Betty Gordon at Boarding School - Alice Emerson
If Bob had stopped to think he would have realized that his remarks were
not exactly tactful. Especially the reference to Betty's age, just when
she fancied that she looked very grown up indeed. She was fond of
braiding her heavy thick hair and wrapping it around her head so that
there were no hair-ribbons to betray her. In Betty's experience the
border line between a young lady and a little girl was determined by the
absence or presence of hair-ribbons.
"How much is it?" she asked the saleswoman.
"Oh, but six dollars," answered that young person with a wave of one
jeweled hand as though six dollars were a mere nothing.
"I'll take it," said Betty decisively. "And I'll wear it and the hat,
too, please; you can wrap up my old one."
Bob was silent until the transaction had been completed and they were out
of the shop.
"You wait here and I'll see about getting a car to take us along the
Drive," he said then.
"You're--you're not mad at me, are you Bob?" faltered Betty, putting an
appealing hand on his arm. "I haven't had any fun with clothes all
summer long."
"No, I'm not mad. But I think you're an awful chump," replied Bob with
his characteristic frankness.
Before the drive was over, Betty was inclined to agree with him.
The car was an open one, and while the day was warm and sunny, there was
a lively breeze blowing straight off the lake. The veil persisted in
blowing first into Betty's eyes, then into Bob's, and interfered to an
amazing degree with their enjoyment of the scenery. Finally, as they
rounded a curve and caught the full breath of the breeze, the veil blew
away entirely.
"Let it go," said Betty resignedly. "It's cost me six dollars to learn I
don't want to wear a veil."
Bob privately decided he liked her much better without the flimsy net
affair, but he wisely determined not to air his opinion. There was no
use, he told himself, in "rubbing it in."
They had lunch in a cozy little tea-room and went back to the train like
seasoned travelers. Bob was an ideal companion for such journeys, for he
never lost his head and never missed connections, while nervous haste was
unknown to him.
"Won't I be glad to see the Littells!" exclaimed Betty, watching the
porter make up their berths.
"So shall I," agreed Bob. "Did you ever know such hospitable people,
asking a whole raft of us to spend the week at Fairfields? How many did
Bobby write would be there?"
"Let's see," said Betty, checking off on her fingers. "There'll be Bobby
and Louise, of course; and Esther who is too young to go away to school,
but who will want to do everything we do; Libbie Littell and another
Vermont girl we don't know--Frances Martin; you and I; and the five boys
Mr. Littell wrote you about--the Tucker twins, Timothy Derby, Sydney
Cooke and Winifred Marion Brown. Twelve of us! Won't it be fun! I do wish
the Guerin girls could be there, but we'll see them at the school."
"I'd like to see that Winifred Marion chap," declared Bob. "A boy with a
girl's name has his troubles cut out for him, I should say."
"Lots of 'em have girls' names--in history," contributed Betty absently.
"What time do we get into Washington, Bob?"
"Around five, probably six p.m., for we're likely to be a bit late,"
replied Bob. "Let's go to bed now, Betty, and get an early start in
the morning."
The day spent on the train was uneventful, and, contrary to Bob's
expectations, they were on time at every station. Betty's heart beat
faster as the hands of her little wrist watch pointed to 5:45 and the
passengers began to gather up their wraps. The porter came through and
brushed them thoroughly and Betty adjusted her new hat carefully.
The long train slid into the Union Station. With what different
emotions both Bob and Betty had seen the beautiful, brilliantly lighted
building on the occasion of their first trip to Washington! Then each
had been without a friend in the great city, and now they were to be
welcomed by a host.
Betty's cheeks flushed rose-red, but her lovely eyes filled with a sudden
rush of tears.
"I'm so happy!" she whispered to the bewildered Bob.
"Want my handkerchief?" he asked anxiously, at which Betty tried
not to laugh.
CHAPTER VII
FUN AT FAIRFIELDS
The long platform was crowded. Betty followed Bob, who carried their
bags. She tried to peer ahead, but the moving forms blocked her view.
Just after they passed through the gate, some one caught her.
"Betty, you lamb! I never was so glad to see any one in my life!"
cried a gay voice, and Bobby Littell hugged her close in one of her
rare caresses.
Bob Henderson held out his hand as soon as Bobby released Betty. He liked
this straightforward, brusque girl who so evidently adored Betty.
"Why, Bob, you've grown a foot!" was Bobby Littell's greeting to him.
Bob modestly disclaimed any such record, and then Louise and Esther, who
had swooped upon Betty, turned to shake hands with him.
