by Frank Cobb
CHAPTER XIV
CLASSMATES
Bea reached for Robbie with one arm, grasped Lila with the other, andwent skipping after the rest of the seniors over the lawn to their classtree. She dragged them under its spreading branches to the centre of thethrong that had gathered in the June twilight. Berta was already there,mounted on a small platform that had been built against the trunk inpreparation for the morrow's Class Day ceremonies.
"She looks pretty decent," whispered Bea to Robbie in order to frustratethe queer sensation in her throat at sight of the eager face laughingabove them on this last evening together before the deluge ofcommencement guests. "I hope the alumnae who are wandering around admireour taste in presidents."
"Maybe," Robbie spoke reflectively, "they're almost as much interested intheir classmates as we are in ours."
"Um-m," said Bea, "why, maybe so they are. I never thought of thatbefore. Robbie, you're my liberal education. Now, then, attention! Bertais raising her hand to mark time for the songs to be rehearsed forto-morrow."
But Berta's hand dropped at sound of a shout from across the campus."There!" she exclaimed, "the sophomores are coming."
They certainly were coming, on a double-quick march, two by two, shoutingfor the seniors. As they approached the shouting changed to singing. Whenthey reached the tree, they spread out and joining hands went skipping,still viva voce, around the seniors who watched them, silent and smiling.The air was sweet with the cool, spicy breath of spruces. Lila thoughtthat she could even smell the roses in the garden beyond the evergreens.She lifted her face toward the soft evening sky, and her mouth grewwistful. Bea caught a glimpse of it, and immediately became voluble ifnot eloquent.
"This is impromptu," she commented, generous with her least thoughts. "Ienjoy impromptus, except speeches--or that last lecture when the mancouldn't read his own notes. Now my history which is to astonish theworld to-morrow will doubtless glitter with extemporaneous wit which hascost me two weeks of meditation. Likewise this impromptu on the spur ofthe moment----"
"I think it's beautiful," said Robbie. She was watching Berta's eyes asthe last lingering strains died away. Oh, dear! why did they sing thatgood-bye serenade again? Berta was going to cry. Hark! A robin's twilightcall rose melodiously from the heart of a shadowy spruce. In the thrillof it Robbie felt the sting of sudden tears. She turned to Bea.
"Now I know how Berta feels when she listens to music. I'm beginning tounderstand. But I think a robin is different from a brass band."
"Is it now? You astonish me." Bea squeezed her understandingly,nevertheless. "I know. Being with Lila has taught me a lot. She is like awindharp--every touch finds a response. Berta's a violin, I guess. Ittakes skill to play on her. And you--oh, I believe you're a splendid bigdrum. You've been marking time for the rest of us all the four years. Asfor me, I'm only an old tin horn. You need to spend all your breath toget any music. Even then it isn't sickeningly sweet, so to speak. Stillfor an audience in sympathy with the performer----"
"That is what college has given us," put in Lila who had been listening,"it gives us sympathy. Being with different persons, you know, and lovingthem."
"Oh, yes!" Robbie's sigh of intense assent left her breathless, "lovingthem."
"Now, then, girls!" Berta's hand was lifted again to beat time as theclapping for the sophomores subsided. Then the seniors sang. They sangthe songs that were to be interspersed as illustrations in Bea's classhistory. There was the elegant stanza which they had shouted all the wayto the mountain lake that first October at college.
"'Rah, 'rah, 'rah! kerchoo, kerchoo! We are freshmen-- Who are you?"
From that brilliant composition the selections ranged through four yearsof fun and sentiment with an occasional flight to the poetry of earnestfeeling as well as many a joyous swoop into hilarious inanity.
When tired of standing around the tree, the class fluttered across thecampus to the broad stone steps in front of the recitation hall.
Bea clung to Robbie's arm again and reached for Lila in their flight."I'm 'most sure we look like nymphs flying through the glades, with ourdraperies blowing in the lines of swift motion. I love to run when I feellike it. Robbie Belle, shall we ever dare to run when we get home?"
