Beatrice Leigh at College Part 16

CHAPTER IX

THIS VAIN SHOW

It was the first evening at college in their junior year. Upon coming out of the dining-room Lila caught sight of Bea waiting at the elevator door.

Dodging three seniors, a maid with a tray, and a man with a truck full of trunks, she made a dash for the new arrival who in a sudden freak of perversity danced tantalizingly just beyond reach.

"You imp! And I haven't seen you for three months. Help me!" she beckoned to Berta who that moment emerged from dinner, "run around that side and catch her."

But Bea, swiftly subsiding from her mischievous agility, stood still and regarded them with an air of surprised, sad dignity as the two flung themselves upon her.

"Young ladies, I am astonished at such behavior. Leading juniors--real, live, brand-new juniors--and to display such lack of self-restraint, such disdain of gracefulness and repose! Oh!" her voice changed magically, "oh, you, dear sweet, darling girls, I love you pretty well."

"Then why," queried Berta, gasping as she released herself, "then why, I repeat, do you endeavor to choke us to death?"

"Because," answered Bea, as she meekly allowed Lila to straighten her hat while Berta rescued her satchel from the middle of the corridor, "because you are so nice and n.o.ble and haven't any false feeling about little tokens of affection like that. In fact, you haven't any false pride or anything false, and I have a tale of woe to tell you by and by. Hereafter I intend to be a typical college girl, not an exception."

The promised by and by proved to be the hour of unpacking after chapel services. While Bea was emptying her satchel that night she s.n.a.t.c.hed up a little fringed napkin and shook it vigorously before the other girls.

"See the crumbs! Thereby hangs the tale. Now, listen.

This summer we have been feeling rather poor at home, you know. My father's firm was forced to make an a.s.signment. It wasn't his fault, you understand; it was because of the hard times. Every few days we would hear of a bank closing its doors or a factory shutting down. People have been cutting off expenses in all directions. Of course my family has to economize. I am thankful enough to be able to come back to college. About a dozen girls in the cla.s.s have dropped out this year of the panic. I knew that I could earn fifty dollars or more by tutoring and carrying mail, if I once got here. That will help quite a lot toward books and postage and ordinary personal expenses. Father said he could manage the five hundred for board and tuition. You had better believe that I do not intend to be needlessly extravagant, when my mother is keeping house without a maid, and my father is riding to his office on a bicycle.

Now I rather suspect that this explanation is no excuse for the foolish way I behaved on the journey to college that September. But the summer has been so horrid, and two or three acquaintances changed around after the failure and treated us as if we had ceased to be worth noticing. Of course I know that such persons are not worth noticing themselves, still it did hurt a little. I guess the reason why I pretended to have plenty of money while traveling with Celia was because I was afraid of being hurt again. And then too I remembered how she had said one evening the year before when we were playing Truth that she despised stinginess beyond any other vice. That had made an impression on me because I was just going to say the very same thing myself.

Celia is a new student who is to join our cla.s.s this year. We met her last spring when she came up from a boarding-school in New York to visit a senior. You remember her? It was at a fudge party in her honor that we played the game of Truth, to which I have already alluded. She is the kind of person who is generally asked to be an usher at a hall play or on Founder's Day. She is tall, holds her head high, has an air. The doctor herself said when she saw her in chapel the evening of her visit, "Who is that striking girl?" She dresses beautifully too; and I think I shall ask her to let me put down her name for two dances next month, if my cousin and his roommate come from Yale for the reception.

Being new to the college atmosphere, she had an excuse for the way she acted on the journey. An excuse that I did not have, you know--and I know too. But as for that, more anon, anon! At present I start in and continue by stating that on a certain September day I was sitting by myself in the Union Station at Chicago, while I waited for my train. I had arrived two hours before, and I was hungry, and I was also, as explained above, strongly inclined to be economical. And therefore I was eating my luncheon out of a pasteboard box, instead of going to a restaurant.

On my lap was a fringed napkin upon which reposed one slice of chocolate cake with frosting, one big peach, and seven large white grapes each containing at least three seeds. Just at the very moment when I took a bite of the peach, hoping that none of the weary pa.s.sengers around me was taking notes, for that peach was certainly juicy,--just at that exact moment, I happened to glance across to the door. There was Celia Lane, with her head higher than ever, looking up and down for an empty seat.

And the only empty seat in the whole waiting-room was next to mine. And my lap was strewn with an economical luncheon.

It was silly of me. I admit that once and forever, and shall not repeat it again. But like lightning her remark about stinginess flashed into my mind. Before she had taken the second step in my direction, I had crammed all those seven grapes into my mouth, bundled the napkin with crumbs, cake and pit into my satchel, shoved it under the bench, and rose nonchalantly swallowing the grapes whole as I haughtily lifted my chin in order to survey my worthless companions. Then of course my eyes fell upon her, and I started forward in vivacious greeting.

