Jane Allen, Center

by George Cary Eggleston

  CHAPTER XXIII--THE BARN SWIFTS--A TRAGEDY

  "And now for the Barn Swifts."

  "Everyone is crazy to come, Dickey. I'm afraid we will have anoverflow."

  "Oh, yes, of course. I suppose Nell will completely douse all the restof us. That's the way with foolish college girls. First they cut andthen they plaster."

  "Now, Dickey, you know you are Nell's best friend."

  "That's just it. I am and have always been her friend. I know athoroughbred when I see one, but these other folks," and Dickey made agesture of disgust. "They make me tired. I heard Toney and Tim planningto give her flowers."

  "You did?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "Then, Dick, we must be careful. Such a manifestation as flowersspells--trouble."

  "What do you mean, Clare?"

  "I mean that Toney and Tim are Marian's best workers, and when theyfall to our side with flowers! Look out!"

  "I am willing to take a chance with anyone but Dolorez Vincez, and mustadmit she is too much for us."

  "I think you are right, Dicky duck. But how do I look? Like my wings?"

  "Wonderful. But the left is a big scough-gee! There, that's better.What do you think of the shawl? I borrowed it from Maggie and promisedto return it without getting the folds out--an utter impossibility."

  They were almost dressed for the big event--the Barn Swifts' show. Ashinted at, the scene was laid in London, but more than that could notbe even hinted at--it would all come out in the Barn. Troups of freshmentrooped--no other word would describe the going back and forth to thebig barn--all afternoon and now, that it was almost time for the curtainto go up, a silence, formidable in its import, settled on the stretchof road leading to the gaily lighted auditorium commonly known as theBarn.

  Every seat had been taken, and as Clare anticipated, an overflow wasimminent. Faculty, grads, undergrads, and all the sororities turned outin full force, to do credit to the inspired freshmen, and that a realartist, Helen Powderly, would render "original compositions, includingthe famous 'Wellington Sonata'" added not a little zest to the promisedprogram.

  As a curtain raiser Weasie Blair made some announcements. Theseincluded one for the Flippers' Pop-Corn Sale, another for a Musicale tobe given in aid of the Shut-ins, a call to arms--which translated meantthat such girls as had any of the War Samplers, being finished for theMirabile Dictu, would please send them in by Wednesday. The obsequiesover, Weasie bowed prettily, and the real show proceeded.

  Janet Clark played beautifully--some martial music on the old squarepiano, the same piano standing up remarkably under the strain of use,of ill use, and catalogue changes. A second curtain reluctantly hitcheditself up, revealing the stage setting--improvised wilds of London--ifthere be any such, the scenes all carefully laid in discarded wallpaper, and strips of nondescript table oilcloth. The idea was allright--but the detail a little sketchy.

  Applause was easier to obtain than dramatic action, and what ever thelatter failed the former supplied.

  Dickey Ripple, in Maggie's shawl, made a very pathetic picture, sittingby the wet roadside, with great snowflakes fluttering down. It wasJanet Clark's task to take care of the snowstorm, as she had only toperform on the piano otherwise, and Janet was never known to beaccurate. Consequently her storm was heavy--too heavy for snow. Morelike an avalanche, and the paper flakes at times acted as if some onehad ground out the motto slips from the upper flies. Nevertheless theeffect was thrilling, and Dickey in the snow brought forth rapturousapplause.

  To the rescue came tripping a bevy of Barn Swifts. Even the mostcritical could find little to complain of in that ballet. The piano andviolin (Helen played behind the scenes now)--this music inspired thesprites rhythmically and when finally they danced around, surroundingDickey, and carrying her off to the woodlands, the house "went mad," asGloria Gude expressed it.

  More London scenes of trials and trouble, pathetic and miserable, thestory not the acting, then came the climax!

  A real little chimney sweep, a ragged urchin, made "his" awful way downthe chimney (a slide cased in around the old brick fireplace) and afterthe wildest, weirdest strains of music (Helen at her best) the urchincame down--down until finally he landed in a very dim light, all huddledup close to the big, ramshackle chimney.

  There should have been applause--the work deserved it, still the housewas silent--spellbound. Not a hand clapped!

  Weirdly the violin strains wailed and wafted the plaint of theinspired, yet mad Chimney Swift! This was the original music, this wasthe much talked of star act of Helen Powderly, the promising artist ofEurope, the little freshman who was delaying her musical studies toobtain a correct knowledge of English.

  Now the entire scene changed. It was no longer a school girls' amateurcomedy, but a performance of such musical merit as Wellington had neverbefore discovered among her own students.

  When the plaint was finished, and the violin slipped down under thepile of leaves and brambles, Helen's face could not be seen, so dim wasthe light. She had insisted on that sombre accompaniment.

  For a few moments everyone waited, then one of the faculty ventured tostart the applause.

  Instantly the tumult amounted to an ovation. Jane and Judith werebreathless and allowed everyone else to do the applauding, while theywondered.

  That was really Helen! She had composed that sighing, wailing, moaningstrain out in the trees, when she caught the tune of the winds.

  They knew!

  But the students would not now be satisfied, and Helen was obliged torespond to an encore. Trite as is that statement, it expresses thefact, and Helen did finally respond.

  When she stepped out to the edge of the platform she revealed herselfthe true artist. Not the absurd rags, nor the comic make-up hid thepersonality of Helka Podonsky. The very manner of that graceful bow,the splendid tilt of her pretty curly head and above all the way shecarried and caressed her violin proclaimed her the artist.

  For an encore she played the "Wellington Etude." This was thecomposition advertised, and it fully bore out the promised merit.

  When finally after the last note, like a bit of spun glass, blew itsway to the heaven of true sounds, again came the thunderous applause.