Robbie did not hear her. From her seat on the steps she gazed at Bertawho was standing before the ranks of familiar faces, her eager facealight with the exhilaration of the hour. Once she threw back her head,laughing at some ridiculous verse. Her eyes sought Robbie's for aninstant, smiled, then danced away again. Robbie swallowed once,unconsciously, and moved closer to Bea.
In a semicircle sweeping around the group of singers, sophomores andstray juniors and many a wandering alumna in a flower-decked hat hadgathered to listen. In a pause between the songs. Robbie surveyed themgravely, unrecognizing any of the older guests until presently one facestood out vaguely familiar in the clear twilight. It was a beautifulface, framed by dusky hair beneath the wreath of crimson roses on herhat. The eyes were dusky too and deep-set. They were staring at Robbiewith an intensity of grieving affection that contrasted sharply with thestern, almost resentful, expression of her finely cut mouth.
As Robbie gazed back in fascinated perplexity, the face suddenly curvedinto a smile so tenderly radiant that Robbie felt quite dazzled for amoment. Involuntarily she smiled back, while striving to grasp the dimrecollection. Who could it be? She had surely seen her before somewhere.But where? At college? At home? Where was it? Slowly a vision grewdistinct in her groping memory. It was a vision of Elizabeth, her sister,lifting a photograph from a pile of others. "This," she had said, "is myJessica. She knows all my family from their pictures, and some day sheshall come home with me and meet you your own selves. She wishes RobbieBelle were to enter college before we finish. Robbie will be a seniorwhen we go back for our fifth year reunion."
Robbie's chest heaved abruptly under the shock of identifying the faceamid the encircling throng. It was Jessica More, Elizabeth's best friendat college. This was the June of her class reunion. Robbie Belle was asenior. But Elizabeth was not there, as she had planned. Jessica had beenexpelled before she graduated, and Elizabeth had died.
Before the singing was over, Jessica had disappeared. Then in the rush oflast things Robbie forgot her for a time. Some of the seniors hurriedaway on hospitable duties bent, for numerous relatives had alreadyarrived. There were to be informal gatherings in different rooms. A fewwent to the Phi Beta Kappa lecture in the chapel. To tell the truth,however, these were but few indeed, for to the seniors the last eveningswere too precious, to be wasted on mere scholarly discourse. ProbablyJessica had gone there with the rest of the alumnae, reflected RobbieBelle as she sat beside Berta and the others in the soft sweet darkness.With arms intertwined they talked low or fell silent, lingering over thisfarewell to the dear college days.
"I love everybody in the class," whispered Lila once.
"In the college," amended Bea promptly.
"Oh, in the whole world!" exclaimed Berta.
Robbie nodded assent so solemnly that Bea leaned down to peer at her moreclosely. "A regular Chinese mandarin," she teased, "or are you nodding inyour sleep? You approve of Berta's breadth evidently. Why do peoplealways speak about the value of being broadened? I think it is nobler tobe deep than broad, I do. I'd rather divide my heart in four pieces thanin forty billion."
"There are two hundred in the class," said Robbie, "and there were onlyone hundred in my sister's class, but I am quite sure that they did notlove each other any more than we do."
SHE HELD BOTH HANDS, SMILING]
The next morning saw the seniors assemble at the amphitheatre which hadbeen prepared for the Class Day exercises. Berta was already on theplatform, assisting the committee in the arrangement of seats for theclass. Among later comers who were hurrying across the campus Bea caughtup with Robbie Belle.
"I am hastening across the sward," she announced in cheerfully inanegreeting, "what i
s a sward anyhow, and why isn't it pronounced the sameas sword?"
"It's grass," said Robbie Belle. Bea felt a speaking silence fall andglanced up to catch the direction of her gaze. Between them and theexpanse of mingled chairs and girls around the platform against the wallof the nearest dormitory, a stranger was moving rapidly toward them, hereager eyes on Robbie.
