Grace Harlowe's Fourth Year at Overton College
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CHAPTER XX
THE MYSTERIOUS "PETER RABBIT"
The gymnasium had, perhaps, never held a more motley crowd of revelersthan on the night of the Famous Fiction masquerade. The faculty, who hadbeen particularly interested in the idea of the masquerade, declaredthat for originality it was in line with 19--'s usual efforts. Theyoccupied seats in the gallery and amused themselves with trying to guessthe identity of the various maskers and the books or famous bookcharacters which they represented.
It had been decided that as so many of the famous book titles did notlend themselves to impersonation, famous characters in fiction mightalso be impersonated. Therefore, when the longed-for night came round,heroes and heroines, with whose adventures and doings the book-lover'sworld is familiar, walked about, arm in arm, collected in little groups,or danced gayly together to the music of the eight-piece Overtonorchestra, whose members appeared to appreciate the humor of theoccasion as keenly as did the faculty.
It was an inspiring sight to watch "Hamlet" parading calmly about thegymnasium with "Beverly of Graustark," or to watch "Mrs. Wiggs of theCabbage Patch" waltz merrily off with "Rip Van Winkle." Every oneimmediately recognized "The Bow of Orange Ribbon" and "Robinson Crusoe."Meek little Oliver Twist, with his big porridge bowl decorated by a widewhite band bearing the legend, "I want some more," was also easy toguess. So were "Evangeline," "Carmen," "The Little Lame Prince,""Ivanhoe," "Janice Meredith," and scores of other book ladies andgentlemen.
There were a few masqueraders, however, whose fictitious identity wasshrouded in mystery. No one could fathom the significance of a certaintall figure, dressed in rags, who stopped short in her tracks atfrequent intervals, and, producing a needle and thread, sewedindustriously at her tattered garments. A black-robed sister of charity,accompanied by a strange figure who wore a shapeless garment painted indull gray squares to represent stone, and wearing a narrow leather beltabout its waist from which was suspended on either side two smallandirons, were also sources of speculative curiosity. So was a youngwoman in white with a towering headdress composed of a combination ofthe Stars and Stripes and the flag of France. And no one had theremotest idea concerning the eight white figures who marched fourabreast and would not condescend to break ranks even to dance.
"Sherlock Holmes" was there with his violin tucked under one arm and avolume of his memoirs under the other. He evinced a strong preferencefor the society of "Joan of Arc," while "Sarah Crewe," "Little LordFauntleroy," and "Rebecca of Sunnybrook" traveled about together, aseemingly contented trio. "The Three Musketeers" were gorgeous to beholdin their square-cut costumes, high boots and wide feathered hats, butthe sensation of the evening was "Peter Rabbit," who came to the danceattired in his little blue, brass-buttoned jacket, brown khakipantaloons and what seemed to be the identical shoes he lost in Mr.McGregor's garden. His mask was a cunning rabbit's head that was drawndown and fastened at the neck by a funny soft tie. Who "Peter Rabbit"was and where he had managed to lay hands on his costume was a matterfor discussion that night.
The suspense of not knowing who was who ended with the unmasking afterthe eighth dance, and amid exclamations and little shrieks of laughterthe masqueraders stood face to face.
"Elfreda Briggs! I might have known you would," laughed Arline Thayer,shaking hands with "Sherlock Holmes," while Miriam Nesbit thankfullylifted "Joan of Arc's" helmet and took off her mask.
"You're a perfectly darling 'Fauntleroy,'" admired Elfreda. "I supposeRuth was 'Sara Crewe.'"
"Yes," returned Arline Thayer. "Here come those eight white figures!"she exclaimed. "Why, it is Miss Barlowe and her crowd. I don't know yetwhat they were representing."
"The 'White Company,' of course," declared Elfreda. "There would be nosatisfaction in being 'Sherlock Holmes' if I couldn't solve all thesepuzzles."
"Then live up to your reputation and tell me what famous work of fictionthis approaching rag-bag represents," laughed Miriam.
"My powers of deduction were strong enough to pierce the identity ofthat bundle of rags," grinned Elfreda. "I knew Emma Dean by her walk,but I don't know what she represents. Who and what are you, Emma?" shehailed.
"'Never too Late to Mend,'" chanted Emma, flourishing a large darningneedle and attacking her rags anew. A shout arose from the little circleof girls who had formed about her. "There is another still harder toguess than mine. Over there," pointed Emma. "Look, girls!"
"What is it?" chorused half a dozen voices. "Well, I never! If it isn'tGrace and Patience!"
There was a concerted rush toward the two girls. "What in the name ofcommon sense is this illustrious combination?" asked Emma. "Why didn'tyou choose something a little harder."
"We are easy enough to guess," returned Patience loftily. "That is, ifyou are familiar with standard fiction."
"I'm not. I never was," declared Emma. "Tell us instanter!"
"Allow me to introduce you to the 'Cloister.'" Patience bowed low. "Andthe 'Hearth.'" Grace saluted the company with a loud jingling of herandirons.
"Oh," groaned Elfreda. "No wonder my powers of deduction failed. Whocould guess that Grace was representing a hearth? She looks more like asection of a garden wall or the stone foundation for a new house,or----"
"If my costume looks as stony as that, then I do look like a hearth, andeither your eyesight or your imagination is defective," declared Gracein triumph.
"Certainly, you resemble a hearth," agreed Emma Dean. "Now tell me howyou like my costume. It took me hours to reduce my wearing apparel toits present picturesque state. All you girls are screaming successes.But who is 'Peter Rabbit'?"
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," declared Elfreda. "He, orrather she, carried a package of little cards with a cunning rabbit'shead and the name 'Peter Rabbit' on them. I have one here."
"So have I," came from every member of the group.
