Grace Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College Part 2

said Miriam positively. "Come into our room and we'll wash the dust from our hands and faces and do our hair over again."

"All right," agreed Grace, casting a longing glance at the closed door.

"We'll have to put our bags in your room, too. I don't wish to leave them in the hall for unwary students to stumble over."

"Bring them along," returned Miriam. "No one shall accuse us of inhospitality."

"I wish Mrs. Elwood were here." Grace looked worried. "We mustn't stay at Vinton's later than half-past seven o'clock. There are so many little things to be attended to, as well as the important question of our room."

Arriving at Vinton's at exactly half-past six o'clock, they found Arline Thayer and Ruth Denton waiting for them at a table on which were covers laid for six.

"We've been waiting for ages!" exclaimed Arline.

"But you said half-past six, and it is only one minute past that now,"

reminded Grace, showing Arline her watch.

"Of course, you are on time," laughed the little girl. "I should have explained that I'm hungry. That is why I speak in ages instead of minutes."

"Your explanation is accepted," proclaimed Elfreda, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g her face into a startling resemblance to a fussy instructor in freshman trigonometry and using his exact words.

The ready laughter proclaimed instant recognition of the unfortunate professor.

"You can look like any one you choose, can't you, Elfreda?" said Arline admiringly. "I think your imitations of people are wonderful."

"Nothing very startling about them," remarked the stout girl lightly.

"I'd give all my ability to make faces to be able to sing even 'America'

through once and keep on the key. I can't sing and never could. When I was a little girl in school the teachers never would let me sing with the rest of the children, because I led them all off the key. It was very nice at the beginning of the term, and I sang with the other children anywhere from once to half a dozen times, never longer than that. I had the strongest voice in the room and whatever note I sang the rest of the children sang. It was dreadful," finished Elfreda reminiscently.

"It must have been," agreed Miriam Nesbit. "Can you remember how you looked when you were little, Elfreda?"

"I don't have to tax my brain to remember," answered Elfreda. "Ma has photographs of me at every age from six months up to date. To satisfy your curiosity, however," her face hardened until it took on the stony expression of the new student who had locked Grace out of her room, "I will state that--"

"The Anarchist! the Anarchist!" exclaimed Ruth and Miriam together.

"What are you two talking about?" asked Ruth Denton.

"About the Anarchist," teased Miriam. "Wait until you see her."

"You have seen her," laughed Grace. "Elfreda just imitated her to perfection." Thereupon Grace related their recent unpleasant experience to Arline and Ruth.

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Arline.

"We will see Mrs. Elwood as soon as we return to Wayne Hall, and ask her to gently, but firmly, request the Anarchist to move elsewhere."

"Why do you call her the Anarchist?" asked Arline.

"Elfreda, please repeat your imitation," requested Miriam, her black eyes sparkling with fun.

Elfreda complied obediently.

"You understand now, don't you?" laughed Grace.

"I should be very stupid if I didn't," declared Arline.

"Of course she's dark, with eyebrows an inch wide. You can't expect me to give an imitation of anything like that," apologized Elfreda.

"I think I should recognize her on sight," smiled Ruth Denton.

"We are miles off our original subject," remarked Grace. "Elfreda hasn't told us how she looked as a child."

"All right. I'll tell you now," volunteered J. Elfreda graciously. "I had round, staring blue eyes and a fat face. I wore my hair down my back in curls--that is, when it was done up on curlers the night before--and it was almost tow color. I had red cheeks and was ashamed of them, and my stocky, square-shouldered figure was anything but sylphlike. I was not beautiful, but I was very well satisfied with myself, and to call me 'Fatty' was to offer me deadly insult. That is about as much as I can remember," finished the stout girl.

"Really, Elfreda, while you were describing yourself I could fairly see you," smiled Arline.

"Now it's your turn," reminded Elfreda. "I imagine you were a cunning little girl."