"The rest of the crowd is out in the car," said Bobby carelessly.
Outside the station, in the open plaza, a handsome closed car awaited
them. The gray-haired chauffeur, cap in hand, stood back as a procession
of boys and girls advanced upon Bob and Betty and their escort.
"Oh, Betty, dear!" Short, plump Libbie Littell, who had relinquished
her claim to the name of "Betty" in Betty Gordon's favor some time
ago, hurled herself upon her friend. "To think we're going to the
same school!"
"Well, Frances is going, too," said Bobby practically. "She might like to
be introduced, you know. Betty, this is Frances Martin, a Vermont girl
who is out after all the Latin prizes."
Frances smiled a slow, sweet smile, and, behind thick glasses, her dark
near-sighted eyes said that she was very glad to know Betty Gordon.
"Now the boys!" announced the irrepressible Bobby, apparently taking
Bob's introduction to Frances for granted. "The boys will please line up
and I'll indicate them."
The five lads obediently came forward and ranged themselves in a row.
"From left to right," chanted Bobby, "we have the Tucker twins, Tommy and
Teddy, W. M. Brown, who asks his friends to use his initials and punches
those who refuse, Timothy Derby who reads poetry and Sydney Cooke who
ought to--" and Bobby completed her speech with a wicked grin, for she
had managed to hit several weaknesses.
"As an introducer," she announced calmly to Carter, the personification
of propriety's horror, "I think I do rather well."
They stowed themselves into the limousine somehow, the girls settled more
or less comfortably on the seats, the boys squeezed in between, hanging
on the running board, and spilling over into Carter's domain.
Bob liked the five boys at once, and they seemed to accept him as one of
them. If he had had a little fear that he would feel diffident and
unboyish among lads of his own age, it vanished at the first contact.
"Betty, you sweet child, how we have missed you!" cried Mrs. Littell,
standing on the lowest step under the porte-cochere as the car swept up
the drive of Fairfields, as the Littell's home was called.
Behind her waited Mr. Littell, fully recovered from the injury to his
foot which had made him an invalid during Betty's previous visit.
From Carter, who had beamingly greeted her at the station, to the pretty
parlor maid who smiled as Betty entered her room to find her turning down
the bed covers, there was not a servant who did not remember Betty and
seem glad to see her.
"It is so good to have you two here again," Mr. Littell had said.
"I never knew such people," Betty repeated to herself twenty times that
evening. "How lovely they are to Bob and me!"
Mrs. Littell, who was happiest when entertaining young people, had put
the six boys on the third floor in three connecting rooms. The girls were
on the second floor, and Esther, the youngest, who had strenuously fought
to be allowed to go to Shadyside with her two sisters, was almost beside
herself with the effort to be in all the rooms at once and hear what
every one was saying.
"I'm so glad your uncle let you come," said Bobby, as they waited for
Betty to change into a light house frock for dinner. "I don't know much
about this school, except that mother went to school with the principal."
That was a characteristic Bobby Littell remark, and the other
girls laughed.
"I had a letter from a girl who lives in Glenside," confided Betty,
re-braiding her hair. "She and her sister are going--Norma and Alice
Guerin. I know you'll like them. Norma wrote her mother went to Shadyside
when it was a day school."
"Yes, I believe it was, years and years ago," returned Louise Littell.
"The aristocratic families who lived on large estates used to send
their daughters to Mrs. Warde. Her daughter, Mrs. Eustice, is the
principal now."
Betty wondered if Norma Guerin's mother had belonged to one of the
families who owned large estates, but they went down to dinner presently
and she forgot the Guerins for the time being.
That was a busy week for the school boys and girls.
The beautiful house and grounds of Fairfields were at their disposal, and
the gallant host and gentle hostess gave themselves up to the whims and
wishes of the houseful of young people.
"Racket while you may, for school-room discipline is coming," laughed Mr.
Littell, when he went upstairs unexpectedly early one night and caught
the abashed Tucker twins sliding down the banisters.
Both Bob and Betty had wired Mr. Gordon of their safe arrival in
Washington, and Bob had also telegraphed his aunts. While they were at
Fairfields a letter reached them from Miss Hope and Miss Charity,
describing in glowing terms the boarding house in which they were
living and the California climate which, the writers declared, made
them feel "twenty years younger." So Bob was assured that the elderly
ladies were neither homesick nor unhappy and that added appreciably to
his peace of mind.
He and Betty found time, too, to slip away from their gay companions and
go to the old second-hand bookshop where Lockwood Hale browsed among his
dusty volumes. He had set Bob upon the trail that led him West and
brought him finally to his surviving kin, and the boy felt warm gratitude
to the absent-minded old man.
