Beatrice Leigh at College Read online

  CHAPTER XI

  A GIRL TO HAVE FRIENDS

  "Laura!" It was a soft little call sent fluttering in through thekeyhole. "Laura, are you there?"

  Laura with her chin propped on her hands at one of the broad sillsstirred uneasily in her chair and glanced sideways at her roommate whowas seated before the other window. Lucine had stopped reading aloud andwas regarding the door with an irritable frown on her vivid dark face.

  "I do wish, Laura, that you would tell Berta Abbott that an engaged signon our door means nothing if not the desire for undisturbed privacy. Sheis the most inconsiderate person in the junior class. This is the thirdtime----"

  "Laura!" called the voice again, "answer me! I know you are in there.I've simply got to speak to you one minute. It's awfully important."

  Laura half rose with a pleading smile toward Lucine who motioned herindignantly back to her seat.

  "Laura Wallace, stay right there. You promised to help me revise thisessay. You know that I can't do it alone, because I haven't a particle ofcritical ability; and the editors say they cannot print it as it is now.You are exceedingly selfish to think of deserting me just when I mostneed your suggestions. The board of editors meets to-night to choose thematerial for the next number of the magazine, and if they decline thisagain I shan't be eligible for election next month. You promised."

  "Laura, there's something I've got to ask you. If you don't come out, Ishall have to take this sign down and walk in my own self. Laura! Ah!"The door swung open and tall Berta popped in. Slamming it behind her, shestood with both hands on the knob, her eyes fixed with an expression ofinnocent inquiry upon Lucine who had halted in the middle of her suddendash across the floor, her hand still outstretched toward the key.

  "Excuse me, Miss Brett. Were you just going out? I'm glad I did notdisturb you. Shall I hold it open for you?" She stepped to one side andwaited gravely without moving a muscle till Lucine after a witheringstare had stalked angrily back to her window. The corner of Berta's mouthgave a quick, queer little twitch before settling back into propersolemnity.

  "Come, Laura. You'd better. I shan't keep you long." At her imperiousgesture Laura slid out of the room at an apologetic angle, her headtwisted for a final shy glance back at Lucine who was apparently absorbedin her papers.

  When safely outside in the corridor Berta seized her about the waist andwhirled her away from all possible earshot through cracks and transom.

  "Now then, exit the ogre, or rather eximus nos, leaving the ogre alone.For what particular reason is she trampling all over you to-day? I didn'tcatch all her last speech. You don't mean to say that you have promisedto help her with her writing?"

  "Yes," Laura nodded her rough curly head. She was a delicate little thingwith the irregular features that generally accompany such hair. Herbeauty lay in her expression which brightened charmingly from minute tominute since her escape. "Oh, how good the air smells!" she stopped tolean from an open window. "Lucine shivers at every draught. It is hard tomanage the ventilation to suit two persons in the same room. Ismother----"

  "Of course you smother--and you smother a good many more hours than sheshivers. Trust her for that. Such a little ninny as you are! Don't forgetthat you have agreed to room with my best little sister when she entersnext fall. You would not have been thrust in with Lucine Brett this yearif I could have prevented it."

  "Oh, but if I can't come back--you know, I'm almost sure I shan't comeback. And anyhow I'm the only friend she has. I've got to stick to her.If you could hear her mourning over her loneliness! Nobody cares forher--nobody in all the world! And the girls don't like her. I promised tobe her friend. She--she needs me."

  "Humph!" growled Berta sourly, but somehow her arm was stealing aroundthe slight shoulders so far beneath her own, "that's the silly kind of aperson you are. If any creature needs you, from a lame kitten to a lionwith a toothache, you'll cling. Idiocy, that's what it is! Your brotherwarned me last summer to restrict your charities. And now to help herwith her writing, and she your most dangerous rival for the editorship!"

  "Ah, but she doesn't know it, you understand. She doesn't know that I ameligible. The editors have been so awfully kind to me and gave me bookreviews to do and reports to make, and they printed my verses and twoeditorials. Every freshman who has had so many words published iseligible for election on the board at their annual meeting next month.Lucine's last story was clipped so much that she is short about twothousand words; and this is her last chance to qualify by getting heressay accepted for the next issue. I've got to help."

