Beatrice Leigh at College Part 5

"It's gone to her head," she muttered sadly as if communing with herself, "the idea of music has gone to her head. I must address her soothingly.

Yes, yes, we're going--we're going soon, don't worry. But we're a-going clothed and in our right mind--mine at least, and fed."

On tiptoe they flitted down to the big empty dining-room. A special breakfast was being served to the dozen or more students who intended to take the early train to the city. The unaccustomed stillness in the vast apartment usually vibrating with clatter of dishes and chatter of tongues seemed dreamlike to Berta in her exalted mood. Robbie Belle found it necessary to exert her firmest authority in order to get Berta to eat even a roll and swallow a cup of chocolate.

Two of the seniors who were going shopping lamented that they had neglected to apply for opera tickets until the house had been sold out.

Berta gazed at them pityingly. To have the money and to be in the city, and yet not to be able to go! Why hadn't they thought of it in time? She had antic.i.p.ated it years in advance. This world was full of queer people--all sorts of people who did not care for music, and even some who did not care for books. Wasn't it the strangest thing--not to care!

When somebody consulting her watch announced that the special electric car was to leave the Lodge Gates for the station in seven minutes, Berta dropped spoon and napkin in eager haste to depart. Out into the corridor and around the bal.u.s.ters to the messenger room where they were required to register their names and destination. At the foot of the broad staircase hung the bulletin board in the pale flicker of a lowered gas-jet. The morning light was brightening through the windows beyond.

Berta halted mechanically to scan the oblong of dark red in search of possible new notices. Something may have been posted since chapel last night.

Ah, yes, there was a fresh square of white tucked under the tapes that marked the felt into convenient diamonds. Berta read it at a glance.

"All students requiring financial a.s.sistance for the coming year are requested to make written application to the President before May 10th.

It is understood that those receiving such aid will exercise all reasonable economy in avoiding unnecessary expenditure."

Berta did not move, though her mobile face seemed to harden in a curiously stony expression. She read the notice again. Robbie Belle came breezily from the messenger room.

"Anything new, Berta? You look queer." She followed the direction of the fascinated eyes. She read it slowly and drew a deep breath.

"So we can't go after all," she said.

Berta seemed to wake up suddenly from a trance. "Robbie Belle!"

"I can't help it," doggedly though the smooth forehead had clouded in a quick frown of pain at the cry, "it would not be honest. I didn't know before."

"It's our own money," protested Berta defiantly.

"But our scholars.h.i.+ps are the same as borrowed."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "ANYTHING NEW?"]

"The tickets are bought and paid for."

Robbie Belle caught a glimpse of figures emerging from the dining-room.

"There come those two seniors who forgot to get seats in advance. Isn't it lucky! Now we can sell them ours."

"Give me my ticket," demanded Berta's voice sullenly, "you never cared."

"But it is not honest," repeated Robbie Belle stubbornly. "I never thought of it in that light before. It is not honest to spend five dollars and more for a luxury while we are living on borrowed money."

"Give--me--my--ticket."

The seniors rustled past. To Berta their laughter sounded far away. "Oh, girls, we'll have to hurry! Hear that bell jangle."

"The conductor does it on purpose to see us run. We have three minutes yet. Those two freshmen by the bulletin-board are going."

"It is not honest," said Robbie Belle.

Fragments of gay chatter floated back to them. "Caruso and Sembrich in Lucia di Lammermoor! Fancy! It is the most wonderful combination of extraordinary talent--genius. I shall certainly go if I have to stand up every minute of the three hours."

"It is simply wicked to miss such an opportunity."

"Important part of our education, isn't it? I only wish my thesis were on the 'Development of the Drama.' I should employ the laboratory method most a.s.suredly."

"The critics say that such a chance as this does not occur more than once in a century."

"It is not honest," said Robbie Belle, back in the shadowy corridor before the bulletin-board.

"Will you give me my ticket?"

Robbie Belle flinched before the pa.s.sionate low tones, and the roseleaf color in her cheeks went quite white. She handed Berta both tickets. "You may do what you like with mine," she said and turned slowly away.

Berta fled in the wake of the hurrying seniors. Her head buzzed with frantic arguments. It was her own money--she had earned it. n.o.body had a right to dictate what she should do with it. Robbie Belle never could see more than one side of a question. To forbid unnecessary expenditure just because she accepted a loan to carry her through college! Who was to say whether it was unnecessary or not? The Opera was part of her musical education. She would repay the scholars.h.i.+p with interest at the earliest possible date after she began to earn a salary. What meddling insolence!

The girls who held scholars.h.i.+ps were the brightest and finest in college--some of them. And to treat them as if they were extravagant, silly little spendthrifts! It was honest. Hadn't she denied herself everything all the year--clubs and dinners and drives and flowers and ribbons and gloves and new books and fine note-paper and that cast of the Winged Victory which she had wanted and wanted and wanted? Not that she a.s.sumed any credit for such self-denial--it simply had to be, that was all. But now, this was different. She owed it to herself not to miss such a wonderful occasion. A chance in a century--that was what the senior said.

Ting-aling, ting-aling! jangled the bell madly. The conductor paused, his hand on the strap. A breathless girl sprang upon the platform, darted into the car, tossed a packet upon a convenient lap.

"There are two seats for the Opera. We can't go." And she had leaped from the moving steps and vanished through the great iron gates of the Lodge.

Back in the dormitory before the bulletin-board Miss Bonner, the graduate fellow, was staring at the new placard. She gave a slight start of astonishment at a glimpse of Berta hastening past her. Then because she had heard the story from Robbie Belle two minutes earlier, she pretended to be absorbed in the notices, for she suspected that any comment would start the tears that Berta was holding back. However, she was smiling to herself after the girl had vanished up the stairs. When the gong struck for breakfast, she halted at the faculty table to whisper a few words to the professor in her special department. The professor answered, "How glad I am!"

"And you really believe that it would have prejudiced the scholars.h.i.+p committee against Miss Abbott, if she had persisted in this extravagance?

She has worked so hard to earn it."

"I understand," the professor was sympathetic but unswerving from her convictions; "it seems somewhat cruel when one considers how pa.s.sionately fond of music the child is. Still you must remember that this scholars.h.i.+p fund is the result of endless self-denial. I have known several alumnae, to say the least, who have sacrificed greater privileges than visits to the Opera for the sake of contributing an extra mite. Would it be just for one who benefits from the economy of others to spend in self-indulgence?"

Meanwhile Berta, unconscious of the fact that her whole college career and the future to be moulded by it had depended upon her decision to do right in this apparently insignificant respect, had trudged up to a certain lonely room. Robbie Belle lifted a wet face from a consoling pillow.

"Berta!" It was like a soft little shout of triumph. "I knew----"

Berta swallowed a lump in her throat and managed to smile a whimsical smile from behind dewy lashes.

"Maybe we'll have clam chowder for luncheon," she said, "and then won't those two seniors be sorry!"

CHAPTER IV

HER FRESHMAN VALENTINES

WHEN Bea straightened her head from its anxious tilt over the desk, she drew the tip of her tongue from its perilous position between two rows of white teeth, and heaved a mighty sigh of relief.

Then she blinked admiringly upon the white pile of envelopes lying in the glow of the drop-light. "There! That makes fifteen valentines all for her. She will be sure to receive more than any other senior, and that will teach Berta Abbott a thing or two. The idea of her insisting that her senior is more popular than my senior!"

With a smile that was rather more sleepy than dreamy, the industrious young freshman picked up the precious missives.