by Frank Cobb
CHAPTER III
A QUESTION OF ECONOMY
"I LOVE music myself," said Robbie Belle, lifting serene eyes from herporridge, "but to-day is Thanksgiving Day."
"Oh!" sighed Berta, as she clasped her hands--those thin nervous handswith the long fingers that Robbie Belle admired all the more for theircontrast with her own dimpled ones, "think of hearing Caruso and Sembrichtogether in grand opera! I could walk all the way on my knees."
"What!" cried Robbie Belle in wide-eyed astonishment, her spoon half wayto her mouth, "walk seventy miles! And miss the Dinner?"
The graduate fellow at the head of their table looked quite sad as shenodded her pretty head, though to be sure her napkin was hiding her lips.
"Why!" gasped Robbie Belle, freshman, "but Dinner is to begin at threeand last till almost six. And we are going to have salted almonds andnesselrode pudding and raw oysters and chocolate peppermints and turkeyand sherbet and macaroons and nuts and celery and Brussels sprouts andeverything. We are painting the place-cards this morning and one is foryou. It is a shame for you to sacrifice it just to hear grand opera, MissBonner. Are you really intending to take the nine o'clock train?"
Again the fellow nodded. Robbie Belle's wondering gaze rested a moment onBerta's gypsy face alight now with an intensity of longing. Deliberatelydepositing her spoon on one side of her saucer and her buttered bit ofroll on the other she devoted her entire attention to this marvel.
"I cannot understand," she said clearly, "it is only singing. And to-dayis Thanksgiving Day. It comes once a year."
Miss Bonner brushed her napkin across her mouth rather hurriedly andexcused herself from the table. Robbie Belle watched her retreating downthe long vista of the dining-room.
"Would you honestly choose to go with her if you could, Berta?" sheasked, "grand opera is only something to see and hear and then it is allover."
"Oh, Robbie Belle!" groaned Berta, "how about the Dinner? That is onlysomething to eat, and then it is all over too."
"Why don't you go if you want to?" inquired Robbie Belle as shereflectively picked up her roll again. "We can invite somebody else totake your place at the table. Bea and Lila are going to the hothouse forsmilax and chrysanthemums."
"Why don't I go?" Berta leaned back and drew a long and melancholy sighfrom the bottom of her boots. "Girls," she turned to the others who werestill lingering over their breakfast, "she asks why I don't go to heargrand opera. And it costs two dollars railroad fare even on a commutationticket, and seats are three dollars up, and I have precisely thirty-sevencents to last me till Christmas."
"Oh," commented Robbie Belle repentantly, "I didn't think. I'd love topay for all of you, only I haven't any money either."
Berta clutched at her heart and bent double in a bow of gratitudeunspeakable. Robbie Belle continued to stare at her thoughtfully. "If youtruly want to, Berta, we might save up and go to the opera some otherday. I'm willing."
"Willing! Dear child! Willing! Behold how she immolates herself upon thealtar of friendship! She is willing to go to grand opera and sitlistening to sweet sounds from dawn to dark----"
"Oh, Berta!" interrupting in alarm, "not from dawn to dark really? Howabout----"
"Luncheon?" the other caught up the sentence tragically. "Ah, no, butcalm thyself, dear one. Be serene--as usual. There is an intermission forluncheon. We could go to a restaurant. It would be a restaurant with avinegar cruet in the centre of the table and plates of thick bread ateach end and lovely little oyster crackers for the soup. Perhaps if youhad two dollars extra you might order terrapin."
"And pickles," put in Bea generously, "with striped ice-cream."
"And angel food with chocolate frosting an inch thick," contributed Lila.
"It's a long time till spring," said Robbie Belle regretfully, "but verylikely we will need all that while to save it up."
As it turned out, they did need all that while to save it up. Forbeauty-loving Berta with her eternally slim purse and hopelessly meagreaccount-book, the plan at first seemed only a vision of the moment.Nobody can save out of nothing, can she? Robbie Belle, however, had astubborn fashion of clinging to an idea when once it became fixed. Herideas, furthermore, were apt to be clean-cut and definite. This is howshe reasoned it out:
If a girl receives five dollars a month from home to pay for books andpostage and incidentals, she is entitled to whatever she saves from theallowance. Every time this girl refrains from writing a letter, she hasreally saved two cents or the value of the stamp, to say nothing of thepaper. Whenever she walks down town instead of riding, she has a right tothe nickel to add to the fund in the back of her top bureau drawer. Ifshe buys a ten-cent fountain-pen instead of a dollar one, she virtuallyearns ninety cents. If she rents a grammar for twenty-five cents insteadof paying one dollar and a half for a new book, she is a thrifty personwho deserves the difference. Every time she declines--mournfully--to dropin at the restaurant for dinner with a crowd of friends, or refuses tojoin in a waffle-supper, Dutch treat, she is so much nearer being amelancholy and noble capitalist.