I don't believe she had recognized me before, for she said, "Oh!" with a queer little gasp. Then she put out her hand in that cordial way of hers.

It made me think that I was the person she had been longing to find. She inquired what road I was going on, and said, "Ah, yes, what a charming coincidence!" But honestly it seemed to me that there was a worried expression in her eyes.

And there I sat miserably shaking in my old shoes. It may appear funny to you, but it was an awful feeling. Even now months afterward I never want to smile at the memory. You see, it costs five dollars to ride in a Pullman car from Chicago to New York. I had planned to go into the common pa.s.senger coach until nightfall, and thus save two dollars and a half toward books for the new semester. That sounds a bit mean and sordid, doesn't it? And I know my family would have objected if I had told them, because the sleeping-cars are much safer in case of accidents. Oh, how I hated to say anything about it! You can't imagine. I wonder how Berta would express it with literary vividness. Maybe she might say that she "shrank in every fibre." But it was worse than that--I just didn't want to, I simply couldn't.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WE HANDED OVER FIVE DOLLARS APIECE]

The hand of the clock kept moving around--oh, lots faster than it had done before Celia appeared. When it was nearly time for the train to be ready, I began to mutter and mumble and finally managed to remark that I thought I had better see about engaging my berth. What do you suppose?

She gave a sort of astonished jump and exclaimed, "Why, I must too." So we both marched over to the agent's window and handed over five dollars apiece. I was dying to ask her to go shares with me, because one berth is plenty--or, I mean almost plenty--large enough for two. But though I opened my mouth a few times and coughed once, I absolutely did not dare to propose such a penurious plan. She might have thought me close-fisted, and perhaps she would not have slept very well either.

No sooner had we settled ourselves in the sleeper, than I began to worry about the meals. Naturally she would a.s.sume that I intended to go into the dining-car every time. Most of the girls do as a matter of course. In fact I remember feeling condescending whenever I saw anybody eating from a box while the other pa.s.sengers were filing down the aisle, or up, whichever it happened to be. This year I was to be one of the brave unfortunates left behind in their seats.

Well, very likely you understand that people while traveling really ought not to eat so heartily as usual. Much food in a dining-car clogs the system and ventilates the pocketbook, so to speak. I appreciated myself hard for being right and n.o.ble and abstemious and foresighted--with respect to the semester's expenses, you perceive, and also self-denying and self-reliant. There are a number of selfs in that sentence, likewise in the idea and in my mind at the time. I don't believe honestly that poverty is good for the character, though Berta says that she knows it isn't good for anything else.

Celia and I went out to sit on the rear platform of the observation-car.

The scenery was not particularly interesting in comparison with Colorado; and consequently I had spare energy for meditating on Emerson's essays and his observation that "What I must do is all that concerns me, not what the people think." I wish I were strong-minded. To reflect sincerely, however, I don't believe it is so much a question of a strong mind as of a weak imagination. If I had been unable to imagine what Celia might think, doubtless I wouldn't have bothered about it.

But I was bothered. The sensation of botheration deepened and swelled and widened as supper time drew nearer and nearer, and every moment I expected to hear the waiter's voice intoning behind me, "Supper is now ready in the dining-car." What made this state of affairs all the sadder was the memory of springing gladness inspired by the same sound on previous journeys. I sat there dreading and dreading and dreading. And then, what do you think? Celia was asking me about Lila and Berta and Robbie Belle and the fun we have and incidentally something about the work. I was talking so fast that I forgot all about being poor. When the waiter's voice suddenly rang out at the end of the car, I jumped up instantly just as I had always done on former occasions of the same nature. And I exclaimed, "I am simply starved to death."

Then I remembered and sat down so quickly that my camp-chair tipped against Celia and knocked her over so that she might have fallen off the platform if there had not been a railing around it. That catastrophe created such a flurry of anxieties, apologies, and so forth, that I succeeded in letting the crisis slip past unmolested. At least, that first crisis did. The second crisis arrived a little later when the voice behind us rang out again with, "Second call to supper in the dining-car."

I glanced sidewise at Celia just in time to catch her glancing sidewise at me. That made me spring lightly to my feet, I can tell you. Was she getting suspicious? Was she too courteous to suggest an extravagance the refusal of which might hurt my pride? Was she wondering why I seemed to have forgotten that I was starving to death, if not already starved?

So I said in a tone of patient consideration, "Shall we wait any longer, Miss Lane?" She jumped up like a flash, and her face was quite red.

