Grace Harlowe's Fourth Year at Overton College

by Josephine Chase

  CHAPTER VIII

  A LEAF FROM THE PAST

  At Patience's door she paused. It stood partly open, and peeping in shesaw that her friend was alone. Rapping softly, she announced with alaugh, "The Honorable Grace Harlowe."

  "Enter without further ceremony," was the quick reply. "To what do I owemy good fortune?"

  "To the absence of your roommate," answered Grace dryly. "Where is she?"

  "At the library. She left the house directly after dinner to look up anumber of references. She is infinitely more industrious than I."

  "The Semper Fidelis crowd are going down to that new motion picturetheatre to see 'Les Miserables.' We want you to go with us," invitedGrace, looking relieved at having been able to deliver the invitation soeasily.

  "Let me think. Is there any reason why I can't go? I have a hazyrecollection of having something else on hand to-night, but I can'tremember what it is."

  "Is it anything about lessons?" asked Grace.

  "No." Patience glanced perplexedly about her. "I can't recall it. Itisn't anything of importance or I certainly would have no difficulty inremembering it. Perhaps it will come to me suddenly."

  "I must make the round of the house and ask the other girls. Be readyand downstairs, within the next fifteen minutes."

  By the time Grace had collected the Semper Fidelis girls of Wayne Hall,Arline had returned with the other members of the club, and the partyset out for the theatre. Grace walked with Anne and Patience, who,unable to remember any other engagement, had dismissed the disturbingthought from her mind and prepared to enjoy her evening.

  At the entrance of the theatre, the party halted for a moment whileArline bought the tickets. Grace looked interestedly about her. Even inquiet, staid old Overton she derived an active pleasure from scanningthe faces of the passersby. She tried to read their thoughts from theirexpressions, and her habit of observation had on more than one occasionproved of value to her.

  "All right," called Arline, holding up the tickets. "Come on."

  Grace turned her eyes toward Arline, then some unaccountable influencecaused her to turn her head and glance again in the direction of thestreet. A roughly-dressed man had stopped on the sidewalk directly infront of the theatre to stare at one of the gayly colored lithographs.Grace stopped short, seized with a peculiar feeling of apprehension. Whywas the face of this man so familiar to her? Surely she had seen itsomewhere under decidedly unpleasant circumstances. Was it at Overtonshe had seen him? No, it was further back than that.

  During the first part of Hugo's famous novel, which had been filmed toperfection, Grace was obsessed with the question: "Where have I seenhim?" The stranger's face haunted her. It was a low-browed, sullen face.She could not keep her mind on the story that was being unfolded on thescreen. She watched the ill-fated Jean Valjean being led off to prisonfor stealing a loaf of bread almost without seeing him. It was not untilthe scene where, bruised in spirit and prison-warped, Jean steals thegood priest's candlesticks and makes off with them, that fullremembrance came to Grace. Now she knew why that face was strangelyfamiliar. The man she had seen was none other than "Larry, theLocksmith." In her mind's eye Grace saw him sitting in the court roomwith humped shoulders, his eyes bent fiercely upon her, as she relatedwhat she had seen with her face pressed close to the window pane of thehaunted house. It had all happened during her senior year at highschool. To Grace it seemed but yesterday since she had given thetestimony that sent Henry Hammond's accomplice to prison for a term ofseven years in the state penitentiary. Seven years! It had been onlyfour years since that memorable occasion. Perhaps the man had beenreleased earlier for good behavior, or perhaps--Grace's heart beat atrifle faster--he had escaped.

  She paid but scant attention to the rest of the performance, and whenJean had died in the arms of his devoted foster daughter, the lights hadappeared, and the crowd began filing out of the theatre, she scanned iteagerly. There was no sign of the disturbing face of "Larry, theLocksmith."

  The little company of girls made their way to the street, discussing themerits of the various actors who had portrayed so admirably the rolesassigned to them. Arline, feeling rather ashamed of her brusque refusalto countenance Kathleen West as a possible member of the club, slippedher arm through Grace's, saying contritely, "I am awfully sorry I was socross, Grace."

  Grace, whose mind was still fully occupied with the thought of the manshe had good reason to recognize, did not answer. Arline glancedreproachfully at her, then withdrew her arm from Grace's with anoffended suddenness that caused Grace to cry apologetically: "Pleasepardon me, Arline. What did you say?"

  Arline, however, was now thoroughly incensed. She had apologized, andGrace had not even taken the trouble to listen. Without answering, saveby an angry flash of her blue eyes, she walked on rapidly, overtakingthe Emerson twins, who were heading the little procession. Grace sprangimpulsively forward. Then, as Arline slipped between the twins,laughingly taking hold of an arm of each, Grace fell back, deciding thatshe would say nothing. She would write Arline a note that very night.

  True to her resolve, the note was written and sent. At the end of a weekshe had received no answer. Later she was greeted with a cold "goodafternoon" and a stiff little bow when she chanced to encounter Arlineon the campus. Remembering Arline's stubborn stand in regard to Ruthduring their sophomore year, Grace knew the dainty little girl'sresentment to be very real and lasting. She was also reasonably surethat not even Ruth was aware of their estrangement. She wished she hadnot seen that disturbing face. She wondered if she had been mistaken. Nodoubt there were men in the world who bore a strong resemblance to"Larry, the Locksmith." She blamed herself entirely for Arline'swithdrawal of friendship. If she had only heard and accepted theapology! It was humiliating indeed to make an earnest apology tounhearing ears.

  "It serves you right, Grace Harlowe," she reflected, coming into theliving room late one afternoon. "I'm not sorry for you. I hope Arlinewon't be too haughty at the club meeting to-morrow. It is such a shame.I wanted to propose the 'Famous Fiction' dance as a Semper Fidelismerry-making this year, and I can never talk enthusiastically of itknowing she disapproves. Of course, I'll pretend I don't care, but ithurts, just the same."

  With a sigh Grace reached for the evening paper which lay on the librarytable. She glanced over the headlines without any special interest untila single sentence in large black type caused her to stare, then givevoice to a surprised, "I knew it!" The headline read, "Larry, theLocksmith, Still at Large."

  Grace sat down heavily in the nearest chair, the newspaper stillclutched in one hand. She had not been mistaken. The man for whom theauthorities were searching was the man she had seen in front of themoving picture theatre. It was evident that he had very little fear ofbeing recognized in Overton, or he would not have risked appearing inthe streets of the college town. "He must have friends here, who aresheltering him," sprang into her mind, "or he may be passing through thetown. The question is, ought I to make my discovery known to thepolice?"

  "Here you are!" called a familiar voice, "I've been looking for you."Patience Eliot entered the living room, and seated herself oppositeGrace. "Do you remember my saying when you asked me to go to the theaterthat I had a faint recollection of having another engagement lastnight?"

  Grace nodded.

  "My faint recollection was perfectly correct. I had promised to go for awalk with Kathleen, and consequently she wouldn't speak to me when Icame in last night. She wouldn't accept my humble apologies. Just when Ithought I was making a little progress with her, too. I am the mostunfortunate mortal," sighed Patience. "I know she imagines I did itpurposely."

  Patience's recital of her woes brought back the subject of Arline'sdispleasure to Grace's mind, and when, a little later, the two girlswent upstairs arm in arm, the important question of whether or not toinform the Overton police of her discovery had slipped, for the timebeing, from Grace's mind.