Jane Allen: Center Part 20

CHAPTER XVIII-THE WOES OF "ALIAS HELEN"

A fall evening, dark, dreary and drizzling.

The amount of work to be prepared for next day seemed heavier and more difficult than usual and Jane Allen, humanly responsive, felt keenly the natural reaction of the wild week of honors and excitement.

It was almost time to "call it a day" when a very timid tap at the door, brought the bronze head up with welcome attention.

"Come!"

It was Helen-teary, and distrait. Helen with tie askew and hair tousled. Helen with eyes too bright and cheeks too red, and breath too short for normal.

"Oh, Helen, do come in! What is the matter?"

Jane brushed the papers from the wicker chair, and Helen sank in it.

The red eyes were pressed with a small wet ball, and the unsympathetic curls from her forehead dug into teary lashes with pure teasing persistency.

"Child, why do you cry?" asked Jane with a precision of manner suitable for an occasion such as this. Helen regarded abrupt speech as a mark of indifference, and Jane surmised this was no time for indifference.

"Oh, my dear friend!" sobbed the crestfallen Helen. "It-is too much, I cannot to-stand it!"

"What, Helen? What has happened? Tell your own Janey!" and with a caress, unmistakable in its sincerity, Jane dropped on a stool at the feet of the sobbing Polish girl.

"I thought not to tell you-it is too much that I should be like a baby," went on Helen, endeavoring with poor result, to check her choking sobs, "but to-night, I feel I must go!"

"Why, child! Go where?"

"That is what is too hard. I cannot know where, but to go-Oh, I must, Jane darling! I can no longer stand it all!"

"Now, Helen, tell me about it. You know it cannot be so serious that we shall not find a remedy," Jane coaxed.

"First, when I came here you know I heard many words-of anger that I, Helen Podonsky, should be at an American college." Something like triumph rang in the voice that now spoke the Polish name. "But I did not protest, I had the very good friends, and I loved them dearly." The brown curly head tossed with unmistakable pride, and Jane was surprised and charmed at the note evolving in the hitherto docile little Helen.

"Very many times," continued Helen in even tones, "I would have told you about that detestable girl-she who goes about at my heels, and listens at my door, until my dear roommate, d.i.c.ky Ripple, told Mrs.

Weatherbee all about it."

"d.i.c.ky told Mrs. Weatherbee about whom?" asked Jane in surprise.

"I hate the name too much to utter it. To-night you must pardon me, my dear Jane, but I am indignant, and I feel the Podonsky power breaking in all my veins." An eloquent gesture, two arms thrust out with power unmistakable, accompanied this a.s.sertion. Surely, Helen was betraying a new attribute-she was dramatically indignant! Something had aroused her slumbering pride, something had awakened her dormant lineal glory.

Helen Powderly was not at the moment Helka Podonsky. It was a new Helka, all Polish, all artist, all self confident, that confronted Jane.

"Oh, you mean Marian Seaton?" Jane was glad to insert. "I have had so much trouble from that girl, Helen dear, that I am now immune, that is, it no longer gives sorrow or worry. I just expect it like bad storms and other calamities."

"But when a girl is a sneak, when she makes trouble, so one cannot go to sleep, when she hisses into other girls' ears such things as are-lies-then, what would you do?"

"She has done all of that to me, Helen. My first year here was a nightmare, in spots," and Jane tried to inject a little mirth into the fast-growing seriousness of the conversation. "But I got over it (she might have said 'rose above it,' but Jane was humble). Yes, Helen, I did suffer just as you have described, and now you see the other girls are my friends, and she is losing all her companions."

"For you, yes, that is all good. You are the president of our cla.s.s, and much loved, much honored, Jane Allen. But for Helen Powderly, who has a wrong name, who got to college by tricks, who is perhaps some spy! Ugh! It is too much!"

That surely was foreign. No American girl could indulge in that sort of melodrama, and hope to retain her reputation as a well-bred member of society. It was too impa.s.sioned, too effusive, too altogether out of harmony. Yet Jane was secretly admitting it was sincere! It rang true!

And it was gloriously frank! She admired the spirit, if she did somewhat discount the tone of voice.

"Now, Helen dear, I am sure you are just a little bit mistaken. Even the hateful Marian would not do such injustice as to pile all that dishonor on your pretty head. Don't you think something has made your nerves-too tight, and they hurt the way you are stretching them?" Jane realized this was a weak simile, but it was not easy to give Helen a clear understanding always, and the intricacies of this conversation taxed even Jane's ready flow of speech.