  "Yes, certainly you've got to help a rival qualify for a competition inwhich she is likely to defeat you. Do you realize that?" Berta swungLaura around in front of her and studied her curiously while she spoke."You are a good steady worker, you understand. You have critical abilityand a simple, sincere style. If elected you would make an excellenteditor, but--now listen, but, I say, you are not a genius like LucineBrett. She is brilliant. Oh, I acknowledge that, even if I do despise herfor being selfish and disagreeable and ego----"

  "Hush! She tries--she doesn't understand----You mustn't talk that way. Iwon't listen. I promised to be her friend. She wonders why the girlsdon't like her."

  "And yet she expects you to help her defeat you! She is willing to acceptthat sacrifice from you! When it means so much to you that----"

  "Oh, hush, Berta!" Laura slipped out of the range of that keenstraight-ahead gaze and nestled under the protecting arm again. "Shedoesn't know that I am eligible, I tell you. My articles weren't signedusually except with initials. And she is not thinking about other girls'qualifications--she's bothered about her own. It's got to be a fair racewith everybody in it, if they want to be. Of course she will beelected--there isn't a doubt--and I'll be as glad as any one."

  "Yes!" Berta's voice veered from sarcasm to genuine anxiety. "You'll beglad--but you'll be glad at home. You can't come back to college--youtold me so yourself--unless you are elected editor. That's why I calledyou out just now. Did your uncle really say that he was disappointed inyour career here?"

  Laura cleared her throat. "He doesn't like it because I haven't won anyhonors yet. Don't you know how almost every girl here came from a schoolwhere she was the brightest star and carried off all the prizes andthings like that? My uncle doesn't understand. He thinks it is the faultof the college because I haven't done anything great. Oh, you know,Berta. I--I do hate to talk in such a conceited way. He doesn't realizethat I am not brighter than the rest and can't dazzle. He wants me to winan honor that he can put in the papers at home. He says if I don'tdistinguish myself this year, I might as well stop and go to the Normalnext fall. He thinks college is too expensive. This editorship is theonly chance, because--because there isn't anything else for our class nowthat the offices are filled and committees appointed. He didn't like itbecause my articles in the magazine were signed with initials and not thewhole name. He said, 'Well, niece Laura, let me see your name printedplain in that list of editors, and then we'll decide about next year.'He--he's disappointed."

  "And yet," Berta spoke slowly, "you are going to help Lucine Brett withthat essay. And you know how much my little sister cares about being atcollege with you."

  Laura gave a startled jump and turned to run. "Oh, Berta, I hadforgotten. She's waiting. I've stayed too long. She'll be so angry!"

  "Let her," growled Berta; but Laura had fled.

  Meanwhile Lucine when left alone had dropped the sheets of her essay inher lap and planting her elbows on the sill crouched forward, staringmiserably out at the brown soaked lawn flecked with sodden snowdrifts inthe shadows of the evergreens that were bending before a rollicking Marchwind.

  "Nobody cares," she mourned, "even Laura doesn't care whether I succeedor not. I want the girls to like me, but they won't."

  Tears of self-pity dimmed her lashes when Laura slipped timidly into theroom and after a worried glance at the scattered papers resumed herformer seat.

  "Now, Lucine, if you will read that l
ast paragraph once more, I will tryto see where the difficulty lies. It--it's fine so far."

  Lucine looked down at her essay, then across at the attentive small facethat appeared quite plain when fixed in such a worried pucker. "No," shesaid at last, "I won't. You are not interested in the essay or in myhopes of success. You offer to help merely because you think it is yourduty. I refuse to accept such grudging friendship. You toss aside myaffairs at the slightest whim of an outsider, and then expect me towelcome the remnant of your mental powers. No, thank you."

  Laura bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she said, "you ought not to feel that wayabout it. I do truly wish to help you all I can. Please!"

  Lucine made a half-involuntary movement to gather up the sheets; thenchecked herself. "No, I have too much pride to play second fiddle. Yourneglect has wounded me deeply, and I do not see how I can ever forgiveyou. To forsake me for such a shallow, disagreeable person as BertaAbbott is an unpardonable insult."

  Laura gave a little shiver and lifted her head sharply. "I have tried tobe your friend. I have endured--things. But I won't endure this--Iwon't--I can't. Berta is my friend. You shall not speak of her like thatto me. Say you're sorry--quick! Oh, Lucine, say you didn't mean it andare sorry."

  "I am not sorry," said Lucine distinctly, "and I did mean it. I am glad Ihave dared to speak the truth about her. She is shallow and disagreeable."

