Molly Brown's Freshman Days Page 4

  CHAPTER IV.

  A BUSY DAY.

  The next day was always a chaotic one in Molly's memory--a jumble of newfaces and strange events. At breakfast she made the acquaintance of thefreshmen who were staying at Queen's Cottage--four in all. One of thesewas Julia Kean, "a nice girl in neutral tints," as Molly wrote home toher sister, "with gray eyes and brown hair and a sense of humor." Shecame to be known as "Judy," and formed an intimate friendship with Mollyand Nance, which lasted throughout the four years of their collegecourse.

  "How do you feel after your night's rest?" she called across the tableto Molly in the most friendly manner, just as if they had known eachother always. "You look like the 'Lady of the Sea' in that blue linenthat just matches your eyes." She began looking Molly over with a kindof critical admiration, narrowing her eyes as an artist does whenhe's at work on a picture. "I'd like to make a poster of you inblue-and-white chalk. I'd put you on a yellow, sandy beach, against abright blue sky, in a high wind, with your dress and hair blowing----"And with eyes still narrowed, she traced an imaginary picture with onehand and shaped her ideas with the other.

  Molly laughed.

  "You must be an artist," she said, "with such notions about posing."

  "A would-be one, that's all. 'Not yet, but soon,' is my motto."

  "That's a bad motto," here put in Nance Oldham. "It's like the Spanishsaying of '_Hasta manana_.' You are very apt to put off doing thingsuntil next day."

  Julia Kean looked at her reproachfully.

  "You've read my character in two words," she said.

  "Why don't you introduce me to your friends, Judy?" asked a handsomegirl next to her, who had quantities of light-brown hair piled on topof her head.

  "I haven't been introduced myself," replied Judy; "but I never could seewhy people should stop for introductions at teas and times like this.We all know we're all right, or else we wouldn't be here."

  "Of course," said Frances Andrews, who had just come in, "why all thisformality, when we are to be a family party for the next eight months?Why not become friends at once, without any preliminaries?"

  Sally Marks, who had given them the vague yet meaningful warning thenight before, appeared to be absorbed in her coffee cup, and the othertwo sophomores at the table were engaged in a whispered conversation.

  "Nevertheless, I will perform the introductions," announced Judy Kean."This is Miss Margaret Wakefield, of Washington, D. C.; Miss EdithColes, of Rhode Island; Miss Jessie Lynch, of Wisconsin, and Miss MabelHinton, of Illinois. As for me, my name is Julia Kean, and I comefrom--nowhere in particular."

  "You must have had a birthplace," insisted that accurate young person,Nance Oldham.

  "If you could call a ship a birthplace, I did," replied Judy. "I wasborn in mid-ocean on a stormy night. Hence my stormy, restless nature."

  "But how did it happen?" asked Molly.

  "Oh, it was all simple enough. Papa and mamma were on their way backfrom Japan, and I arrived a bit prematurely on board ship. I began lifetraveling, and I've been traveling ever since."

  "You'll have to stay put here; awhile, at least," said Sally Marks.

  "I hope so. I need to gather a little moss before I become an habitualtramp."

  "Hadn't we better be chasing along?" said Frances Andrews. "It's almosttime for chapel."

  No one answered and Molly began to wonder how long this strange girlwould endure the part of a monologist at college. For that was what herattempts at conversation seemed to amount to. She admired Frances'spluck, at any rate. Whatever she had done to offend, it was courageousof her to come back and face the music.

  Chapel was an impressive sight to the new girls. The entire body ofstudents was there, and the faculty, including Professor Edwin Green,who gave each girl the impression he was looking at her when he wasreally only gazing into the imaginary bull's-eye of an imaginary camera,and saw not one of them. Molly decided his comeliness was more charmthan looks. "The unknown charm," she wrote her sister. "His ears are alittle pointed at the top, and he has brown eyes like a collie dog. Butit was nice of him to have given me his soup," she added irrelevantly,"and I shall always appreciate it."

  After chapel, when Molly was following in the trail of her new friends,feeling a bit strange and unaccustomed, some one plucked her by thesleeve. It was Mary Stewart, the nice senior with the plain, but fineface.

  "I'll expect you this evening after supper," she said. "I'm having alittle party. There will be music, too. I thought perhaps you might liketo bring a friend along. It's rather lonesome, breaking into a new crowdby one's self."

  It never occurred to Molly that she was being paid undue honors. For afreshman, who had arrived only the afternoon before, without a friend incollege, to be asked to a small intimate party by the most prominentgirl in the senior class, was really quite remarkable, so Nance Oldhamthought; and she was pleased to be the one Molly chose to take along.

  The two girls had had a busy, exciting day. They had not been placedin the same divisions, B and O being so widely separated in thealphabet, and were now meeting again for the first time since lunch.Molly had stretched her length on her couch and kicked off her pumps,described later by Judy Kean as being a yard long and an inch broad.

