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Grace Harlowe's Fourth Year at Overton College

<h3>WHAT THE SENIORS THOUGHT OF THE PLAN</h3> "I can't forgive myself for being so disagreeable," was Arline Thayer's regretful cry. Grace had met Arline half an hour earlier than the time appointed for the senior class meeting the following afternoon and the two girls had hurried to the room in Overton Hall, where the meeting was to be held, for the express purpose of having a confidential chat before the others should arrive. "Don't think of it again, Daffydowndilly." Grace regarded Arline with affectionate eyes. She was glad almost to the point of tears that the cloud between her and the dainty little girl had been lifted. "Oh, but I must think of it this once, Grace," persisted Arline. "I haven't told you yet how truly sorry I am for behaving so badly toward you. But I was so angry with you for troubling yourself about that horrid Kathleen West. But first let me ask: Did you see that New York newspaper story? Father sent me a copy of the paper. I showed it to Ruth, but didn't tell any one else. It is known here, though." "Yes, I knew of it the day after it was published," answered Grace soberly. "Mabel sent me a marked copy. I am sorry my name was used. It was a surprise to me." Arline's eyebrows lifted. "A surprise!" she exclaimed with fine sarcasm. "I think I can understand just how pleased you felt over that surprise. I am not going to allow a certain person to come between our friendship again, but I can't help saying that if ever you speak to her again, you will be doing yourself a great injustice." "Would it surprise you to hear me say that I am inclined to endorse what you have just said?" questioned Grace. "What I tried to do for her was done largely to please Mabel Ashe. Mabel has released me from my promise. I seldom take violent dislikes to persons I meet, but, to tell the plain truth, I have never liked Miss West, although I have admired her ability and perseverance. In fact, I have never met any one I disliked so much," confessed Grace. "I don't know what has come over me, but I simply can't endure the thought of her, let alone forgiving her." "I don't blame you. I hope you will continue to take that stand. You won't, though. If you knew, to-morrow, of something that would be to her advantage to know, you wouldn't hesitate to tell her." Grace looked rather confused. Arline's chance shot had gone home. She had not forgiven Kathleen, yet only yesterday she had paved the way for her to possible honor. "What did you do here on Thanksgiving?" she asked abruptly. "Why didn't you go to New York?" Arline laughed. "I am perfectly willing to change the subject and answer both your questions. Father was in Chicago, so we thought we'd stay here and see what we could do for some of the girls whose good times are limited. We did all sorts of little stunts. Thanksgiving night we gave a party at Morton House and invited every one we could think of, and the next night Ruth and I took our checks, we each received an extra one for Thanksgiving, and gave a moving picture party. We made the man who owns the place reserve the seats, and we saw 'The Merchant of Venice.' It was beautifully done, and every one who saw it was delighted. Then we invited several girls to Morton House for Thanksgiving dinner, too." "I wanted to ask you and Ruth to go to New York with us, but——" "Don't say a word," interrupted Arline, with a penitent little gesture. "It was my fault. I claim the privilege of changing the subject, too. What is the object of this class meeting?" Grace was about to explain, when a murmur of voices in the hall announced that the seniors had begun to gather for the meeting. Within ten minutes every seat in the room was occupied, and Arline Thayer, now president of the senior class, called the meeting to order. "As there is no particular business to be transacted," announced Arline, "what is the pleasure of the class? Will the person or persons responsible for the notice on the bulletin board please rise and enlighten the class as to why we are here?" "Madam President," Emma Dean rose from her seat and addressed the chair, "I wrote the notice. It was the outcome of a session in which a number of the seniors had been discussing ways and means of making 19— famous in the annals of Overton." Emma proceeded in her clever, humorous fashion to lay before the class the project of a play to be written by a member of one of the four classes and produced and enacted by the seniors. "If we allow any girl in college who wishes to compete for the honor pin we shall have a greater variety of plays from which to choose. It will also be a good opportunity to discover any lights that might otherwise be so securely hidden under bushels of modesty that no one would ever see them. "The rules for the contestants will be very simple. The play must be original. It must consist of not less than three acts, and all manuscripts must be in the hands of the committee appointed by the president of the senior class on the Tuesday before the Easter vacation. The play may be comedy, drama, or tragedy, but it must be representative. The duties of the committee will be to receive the plays. As soon as they have been submitted they are to be turned over to three members of the Overton faculty, provided they are willing to act in the capacity of critics. I should now like an opinion from the class." Emma sat down amid an energetic clapping of hands. To a member, the class was in favor of the proposed contest. One after another the members rose to voice their approval, and when the president called for a rising vote every member was instantly on her feet. "You understand that we shall require permission from the president of the college before we can officially announce the contest," Arline reminded the class. "I