"Little Robbie Belle! I knew you last night from your picture." She heldboth hands, smiling.
Bea considered the two pairs of shoulders on a level. "Little!" shesniffed to herself, "it must be a very old alum."
Robbie turned to introduce her. "This is my friend, Beatrice Leigh, MissMore. Bea, this is my sister's best friend. I remembered you too, lastnight, Miss More. I remembered--I--I wondered----" Robbie's tonguestumbled in embarrassment at the verge of candor.
Miss More's mouth hardened slightly, though her eyes still smiled. "Youwondered how I happen to be here for the reunion of a class from which Iwas expelled. Is that it? Perhaps you are unaware that I have beenreinstated. The faculty has at last reconsidered their unjust decision.They acknowledge that it was based upon a misunderstanding. I have madeup the work at home. To-morrow I shall receive two degrees, theBachelor's with your class, the Master's with the post-graduates. I amsure you congratulate me."
"Oh!" gasped Robbie Belle, "oh, yes!"
Bea succeeded in depressing somewhat the round-eyed stare with which shehad listened to this extraordinary speech. "I think it is perfectlylovely, Miss More," she said. "Your class must be delighted. It is atriumph--a splendid triumph. Oh,--ah!" She turned at the sound of a faintcall behind her: "Jessica!"
From a group of alumnae under a cluster of spruces, somebody was walkingquickly toward the three. Bea recognized in her a brilliant younginstructor at the college.
"Jessica, I am--glad. How do you do?" She put out her hand.
Miss More lifted her eyes, coolly scanned the other woman from the tip ofher russet shoes to the crown of her sailor hat, then gazed vacantly overher head, before addressing Robbie again.
"Then to-morrow, Robbie. Don't forget that I wish to see you after thecommencement exercises for a few minutes. There are questions I desire toask. Your mother is well, I hope."
Two minutes later Robbie had reached one of the chairs and dropped intoit with a limpness strangely inharmonious with her statuesqueproportions. "Bea, they belong to the same class."
Bea sank down beside her. "That was awful--awful. Those others werewatching her from the path. Why did she do it? I don't understand."
Robbie passed her hand across her forehead. "I don't quite remembereverything," she said, "but I have an impression that it was Miss Whitonwho was to blame for having Miss More expelled. She was class president,or something, and felt responsible. Elizabeth said she thought it was forthe honor of the college. She meant to do right. And now to think it wasall a mistake! Miss More will receive her degrees to-morrow."
"Did Miss Whiton accuse her of any wrong or make complaint?"
"No, not exactly. I think she believed that Miss More's behaviorsomewhere reflected on the college, and she considered it her duty toreport the circumstances. Or maybe it was appearances--it seems now thatit must have been only appearances. That started the trouble, and MissMore resented it. She was stubborn or indifferent about somerequirements. I don't remember quite what, and Elizabeth never liked totalk about it. Elizabeth wrote to her every week until she--until sheleft us." Robbie's lip twitched suddenly. Bea saw it and gently passingher arm through the other's arm drew her on to join the class assembledat the amphitheatre.
The next day brought commencement. Bea from her place among the rows ofwhite-clad seniors in the body of the chapel could by bending forwardslightly catch a glimpse of Miss More's profile at the head of the frontpew at the right. When she raised her eyes she could see Miss Whiton'scoldly regular features conspicuous in their clean-cut fairness among theyounger instructors in the choir-seats behind the trustees on theplatform. Bea had never liked Miss Whiton. It seemed to her now, as shestudied the immobile face, that she had always recognized there asuggestion of the self-righteous Pharisee. There could be nothing butmisunderstanding and antagonism between the possessor of such acountenance and Miss More with those eyes of hers, that nose and thatmouth. Bea's labors over the classes in manners had included someresearch in the subject of physiognomy. Now she leaned forward to secureanother view of that profile in the front pew. Then she settled back withthe contented sigh of an investigator whose surmise has proved correct.Miss More's features certainly expressed an impulsive, reckless andlovable temperament as opposed to Miss Whiton's conscientious andcalculating prudence. Oh, yes, there was conscience enough in the icilyhandsome face among the instructors. It was conscience doubtless that haddriven her across the campus to speak to Miss More on Class Day morning.Bea sighed again, this time with a faint twinge of sympathy. Shegenerally meant well herself. A conscience was a very queer thing--shethought so still even if she had heard it all explained and analyzed insenior ethics.
