as the girl loosened the fur collar at her throat.
"Please move over," she commanded calmly.
Betty was bewildered, but her innate courtesy died hard.
"You--you've made a mistake," she faltered. "This seat is taken."
"The conductor said to take any vacant seat," said the newcomer. "You
can't hold seats in a public conveyance--my father says so. Put the bags
in here, porter. Be careful of that enamel leather."
To Betty's dismay, she settled herself, flounces and furs and bags, in
the narrow space that belonged to Bob, and by an adroit pressure of her
elbow made it impossible for Betty to resume her crocheting.
"I think you done made a mistake, lady," ventured the porter. "This seat
belongs to a young man what has a ticket to Chicago."
"Well, I'm going to Chicago," answered the girl composedly. "Do you
expect me to stand up the rest of the way? The agent had no business to
sell me a reservation in a car that only went as far as the Junction."
The porter withdrew, shaking his head, and in a few minutes Bob came back
to his seat. Betty, watching the girl, saw her glance sidewise at him
from her narrow eyes, though she pretended to be absorbed in a magazine.
"I beg your pardon," said Bob politely.
There was no response.
"Pardon me, but you've made a mistake," began Bob again. "You are in the
wrong seat."
The magazine came down with a crash and the girl's face, distorted with
rage, appeared in its place.
"Well, if I am, what are you going to do about it?" she shrilled rudely.
CHAPTER VI
FINE FEATHERS
Betty Gordon had always, foolishly perhaps, associated courtesy and
good-breeding with beautiful clothes. This strange girl, who could speak
so on such slight provocation (none at all, to be exact) wore a handsome
suit, and if her jewelry was too conspicuous it had the merit of being
genuine. Betty herself had a lively temper, but she was altogether free
from snappishness and when she "blew up" the cause was sure to be
unmistakable and significant.
Bob jumped when the girl fired her question at him. There had been
nothing in his limited experience with girls to prepare him for such an
outburst. Betty half expected him to acquiesce and leave the stranger in
possession of his seat, but to her surprise he simply turned on his heel
and walked away. Not, however, before Betty had seen something bordering
on contempt in his eyes.
"I'd hate to have Bob look at me like that," she thought. "It wasn't as
if he didn't like her, or was mad at her--what is it I am trying to
say? Bob looked as if--as if--Oh, bother, I know what I mean, but I
can't say it."
The little spitfire in the seat beside her wriggled uneasily as if she,
too, were not as comfortable as she would pretend. Bob's silent reception
of her discourtesy had infuriated her, and she knew better than Betty
where she stood in the boy's estimation. She had instantly forfeited his
respect and probably his admiration forever.
In a few minutes Bob was back, and with him the conductor.
"Young lady, you're in the wrong seat," that official announced in a tone
that admitted of no trifling. "You were in eighteen in the other car and
I had to move you to twenty-three in here. Just follow me, please."
He reached in and took one of the suitcases, and Bob matter-of-factly
took the other two. The girl opened her mouth, glanced at the conductor,
and thought better of whatever she was going to say. Meekly she followed
him to another section on the other side of the car and found herself
compelled to share a seat with a severe-looking gray-haired woman,
evidently a sufferer from hay fever, as she sneezed incessantly.
Bob dropped down in his old place and shot a quizzical look at Betty.
"Flame City may be tough," he observed, "and I'd be the last one to claim
that it possessed one grain of culture; but at that, I can't remember
having a pitched battle with a girl during my care-free existence there."
"She's used to having her own way," said Betty, with a laudable ambition
to be charitable, an intention which she inadvertently destroyed by
adding vigorously: "She'd get that knocked out of her if she lived West a
little while."
"Guess the East can be trusted to smooth her down," commented Bob grimly.
"Unless she's planning to live in seclusion, she won't get far in peace
or happiness unless she behaves a bit more like a human being."
The girl was more or less in evidence during the rest of the trip and
incurred the cordial enmity of every woman in the car by the coolness
with which she appropriated the dressing room in the morning and curled
her hair and made an elaborate toilet in perfect indifference to the
other feminine travelers who were shut out till she had the last hairpin
adjusted to her satisfaction.
She was met at the Chicago terminal by a party of gay friends who whisked
her off in a palatial car, and Bob and Betty who, acting on Mr. Gordon's
advice, spent their two-hour wait between trains driving along the Lake
Shore Drive, forgot her completely.
But first Betty fell victim to the charms of a hat displayed in a smart
little millinery shop, and had an argument with Bob in which she came
off victor.
"Oh, Bob, what a darling hat!" she had exclaimed, drawing him over to the
window as they turned down the first street from the station. "I must
have it; I want to look nice when I meet the girls in Washington."
"You look nice now," declared Bob sturdily. "But if you want to buy it,
go ahead," he encouraged her. "Ask 'em how much it is, though," he added,
with a sudden recollection of the fabulous prices said to be charged for
a yard of ribbon and a bit of lace.
The hat in question was a soft brown beaver that rolled slightly away
from the face and boasted as trimming a single scarlet quill. It was
undeniably becoming, and Bob gave it his unqualified approval.
"And you will want a veil?" insinuated the clever young French
saleswoman. "See--it is charming!"
She threw over the hat a cobwebby pattern of brown silk net embroidered
heavily with chenille dots and deftly draped it back from Betty's
glowing face.
"You don't want a veil!" said Bob bluntly.
Now the mirror told Betty that the veil looked very well indeed, and made
her, she was sure of it, prettier. Betty was a good traveler and the
journey had not tired her. The excitement and pleasure of choosing a new
hat had brought a flush to her cheeks, and the shining brown eyes that
gazed back at her from the glass assured her that a veil was something
greatly to be desired.
"You don't want it," repeated Bob. "You're only thirteen and you'll look
silly. Do you want to dress like that girl on the train?"