Arline flushed at the implied compliment. "Father used to call me 'Daffydowndilly,'" she began. "My hair was much lighter than it is now, but it has always been curly. I am afraid I used to be very vain, for I loved to stand and smile at myself in the mirror simply because I liked my yellow curls and was fascinated with my own smile. No one told me I was vain, for Mother died when I was a baby, and even my governess laughed to see me wors.h.i.+p my own reflection. When I was twelve years old, Father engaged a governess who was different from the others. She was a widow and had to support herself. She was highly educated and one of the sweetest women I have ever known. When she took charge of me I was a vain, stupid little tyrant, but she soon made me over. She remained with me until I entered a prep school, then an uncle whom she had never seen died and left her some money. She's coming to Overton to see me some day. Overton is her Alma Mater, too."

"You are next, Grace," nodded Ruth.

"There isn't much to tell about me," began Grace. "I was the tomboy of Oakdale. I loved to climb trees and play baseball and marbles. I was thin as a lath and like live wire. My face was rather thin, too, and I remember I cried a whole afternoon because a little girl at school called me 'saucer-eyes.' There wasn't a suspicion of curl in my hair, and I wore it in two braids. I never thought much about myself, because I was always too busy. I was forever falling in with suspicious looking characters and bringing them home to be fed. Mother used to throw up her hands in despair at the acquaintances I made. Then, too, I had a propensity for bestowing my personal possessions on those who, in my opinion, needed them. Mother and I were not always of the same opinion.

I wore my everyday coat to church for a whole winter as a punishment for having given away my best one without consulting her. With me it was a case of act first and think afterward. I don't believe I was particularly mischievous, but I had a habit of diving into things that kept Mother in a state of constant apprehension. Father used to laugh at my pranks and tell Mother not to worry about me. He used to declare that no matter into what I plunged I would land right side up with care. I was never at the head of my cla.s.ses in school, but I was never at the foot of them. I was what one might call a happy medium. My little-girl life was a very happy one, and full to the brim with all sorts of pleasant happenings."

"I never heard you say so much about yourself before, Grace," observed Elfreda.

"I'm usually too much interested in other people's affairs to think of my own," laughed Grace. "I have never heard Anne say much about her childhood, either. She must have had all sorts of interesting experiences."

"Mine was more exciting than pleasant," returned Anne. "Practically speaking, I was brought up in the theatre and knew a great deal more about things theatrical than I did about dolls and childish games. I was a solemn looking little thing and wore my hair bobbed and tied up with a ribbon. I never cried about the things that most children cry over, but I would stand in the wings and weep by the hour over the pathetic parts of the different plays we put on. Father was a character man in a stock company. We lived in New York City and I used to frequently go to the theatre with him. My father wished me to become a professional, but my mother was opposed to it. When I was sixteen I played in a company for a short time. Then mother and sister and I went to Oakdale to live, and the nicest part of my life began. There I met Grace and Miriam and two other girls who are among my dearest friends. Nothing very exciting has ever happened to me, and even though I have appeared before the public I haven't as much to tell as the rest of you have."

"But countless things must have happened to you in the theatre,"

persisted Arline, looking curiously at Anne.

"Not so many as you might imagine," replied Anne. Then she said quickly, "Miriam must have been an interesting little girl."

"I was a very haughty young person," answered Miriam. "In the Oakdale Grammar School I was known as the Princess. Do you remember that, Grace?"

Grace nodded. "Miriam used to order the girls in her room about as though they were her subjects," she declared. "She had two long black braids of hair and her cheeks were always pink. She was the tallest girl in her room and the teachers used to say she was the prettiest."

"I was a regular tyrant," went on Miriam. "I had a frightful temper. I was a sn.o.b, too, and looked upon girls whose parents were poor with the utmost contempt."

"Miriam Nesbit, you can't be describing yourself!" exclaimed Arline incredulously.

"Ask Grace if I am not giving an accurate description of the Miriam Nesbit of those days," challenged Miriam.

"It isn't fair to ask me," fenced Grace. "You always invited me to your parties."

"There, you can draw your own conclusions," retorted Miriam triumphantly. "I don't object to telling about my past shortcomings as I have at last outgrown a few of my disagreeable traits."

"Were you and Grace friends then?" asked Arline.