The Girl from Arizona Part 16

Marjorie was out of bed almost before she had finished the last line.

Her eyes were dancing, and her heart pounding with excitement.

"Tell the boy to say I shall be delighted to go," she cried. "There isn't time to write a note; I shall have to hurry. Oh, Hortense, did you ever hear of anything quite so splendid?"

It was a very radiant Marjorie who presented herself at the Randolphs'

apartment an hour later, and Beverly and his mother felt fully repaid for the kindly impulse which had prompted the invitation. The breakfast that followed was a very pleasant one, and Marjorie chatted away to her new friends as if she had known them all her life, and enjoyed herself more than she had done at any time since coming to New York.

"I really didn't know how disappointed I was about not going till your mother's note came," she said to Beverly, when breakfast was over, and Mrs. Randolph had gone to put on her hat. "I have always longed to see a football game. My father was on the team at Harvard."

"You seemed to take your disappointment rather cheerfully," said Beverly with characteristic bluntness.

Marjorie blushed.

"It was just one of the things that couldn't be helped," she said simply. "My aunt says there are some things every one has to make the best of."

"Your aunt must be a sensible woman," remarked Mrs. Randolph, who had returned just in time to hear Marjorie's last sentence. Thereupon Marjorie launched forth into an account of Aunt Jessie's bravery and cheerfulness, in which both her companions seemed interested.

Marjorie was sure she would never forget the delight of that motor ride to New Haven. It was her first ride in an open touring car, and the bright suns.h.i.+ne, the keen frosty air, and the swift motion, all combined to render the trip a truly enjoyable one. She sat in the tonneau, between Mrs. Randolph and the doctor, and Beverly occupied the front seat with the chauffeur.

"It's the most heavenly motion I ever imagined," murmured Marjorie, as they bowled swiftly out of the park and along the grand boulevard. "I always thought riding was the most delightful thing in the world, but I believe motoring is even better."

The doctor laughed.

"You must be an accomplished horsewoman," he said. "Beverly tells me you have spent a good part of your life on a ranch."

"I rode my first pony before I was five, and helped Father train a colt when I was nine," said Marjorie. "I suppose that is one reason why I love horses so much, and can't bear to see one ill-treated."

"I have no doubt of it, but if I were you I think I would leave the punishment of cruel drivers in future to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. By the way, how is the wrist this morning?"

"Oh, it's ever so much better," said Marjorie, blus.h.i.+ng at the memory of her escapade. "I don't believe I have thought of it once since Mrs.

Randolph's note came. I have been so anxious to see a real college football match. My father was on the team at Harvard."

"Indeed!" said the doctor, looking interested. "I am a Harvard man myself, and there was a Graham on the team in my time; a splendid chap--what is your father's name?"

"Donald, and he was in the cla.s.s of 1890," said Marjorie, eagerly. "Oh, I wonder if you can really have known Father."

"I certainly did. Ninety was my cla.s.s, too, and I remember Donald Graham very well, though we have never met since the old college days."

"How perfectly delightful!" cried Marjorie, with sparkling eyes. "Father will be so interested when I write him about it."

Dr. Randolph was really pleased to hear of his old cla.s.smate, forgotten for nearly twenty years, and he and Marjorie were soon in the midst of an animated conversation; she telling of her father's busy life on the Arizona cattle ranch, and he relating college stories, and growing young again himself in recalling those old merry days.

That was a wonderful ride, and Marjorie enjoyed every moment. Dr.

Randolph told her the names of all the towns they pa.s.sed through, and Beverly and his mother were so kind and so merry. It was noon when they reached New Haven, where they found the streets crowded with people and automobiles, and many of the buildings decorated with flags and Yale colors.

"Have all these people come to see the game?" Marjorie asked breathlessly.

"Yes, and a good many more as well," Dr. Randolph told her. "There is always a big crowd for these games; the railroads run special trains on purpose. We are going to have lunch now, and then go out to Yale Field."

"I wonder if we shall meet Aunt Julia and Elsie," said Marjorie. "How surprised they will be to see me if we do. Aunt Julia will be pleased, I know, for she hated to leave me at home."

"We shall meet the Bells and their party at any rate," said Beverly.

"They came yesterday by train, and are saving a table for us at the restaurant. You know Lulu Bell, don't you, Marjorie?"

"Yes, she is in my cla.s.s, and I like her ever so much. I like Winifred Hamilton, too, and she is to be with the Bells, I believe."

At that moment they drew up before the hotel where they were to lunch, and Mrs. Randolph and Marjorie hurried away to the dressing-room to remove wraps and motor veils, while the doctor and his nephew went to order luncheon.

CHAPTER XIII

MARJORIE SURPRISES HER RELATIVES

"I REALLY don't know when I've been so pleased about anything!"

exclaimed Lulu Bell, a pretty, bright-faced girl of fourteen, as she and her friends greeted Marjorie in the restaurant. "We were all so glad when Beverly Randolph told us you were here. Won't Elsie be surprised?

She hadn't the least idea you were coming. Come here and sit between Winifred and me."

"I don't believe any one can be much more surprised than I am myself,"

said Marjorie, laughing, as she took the proffered seat, and received the kindly greeting of her other schoolmates. "Wasn't it just heavenly of the Randolphs to bring me with them?"

"It was nice," Winifred Hamilton agreed heartily. "This is my first football game, too, and I'm almost too excited to eat. Did you ever see such a crowd in your life?"

"No, never," said Marjorie, with a glance round the packed restaurant.

"I wonder if they will really have lunch enough for all these people.

Do you suppose Aunt Julia and Elsie are here?"

"No, I don't think so," said Winifred. "We saw Elsie at the dance last night, and she said they were going to lunch with some friends of her cousin's. She will be at the game, of course, and perhaps you may see her there."

"I think it was real mean of Elsie to come without you," chimed in Gertie Rossiter, who was not noted for tact. "I should have hated to go off for a good time and leave my cousin at home alone."

"Oh, Elsie couldn't help it," protested Marjorie; "her cousin could only get two tickets."

"Nonsense!" retorted Gertie indignantly. "He could have gotten an extra one as well as not if he had known in time; he told me so last night. I know Percy Ward very well, and he's an awfully nice boy. He felt dreadfully sorry when he heard about your being left behind. He said it was just like Elsie."

"Isn't Mrs. Randolph pretty?" broke in Winifred, anxious to change the subject before Gertie made any more uncomfortable revelations. "She looks awfully young to be that big boy's mother."

"She is perfectly lovely," declared Marjorie, and Lulu added, by way of keeping the conversation in safe channels:

"Papa knows her brother-in-law, Dr. Randolph, very well, and he says she is the bravest woman he has ever met. You've heard about her little girl, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Marjorie, "it was very sad; I don't see how poor Mrs.

Randolph ever got over it."

"She didn't," said Lulu. "Dr. Randolph says it nearly killed her, and even now she can't bear to speak of it, but she doesn't think it right to sadden her son's life, and so she is always bright and cheerful. If I ever write a book I shall make my heroine just that sort of person."