  "And what are you?" Laura sprang to her feet. "A conceited selfishinconsiderate----" She clapped her hand to her mouth with a quick sobbingbreath. "Oh, Lucine, we can't be friends. I've tried and tried, but wecan't."

  From beneath lowered eyelids Lucine watched the slight little figurehurry to the door and vanish. Then rising abruptly she jerked a chair infront of her desk, slapped down a fresh pad of paper, jabbed her pen intothe inkwell, shook it fiercely over the blotter--and suddenly brushingthe pages hither and thither she flung out her arms upon them and buriedher face from the light.

  A few minutes later Laura entered noiselessly and stopped short at sightof the crouching form with shoulders that rose and fell over a longquivering sob. Laura took one step toward her, next two away; finallysetting her teeth resolutely she glided softly across the room and pattedthe bent, dark head. For an instant Lucine lay motionless; then with aswift hungry gesture she reached out her arms and swept the younger girlclose to her heart.

  "Laura, I can't spare you, I can't spare you. You are all I have. Forgiveme and let me try again. It is an evil spirit that made me talk that way.And, oh, Laura, dear, I want you to like me better than you like Berta. Ineed you more."

  Laura put up her mouth in child-fashion for a kiss of reconciliation. "Ilike you both," she said, and freeing herself gently stooped to pick upthe loose leaves of the essay. "Shall we go on with revising this now,Lucine? It is due this evening, you know. The board meets at eight in themagazine sanctum."

  Lucine watched her with a wistfulness that softened to tenderness thefaint lines of native selfishness about her mouth. "Laura, I want you toroom with me next year. We can choose a double with a study and adjoiningbedrooms. It will make me so happy. Do you know, last autumn when I livedin the main building and you away off in the farthest dormitory, I usedto sit in a corridor window every morning to watch for you. I care morefor you than for any one else. I shall teach you to care most for me nextyear."

  Laura seemed to have extraordinary trouble in capturing the last sheet,for it fluttered away repeatedly from her grasp and she kept bending toreach it again. Lucine could not see her face.

  "Will you," she repeated, "will you room with me next year, Laura?"

  Laura coughed and made another wild dive in pursuit of the incorrigiblepaper. "Let's not talk about next year," she mumbled uncomfortably, "itis so far off and ever so many things may happen before June. Of course,"she faltered and swallowed something in her throat, "I'd love to roomwith you, if--if I can. But now we must hurry with this essay."

  "Well, remember that I have asked you first," said Lucine, "and I can'tspare you."

  Laura said nothing.

  After the essay had been read and discussed by Laura whose criticalinsight was much keener than Lucine's, the older girl settled herself torewrite the article before evening. Dinner found her still at her desk,fingers inky, hair disordered, collar loosened in the fury ofcomposition. In reply to Laura's urgent summons to dress, she paused longenough to push back a lock that had fallen over her brow.

  "Don't bother me now. I'm just getting this right at last. Go away. Idon't want any dinner." The pen began again on its busy scratching.

  "Lucine, you know the doctor warned you to be more regular about eating.Whenever you work so intensely, you always pay for it in exhaustion thenext day. Do come now and finish the essay later."

  The rumpled head bent still lower. "I wouldn't drop this now for thirtydinners or suppers. It's good--it's fine--it's bound to be accepted--itmeans the editorship. To sacrifice it for dinner! Do go away. I wish youwould leave me alone."

  Laura turned away silently. If the success of the article was inquestion, she certainly could not interfere further. Lucine wrote on,paying no heed to the gong except for the tribute of an impatient frownat the sound of many feet clicking past in the corridor, with a rustlingof skirts and light chat of voices. At seven when the bell for chapelagain filled the halls with murmur and movement, she only shruggeduneasily and scribbled faster. By half-past she had finished and wasre-reading it for final corrections. Then folding it with a smile ofweary contentment, for at last she knew that it was sure of success, sheset out to carry it to the magazine sanctum.

  Down the stairs and through the lower corridor she hastened toward theplain wooden door whose key she hoped next year to claim for her ownfingers. The transom shone dark, and no voice yet disturbed the quiet ofthe neighborhood. Evidently the editorial board had not yet begun toassemble for the business session. Lucine decided to wait till theyarrived, so as to be certain that the precious essay reached their handsin safety. If she should drop it through the letter slit in the door, itmight be overlooked.