Mr. and Mrs. Littell rigidly insisted that the last night before the
young folks started for Shadyside must be reserved for final packing and
early retirement so that the gay band might begin their journey
auspiciously. The Tuesday evening before the Thursday they were to leave
for school, the host and hostess gave a dance for their young people.
"I'm glad to have at least one chance to wear this dress," observed
Bobby, smoothing down the folds of her rose-colored frock with
satisfaction. "The only thing I don't like about Shadyside, so far, is
that restriction about party clothes."
"I imagine it is a wise rule in many ways," said Betty sagely, thinking
particularly of the Guerin girls, who would probably be hard-pressed to
get even the one evening frock allowed. "You know how some girls are,
Bobby; they'd come with a dozen crepe de chine and georgette dresses and
about three clean blouses for school-room wear."
"Like Ruth Gladys Royal," giggled Bobby. "I remember her at Miss
Graham's last year. Goodness, the clothes that girl would wear! The rest
of us didn't even try to compete. And, by the way, girls, Ruth Gladys is
going to Shadyside. Her aunt telephoned mother last night while we were
at the movies."
"That's the girl we went to call on that day we saw Mr. Peabody tackle
Bob in the hotel," Louise explained in an aside to Betty. "I wonder why
every one seems bent and determined to go to Shadyside this year."
"Because it is a fine school with a half-century reputation," Bobby, who
had studied the catalogue, informed her sister primly.
"I'm not going," objected Esther. "I think it's mean."
"Mother and dad need one girl at home, dearest," her mother reminded her,
as she came in looking very handsome and kindly in a black spangled net
gown. "All ready, girls? Then suppose we go down."
It was a simple and informal dance, as befitted the ages of the guests,
but Mr. and Mrs. Littell knew to perfection the secret of making each one
enjoy himself. There were a handful of outside friends invited, and
Betty, to whom a party was a never-failing source of delight, felt, as
she confided to Bob, as though she were "walking on air."
"You look awfully nice in that white stuff," he said frankly, and Betty
liked the comment on her pretty ruffled white frock which she had
dubiously decided a moment before was too plain.
Betty was what country folk call a "natural-born dancer," and she
quickly learned the new steps she had had no opportunity to practice
since going West. All the girls and most of the boys were excellent
dancers, too, and Bob was not allowed to beg off. Frances Martin, the
last girl one would have named, had taught a dancing class in her home
town with great success and she volunteered to lead Bob. To his surprise,
the boy found he liked the music and movement and before the evening was
over he was in a fair way to become a good dancer.
The party broke up promptly at eleven o'clock, and a few minutes later
the whir of the last motor bearing home the departing guests died away.
There was a natural lingering to "talk things over," but by twelve the
house was silent and dark.
Betty had just fairly dozed off when some one woke her by shaking
her gently.
"Betty! Betty, please wake up!" whispered a frightened little voice.
CHAPTER VIII
TOO MUCH PARTY
Betty shared a room with Bobby. The single beds were separated by a
table on which an electric drop light and the water pitcher and glasses
were placed.
Betty's first impulse was to snap on the light, but as she put out her
hand, Esther grasped her wrist.
"It's only me," she whispered, her teeth chattering with fright. "Don't
wake Bobby up."
"Are you cold?" asked Betty, sitting up anxiously. "Perhaps you were too
warm dancing. Do you want to get into bed with me?"
It was a warm night for October, and Betty was at a loss to understand
Esther's shivering.
"I can't find Libbie!" Esther cried. "Oh, Betty, I never thought she
would do it, never."
Betty reached for her dressing gown and slippers.
"Don't cry, or you'll wake up Bobby," she advised the sobbing Esther.
"Come on, I'll go back with you. Don't make a noise."
The girls occupied three connecting rooms, and Esther and Libbie had
slept in the end of the suite. To reach it now, the two girls had to go
through the room where Louise and Frances lay slumbering peacefully.
Betty breathed a sigh of relief when they gained Esther's room and she
closed the door carefully and turned on the light.
Esther's bed, madly tumbled, and Libbie's, evidently occupied that night,
but now empty, were revealed.
Esther dropped down on the floor, wrapping her kimono about her, and
regarded Betty trustfully. She was sure her friend would straighten
things out.
"Where is Libbie?" demanded Betty. "What is she doing?"
"I don't know," admitted Esther unhappily. "But I tell you what I
think--I think she's eloped!"