"Let us find the famous Peter, then offer our congratulations," proposedPatience, with a searching glance at the company.
But the "famous Peter" was not to be found among the throng of gaylyattired girls, and there was no little comment among them at his suddenand complete disappearance.
"I wonder what became of 'Peter Rabbit'?" remarked Anne, when, later inthe evening, a number of Semper Fidelis girls gathered in one corner ofthe room to hold an informal session and compare notes.
"Who is 'Peter Rabbit'; or, the Mystery of the 'Blue Jacket'?" declaimedEmma Dean. "Even Sherlock is all at sea, aren't you, Brother Holmes?"Emma Dean laid her hand familiarly on the great investigator's shoulder.
"Don't be too sure that I'm all at sea. I have a theory." Elfreda put ona preternaturally wise expression.
"We'll hear it at once," returned Emma briskly.
"Not to-night. I have other weightier problems on my mind. I have beenasked to solve the campus mystery."
"Campus mystery!" exclaimed several voices. "What is it?"
"Walk to the extreme northern end of the campus, then go east onehundred and fifty paces and you will come face to face with theproblem," was Elfreda's mystifying answer.
"Oh, I know what you mean," cried Sara Emerson. "The ground has beenbroken there for some kind of building. We noticed it day beforeyesterday."
"Right, my child," commended Elfreda patronizingly, "and therein liesthe mystery. I have prowled about the vicinity at odd moments ever sincethe men began working there, but even my powers of penetration havefailed."
"Since your curiosity has reached such a height, why don't you ask MissWilder to tell you the whys and wherefores of this startling affair?"teased Emma Dean. "I never realized until now what a mysterious processdigging a cellar is."
"It isn't the process that's mysterious, it is the object of theprocess," declared Elfreda, with great dignity.
"Not everyone 'can see' either," interposed Emma innocently.
"The Briggs-Dean rapid-fire conversation team in an entirely new line ofspecialties," proclaimed Sara Emerson. "Secure front seats for theperformance."
"T
here isn't going to be any performance," flung back Emma. "This ismerely a friendly chat, but it ends here and now. I don't propose tocourt publicity. Come on, Sherlock, let us hie us to the lemonade bowlaway from this madding crowd."
Sherlock offered his free arm--his memoirs were securely tucked underthe other--and strolled nonchalantly toward the punch bowl, looking asthough he were towing an animated rag-bag.
"Doesn't Emma Dean look too ridiculous for words?" laughed Arline Thayerto Grace.
"'Never too late to mend,'" quoted Grace. "I wonder how she everhappened to hit upon the idea. She is a delightful girl, isn't she?"
"Emma Dean? One of the nicest girls at Overton." Arline spoke withenthusiasm. "When I came to Morton House as a freshman, Emma was there,too. I had the most appalling case of the blues, for I didn't for onemoment believe that I should ever like college. Emma had the next roomto mine. She was so cheerful and said such funny things that I forgotall about my blues."
"I never knew she had lived at Morton House," said Grace in surprise.
"She was there just two weeks," continued Arline. "Then a freshman, whowas an old friend of the Dean family, wanted Emma to room with her atWayne Hall, and so she left Morton House and has been at the Hall eversince."
"Your loss was our gain," replied Grace. "We couldn't do without Emma atWayne Hall. She and Elfreda are the life of the house."
Arline smiled to herself. Elfreda and Emma might fill their ownparticular niches in Wayne Hall, but there was only one Grace Harlowe."How I shall miss you, Grace," she said with sudden irrelevance to thesubject of Emma. "I shall miss you more than any other girl in college,except Ruth, when I go to New York for good and all."
"I forbid you to mention the subject," cried Grace, her fine faceclouding. "We mustn't even think of it. Oh, listen, Arline! Theorchestra has begun that Strauss waltz I like so well. I'm going to putthese clumsy old andirons over in the corner; then we'll dance andforget that we are seniors and must pay the penalty."
It was almost twelve o'clock when the Famous Fiction dance came to atriumphant end, and the illustrious book heroes and heroines wendedtheir midnight way toward their various houses and boarding places. TheWayne Hall girls marched across the campus, Emma Dean parading aheadwith outspread arms, her rags flapping about her, giving her theappearance of a scarecrow which had just emerged from a farmer'scornfield.
"There it is! There lies the mystery!" cried Elfreda, pointing towardthe northern end of the campus, where considerable headway had been madein digging what appeared to be the cellar of a house. "But Sherlock willunravel the tangled skein!"
"Don't be so noisy!" cautioned Miriam Nesbit. "The real Sherlockwasn't."
"To-morrow will tell the tale," went on Elfreda unabashed, but in aslightly lower key. "First, I shall spy upon the workmen, then I shallcollect samples of campus soil and spend the rest of the day deducing."
"I hope you won't overwork," was Emma's solicitous comment. "While youare about it you might deduce the identity of 'Peter Rabbit.' I confessI am curious to know who wore Peter's blue jacket and why shedisappeared so suddenly."
"So am I," declared Grace. "We must try to find out, too."
As the merry little party tramped upstairs to their rooms, Grace felt ahand on her shoulder.
"Do you really want to know who 'Peter Rabbit' was?" whispered Elfreda.
"Yes," breathed Grace.
"Then don't tell the girls. It was Kathleen."
"Why didn't she unmask with the rest of us?" demanded Grace, as theyreached the head of the stairs.
"Why didn't she?" repeated Elfreda. "I'll tell you why. She didn't wishany of us to know who she was. Can't you see? She wanted to be one ofthe crowd and she was afraid the girls wouldn't take kindly to her. Sheis beginning to feel that she would like to be liked, and," Elfredaraised one hand, her index finger pointing upward, "'There is hope.'"