  Curling up on a window ledge in a shadowy corner behind a wardrobe shewaited while dreamily gazing at the moon which was sailing through cloudstossed by the still rollicking wind. Ever since her first glimpse of themagazine's brown covers, she had determined to become editor-in-chiefsome time. Now this essay would surely be accepted, and when printed thismonth would render her eligible for election as the first sophomoreeditor. From that position she would advance to the literary editorshipnext year, and then to be chief of the staff when she was a senior.Then--ah, then the girls would be eager and proud to be friends with her.And Laura would be glad she had not forsaken her in her early struggles.So far she had been too busy with her writing to make friends and keepthem. It took so much time and was such a bother to be friendly and dofavors all the while. But by and by she would have leisure to growunselfish and show the girls how noble and charming and altogetherdelightful she could be--by and by. Meanwhile her work came first. Shesimply had to succeed in winning this editorship.

  While Lucine lingered there, leaning her forehead against the cool pane,footsteps sounded from around the transverse; and two figures, arm inarm, strolled nearer. They glanced at the dusky transom, laughed over thetardiness of their stern editor-in-chief, and sat down on a convenientbox to wait.

  Lucine after an intent scrutiny to identify the two seniors assubordinate editors turned again to the moon, and listened halfunconsciously to the low trickle of words till suddenly her own nameroused her alert.

  "Yes, they're the favorite candidates." It was Bea's voice that spoke."If Miss Brett completes her quota of lines this month she willundoubtedly have the best chance in the election, even if she ispersonally unpopular. She is exceedingly self-centred, you know, and doesnot trouble herself even to appear interested in anybody else. Her manneris unfortunate. However she is unquestionably the ablest writer in theclass though little Laura Wallace is a close second. Berta knew her athome and is very fond o
f her. Laura and Berta's sister Harriet havealways been special friends."

  "Is Laura eligible? I do think she is the sweetest child!"

  "Didn't you know it? Her work has been mainly inconspicuous contributionssigned only with initials. Stuff like that counts up amazingly in thelong run. She is a better critic though not so original as Miss Brett.For my part I think the editor-in-chief ought to be primarily a critic,but perhaps I am wrong. Anyhow the theory is that the election goes tothe best writer. I'm sorry. I half wish Miss Brett would fail to qualify.The editorship means such a heap to Laura."

  "How?"

  "Her uncle who pays her expenses here is rather queer--thinks he ought tosee more results of her career. He's disappointed because she doesn'tgather in prizes as she did in the country schools. She may in her senioryear, but freshmen don't have much chance to win anything more than anhonorable record. He doesn't believe in college anyhow and consented tosend her under protest. Now he threatens to stop it if she doesn't dosomething dazzling this year."

  "Poor infant! What a ridiculous attitude! But since that is the case, whynot vote her in? Lay the circumstances before the board, and they'llelect her."

  "Oh, no, they won't. The board is altogether too scrupulous andidealistic this season to let personal feelings interfere. You're rathernew to office as yet. Mark my words and trust me: if Miss Brettqualifies, she will be elected. I know--and that's why I wish shewouldn't."

  "There come the others. See that pile of manuscript. We'll be lucky if weget away at midnight. I only hope nobody will ask me to compose a poem tofill out a page; my head feels as if stuffed with sawdust."

  Lucine turned her head slowly to watch the group of girls wander into theoffice and light the gas amid a flutter of papers and dressing-gownsmixed with sleepy yawns and tired laughter. Then some one shut the door.Lucine was still sitting in the shadowy window-seat, her essay clutchedtightly in her hand.

  After a minute she rose, walked toward the door, and lifted her arm as ifto knock. Then giving herself an impatient shake she swung around andhurried down the corridor as far as the transverse. There she hesitated,halted, half swerved to retrace her steps, stamped one foot down hard,brought up the other beside it, and clenching both fists over the essayfled from the neighborhood.

  When she reached her room, she paused to listen. Hearing no sound sheslipped inside, threw the essay into a drawer, locked it, and put the keyin her pocket. Then after a wistful glance around she stooped to pick upLaura's white tam from the couch, pressed it against her cheek for amoment, and laid it gently in the empty little chair where Laura had satwhile listening to the essay that afternoon.

  "Laura," she whispered, "I can't spare you, Laura. You shall come backnext year, and we shall room together again, you and I."