"Yes, that's all right for you," assented Berta airily when told of thisworking theory, "but supposing you don't have the money to save in thefirst place? I fail to receive five dollars a month from home or even onedollar invariably; and I always walk to town and never enter therestaurant except to wait while you save ten cents by buying half a poundof caramels when you want to buy a whole pound."
"They're forty cents a pound, Berta," objected scrupulous Robbie Belle."I really saved twenty cents yesterday, you see."
"Ah, of course, how distressingly inaccurate of me. And I also--I savedfive dollars and fourteen cents by using my wash-stand for awriting-table instead of buying that bargain desk for four dollars andninety-eight cents. The extra fifteen was saved on the inkwell I did notbuy either. I say, Robbie Belle Sanders, let's save the entire sum bydenying ourselves that set of Browning we saw last week."
Robbie Belle looked grieved. "You always make fun of everything. You actas if you didn't care."
Berta turned away for a minute, and stood gazing from the window of herlittle tower room. The window was small and high, but the view was wideand wonderful toward the purple hills in the west. At length she saidsomething under her breath. Robbie Belle heard it and understood. It wasonly, "I'm afraid."
Robbie Belle knew that Berta was afraid of caring too much. She hadlistened once in twilight confidence under the pines to the story of howBerta had been all ready to start for college three years before, when asudden family misfortune changed her plans and condemned her to immediateteaching. In the bitterness of her disappointment she had vowed never toset her heart on any plan again.
Walking over to Berta's side Robbie Belle took the listless hand in bothher comforting ones.
"Even if we shouldn't manage it this year, you know, we could try againnext year. We might earn something extra during the summer."
"Next year!" echoed Berta under her breath. "I can't count on nextyear--I dare not. You do not understand, for your scholarship is certainthrough the course, while mine depends on what Prexie thinks I am worth.I am under the eye of the faculty. Don't talk about next year. I ampretending that this is the last time I shall be here in October, then inNovember, then in December. I look at everything--the lake, the trees,the girls, the teachers, the dear, dear library, and say, 'Good-bye!Good-bye, my college year.' They may not help me to come back, you know.If I really try not to expect it, I will not be disappointed in any case.Of course, I am not worth four hundred dollars to them. I am afraid tohope for it."
"Why, you are the brightest student here. Bea says so and you know it!"exclaimed Robbie Belle indignantly; "there isn't any question about yourbeing granted another scholarship when you apply for it next spring. Theyweigh everything--intellect, personality, character, conduct. Never youfear. If they give only one scholarship in the whole college, it shall beto you. You are superstitious: you fancy that if you do your best toexpect the worst, the best w
ill happen, because it is always theunexpected that happens. Only of course, that isn't true at all."
Berta was smiling mistily around into the fair face. "Dear old RobbieBelle! Will Shakespeare was right--'there's flattery in friendship'--itmakes me rejoice. The trouble, you see, sweetheart, lies in my character.I misdoubt me that Prexie will spurn my plea if he hears how often wehave a meeting of the fudge club at a tax of two cents per head. Let'ssave up that two cents for the Opera fund."
Robbie Belle drew a deep sigh. "All right," she agreed with a dolefulglance toward the particular blue plate in which she was accustomed topour her share of the delicacy. "Anyway the doctor calls fudge an'abomination.' Bea will scold because she hates scrimping. But then shedoesn't care so much as we do for music unless it is convenient."
Berta's contributions were the result of more active exertions than theother's passive self-denial. She sat up one night till two o'clock todress a doll. Every fall a few hundred dolls were distributed to bedressed by the girls for the Christmas tree at the Settlement House inthe city. Some of the students took dolls and paid other girls to makethe clothes. Berta earned a dollar by helping Bea with the three whichthat impulsive young woman had rashly undertaken. In February shecomposed valentines and sold them to over-busy maidens who felt unequalto rhyming in the reaction after the midyear examinations. In March shepainted Easter eggs and in April she arranged pots of growing ferns andflowers from the woods. By May the fund was complete and the tickets werebought.
As the longed-for event drew nearer, Berta made a string of paper dollsand joyfully tore off one for each passing day.
At last the morning dawned. Robbie Belle was dreaming that she had fallenasleep in fifth hour Latin. It seemed as if the instructor called hername and then came walking down from the platform, thump, thump, thump,in her broad-soled shoes. It was unladylike to thump so heavily, thoughtRobbie Belle in the midst of her confused dismay over having lost theplace in the text as well as forgotten the translation. The thumpingsharpened to a rat-tat-tat upon the bedroom door.
