CHAPTER XXVI—ANGELS UNAWARES

The big dance was over. Wellington had entertained the Breslins royally, and not even the absence of “real men” effected a barrier between the romping college girls and the best of good times. In fact, as the girls were wont to declare, it was a lot more fun without boys at college. Of course boys have their place, and that specifically at dances, but those who have ever enjoyed the privilege of participating in a girls’ dance at a big college, testify to the genuineness of the mirth, the joyousness of such an entertainment.

Basketball games were now being run off from a schedule that filled in every date from the height of the season to the Christmas vacation.

As Jane and Judith had predicted early in the term, sports had reached the acme of popularity at Wellington, and so well was the spirit and team work developed, that the usual small talk, and smaller squabbles were almost entirely obliterated, from the school curriculum—that furnished by the students, and not announced in the official prospectus.

Marian Seaton and Dolorez Vincez still “teamed up” and were under the ever watchful eye of the faculty, but the authoritative bomb had not yet actually exploded, and both girls appeared to hold their places in spite of Mrs. Weatherbee’s threat, concerning the proposed beauty parlor offence. But Dolorez played no more basketball.

Nor had the beauty shop enterprise been abandoned, though just who was actually responsible for the little cottage now undergoing repair, with the evident intent of opening up, no one was prepared to announce.

Jane, true to her promise, had quickly spread the word of disapproval among the student body, and in this she was ably supported and promptly assisted by Judith. It took little effort to convince the girls that Wellington would not permit her pupils to be canvassed in any business interest, and possibly, the character of the enterprise, being so closely allied to rampant vanity, had something to do with the quick reaction to their own disapproval.

With interest almost mounting to anxiety Jane watched for the local paper, the _Bugle_, published at the end of each month. She had reason to fear it would contain some material not given officially by the press committee of the college. The intimacy of Marian Seaton with the reporter was interpreted by both Judith and Jane as presaging trouble in print, and in the time elapsing, that fear of some disclosure concerning Helen grew in intensity with Jane, and was shared by the reliable and ever considerate Judith.

One morning early in December Jane received a little note from Helen, who, according to Mrs. Weatherbee’s arrangements, was doing her work quietly, and without the possibility of companions well meant though perhaps unthinking.

Helen took her exercise with the others, ate her meals in the refectory, went to a few lectures, but outside of that she was leading such a school life as an artist or a very serious student might be expected to adhere to. All her rollicking good humored individuality was suddenly swallowed up in what appeared to her companions as concentration, but Jane and Judith surmised it was associated with a more serious and less ordinary condition of affairs.

With uncertain fingers Jane tore open the little note inscribed in the peculiarly foreign vertical penmanship. She feared it might be a good bye, or at least the forerunner of a farewell, as Helen for two months past seemed to be at Wellington only from moment to moment, ready to leave at a word—the word Jane had so well forestalled up to the present. The missive, however, was not an adieu. It ran as follows:

“My dearest friend:

“You have been very patient with Helen. Each day I have longed for the pleasure of throwing open to you my anguished heart, but every day comes, and is closed by a night as dark as that before, and still I must wait—wait!

“The little card tied to my flowers I send with this. The name on it is almost sacred to me, and the sight of that name gave me the shock you witnessed. I felt he must be near, and that soon I would see him, but now I know it was all a cruel hoax, and I the victim of that hateful girl, who has so much wronged me, here at this beautiful school!

“I must tell you, my friend, that I did not know that other woman (she is more than girl), the black-eyed, black-haired foreigner. But now I know her. She was at Blindwood, and there with her then yellow hair, she taught in the gym. So it was she who perpetrated this outrage—she who thought it smart to see me almost faint with hope from the word written on my flower card.

“But have patience, my friend, and all will still be well, with your grateful and affectionate

“Helen.”

The fateful card fell into Jane’s lap. On it was written the words:

“To beloved Helka from Stanislaus.”

She turned over and over the innocent bit of pasteboard. And that was all—just those two names. What did it mean? Who was Stanislaus?

