Elizabeth Hobart at Exeter Hall
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There were a dozen Seniors in the room. They all gave their approval to Miss Wilson’s plan. Then they discussed it in detail. The laundry, big and bare, would be an unsuspected place. There were ironing boards and folding tables that would do to serve on.
“And if they are not enough,” exclaimed Mary Wilson, “there’s the floor.”
Landis received her instructions. She was to go into the city the following morning and visit Achenbach, the caterer. She was to be as self-confident as possible. He might have been instructed not to tell anyone where and when his services were ordered. Landis was not to be led off by his assumed ignorance. She was to tell him plainly that she referred to the order sent in by Miss Hobart the day before.
“Just raise your head high and look straight at him,” advised Mary Wilson. “Scare him into it, Landis.”
The following morning, according to plan, Landis, dressed in the trimmest of tailor-made gowns, went to the city. She visited Achenbach’s and did as the girls had directed. As had been expected, the clerk pleaded ignorance of such orders as she mentioned. Landis insisted. The clerk then called the proprietor to verify him. If the order had been received, both proprietor and attendant acted their parts well. Landis could obtain no information from them. Yet, to fulfill her errand, still suspecting that they knew more than they would tell, Landis, just as she was going, left orders to have the banquet served in the laundry. “You may think it rather an odd place, Mr. Achenbach; but the Seniors stole the banquet last year. They will do the same now if the opportunity is given them. They will do all they can to mislead the men you send to serve. Pay no attention to orders after this, but have your men go directly to the laundry. They must go around the back way, of course. One of the class will be watching for you.”
Still Mr. Achenbach protested that there must be some misunderstanding. He had received no orders from Exeter.
Landis went back to school at once, and recounted her experiences to the girls. Mary Wilson was confident that Elizabeth had sent in the order. They would be on their guard that particular evening, and permit no caterer to enter the Hall unless under their orders.
The Middlers had some plan afoot. If not a banquet – what then? But the Seniors were agreed it was that. Nancy’s roommate had found a carefully-written menu. And Landis had surprised another Middler painting menu and place cards. That it was to take place, was evident. But where – when? The group of Seniors separated, each admonishing the others to watch the Middlers, and not permit them to talk together alone.
Mary Wilson’s especial duty was to restrain Elizabeth from holding communication with the others. With true diplomacy, she kept her roommate busy so that she had no time to visit other rooms.
“Just hear me go over my oration once more, Elizabeth, please,” she would say. “I’m apt to get careless if I recite without an audience. Sit over there by the window. I’ll stand here. Now, don’t be afraid to tell me if you think I might improve any part.”
And Elizabeth would patiently sit and listen. She showed great interest. She followed closely every word. She lost no gesture, no facial expression. “I think I could repeat it word for word,” she said, when Mary had practiced for the last time, the morning of Class-day. “I could make every gesture you do. I’m really looking forward to this evening.”
Mary’s face flushed with pleasure. “I’m glad you like it. I hope it will pass off well. You see, the chapel will be crowded. The galleries are always filled; and, visitors are glad to get standing room below. It’s our best day, and I wish to do myself and the school credit.” Then suddenly remembering that she was to find out what she could of the Middlers’ plans, she asked suddenly, “Have you any engagement for to-morrow evening, Elizabeth? What do you say about getting up a tally-ho party, our own set and a few visitors, and driving out by moonlight?”
Elizabeth turned her head aside as though she did not wish Mary to see her embarrassment. She hesitated before replying. “I – I – don’t believe I can, Mary.”
“Have you any engagement?”
“Well, – Oh, I don’t know what to say. Please don’t ask me.”
Mary smiled to herself, then turned back to the mirror for the better arrangement of her hair. Her convictions were strengthened. Whatever the Middlers had on hand, to-morrow night was the time for the doings. When to-morrow night came – ! Mary smiled at the thought. To-morrow night would find every Middler followed by a Senior.
