Betty Wales, Freshman Part 32

CHAPTER XIX

A LAST CHANCE

Helen's choice of closed windows in preference to invading companies of moths and June-bugs had made the room so insufferably warm that between heat and excitement Betty could not get to sleep. Instead she tossed restlessly about on her narrow couch, listening to the banging of the trolleys at the next corner and wis.h.i.+ng she were still sitting on the breezy front seat, as the car dashed down the long hill toward the station. At length she slipped softly out of bed and opened the door.

Perhaps the breeze would come in better then. As she stood for a moment testing the result of her experiment, she noticed with surprise that Eleanor's door was likewise open. This simple fact astonished her, because she remembered that on the hottest nights last fall Eleanor had persisted in shutting and locking her door. She had acquired the habit from living so much in hotels, she said; she could never go to sleep at all so long as her door was unfastened. "Perhaps it's all right,"

thought Betty, "but it looks queer. I believe I'll just see if she's in bed." So she crept softly across the hall and looked into Eleanor's room. It was empty, and the couch was in its daytime dress, covered with an oriental spread and piled high with pillows. "I suppose she stopped on the campus and got belated," was Betty's first idea. "But no, she couldn't stay down there all night, and it's long after ten. It must be half past eleven. I'll--I'd better consult--Katherine."

She chose Katherine instead of Rachel, because she had heard Eleanor speak about going to Paradise, and so could best help to decide whether it was reasonable to suppose that she was still there. Rachel was steadier and more dependable, but Katherine was resourceful and quick-witted. Besides, she was not a bit afraid of the dark.

She was sound asleep, but Betty managed to wake her and get her into the hall without disturbing any one else.

"Goodness!" exclaimed Katherine, when she heard the news. "You don't think----"

"I think she's lost in Paradise. It must have been pitch dark down there under the trees even before she got started, and you know she hasn't any sense of direction. Don't you remember her laughing about getting turned around every time she went to New York?"

"Yes, but it doesn't seem possible to get lost on that little pond."

"It's bigger than it looks," said Betty, "and there is the mist, too, to confuse her."

"I hadn't thought of that. Does she know how to manage a boat?"

"Yes, capitally," said Betty in so frightened a voice that Katherine dropped the subject.

"She's lost up stream somewhere and afraid to move for fear of hitting a rock," she said easily. "Or perhaps she's right out in the pond by the boat-house and doesn't dare to cross because she might go too far down toward the dam. We can find her all right, I guess."

"Then you'll come?" said Betty eagerly.

"Why, of course. You weren't thinking of going alone, were you?"

"I thought maybe you'd think it was silly for any one to go. I suppose she might be at one of the campus houses."

"She might, but I doubt it," said Katherine. "She was painfully intent on solitude when she left here. Now don't fuss too long about dressing."

Without a word Betty sped off to her room. She was just pulling a rain-coat over a very meagre toilet when Katherine put her head in at the door. "Bring matches," she said in a sepulchral whisper. Betty emptied the contents of her match-box into her ulster pocket, threw a cape over her arm for Eleanor, and followed Katherine cat-footed down the stairs. In the lower hall they stopped for a brief consultation.

"Ought we to tell Mrs. Chapin?" asked Betty doubtfully.

"Eleanor will hate us forever if we do," said Katherine, "and I don't see any special advantage in it. If we don't find her, Mrs. Chapin can't. We might tell Rachel though, in case we were missed."

"Or we might leave a note where she would find it," suggested Betty.

"Then if we weren't missed no one need know."

"All right. You can go more quietly; I'll wait here." Katherine sank down on the lowest stair, while Betty flew back to scribble a note which she laid on Rachel's pillow. Then the relief expedition started.

It was very strange being out so late. Before ten o'clock a girl may go anywhere in Harding, but after ten the streets are deserted and dreadful. Betty s.h.i.+vered and clung close to Katherine, who marched boldly along, declaring that it was much nicer outdoors than in, and that midnight was certainly the top of the evening for a walk.

"And if we find her way up the river we can all camp out for the night,"

she suggested jovially.

"But if we don't find her?"

Katherine, who had noticed Betty's growing nervousness, refused to entertain the possibility.

"We shall," she said.

"But if we don't?" persisted Betty.

"Then I suppose we shall have to tell somebody who--who could--why, hunt for her more thoroughly," stammered Katherine. "Or possibly we'd better wait till morning and make sure that she didn't stay all night with Miss Day. But if we don't find her, there will be plenty of time to discuss that."

At the campus gateway the girls hesitated.

"Suppose we should meet the night-watchman?" said Betty anxiously.

"Would he arrest us?"

Katherine laughed at her fears. "I was only wondering if we hadn't better take the path through the orchard. If we go down by the dwelling-houses we might meet him, of course, and it would be awkward getting rid of him if he has an ordinary amount of curiosity."

"But that path is spooky dark," objected Betty.

"Not so dark as the street behind the campus," said Katherine decidedly, "and that's the only alternative. Come on."

When they had almost reached the back limit of the campus Katherine halted suddenly. Betty clutched her in terror. "Do you see any one?" she whispered. Katherine put an arm around her frightened little comrade.

"Not a person," she said rea.s.suringly, "not even the ghost of my grandmother. I was just wondering, Betty, if you'd care to go ahead down to the landing and call, while I waited up by the road. Eleanor is such a proud thing; she'll hate dreadfully to be caught in this fix, and I know she'd rather have you come to find her than me or both of us. But perhaps you'd rather not go ahead. It is pretty dark down there."

Betty lifted her face from Katherine's shoulder and looked at the black darkness that was the road and the river bank, and below it to the pond that glistened here and there where the starlight fell on its cloak of mist.

"Of course," said Katherine after a moment's silence, "we can keep together just as well as not, as far as I am concerned. I only thought that perhaps, since this was your plan and you are so fond of Eleanor--oh well, I just thought you might like to have the fun of rescuing her," finished Katherine desperately.

"Do you mean for me to go ahead and call, and if Eleanor answers not to say anything to her about your having come?"

"Yes."

"Then how would you get home?"

"Oh, walk along behind you, just out of sight."

"Wouldn't you be afraid?"

"Hardly."

"But I should be taking the credit for something I hadn't done."

"And Eleanor would be the happier thereby and none of the rest of the world would be affected either way."

Betty looked at the pond again and then gave Katherine a soft little hug. "Katherine Kittredge, you're an old dear," she said, "and if you really don't mind, I'll go ahead; but if she asks me how I dared to come alone or says anything about how I got here, I shall tell her that you were with me."

"All right, but I fancy she won't be thinking about that. The matches are so she can see her way to you. It's awfully hard to follow a sound across the water, but if you light one match after another she can get to you before the supply gives out, if she's anywhere near. Don't light any till she answers. If she doesn't answer, I'll come down to you and we'll walk on up the river a little way and find her there."

"Yes," said Betty. "Where shall you stay?"