Pondering still on the new mystery Jane recalled that a boy had been mentioned in connection with the mysterious fainting spell Helen suffered, just before leaving Miss Jordan’s apartment in New York. Jane herself had seen someone in the lower hall, as she went out that day with Judith, and in innocent prattle, one of the freshmen had charged Jane with having a boy caller while in New York. Now, all this was recalled by the sinister act of Marian Seaton and Dolorez Vincez, who maliciously put those two names together on that fatal card presented to Helen after her triumph.

The card and Helen’s letter still lay in Jane’s lap when a tap with its three trills, Judith’s code, touched the door. Not waiting for a response Judith was in the room, almost before Jane had a chance to put the mystery safely under cover.

“Jane, Redhead, Bricktop, and Carroty, et al,” cried Judith. “Stop, Look and Listen! We are going to have a big public concert and we are going to have it in Martineau Hall. Now, who says Wellington is out of date, and a back number?”

“Whoever has dared to say such a thing?” recharged Jane. “I am sure I have never heard of any such accusation. But why the excitement? What is the answer?”

“Don’t you know? It’s to be a big public benefit. And we are to sell tickets by mail, to all the home folks, and I can send a whole strip to my cowboy, one Fedario——”

“Oh, do be sensible, Judy. I can’t see any good reason for being crazy over a mere concert.”

“That’s because you don’t know the real joy of going crazy. I have been whoopeeing all over the place, and everyone but you whoopeed with me. Now, you get the dipper out, and threaten me with a cold plunge. Don’t, Jane dear. Go ahead, come on, be crazy with me,” and she all but smothered the defenceless Jane in her own good sofa pillows.

“All right,” agreed Jane. “Consider me crazy. Now proceed.”

“You are on the committee to get the talent. That may mean a trip to New York. I know why you got that.”

“Why?”

“Well, Drusilla said, and you know what a wizard Dru is—she said the faculty knew that if a Wellington check should go to protest on the high ‘C’ of some prima donna, that Henry Allen, per Redhead Jane, would make it all right at the bank.”

It took a moment for that statement to filter through Jane’s brain. Then she laughed.

“Oh, nonsense, Judy! You know perfectly well there are plenty of girls here richer than I am.”

“Oh, yes, that is quite true, little one. But no girl is more generous, and this affair is to be one grand clean up of every old debt ever wished on our Alma Mater. Even the protested butcher bill I hear is to be paid up after the concert, and we are to go on chops again. Cheers!”

“Joking aside, it will be nice to have a real affair,” assented Jane, “and I am sure we can get a wonderful array of talent. But why should you think I may be asked to interview the talent?”

“Well, the Weatherbee is going to town, and she couldn’t go alone. Some one might steal her, and she insinuated she might take Miss Allen. It appears there is one star she must see by hand. So I predict, lucky one, you will duck that much discussed and disgusting forensic. Whilst I pine, and tar, and tarry: being the only friend of Jane Allen,” and Judith made an absurd attempt to sob, with the disastrous result of a gag, and choking fit, upsetting, for the moment, coherent speech.

Jane wanted to tell her chum of Helen’s letter, but hesitated, the exuberant spirits fizzing and bubbling over the proposed concert, reminded Jane, that Judith was first a girl, second the confidant. It would be rash to impose upon her at that moment, the serious portend of Helen’s affairs.

“And have you heard about the beauty parlor?” further effused Judith.

“What’s new?”

“Dolorez is packing, ready to check out.”

“You mean she is leaving college?”

“College is leaving her, she has been requested to avaunt.”

“Oh, what do you mean, Judy? Has Dolorez been expelled?”

“Well, it was this way,” and the tantalizing girl propped her head more compactly with an extra cushion. “It seems she went right on with the scheme, in the very face of all protests. The people she had interested refused to withdraw, on so simple a difficulty as a Wellington blockade or boycott—take your choice. Then, when Dolorez kept going out, and coming in, and lugging furniture from the village, and pinning up impossible curtains with Wellington hammer and tacks, Mrs. Weatherbee just called her before President Blakesly and Dean Rutledge. They had an interesting session in Warburton Hall, Dol shed a few tears of sheer rage, then crumbled up in a tailor-made heap—and cried ‘Kamerad!’”