will appoint Miss Dean, Miss Harlowe and Miss Wade to call upon the president and obtain his permission. Then the play committee will see to the advertising of the contest." Before the meeting closed, Anne Pierson, Miriam Nesbit, Ruth Denton and Elfreda Briggs were appointed to serve on the play committee and the date of the production of the play was set for the Friday of the fifth week after the Easter vacation. It was also decided that Lecture Hall, which boasted of a stage and several sets of scenery, and would hold a goodly audience, should be used for the occasion. Within the next three days Miss Duncan and Dr. Hepburn, instructors, respectively, in English and Latin, and Dr. Darrow, professor of Oratory and Dramatic Expression, had been interviewed and had consented to act as judges. The moment these preliminaries had been attended to, Gertrude Wells had begun an elaborate poster to hang above the bulletin board in Overton Hall announcing the contest. At the bottom of the poster was fastened a card on which the rules had been painstakingly lettered in black and red. By the end of the week there was scarcely a girl in Overton who had not stopped before the gayly colored poster to read the news that was being discussed long and earnestly throughout the college. Those who had acquired a certain amount of reputation in the matter of themes boldly announced their intention of competing for the honor pin, while there were others whose themes had never been praised, whose ambition to show the judges what they really could do urged them on to enter the lists. Neither Grace, Miriam nor Anne intended to try for the prize. Ruth Denton had confided to Arline that she had an idea for a play which she meant to work out, and Emma Dean boldly proclaimed herself to be deep in the throes of a comedy called "Life at Wayne Hall; or, the Expressman's Surprise." Elfreda, too, had apparently been inspired, and for a week went about chuckling to herself and making mysterious notes in a little black note book she now carried constantly. Grace could not help wondering now and then if Kathleen West would enter the contest. Since the newspaper girl's return from New York she had kept strictly to herself. She spoke to Patience only when absolutely necessary and took not the slightest notice of Miriam, Anne or Elfreda. Patience confided to Grace that Kathleen studied harder than ever, and wrote for at least two hours every night, never forgetting to place her papers carefully in her desk and to lock it securely before going out or to bed. "I believe she is writing a play, but I don't know positively and I wouldn't dream of asking her," had been Patience's comment. As the long intervening days that lay between the students of Overton and "going home for Christmas" dragged by, Grace found herself more impatient to see her father and mother than ever before. "It is on account of that old newspaper trouble," she assured herself. "Father and Mother were so dear and forgiving over it that I can't wait to see them." All her thoughts were now centered on going home. "I never wanted to see Father and Mother so much in all my life as I do this Christmas. Next week seems ages off. I am sure it is seven years instead of seven days until vacation begins." She confided to Anne one evening, as she sat on the floor beside her open trunk: "I'm going to begin packing to-night and do a little each day. It will give me a certain amount of satisfaction and make the time pass more quickly. I wonder why Mother doesn't write? She hasn't sent me my check to go home with yet. I can't go home until it comes, for I have spent every cent of my allowance and my extra check, too, for Christmas presents." "Don't worry over it," advised Anne. "Your father and mother are the most infallible persons I know. You won't be left stranded in Overton and have to walk ties to Oakdale." "If I do, I shall take you with me. As a trouper you ought to be proficient in that exercise," laughed Grace. "As a successful exponent of the dramatic art," began Anne pompously, "I——" "Miss Pierson! Miss Pierson!" Mrs. Elwood's voice was heard in the hall at the foot of the stairs. Anne sprang to the door. "Here I am, Mrs. Elwood," she called, stepping down the hall to the head of the stairs. "Here's a telegram for you. Will you please come downstairs and sign for it?" Anne hurried down the stairs, her heart beating violently. She signed the messenger boy's book, shoved the pencil into his hand and ran back to Grace as fast as her feet would carry her. "It's a telegram, Grace. It's for me. I'm afraid to open it," she cried, dashing into the room. "Open it. I dare not. Oh, if anything has happened to Mother or Mary!" Grace took the envelope Anne held out to her. Her own hands were trembling with apprehension, yet she managed to tear open the envelope and draw out the fateful message. There was the crackling sound of unfolding paper, then Grace cried out in joyful tones: "Anne, you never can guess! It is too good to be true!" Anne sprang to her feet, and darting to where Grace stood, the open telegram in her hands, peered over her shoulder. A moment later she and Grace joined hands and performed a joyful dance about the room. "What on earth is the cause of all this jubilation?" queried Miriam's voice from the doorway. "I knocked, but no one paid any attention to me. It sounded from the outside as though you might be engaged in deadly conflict, so I decided to interfere." The dance ceased and Grace thrust the telegram, which she still held, into Miram's hands. "Read it," she commanded. <div class="blockquot">"Will arrive in Overton 5:30. Meet me. With love. Rose Gray." </div> And, reinforced by Miriam, the dance was begun again with renewed vigor. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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