Marjorie Dean College Freshman Part 11

"Ten o'clock." The gray-eyed girl seemed on the point of volunteering a remark. She half-opened her lips, then closed them almost tightly as if repenting of the impulse.

With a second "Thank you" a shade cooler than the first, Ronny concluded the brief interview. The four Lookouts had walked toward the Hall door, which stood open, and there paused to wait for her. Ordinarily, Ronny would have addressed the strangers with a certain graciousness of manner which was one of her charms. She had relaxed a little from her first reserve on the strength of their apparent willingness to direct her to Baretti's. She had not missed, however, the gray-eyed girl's deliberate checking of her own purposed remark. While she forebore to place an adverse construction upon it, nevertheless it had annoyed her. Trace of a frown lingered between her dark brows as she joined the others.

"I noticed you didn't get very chummy with that pair," greeted Jerry.

"Just so you located our commissary department, Baretti. He's our star of hope at present." Jerry led the way across the veranda and down the steps.

"I know the way to Baretti's, never fear," Ronny a.s.sured. "It is one square from the west wall of the campus. Just how much of a walk that means, we shall see. It may be anywhere from a quarter to three-quarters of a mile to the west wall. We turn to our right as we go through the gateway."

"We will have to walk it, even if it is a mile," decreed Muriel. "I'd walk two miles for something to eat. I am about as hungry as I can ever remember of being. Our introduction to Hamilton! _Good night!_"

"I can't get it through my head that we are actually students at Hamilton College," declared Muriel. "I feel more as though I had just arrived at a summer hotel where people came and went without the slightest interest in one another."

"It is missing dinner at the Hall that makes it seem so. If we had had a fair chance at the dining room we would have felt more--" Jerry paused to choose a word descriptive of their united feelings. "Well, we would have felt cinched to Hamilton. That nice Miss Trent helped us, of course, but she faded away and disappeared the minute she turned us over to Miss Remson. I don't believe we can be, what you might call, fascinating. No one seems to care to linger near us. Wouldn't that be a splendid t.i.tle for one of those silly old popular songs? 'No one cares to linger near,' as sung by the great always off the key vocalist, Jerry Macy. Wh-ir-r! Bu-z-z-z! What has happened to you swe-e-etart, that you do not linger near-r-r? I am lonele-e-e--"

Jerry's imitation of a phonograph rendering a popular song of her own impromptu composition ended suddenly. Muriel placed a defensive hand over the singer's mouth. "Have mercy on us, Jeremiah," she begged. "You are at Hamilton now. Try to act like some one. That's the advice I heard one of the mill women give her unruly son at the nursery one day last winter."

"I trust no one but ourselves heard you," was Veronica's uncomplimentary addition, delivered in a tone of shocked disapproval.

"I don't blame anyone for not caring to linger near such awful sounds."

Lucy's criticism, spoken in her precise manner, produced a burst of low-keyed laughter. It appeared to amuse Jerry most of all.

By this time they had pa.s.sed through the gateway, flanked by high, ornamental stone posts, and were following a fairly wide, beaten footpath that shone white in the light shed by the rising moon. On their right hand side, the college wall of matched gray stone rose considerably above their heads.

"This wall must be at least ten feet high and about three or four thick." Jerry calculatingly appraised the wall. "It extends the whole around the campus, so far as I could tell by daylight. I was noticing it as we came into the grounds today."

"We are not so far from the end of it now." Marjorie made the announcement with a faint breath of relief. "You can see the corner post from here. I think it about a quarter of a mile from the gate."

"And only a square from it lies our dinner, thank goodness! Let's run."

Muriel made a pretended dash forward and was promptly checked by Jerry.

"You wouldn't let me sing. Now you need a clamp. I'll give you a piece of advice I heard last winter at that same old nursery: 'Walk pretty.

Don't be runnin' yourse'f all over the place.'"

"There is Baretti's across the road." Marjorie pointed down the road a little, to where, on the opposite side, two posts, topped by cl.u.s.ter electric lights, rose on each side of a fairly wide stone walk that was the approach to the restaurant. It stood fully a hundred feet from the highway, an odd, one-story structure of brown stone, looking like an inn of a bygone period. In sharp contrast to the white radiance of the guide lights at the end of the walk, the light over the doorway was faint and yellow, proceeding from a single lamp, set in a curious wrought-iron frame, which depended from a bell-like hood over the door.