"Nerves! nerves!" repeated Helen with something like a sneer. "We do not grow nerves in Poland, my dear friend. We must work hard for our art, and every hards.h.i.+p puts its foot on the squirming nerves. No artist can grow big, with those nerves biting her power."

Another revelation! Helen had her own psychology. This "killing of nerves" for the good of talent, was quite philosophical, if a trifle vague in the abstract. Jane bethought herself a nerveless career was, indeed, idealistic.

"But what has happened just now?" pressed Jane. "What has Marian been doing to so distress you?"

Helen sank again into an att.i.tude of polite concentration. She even smiled into the gray eyes that compelled her love, and confidence.

"I was out in the far grove, under the trees," she began. "I go there to hear the wild wind shriek and wail, so I may make those notes on my violin. Last night the wind howled like some awful frightened spirit, and I knew our masters made their wonderful music from such inspiration. I was sitting in a low branch, the wind rocked me like a playmate, and up in the trees, those shrieking, wonderful notes, oh-if I can only catch them!" she paused, and in the interval Jane visioned Helen up in that tree-as Judith would have said, "she had a life-sized picture" of the girl and her violin, in the tree, under the shrieking night winds, strong enough last night to blow girl and violin into realms of inspiration she so coveted. Presently as Jane nodded:

"It was too lovely to be there, and gently draw from my beloved violin the echo of that wind music. But the hateful girl! She had followed, and when I was so happy, with one magic strain, when she laughed out loud, horrible! She hissed and-made the noise to destroy my inspiration, to frighten away my beloved notes, and their little graces."

"Oh, that was too bad, surely, Helen," considered the rather bewildered Jane. She knew very well what effect the "movie" in the tree would naturally have on a girl like Marian. "But you must understand she knows nothing of the art or its inspirations," finished Jane.

"That I know also, and I could forgive the ignorance. But she mocks me," declared the unhappy girl, "she says vile things-she says-I am-mad!"

"Oh!"

That was it! Marian had taunted Helen with being mad! This was really serious, and Jane showed her apprehension by a complete silence. To prevent the little foreigner from a precipitous withdrawal from Wellington was now her problem.

CHAPTER XIX-TEAMS AND TEAMSTERS

"But we must attend to our practice, Judith, this very afternoon I have called for a full team. We are to meet the girls of Breslin, and no personal worries must be allowed to interfere with the duties of our team. You know, Judy dear, no one is more anxious than I to have dear little Helen's tangle straightened out, and I am going to it with all the wild and wooley in my make-up," Jane almost smiled, but there was a qualified twist at her mouth corners, and such an effect had often been called an ingrowing smile, id est: A smile fraught with fury.

"Oh, all right, Janey!" a.s.sented Judith. "I, like you, dear, am anxious to vanquish both foes, to wit: Breslin and Marian, but I am not so keen for practice. Janey, do you think I could work up a little water on the knee, or housemaid's ankle, or something like that, just for this afternoon? I have the prospect of the loveliest hike-out to Blighty our poney England, you know. I would love to go, but, of course, if I must make baskets for the sophs--"

"You really must, Judith. I will take no excuse positively. Besides, Judy dear, we are to have an audience this afternoon, and do you think I will stand for our team being minus our tall, striking, beautiful Junoesque--"

"Perfect thirty-six! Halt! All right, Jane. I shall be on hand.

Consider the bid accepted," and Judith flounced out in mock pomp, her limited skirt confines yanked out, in comic imitation of the sweeping court costume.

Basketball fever had set in with epidemic proportions. Every minute in the day available, or capable of being s.n.a.t.c.hed, was occupied with the little blue book guaranteed to give all the rules, all the official information, all the strategic signals, and all the game of girls'

basketball, visionary and actual, the only omission noticeable being ball and basket.

Last year's uniforms of green were decided upon as an economic measure, the war price of wools, and the actual scarcity of such materials putting a ban on the commodities usually used in college athletic costumes.

Jane had lined up her team, all pledged to run to the gym directly three thirty was dismissed. Grazia St Clair was one of the most promising forwards, and she had already proven her prowess. She could duck and dodge and sprint and "shoot a basket" while her companions of the team were extricating themselves from each others' stockings.

Judith occupied the critical position of standing center, and all her wisdom coupled with her indomitable push, earned the rather mystifying t.i.tle of Towser. It was "get 'em, Towser!" and "shake 'em, Towser!"

until Judith felt a peculiar interest in the very bones, inadvertently left on her dinner plate.

It was to be expected that Marian Seaton would occupy a place on the opposition team within Wellington. After many difficult meetings and "pow-wows" it was finally "amicably" agreed that two teams be formed from the juniors and sophs. The coach and managers were from the senior lines as were the referee and umpire.