  "Just as I expected," groaned Dickey Ripple. "We won't be able to go onwith the drama."

  "Oh, yes, we will. She will not play another note, not if they take therafters down, and as soon as the audience discovers that, they willquit," appeased Weasie.

  "Oh, they're giving her flowers!" whispered Clare, her eye to thepeephole. "An usher just brought a big bunch!"

  Helen could be seen accepting the flowers. She bowed gracefully, thenglanced at the dangling card. The next moment she had dropped theflowers to the floor, and she stood there, like one transfixed!

  Everyone saw what happened! When Helen read the card she dropped theflowers!

  There was a breathless pause. Finally a timid clap came like a signalfrom Jane's chair. Helen glanced over, recovered herself and with amurmur of apology regained her flowers.

  But not before the mischief had been done.

  Everyone wanted to know what was written on that card, and theremainder of the Barn Swifts' performance went by the wayside. Thetragic little incident had stirred the audience to evident curiosity,and whispers broke out ruthlessly at the most thrilling moments.

  Applause was sounded where the audience should have wept, and whenGloria spoke the most dramatic line of the whole plot, when tearsshould have burst from eyes and sighs escaped from trembling lips, someone cheered!

  "Awful!" moaned Dickey, the coach.

  Unsteadily Helen came within the "flies" a little pale, but smiling andhugging her roses. She was instantly surrounded by a crowd, tooovercome to really offer compliments, but the way they caressed herwith their eyes told the story.

  Helen had made the Barn Swifts famous, and what matter about drivellingdrama!

  When eventually the audience stirred, Mrs. Weatherbee succeeded inreaching Jane, and was n
ow talking to her in a serious tone.

  "I had no idea of her genius," the directress said. "She has a positivegift. She should not be wasting her precious time here in commonplaceEnglish."

  "Yes, I know, Mrs. Weatherbee," Jane faltered. "But she wants so muchto acquire a knowledge of our language. And Helen is still very young."

  "Oh, I realize that, my dear, but she is--an artist. She has given all awonderful treat. Tell her to drop in the office to see me, when she iscomposed again. I fancy the whole matter made her a little nervous. Shedropped her flowers, as if frightened for a moment."

  "Yes, I noticed that," said Jane foolishly. As if everyone had not"noticed that."

  Out in the lane, a bypath that wound round to the campus houses, MarianSeaton and Dolorez Vincez were tramping along, arm in arm, mindsworking in a strain of peculiar satisfaction.

  "I knew that would get her," said Dolorez.

  "Yes, wasn't it perfectly tragic!" exclaimed Marian.

  "Great!" declared the other, less choice with her expression than wasMarian. "I would not have missed that for a farm."

  "The effect was certainly very startling. Yet she did recover herself.What a wonderful player she is! How ever did she learn all that in herscant years?"

  "Born that way," tritely contributed Dolorez. "One doesn't have tolearn--talent."

  "I suppose not. But how wonderful it is. Why was not I born that way,as you say? Think what talent would mean to me?" this with a sigh.

  "Oh, come, Molly," and Dolorez wrapt her arm more tightly around thevelvet cloak. "You have talent. What about all that money we are goingto make?"

  "Hush, Dol! The girls passing might hear you."

  "What if they did?"

  "Oh, I wouldn't for the world!"

  "Pray, why not?" with a show of indignation.

  "We never talk of making money at Wellington," said Marian, when agroup of passing girls faded out of earshot.

  "I don't see why not. I am sure less important things are talked of,"persisted the tantalizing Dolorez.

  "But, Dol, you don't seem to understand. We all have a rating here, andwe could not get here without it. We are not in the money-makingclass--not that such are inferior to us," Marian hastened to add, "butbecause our social standing is supposed to be fixed outside of trade."

  A grating, mocking laugh followed this explanation. Evidently DolorezVincez had no such notion of correct social standing. She was plainlygetting on Marian's nerves.

  "I hope we will not get into trouble on account of to-night's affair,"Marian said. "I really begin to fear trouble," she sighed again.

  Another mocking titter answered this.

  "Good thing then, Molly, that you have me to fall back on. Cold feetare very unhealthy."

  Even the callous Marian shrank away from that. Dolorez was forgettingherself and "reverting to type," as Marian expressed it.

  Jane and Judith talked little, but thought much. They had detachedthemselves from the more noisy element, with a determination to getHelen and escort her safely to her little house with Dickey, andWeasie; this was their ulterior motive; they also wanted quiet.

  Judith was strong for Helen, and her enthusiasm grew as the momentspassed. They waited for some time at the stage door, ran around to allother doors (Jane did, Judith still limped) yet Helen had not beendiscovered. Just now Jane was peeping in a window, through which a tornshade allowed a view of the interior. This was the annex used fordressing.

  "Where can she be?" asked Jane again.

  "Didn't Dickey see her?" questioned Judith.

  "Not since she left the stage door. She said she was going over here toget her things."

  "May be home in bed by now. Good sense if she is."

  "I hardly think so. Wait! I'll slip in through the window. The door islocked."

  Judith resigned herself to an old stump while Jane "slipped in." Shewaited some moments then knocked for Jane.

  "Can't lose her as well," commented the tired junior. "Jane, why don'tyou come along?" she called lightly.

  Then Jane opened the door. She had an arm around a shrinking littleform, that even under the heavy cloak could be seen to tremble.

  "It's only Judith," whispered Jane. "Come on, Helen. I won't let anyonesee you. You are just too scared to speak. Poor little dear." Judithwas too surprised to speak. Also she sensed Helen had one of hernervous spells, and very prudently Judith wrapt her arm around theshaking figure, and together the three trudged along to the Ivy Nook,the campus house of Helen's lodgings.