Through the narrow-paned windows streamed the welcome glow of light within. It warmed the hearts of the Five Travelers even as in departed days it had gladdened the eyes of weary wayfarers in search of purchased hospitality.

"What an odd old place!" Lucy Warner cried out in admiration. "It is like the ancient hostelries one reads of. I wonder if it has always been an inn. It must be considerably over a hundred years old."

"I suppose it is. A good deal of the country around here is historic, I believe. You remember the bulletin said Brooke Hamilton was a young man at the time of La Fayette's visit to America. That was in 1824. He and La Fayette met and the Marquis was so delighted with him that he invited him to join his suite of friends during his tour of the country. I wish it had said more about both of them, but it didn't," finished Marjorie regretfully.

"Perhaps the old Marquis de la Fayette and young Brooke Hamilton walked down the very road we walked tonight and supped at the same old inn,"

Veronica said, as they approached the two wide, low steps that formed the entrance to the restaurant.

"Quite likely they did," agreed Jerry. The foremost of the party, she opened the heavy, paneled door of solid oak.

A faint, united breath of approbation rose from the visitors as they stepped into a room of n.o.ble proportions. It was almost square and as beautiful an apartment as the girls had ever seen. Beam ceiling, wainscoting and floor were all of precisely the same shade and quality of dark oak. So perfectly did every foot of wood in the room match that it might have all come from one giant tree, hewn out and polished by gnomes. There was something about its perfection that suggested a castle hall of fairy lore. On each side of the room were three high-backed, ma.s.sive oak benches. The tops of these were decorated by a carved oak leaf pattern, the simplicity of which was the design of genius itself.

The heavy, claw-legged oak tables, oval in shape and ten in number, all bore the same pattern, carved in the table top at about two inches from the edge. There was no attempt at placing the tables in rows. They stood at intervals far enough apart to permit easy pa.s.sage in and out among them. Yet each table seemed fitted into its own proper s.p.a.ce. Moved two inches out of it, the whole scheme of artistic regularity would have been spoiled.

"It's evident that Signor Baretti never furnished this room," commented Ronny in a voice just above a whisper. "I never saw anything like it, before! never! Lead me to a seat at one of those beautiful tables."

"Yes; do let us sit down as soon as we can," echoed Muriel eagerly. "I am dying to look and look and look at everything in this adorable old room. I am glad it is almost empty. We can sit and stare and no one will be here to resent it."

This time it was Muriel who took the lead and made a bee-line for a table at the far end of the room on the right. The others followed her, quickly slipping into the oak chairs, each with its spade-shaped, high back and fairly broad seat. That these chairs were built for comfort as well as ornament the Lookouts soon discovered.

"Oh, the joy of this comfy chair," sighed Ronny. "It actually fits my back. That's more than I can say of those train seats. I am going to turn in the minute I am back at Wayland House. I am _so_ tired, and a little bit sleepy."

Marjorie and Ronny shared one menu, while each of the others had one to herself. After the usual amount of comment and consultation, all decided upon consomme, roast chicken, potatoes au gratin, and a salad, with dessert and coffee to follow. Their order given to a round-faced, olive-tinted Italian girl, the Five Travelers were free to look about them for a little.

Directly across from them at a table which formed a wide obtuse angle with theirs were four girls. While the quartette had appeared to be occupied in eating ices on the entrance into the restaurant of the Sanford party, no move of the strangers had been lost on them. Four pairs of young eyes covertly appraised the newcomers. That the Five Travelers interested the other girls was clearly proven by the frequency of their glances, discreetly veiled. Deep in the exploration of the menu, the Sanford quintette were unaware that they had attracted any special attention from the diners at the one other occupied table in the room. Nevertheless, while they were busy with the ordering of their dinner, they were being subjected to a most critical survey.

By the time the consomme was served, the other group had finished the eating of their ices and risen to depart. As they left the table Marjorie glanced impersonally toward them. A sudden wave of color deepened the pink in her cheeks as she encountered four pairs of unfamiliar eyes all fastened on her. Immediately she looked away, annoyed with herself, rather than them for staring. Nor had she gained a definite idea of the appearance of any one of them, so keen was her own momentary discomfiture.