"Surgite." That was Prexie's voice. The class rose in obedience to theword. Bea found herself standing with the others while the Latinsentences rolled melodiously over their heads. She never could translatefrom hearing. Absently her glance sought the front pew where Miss Morehad turned to watch them. The girl's wistful gaze caught the expressionof passionate regret in her deep-set eyes, and clung there fascinated foran endless moment before tearing itself free.
After it was over, after the class had filed upon the platform to receivetheir diplomas, after Prexie had delivered his annual address and theprocession of graduates, alumnae and faculty had marched out into thegolden sunshine, Bea drew aside to wait under an elm. Berta spied her andbeckoned, then came hurrying.
"Lila is over at the doors on guard to capture the various relatives andstart them toward the cottages for dinner. The trustees entertain thealumnae in the main dining-room. The seniors will go to Strong Hall.Aren't you ready?"
"I'm getting an impression," answered Bea, "gothic portals, gracefulelms, bare-headed girls in white, sun-flecked lawns and glimpse of thesparkling lake beyond, groups intermingling----"
"I'll help give you that impression."
Bea slipped nimbly out of reach in time to escape the promised pinch--orit may have been a squeeze.
"I've got it already--a hundred of them. You're in two or three. AndRobbie--do you see Robbie anywhere?"
Robbie approached at the moment. "Bea, have you noticed Miss More pass? Ifound something last night in my sister's college scrapbook--hermemory-bill, you know. It is something for Miss More."
"Yes, over there half way to the main building. Look--that one in whiteall alone. You can overtake her if you hurry, Robbie. Oh, Berta!" Beaturned and held out one hand impulsively. "If you could only have seenher eyes while she watched us in chapel! She was thinking of her ownclass, how she had been driven away from them in disgrace. It was tragic.She--she----" Bea gulped and caught herself back from falling over thebrink into the pit of palpable emotion. "In fact, I am almost sureshe--hm-m,--envied us."
She glanced apprehensively at her companion in dread of the usual quickteasing rejoinder; but Berta was soberly gazing after Robbie.
"Robbie has dropped a paper, Bea," she said, "I saw it flutter. Come."
Bea flitted across the grass, her bright hair an aureole in the sunlight.Her fingers seized the bit of white; her eyes read the message:
* * * * *
"Sunday evening after Bible lecture.
"Jessica and the rest of us are choosing mottoes to live out just forexperiment this week.
"Marian: 'Love seeketh not her own.' (She always gets to places first.)
"Alice: 'Is not easily provoked.' (Oh, oh!)
"Louise: 'Is not puffed up.' (Ah!)
"Jessica: 'is kind.' (And when she is good, she is very, very good.)
Elizabeth: "envieth not." (My brain doesn't suit.)
"Jessica says hers i
s the easiest because it means just to keep fromhating anybody, and she loves the whole college."
* * * * *
"Oh, I didn't mean to read it." Bea almost clapped her hand over herimpetuous eyes. "Robbie," she broke into a run, "Robbie Belle, here issomething you dropped."
As Robbie turned at the call, one of the trustees, an elderly woman whosewhite hair seemed to soften the effect of her energetic manner and keengaze, paused to speak to Miss More. The two seniors strolled on at aleisurely pace while waiting for an opportunity to ask attention withoutinterrupting a speech. The distance intervening lessened step by steptill Bea could not help overhearing the trustee's distinct low tones.