“Judy, has Dolorez gone?”

“She hasn’t kissed me good bye yet, and I do hope she will not fail to avail herself of the privilege. But I fancy she is about on the wing by now. I saw old Peter with his ground plane, and I think I knew the trunk.”

“I wanted to appeal to Dolorez not to—injure Helen, Judith.” Jane said in her most sober tone, emphasized with the serious title Judith instead of Judy. “I have felt she must have enough kindness somewhere to listen to reason, and you know, she is the only one here who knew Helen at Blindwood. Out there perhaps, our little girl had not sense enough to be as conservative as she is now, and it is quite possible Dolorez knows more about the troubles than do you or I.”

“I wouldn’t wonder, Jane,” replied Judith, also assuming a serious tone. “I have heard so many remarks the origin of which I have laid at Dolorez’ door. That nonsense about a boy calling in New York was purely her mental output, the brand being plainly marked with her particular identification code. But how is our little Helen? Haven’t seen her in a rock of ages.”

“She is better alone, and doing wonderful work at her studies and her music. I had a note from her just now. She says we must be patient and soon she will be able to—emerge from her shadow. She sends her love, etc.”

“The dear!” and Judith’s eyes melted with a sentiment as sincere as that now engulfing the gray orbs of Jane. “Whoever would have thought we would have this struggle to keep her in her well-earned place in Wellington? Isn’t it true, Janey dear, that trouble begets trouble?”

“It seems too true to be pleasant just now,” replied Jane. “But, Judy, we have come through. We have given Helen a chance here she could never have otherwise obtained. And she has been so worth while.”

“We have given it to her! You mean you have done so! Ages ago I should have scared the poor child off with my foolish questioning, and somehow, that remarkable redhead of yours knew better. I believe red hair only grows in gray matter.”

“All the same, Judy dear, I should have been helpless without you. I believe Heaven makes girls in pairs.”

“Then I insist you were the pattern, and they liked it so well after they had a chance to look you over, that they gave me some of the same effect. There, wouldn’t our theology shock the Theo. Faculty? But I know one thing, girl, I am perfectly sure Heaven loves girls who love themselves.”

“Back to earth, my dear,” commanded Jane. “Has our basketball secretary fixed up the new schedule? Aren’t we making a fine record this year?”

“Oh, we started out to do that, to the last question; and to the first, yes, Constance has fixed up the schedule, she announced it at the practice from which you were excused. But, Jane, I had the darlingest letter from one of the Breslins, Marie Condon. She insists you have a system, and wants a line on it. She said Katherine, who fumbled in the big game and gave you the ball, never was known to do anything like that before. Now, Jane, did you actually and truly hypnotize her?”

“Silly, I merely used the regular strategy. She did keep her gaze fixed on me instead of the ball——”

“Oh, well, your beauty did the trick then. It’s all the same,” finished the effervescent Judith. “I have known your eyes to do that to little me, and I never could stand up under your old-time ingrown smile.”

“Judy, I have sent sweet little Mrs. Meeker all the six samples, and I want to compliment you on yours. It was very prettily done, and I wouldn’t wonder if some very nice soldier, or his girl, would write you a little letter of thanks. I took pains to mark each sampler with the name and address of the Mirabelle Dictu who finished it. Helen did two. Dickey couldn’t finish hers.”

“Oh, that’s lovely, Janie. I am so glad to have had just one more piece of war work to my credit. We begin to miss the dreadful war. And I am sure Mrs. Meeker will be overjoyed to get her pretty beaded pieces all so nicely finished. That was another of your inspirations, Jane.”

“Judy, I will not stand for any more compliments. They make me feel so self conscious. You surely don’t want a perfect angel for a chum, do you?”

“Couldn’t do a thing with a perfect angel but shoo her back to heaven. No, sister-chum, we are all very human, but I think rather prettily so,” and she stood before the small mirror over Jane’s dresser, framing her face with a satisfied smile, no one could have blamed her for.

“Away away! Je-u-ty—calls,” mocked Jane, paraphrasing “Duty” to offset beauty. “Take thyself hence, and dig in. We are having a lovely time, but even a good time has its limitations—at Wellington.”