Regarding herself and her chums, the departing diners had a very clear idea. Hardly had they stepped outside the restaurant when a low buzz of conversation began.

"Leila Harper, did you ever see anyone lovelier than that brown-eyed fres.h.i.+e?" inquired one of the quartette, a tall, stately girl with pale gold hair and a rather thin, interesting face. "The one in dark blue, I mean."

"No; I see a certain someone's finish, don't you?" The girl who made the reply smiled as though signally amused. In the light cast by the powerful post lights, the faces of her companions reflected that amused smile. "I could have shrieked for joy when that crowd of freshmen walked in with Beauty in their midst," she continued. "They were all very pretty girls, Selma. I really think we ought to take up the matter and have some fun over it."

"Incidentally, it would pull someone off a pedestal where she never truly belonged. I never considered Natalie Weyman a _real_ beauty. She is pretty, but rather artificial, I think." The author of this criticism was an attractive young woman with wavy chestnut hair and deep blue eyes, the beauty of which was partly obscured by eyegla.s.ses.

"I don't admire Miss Weyman's style of good looks, either, Nella." This from the fourth member of the party, a small girl with pale brown hair, pale blue eyes, with very dark brows and lashes, and a skin dazzlingly white. Standing five feet one in high heels, Vera Mason was noticeable for her doll-like daintiness of form and feature. She was not beautiful, so far as regularity of feature went, for her small nose turned up a trifle and her mouth was too wide to be cla.s.sically perfect. She was, however, singularly charming.

"I had rather call you a beauty any time than apply it to her, Midget,"

was Leila Harper's quick return. Her eyes of true Irish blue twinkled as she said this. Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed aloud, showing white even teeth, their very soundness matching the rest of her strong-featured face and blue-black hair. Leila was of old Irish stock and very proud of it.

"Oh, girls, I have it; a plan I mean!" she exclaimed. "Now listen to the wise Irish woman and you'll agree with me that there's nothing that could fit the occasion more nearly than what I have in mind. It will do wonders in the way of curing Nat Weyman's swelled head and no one can possibly say it isn't fair."

Four abreast in the moonlight, the soph.o.m.ores who had so heartily admired Marjorie strolled back to the campus, listening as they went to a plan Leila was unfolding which appeared to afford them much antic.i.p.atory delight.

Meanwhile at the quaint old inn the Five Travelers were hungrily disposing of a comforting meal, wholly unconscious of being already a subject for discussion among a certain group of soph.o.m.ores. It was as well for Marjorie's peace of mind that she did not know she had already been acclaimed a beauty at Hamilton College. Neither could the four soph.o.m.ores, who were thoughtlessly planning the merited discomfiture of one girl through the raising up of another, know what a difference the carrying out of that plan would make in Marjorie Dean's life at Hamilton College.

CHAPTER XIV.-A SILENT DECLARATION OF HOSTILITY.

Not very long after the Five Travelers returned to Wayland Hall the half-past ten o'clock bell sounded. Desirous of complying with the rules of the college from the start, they had prepared for sleep in much greater haste than usual, a proceeding which Veronica deplored most of all. Accustomed to making leisurely preparations for retiring, she had known beforehand that this would be her chief annoyance when at college.

For fully twenty-five minutes after the penetrating clang of the house bell had ceased, sound of voices and light footsteps in the hall indicated that a few students, at least, were not taking the ten-thirty rule very seriously.

"What was that?" Jerry, who had dropped to sleep almost on the instant her head had found the pillow, started up in the darkness, awakened by the sharp slam of a door further down the hall.

"Oh, someone slammed a door," Marjorie replied sleepily. "I was almost asleep, but not quite. It startled me, too. There seems to be very little attention paid to the retiring bell in this house. I've heard the girls talking and laughing in the halls ever since it rang. It's quieter now. I imagine next week it will be different. College doesn't really open until Monday, you know."

"Busy Buzzy doesn't look as though she would stand for much noise.

She'll begin laying down the law about next week. I hope whoever slammed that door hasn't the habit. Well, what now!"