Esther was only eleven, and as she sat on the floor and stared at Betty
from great wet blue eyes, she seemed very young indeed.
"Eloped!" gasped Betty. "Why, I never heard of such a thing!"
"She's always talking about it," the younger girl wailed, beginning to
cry again. "She says it's the most romantic way to be married, and she
means to throw her hope chest out of the window first and slide down a
rope made of bedsheets."
"Well, I think it's very silly to talk like that," scolded Betty. "And,
what's more, Esther, however much Libbie may talk of eloping, she hasn't
done it this time. All her clothes are here, and her shoes and her hat.
Here's her purse on the dresser, too."
"I never thought of looking to see if her clothes were here," confessed
Esther. "But then, where is she, Betty?"
"That's what I mean to find out," announced Betty, with more confidence
than she felt. "Come on, Esther. And don't trip on your kimono or walk
into anything."
They tiptoed out into the wide hall and had reached the head of the
beautiful carved staircase when they saw a dim form coming toward them.
Esther nearly shrieked aloud, but Betty put a hand over her mouth in
time.
"Who--who, who-o-o are you?" stammered Betty, her heart beating so fast
it was painful.
"Betty!" Bob stifled a gasp. "For the love of Mike! what are you doing at
this time of night?"
"Esther's here--we're hunting for Libbie," whispered Betty. "She isn't in
her room."
"So that's it!" For some reason unknown to the girls Bob seemed to be
vastly relieved. "I was just going after Mr. Littell," he added.
"But Libbie is lost! Maybe she is sick," urged Betty.
"She's all right," declared Bob confidently. "You see, I couldn't go to
sleep, and after I'd been in bed about an hour I got up and sat by the
window. I was staring down into the garden, and all of a sudden I saw
something white begin to move and creep about. I watched it a few moments
and I got the idea it was a burglar or a sneak thief, it kept so close to
the house. I came down to call Mr. Littell and bumped into you."
"Do you suppose it is Libbie?" chattered Esther. "Why would she go into
the garden in the middle of the night?"
"Walking in her sleep," explained Bob. "I've heard it is dangerous to
waken a sleep-walker suddenly. Perhaps you'd better call Mrs. Littell,
Betty, and I'll sit here on the window seat and see that she doesn't walk
out into the road."
The two girls hurried off and tapped lightly on Mrs. Littell's door. That
lady hurriedly admitted them, her motherly mind instantly picturing
something wrong.
"It's Libbie," said Betty softly. "Bob saw her from his window in the
garden and he thinks she's walking in her sleep. We don't want to
frighten her. What can we do?"
"I'll be right out," said Mrs. Littell reassuringly. "Libbie's mother
used to walk in her sleep, too. I think I can get the child into bed
without waking her at all."
In a few moments she came out, a heavy corduroy robe and slippers
protecting her against the night air.
"Esther, lamb, you stay here in the hall with Bob," she directed her
youngest daughter. "You won't be afraid with Bob, will you, dear? I don't
want too many to go down or we may startle Libbie."
Betty crept downstairs after Mrs. Littell, the soft, thick rugs making
their progress absolutely noiseless. Not a step in the well-built
staircase creaked.
They found the chain and bolt drawn from the heavy front door. Libbie had
evidently let herself out with no difficulty. From the wide hall window
Bob and Esther watched breathlessly.
"Just go up to her quietly and take one of her hands," Mrs. Littell
whispered to Betty. "I'll take the other, and, if I'm not mistaken, we
can lead her into the house."
Libbie stood motionless beside a rosebush as they approached her. Her
eyes were wide open, and her dark hair floated over her shoulders. In her
white nightdress, the moonlight full upon her, she looked very pretty and
yet so weird that Betty could not repress a shiver.
Mrs. Littell did not speak, but took one of the limp hands in hers, and
Betty took the other. Libbie made no resistance, and allowed them to
draw her toward the house. They crossed the threshold, led her upstairs,
past the quivering Esther and Bob huddled on the windowseat, and into the
bedroom she had so unceremoniously left.
Then Mrs. Littell lifted her in strong arms, put her gently down on the
bed, and Libbie rolled up like a little kitten, tucked one hand under her
cheek and continued to sleep.
"Now go to bed, children, do," commanded Mrs. Littell. "Bob, I'm so
thankful you saw that child--she might have wandered off or caught a
severe cold. As it is, I don't believe she has been out very long. What's
the matter, Esther?"
"Can I come and sleep with you?" pleaded Esther. "I'm afraid to sleep
with Libbie. She might do it again."