"Robbie Belle, Robbie Belle, you lazybones! The night watchman hasknocked twice already. Get up, get up this instant! We're going to hearGrand Opera to-day! O-o-ooh!"
Robbie Belle lifted her head to listen. "Berta Abbott, you've got achill. I hear you shivering. Hurry into your clothes this minute. I'llbring you the quinine."
Quinine! Berta shivering from excitement laughed softly to herself. Dearold Robbie Belle! Quinine on this wonderful day! Listen! That was thetwittering of swallows under the eaves. A squirrel peered in at herwindow, his bright eyes twinkling. It was too bad that he did not enjoymusic. But perhaps he did after all. Hark! that was a robin. And listen!There sounded the full-throated whistle of a brown thrush. The world wasringing with music--beautiful, beautiful, beautiful! And she was going tohear Grand Opera to-day! That had been her most precious dream next tocoming to college. To come to college and to hear Grand Opera too!
"My cup runneth over! My cup runneth over," she chanted softly toherself, while from Robbie Belle's room rose a faint noise of deliberatedressing, subdued splashing, slow steps, a rustling that was almostmethodical in its rhythm.
"Berta," she announced, appearing with hat set straight and firm over hersmooth dark hair, her coat over one arm, her umbrella neatly strapped, "Ithink I shall carry my Horace, for it is a two-hours' ride, and to-day isSaturday and after Sunday comes Monday."
Berta clapped her hands over her ears, "Go away, go away to yourbreakfast, miserable creature! Horace! that worldly wise old Roman! Withthe river before your eyes, the beautiful river in May!"
"The next ode begins, 'O Fons Bandusiae!'--a fountain, you understand,"protested Robbie Belle in injured tones, "he loved the country. I wantedto read it aloud to you and get in my practice on scansion that way. I amlearning to do it quite well. Listen! 'Splendidior vitro-o-o,'" shedeclaimed, dragging out the syllables to lugubrious length.
"Dear Robbie Belle," murmured Berta pleasantly, "if you breathe one lineof that stuff on this journey I shall throw you into the rivermyself--cheerfully." She nodded vigorous approval of her own sentiments,and her contrary hair seized the opportunity to tumble down again inresentment of impatient fingers. "Oh, Robbie Belle, come and twist thisup for me, won't you? We shall be late for the train. I don't believe wecare for breakfast anyhow."
"Not care for breakfast!" Robbie Belle shut her mouth determinedly. Shewalked over to the wardrobe, pinned Berta's hat securely on the fly-awayhair, caught up her jacket, tucked the tickets into her own pocket, andsternly marched her scatter-brained friend out of the room and down thecorridor.
"It's gone to her head," she muttered sadly as if communing with herself,"the idea of music has gone to her head. I must address her soothingly.Yes, yes, we're going--we're going soon, don't worry. But we're a-goingclothed and in our right mind--mine at least, and fed."
On tiptoe they flitted down to the big empty dining-room. A specialbreakfast was being served to the dozen or more students who intended totake the early train to the city. The unaccustomed stillness in the vastapartment usually vibrating with clatter of dishes and chatter of tonguesseemed dreamlike to Berta in her exalted mood. Robbie Belle found itnecessary to exert her firmest authority in order to get Berta to eateven a roll and swallow a cup of chocolate.
Two of the seniors who were going shopping lamented that they hadneglected to apply for opera tickets until the house had been sold out.Berta gazed at them pityingly. To have the money and to be in the city,and yet not to be able to go! Why hadn't they thought of it in time? Shehad anticipated it years in advance. This world was full of queerpeople--all sorts of people who did not care for music, and even some whodid not care for books. Wasn't it the strangest thing--not to care!
When somebody consulting her watch announced that the special electriccar was to leave the Lodge Gates for the station in seven minutes, Bertadropped spoon and napkin in eager haste to depart. Out into the corridorand around the balusters to the messenger room where they were requiredto register their names and destination. At the foot of the broadstaircase hung the bulletin board in the pale flicker of a loweredgas-jet. The morning light was brightening through the windows beyond.Berta halted mechanically to scan the oblong of dark red in search ofpossible new notices. Something may have been posted since chapel lastnight.
Ah, yes, there was a fresh square of white tucked under the tapes thatmarked the felt into convenient diamonds. Berta read it at a glance.
"All students requiring financial assistance for the coming year arerequested to make written application to the President before May 10th.It is understood that those receiving such aid will exercise allreasonable economy in avoiding unnecessary expenditure."
Berta did not move, though her mobile face seemed to harden in acuriously stony expression. She read the notice again. Robbie Belle camebreezily from the messenger room.
"Anything new, Berta? You look queer." She followed the direction of thefascinated eyes. She read it slowly and drew a deep breath.
"So we can't go after all," she said.
Berta seemed to wake up suddenly from a trance. "Robbie Belle!"