  "I wish you would tell me your receipt for makingfriends, Molly," exclaimed Nance.--_Page 51._]

  "I wish you would tell me your receipt for making friends, Molly,"exclaimed Nance. "You are really a perfect wonder. Don't you find ittroublesome to be so nice to so many people?"

  "I'd find it lots harder not to be nice," answered Molly. "Besides, it'sa rule that works both ways. The nicer you are to people, the nicer theyare to you."

  "But don't you think lots of people aren't worth the effort and if youtreat them like sisters, they are apt to take advantage of it and boreyou afterwards?"

  Molly smiled.

  "I've never been troubled that way," she said.

  "Now, don't tell me," cried Nance, warming to the argument, "that thatuniversally cordial manner of yours doesn't bring a lot of rag-tagsaround to monopolize you. If it hasn't before, it will now. You'll see."

  "You make me feel like the leader of Coxey's Army," laughed Molly;"because, you see, I'm a kind of a rag-tag myself."

  Her eyes filled with tears. She was thinking of her meagre wardrobe.Nance was silent. She was slow of speech, but when she once began, shealways said more than she intended simply to prove her point; and nowshe was afraid she had hurt Molly's feelings. She was provoked withherself for her carelessness, and when she was on bad terms with herselfshe appeared to be on bad terms with everybody else. Of course, in herheart of hearts, she had been thinking of Frances Andrews, whom she feltcertain Molly would never snub sufficiently to keep her at a distance.

  The two girls went about their dressing without saying another word.Nance was coiling her smooth brown braids around her head, while Mollywas looking sorrowfully at her only two available dresses for thatevening's party. One was a blue muslin of a heavenly color butconsiderably darned, and the other was a marquisette, also the worsefor wear. Suddenly Nance gave a reckless toss of her hair brush in onedirection and her comb in another, and rushed over to Molly, who wasgazing absently into the closet.

  "Oh, Molly," she cried impetuously, seizing her friend's hand, "I'm abrute. Will you forgive me? I'm afraid I hurt your feelings. It's justmy unfortunate way of getting excited and saying too much. I never metany one I admired as much as you in such a short time. I wish I did knowhow to be charming to everybody, like you. It's been ground into mesince I was a child not to make friends with people unless it was to myadvantage, and I found out they were entirely worthy. And it's a slowprocess, I can tell you. You are the very first chance acquaintance Iever made in my life, and I like you better than any girl I ever met.So there, will you say you have forgiven me?"

  "Of course, I will," exclaimed Molly, flushing with pleasure. "There isnothing to forgive. I know I'm too indiscriminate about making friends.Mother often complained because I would bring such queer children out todinner when I was a child. Indeed, I wasn't hurt a bit. It was the word'rag-tag,' that seemed to be such an excellent description of theclothes I must wear this winter, unless some should drop down fromheaven, like manna in the desert for the Children of Israel."

  Without a word, Nance pulled a box out from under her couch and liftedthe lid. It disclosed a little hand sewing machine.

  "Can you sew?" she asked.

  "After a fashion."

  "Well, I can. It's pastime with me. I'd rather make clothes than do lotsof other things. Now, suppose we set to work and make some dresses. Howwould you like a blue serge, with turn-over collar and cuffs, like thatone Miss Marks is wearing, that fastens down the side with black satinbuttons?"

  "Oh, Nance, I couldn't let you do all that for me," protested Molly."Besides, I haven't the material or anything."

  "Why don't you earn some money, Molly?" suggested Nance. "There are lotsof different ways. Mrs. Murphy, the housekeeper, was telling me aboutthem. One of the girls here last year actually blacked boots--but, ofcourse, you wouldn't do anything so menial as that."

  "Wouldn't I?" interrupted Molly. "Just watch me. That's a splendid idea,Nance. It's a fine, honorable labor, as Colonel Robert Wakefield said,when his wife had to take in boarders."

  Molly slipped on the blue muslin.

  "It really doesn't make any difference what she wears," thought Nance,looking at her friend with covert admiration. "She'd be a star in acrazy quilt."

  The two girls hurried down to supper. Molly was thoughtful all throughthat conversational meal. Her mind was busy with a scheme by which sheintended to remove that unceasing pressure for funds which bade fair tobe an ever-increasing bugbear to her.

  No. 16 on the Quadrangle turned out to be a very luxurious andcomfortable suite of rooms, consisting of quite a large parlor, a littleden or study and a bedroom. Mary Stewart met them at the door in such aplain dress that at first Molly was deceived into thinking it was justan ordinary frock until she noticed the lines. And in a few momentsNance took occasion to inform her that simplicity was one of the mostexpensive things in the world, which few people could afford, andfurthermore that Mary Stewart's gray, cottony-looking dress was a dreamof beauty and must have come from Paris.

  There were six or seven other girls in the crowd, including that littlebird-like, bright-eyed creature they called "Jennie Wren," whose realname was Jane Wickham. The only other girl they knew was Judith Blount,who had been so snubby to Molly the day before about the luggage.

  All these girls were musical, as the freshmen were soon to learn, andbelonged to the College Glee Club.