  Without a backward look toward the drawer where the manuscript layburied, Lucine gathered up note-book and fountain-pen and departed forthe library. She walked slowly through the long apartment, glancing intoalcove after alcove only to find every chair occupied on both sides ofthe polished tables that gleamed softly in the gaslight. Finally shediscovered one of the small movable steps that were used when a girlwished to reach the highest shelf. Capturing it she carried it to thefarther end of a narrow recess between two bookcases and doubled herangular length into a cozy heap for an evening with Shelley's poem of"Prometheus Unbound." That was to be the English lesson for the next day.

  As she read verse after verse, the music of the wonderful lines soothedher restless mood, and the beauty of the thought that love andforgiveness are stronger than selfishness lifted her to a height ofjoyous exaltation. The idea of Prometheus suffering all agonies for thesake of men came to her like a revelation. While she pondered over it,suddenly like the shining of a great light she understood the truth of"he that loseth his soul shall find it." The Christ-ideal ofself-sacrifice meant the highest self-realization.

  "My cup runneth over, my cup runneth over," sang Lucine in her heart, asshe read on and on. "I have been blind but now I see. It has been alwaystrue, always, always. My cup runneth over. Listen:

  "'It doth repent me; words are quick and vain; Grief for awhile is blind, and so was mine, I wish no living thing to suffer pain.'"

  "Laura!" Lucine raised her head dreamily. She was unconscious of how theevening hours had drifted past, leaving only a few lingering studentshere and there in the library. She could not see the two girls bendingover the table on the other side of the bookcase behind which she wasnestling. But their voices floated mistily to her ears.

  "Laura, remember that you have promised to live with my sister next year.Don't let Lucine coax or frighten you out of it. You have promised."

  "But if I don't come back?"

  "Well, anyway you have promised to room with Harriet if you do. We'llchoose a parlor away off at the other end of the campus from Lucine, sothat I can protect you from her demands. You've been growing thinner andwhiter all the year. Now, remember. Don't you give in to her selfishness.She is able to take care of her precious self without killing you in theprocess. Promise."

  Lucine heard a sigh. "I've promised to be her friend and I do care forher dearly; but I want with all my heart to room with Harriet, if I canmanage to get back for next year. I'm almost sure I shan't. Now, seehere, does this verb come from vinco or vincio? I'm so sleepy I can'tread straight."

  Lucine very white about the lips was sitting erect in her corner. "My cuprunneth over, my cup runneth over," echoed faintly in her brain. "My cuprunneth over and Laura likes her best and the essay is up-stairs and Iwish no living thing to suffer pain--suffer pain. My cup runneth over.'Pain, pain ever, forever!' I won't, I won't, I can't do it, I can't, Ican't, I can't! To sacrifice it all for her and then--and then to beforsaken!"

  Lucine glided from the recess, passed swiftly from the library, climbedthe stairs to her room, moved toward the drawer which held the essay, andfelt for the key in her pocket. It was gone. It must have fallen outwhile she read, doubled up on the low step. In wild haste now, for theminutes were flying and the board of editors might even now haveadjourned, she hurried back to search. The green baize doors swung openin her face, and Berta and Laura came loitering out, their arms aroundeach other, their heads bent close together affectionately.

  "Lucine, oh, Lucine!" Laura at sight of her slipped away from Berta,"what is the matter? What has happened? Didn't they accept the essay?"

  Brushing her aside Lucine swept on into the library, turned into therecess, and dropped on her knees beside the step to look for the straykey. Her eyes fell upon the open book which lay face downward where shehad forgotten it. Then she remembered. "I wish no living thing to sufferpain."

  It was long past ten o'clock and the corridors stretched out their duskydeserted length from one dim gas-jet to another flickering in theshadows, when Lucine crept back to her room. Laura raised a wide-eyedanxious face from the white pillow.

  "Lucine, I couldn't sleep until I knew."

  The older girl sat down on the bed and drew the little figure close.

  "When you are editor, Laura, will you try to like me still? And will youkeep on forgiving me and helping--helping me to deserve to have friends?And will you--will you teach me how to make Harriet like me too?"

  "Oh, Lucine!" Laura flung her warm arms around the bowed neck. "I knowwhat we shall do next year, if I can come back. The idea has just struckme. You and Harriet and I shall room together in a firewall with bedroomsfor three!"