"I can't help it," doggedly though the smooth forehead had clouded in aquick frown of pain at the cry, "it would not be honest. I didn't knowbefore."
"It's our own money," protested Berta defiantly.
"But our scholarships are the same as borrowed."
"ANYTHING NEW?"]
"The tickets are bought and paid for."
Robbie Belle caught a glimpse of figures emerging from the dining-room."There come those two seniors who forgot to get seats in advance. Isn'tit lucky! Now we can sell them ours."
"Give me my ticket," demanded Berta's voice sullenly, "you never cared."
"But it is not honest," repeated Robbie Belle stubbornly. "I neverthought of it in that light before. It is not honest to spend fivedollars and more for a luxury while we are living on borrowed money."
"Give--me--my--ticket."<
br />
The seniors rustled past. To Berta their laughter sounded far away. "Oh,girls, we'll have to hurry! Hear that bell jangle."
"The conductor does it on purpose to see us run. We have three minutesyet. Those two freshmen by the bulletin-board are going."
"It is not honest," said Robbie Belle.
Fragments of gay chatter floated back to them. "Caruso and Sembrich inLucia di Lammermoor! Fancy! It is the most wonderful combination ofextraordinary talent--genius. I shall certainly go if I have to stand upevery minute of the three hours."
"It is simply wicked to miss such an opportunity."
"Important part of our education, isn't it? I only wish my thesis were onthe 'Development of the Drama.' I should employ the laboratory methodmost assuredly."
"The critics say that such a chance as this does not occur more than oncein a century."
"It is not honest," said Robbie Belle, back in the shadowy corridorbefore the bulletin-board.
"Will you give me my ticket?"
Robbie Belle flinched before the passionate low tones, and the roseleafcolor in her cheeks went quite white. She handed Berta both tickets. "Youmay do what you like with mine," she said and turned slowly away.
Berta fled in the wake of the hurrying seniors. Her head buzzed withfrantic arguments. It was her own money--she had earned it. Nobody had aright to dictate what she should do with it. Robbie Belle never could seemore than one side of a question. To forbid unnecessary expenditure justbecause she accepted a loan to carry her through college! Who was to saywhether it was unnecessary or not? The Opera was part of her musicaleducation. She would repay the scholarship with interest at the earliestpossible date after she began to earn a salary. What meddling insolence!The girls who held scholarships were the brightest and finest incollege--some of them. And to treat them as if they were extravagant,silly little spendthrifts! It was honest. Hadn't she denied herselfeverything all the year--clubs and dinners and drives and flowers andribbons and gloves and new books and fine note-paper and that cast of theWinged Victory which she had wanted and wanted and wanted? Not that sheassumed any credit for such self-denial--it simply had to be, that wasall. But now, this was different. She owed it to herself not to miss sucha wonderful occasion. A chance in a century--that was what the seniorsaid.
Ting-aling, ting-aling! jangled the bell madly. The conductor paused, hishand on the strap. A breathless girl sprang upon the platform, dartedinto the car, tossed a packet upon a convenient lap.
"There are two seats for the Opera. We can't go." And she had leaped fromthe moving steps and vanished through the great iron gates of the Lodge.
Back in the dormitory before the bulletin-board Miss Bonner, the graduatefellow, was staring at the new placard. She gave a slight start ofastonishment at a glimpse of Berta hastening past her. Then because shehad heard the story from Robbie Belle two minutes earlier, she pretendedto be absorbed in the notices, for she suspected that any comment wouldstart the tears that Berta was holding back. However, she was smiling toherself after the girl had vanished up the stairs. When the gong struckfor breakfast, she halted at the faculty table to whisper a few words tothe professor in her special department. The professor answered, "Howglad I am!"
"And you really believe that it would have prejudiced the scholarshipcommittee against Miss Abbott, if she had persisted in this extravagance?She has worked so hard to earn it."
"I understand," the professor was sympathetic but unswerving from herconvictions; "it seems somewhat cruel when one considers how passionatelyfond of music the child is. Still you must remember that this scholarshipfund is the result of endless self-denial. I have known several alumnae,to say the least, who have sacrificed greater privileges than visits tothe Opera for the sake of contributing an extra mite. Would it be just forone who benefits from the economy of others to spend in self-indulgence?"
Meanwhile Berta, unconscious of the fact that her whole college careerand the future to be moulded by it had depended upon her decision to doright in this apparently insignificant respect, had trudged up to acertain lonely room. Robbie Belle lifted a wet face from a consolingpillow.
"Berta!" It was like a soft little shout of triumph. "I knew----"
Berta swallowed a lump in her throat and managed to smile a whimsicalsmile from behind dewy lashes.
"Maybe we'll have clam chowder for luncheon," she said, "and then won'tthose two seniors be sorry!"