"I don't think so--not to-night," said her mother, smiling. "However,
chicken, come and sleep with me if you'll rest better."
Betty awoke and went in later that night to see if Libbie had vanished
again, but found her sleeping normally. In the morning the girl was much
surprised to find she had been wandering in the garden and betrayed
considerable interest in the details. Betty decided that it would be
better to omit Esther's belief that she had eloped, and Libbie was
allowed to remain in blissful ignorance of the action her youthful cousin
attributed to her.
The last day sped by all too soon, and what the Tucker twins persisted
in pessimistically designating the "fateful Thursday" was upon them.
"I don't know why you sigh so frequently," dimpled Betty, who sat next to
Tommy Tucker at the breakfast table. "I'm very anxious to go to school.
Don't you really like to go back?"
"It's like this," said Tommy, the "dark Tucker twin," solemnly. "From
four to ten p.m. (except on drill nights) I like it well enough, and from
ten, lights out, till six, reveille, I'm fairly contented. But from nine
to four, when we're cooped up in classrooms, I simply detest school!"
Teddy, the "light Tucker twin," nodded in confirmation.
"I suppose we have to be educated," he admitted, with the air of one
making a generous concession to public opinion, "but I don't see why they
find it necessary to prolong the agony. Any one who can read and write
can make a living."
"Perhaps your father hopes you'll do a bit more than that," suggested Mr.
Littell slyly.
This effectually silenced the twins, for their wealthy father was a
splendid scientist who had made several explorations that had contributed
materially to the knowledge of the scientific world, and he had lost the
sight of one eye in a laboratory experiment undertaken to advance the
cause for which he labored.
The Littell car carried the twelve to the station soon after
breakfast, and though Shadyside and Salsette, unlike many of the large
northern schools, ran no "special," the few passengers who were not
school bound found themselves decidedly in the minority on the "9:36
local" that morning.
"Remember, Betty, you and Bob are to spend the holidays with us," said
Mrs. Littell, as she kissed her good-bye. "If your uncle comes down from
Canada, he must come, too."
"All aboard!" shouted the conductor, who foresaw a lively trip. "No'm,
you can't go through the gate--nobody can."
The crowd of fathers and mothers and younger brothers and sisters
pressed close to the iron grating as the train got under way. On the
back platform the Tucker twins raised their voices in a school yell that
would have horrified the dignified heads of the Academy had they been
there to hear it.
CHAPTER IX
ADJUSTER TOMMY
"I'm Salsette born!" trilled Tommy Tucker soulfully.
"And Salsette bred!" chimed in his brother
"And when I die--" caroled Tommy.
"I'll be Salsette dead!" they finished together.
Then, highly satisfied with this intelligible ditty, they burst into the
car where the others were waiting for them.
The boys had appropriated the seats at the forward end of the car, and
unfortunately their selection included a seat in which an elderly, or so
she seemed to them, woman sat. She fidgeted incessantly, folding and
unfolding her long traveling coat, opening and closing a fitted lunch
basket, and arranging and re-arranging several small unwieldy parcels and
heavy books that slid persistently to the floor with the jarring of the
train. When the conductor came through for tickets, she discovered that
she had mislaid hers and it was necessary to flutter the pages of every
book before the missing bit of pasteboard finally dropped from between
the leaves of the last one opened.
Bob, with instinctive courtesy, had offered to help her search, but she
had rebuffed him sharply.
"I don't want any boy pawing over my belongings," she informed him
tartly.
Bob flushed a little, it was impossible not to help it, but he said
nothing. Meeting Betty's indignant eyes, he smiled good-humoredly.
"Sweet pickles!" ejaculated Tommy Tucker indignantly. "Here, you Timothy,
hand me that suitcase at your feet--it belongs to the little dark girl."
Libbie, "the little dark girl," smiled dreamily as Timothy passed her
suitcase to Tommy. She and Timothy Derby, ignoring the jeers of their
friends, were deep in two white and gold volumes of poetry. Timothy,
Libbie had discovered, had a leaning toward the romantic in fiction,
though he preferred his served in rhyme.
The wicked Tommy had a motive in asking for Libbie's suitcase. It was
much smaller and lighter than any of the others, and he swung it deftly
into the rack over the vinegary lady's unsuspecting head. With a
deftness, born it must be confessed of previous practice, he balanced
the case on the rim so that the first lurch of the train catapulted the
thing down squarely on the woman's hat, snapping a shiny, hard black
quill in two.
"I must say!" she sputtered, rising angrily. "Who put that up there? If
anything goes in that rack, it will be some of my things. I paid for
this seat."