"No, indeed! Not on my account certainly." She emphasized the my so distinctly that I was sure she suspected. That dreadful thought caused me to stiffen my manner, and as hers had been strangely stiff all the afternoon, we were awfully polite to each other during supper. Each of us insisted upon paying the bill and feeing the waiter. It was terrible. I couldn't afford to pay it all, and yet I was too silly to give in gracefully, especially as some other pa.s.sengers were listening, and the waiter hovered near. Finally it resulted in his receiving twice the sum, half for the bill, and half for a fee. I hope he appreciated it.

Then we talked politely to each other for an hour or two before going to bed. And in the morning, there was the problem of breakfast confronting me.

The problem woke me early. Being poor is bad for the health as well as bad for the character, I think. Probably it is bad for the soul also. Or maybe it is not the poverty so much as being ashamed of it that perverts a person's life. Well, actually I almost cherished the deceitful plot of getting up so early that I should be already dressed before Celia would appear, and then I could tell her that I had been so hungry that I had eaten my breakfast alone. It would have been true too, because I intended to nibble my malted milk tablets behind a magazine. But this plan came to naught; for when I poked my head out between the curtains I saw Celia herself staggering toward the dressing-room with her satchel. Thereupon I lay down again and nibbled the tablets in the berth. That would enable me to a.s.sert truthfully that I was not hungry and did not care for breakfast in the diner.

Oh, dear! Wasn't it awful! I did tell her that very thing, and she said she didn't believe she was hungry either. Then we were polite to each other till noon. When the waiter's dreaded voice once more rang out, I made my little speech that I had been composing all the morning. It was as follows:

"Don't wait for me, Miss Lane. I consider that over-eating is a heinous fault among Americans, and so I have decided to omit the dining-car for the remainder of this journey. Pray, do not let me keep you."

She said, "Why, that's exactly what I think, too."

Just fancy! And there I was almost famished. I thought she would leave me at once, and I could have a chance to eat the luncheon spoiling in my box. Chicken sandwiches and jelly and olives and salted almonds and fruit and cake and everything good. I had been thinking of it for hours.

What could I do? There she sat, and there I sat in plain sight of each other, being in the same seat for the sake of sociability, though her section was the one in front of mine. She seemed rather quiet and formal--not so much stiff as limp, so to speak. Still there was no cordiality about it. Just as I felt I could not stand starvation another minute, she rose and said she believed she would go into the observation-car for a while. She did not invite me to accompany her, and I made no offer to go. I simply sat and smiled and watched her fumble in her bag for a few minutes before extricating what was apparently a rolled up magazine. Then she marched down the aisle. The instant she had vanished into the vestibule, I made a dive for my box. In just thirty seconds I had consumed half a sandwich and a slice of cake. I kept my eyes on the spot where she had disappeared, you had better believe. Oh, wasn't I silly? But then, I promised not to allude to that obvious fact again. That lunch tasted good. And I had plenty of time to eat all I wanted, though I cut short the chewing process.

When it was all down to the very last olive, I brushed off all the crumbs I could see, and decided to walk into the observation car and be polite again. So I did. And what do you suppose? Through the gla.s.s at the rear I saw her sitting sort of sidewise so that one eye could watch the door where I was entering. It seemed to me that she gave a little quiver as I came within view, and then actually she threw something overboard. People always see more than you think they do. At least I saw that, and she thought I didn't, for when I emerged upon the platform she looked up with a surprised smile of welcome and said, "Isn't the river beautiful!"

I said, "Oh, isn't it!" and then I gazed at it very hard and attentively so as to give her a chance to wipe the spot of jelly from her s.h.i.+rtwaist.

She had been eating her luncheon too. She had carried it wrapped up in the funneled magazine. She had been ashamed to acknowledge that she needed to be economical, too. I saw it all in a flash. She had intended to ride in the common coach and save pullman fare, just like me. And there we had been racing, neck and neck, trying to keep up with each other.

"Oh, dear!" I said at last, "I wish we had taken a berth together and saved our two dollars and a half apiece."

I heard her give a little gasp and I felt her staring at me. The next minute she said, "There are crumbs on your necktie too." And then she bent down her head and laughed and laughed and laughed till I had to laugh too.

"I hope it'll be a lesson to us," I said at last.

She wiped the tears from her lashes. "It will be. I expect to be repenting for weeks ahead,--at least, until my next allowance comes in.

But, you! Why, Miss Leigh, it seems so queer. I thought the college girl was different as a rule--independent and frank and--oh, pardon me--and--and so forth."

"She is," I a.s.sured her sadly, "as a rule. But I am an exception. I prove the rule."

CHAPTER X

CONSEQUENCES