"----exceedingly difficult to choose between the two candidates. Theirqualifications balance distractingly. Personally I incline to MissWhiton, and I should very much like to see her win this unusual position.Her original work certainly deserves it. However I know her so slightlythat I am reluctant to give my decisive vote until I learn more of herfrom her contemporaries. You were in her class, Miss More, I understand."
"Yes."
At the smothered intensity of that simple word, Bea's head rotatedswiftly to stare at the source of it. She had never seen that beautifulface like this before. On the campus Class Day morning it had beenfriendly though with the hint of hardness about the mouth. In chapel ithad been tragic with regret over the irrevocable. Now the dusky eyes wereblazing with the light of coming triumph over an enemy at last deliveredinto her power.
"It is an exceptional distinction for so young a woman," continued thetrustee, "and because it means so much to each of the rivals, a feather'sweight of evidence may turn the scales for one or the other. I am anxiousto be impartial. I invite this discussion merely to assure myself of MissWhiton's irreproachable record. I wish sincerely to see her win."
"You never heard the exact circumstances that led to my expulsion fromcollege?"
The defiant ring of this abrupt question brought Bea to her sense of thesituation. She put out one hand to draw Robbie beyond earshot. But Robbiedid not notice her. She was already touching Miss More's arm.
"Miss More, pardon me. I have hurried to give you this. I--I thinkElizabeth would have enjoyed showing it to you. I--wish--she could havebeen here to-day. She would have been--glad."
Miss More took the paper mechanically. "Thank you, Robbie Belle. Will youwait one moment, dear? I want to speak to you." She turned again to theolder woman. "It may be an enlightening little tale," she began, "andMiss Whiton plays a part in it. These are the facts."
Bea watched her, fascinated. The eyes seemed to be gazing away beyond theevergreens at old, unhappy, far-off things. Slowly they returned tonearer objects, dropped suddenly and caught for an instant upon some onepassing by. At sight of the swift gleam of bitter recognition, Beafollowed the direction, and beheld Miss Whiton. She looked back again intime to see a wonderful change as Miss More's glance traveledunconsciously to the paper in her hand.
Robbie's wistful regard was also lingering upon the paper.
"Elizabeth loved it all--the class--the whole college."
The trustee was evidently in haste. "And this enlightening little tale ofyours, Miss More? Pardon me for urging you on. The importance of theissue--ah!" Bea saw her nod acquiescence in response to a gesture fromsome one who was waiting at the porte cochere. "I fear I shall not havetime for it now. May I consult you later? You are sure, Miss More, thatthe story is something that I ought to hear?"
Miss More hesitated. "I don't know," she said slowly. "It may have beenmerely a schoolgirl misunderstanding. I will--think it over and let youknow after the dinner. In any event, I thank you for your confidence.Miss Whiton certainly merits the honor."
It seemed to Bea that Miss More looked after the older woman with anexpression of half-puzzled surprise at her own indecision. Then sheturned to Robbie.
"I remember that evening," she spoke in a curiously softened tone."Elizabeth sat in the glow of the drop-light and scribbled this card,while the rest of us watched her idly, and talked, half serious, half infun over the novelty of choosing our mottoes. It was Elizabeth who hadproposed it. She had such a shy, sweet, humorous way of being good.Everybody loved her."
Robbie nodded speechlessly. After a moment she said, "The rest of yourverse is 'Love suffereth long and is kind.'"
The deep-set eyes clouded again under the dusky hair.
"I--have--suffered," she said slowly.
Bea pinched her own arm in a quick agony of vicarious embarrassment. Howcould a person show her feelings right out like that before anybody? Whatwas the use of going around talking about such things? It was not verypolite to make other people uncomfortable. Bea smothered a quick littlesob and walked on, staring straight ahead.
It was Robbie who turned to look into the face so near her own. She sawthe clouds lift before the dawning of an exquisite smile like a ray ofsunshine after a stormy day.
"'Love suffereth long and is kind,'" repeated the oddly gentle voice. "Ihave suffered, and I will try--to be kind. I think Elizabeth would havebeen glad."
"Elizabeth is glad," said Robbie Belle.