  "What a pretty room!" exclaimed Molly to her hostess, after she had beenproperly introduced and enthroned in a big tapestry chair, in which sheunconsciously made a most delightful and colorful picture.

  "I'm glad you like it. I have some trouble keeping it from gettingcluttered up with 'truck,' as we call it. It's about like Herculestrying to clean the Augean Stables, I think, but I try and use the denfor an overflow, and only put the things I'm really fond of in here.That helps some."

  "They are certainly lovely," said the young freshman, looking wistfullyat the head of "The Unknown Woman," between two brass candlesticks onthe mantel shelf. On the bookshelves stood "The Winged Victory," andhanging over the shelves on the opposite side of the room was an immensephotograph of Botticelli's "Primavera." The only other pictures were twoJapanese prints and the only other furniture was a baby grand piano andsome chairs. It was really a delightfully empty and beautiful place, andMolly felt suddenly strangely crude and ignorant when she recalled thethings she had intended to do to her part of the room at Queen's Cottagetoward beautifying it. She was engaged in mentally clearing them allout, when a voice at her elbow said:

  "Are you thinking of taking the vows, Miss Brown?"

  It was Judith Blount, who had drawn up a chair beside her's. There wassomething very patronizing and superior in Miss Blount's manner, butMolly was determined to ignore it, and smiled sweetly into the blackeyes of the haughty sophomore.

  "Taking what vows?" she asked.

  "Why, I understood you had become a cloistered nun."

  Molly flushed. So the story was out. It didn't take long for news totravel through a girl's college.

  "I wasn't cloistered very long," she answered. "And the only vow I tookwas never to be caught there again after six o'clock."

  "How did you like Epimenides? I hear he's made a great joke of it," shecontinued, without waiting for Molly to answer. "He's rather humorous,you know. Even in his most serious work, it will come out."

  "I don't think there was much to joke about," put in Molly, feeling alittle indignant. "I was awfully forlorn and miserable."

  "The real joke was that he called you 'little Miss Smith,'" said Judith.

  Molly's moods reflected themselves in her eyes just as the passingclouds are mirrored in two blue pools of water. A shadow passed over herface now and her eyes grew darker, but she kept very quiet, which washer way when her feelings were hurt. Then Mary Stewart began to play onthe piano, and Molly forgot all about the sharp-tongued sophomore, who,she strongly suspected, was trying to be disagreeable, but for whatreason for the life of her Molly could not see.

  Never before had she heard any really good playing on the piano, and itseemed to her now that the music actually flowed from Mary's long,strong fingers, in a melodious and liquid stream. Other music followed.Judith sang a gypsy song, in a rich contralto voice, that Molly thoughtwas a little coarse. Jennie Wren, who could sing exactly like a child,gave a solo in the highest little piping soprano. Two girls played onmandolins, and Mary Stewart, who appeared to do most things, accompaniedthem on a guitar. Then came supper, which was rather plain, Mollythought, and consisted simply of tea and cookies. "I suppose it'sartistic not to have much to eat," her thoughts continued, but she madeup her mind to invite Mary Stewart to supper before the old ham and thehickory nut cake were consumed by hungry freshmen.

  "It seems to me that with such a voice as yours you must sing, MissBrown," here broke in Mary Stewart. "Will you please oblige thecompany?"

  "I wouldn't like to sing after all this fine music," protested Molly."Besides, I don't know anything but darky songs."

  "The very girl we want for our Hallowe'en Vaudeville," cried JennieWren. "What do you use, a guitar or a piano?"

  "Either, a little," answered Molly, blushing crimson; "but I haven't anymore voice than a rabbit."

  "Fire away," cried Jennie Wren, thrusting a guitar into her hands.

  Molly was actually trembling with fright when she found herself thecenter of interest in this musical company.

  "I'm scared to death," she announced. Then she struck achord and began.--_Page 60._]

  "I'm scared to death," she announced, as she faintly tuned the guitar.Then she struck a chord and began:

  "Ma baby loves shortnin', Ma baby loves shortnin' bread; Ma baby loves shortnin', Mammy's gwine make him some shortnin' bread."

  Before she had finished, everybody in the room had joined in. Then shesang:

  "Ole Uncle Rat has come to town, To buy his niece a weddin' gown, OO-hoo!"

  "A quarter to ten," announced some one, and the next moment they had allsaid good-night and were running as fast as their feet could carry themacross the campus, "scuttling in every direction like a lot of rats," asJudith remarked.

  "Lights out at ten o'clock," whispered Nance breathlessly, as they creptinto their room and undressed in the dark. It was very exciting. Theyfelt like a pair of happy criminals who had just escaped the iron graspof the law.

  When Molly Brown dropped into a deep and restful sleep that night, shenever dreamed that she had already become a noted person in college,though how it happened, it would be impossible to say. It might havebeen the Cloister story, but, nevertheless, Molly--overgrown child thatshe may have seemed to Professor Green--had a personality that attractedattention wherever she was.