The week had begun with the excitement usually attendant upon commencement. Relatives and friends began to appear on Monday. The continuous flow of guests taxed to the limit the accommodations of the Hall. Bedrooms were doing double duty. Meals were taken in relays. Every one bore with exceedingly good humor the little inconveniences incident to such an overflow.
Dr. Shull of the Irvington Female College lectured to the class Tuesday morning. This was followed by the presentation of diplomas. The graduates in caps and gowns marched through the chapel and across the stage. So far as commencement proper was concerned, this was their first and last appearance.
“But wait until this evening, and the Thursday night promenade! We’ll shine then,” Mary Wilson had whispered confidentially to her friends. “Every girl in the class has done herself proud about her new gowns – one for the prom and one for to-night, not to mention a few extras for the tree-planting and the rose parade.”
The eventful evening came at last. Mrs. Jones bearing extra switches and fancy combs, her ebony face wreathed in smiles, had already arrived, and stood waiting Miss Wilson’s pleasure. The much-talked-of dress of shimmering silk, over which point d’esprit hung like a cloud, lay over the bed ready for its wearer.
The girls were hurrying, as the time was growing short. Elizabeth stood ready to slip into the simple white frock which Joe Ratowsky had brought from Bitumen a few days before. She took up her dress and then laid it down again, and turned to the mirror pretending to put a stray lock in place.
“Hurry, you’ll have no time to waste, Elizabeth. You must get in early if you wish a seat.”
Just then a knock came at the door. Without waiting an invitation, Nancy thrust her head in. She had not yet dressed; but was wearing a bright kimono, her yellow hair streaming over her shoulders.
“Mary, hurry up to the chapel anteroom. Oh, don’t wait to dress. There’s a change in the program and every one who is to take part must come at once. Hurry! They are waiting for you.”
Picking up the belt she had just discarded, and fastening it as she walked, Mary hurriedly quitted the room. The anteroom was a small place fitted up like a parlor, at the side of the stage and on a level with it. A single pane of glass fixed solidly in the wall gave the occupants a view of the stage, yet they could not be seen by the audience. It was here the teacher of oratory sat during the performance. At times, it served as a dressing-room.
The curtain was down. In order to save time and steps, Mary ran across the stage, between the scenery. At her hurried knock a key was turned, and the door of the anteroom opened wide enough to allow her to slip in.
“Hush!” the doorkeeper whispered, carefully locking the door after admitting her.
Landis, Mame, Anna Cresswell and a dozen others were already there.
“Are we all here now?” whispered the doorkeeper. They began to count. The light was so dim that they could barely distinguish faces.
“Fourteen,” said Landis. “That is all.”
“Be sure,” admonished the keeper of the keys in sepulchral tones. “I would not for worlds have one absent.”
“That’s all.” “Fourteen.” “We’re all here.” “Do tell us so that we can hurry back to dress!” came from the members of the group.
At this, the girl with the keys drew her chair close to a second door leading into a dark, unfinished attic. Over the door which was nailed shut was a small transom. As she mounted the chair, Mary Wilson for the first time recognized her as a Miss Bowman, a special student in music, neither a Middler nor a Senior.
“Then,” said Miss Bowman, lifting her hand with the key in it to the open transom, and turning to face the girls, “then we’ll stay here.” With that she dropped the key into the attic. They were prisoners; she, with them.
“It’s those Middlers,” groaned Mary Wilson. “We might have known; and my little innocent Elizabeth is at the bottom of this.”
“Console yourselves,” advised Miss Bowman. “When the curtain goes up, you will have a fine view of the Senior exercises. They will be well worth the price you’ve paid for admission.”
CHAPTER XIII.
IMPRISONMENT
Elizabeth turned the key in the lock the instant Mary stepped from the room. Then, as quickly as possible, she got into her roommate’s white gown. Mrs. Jones, with a broad smile playing over her ebony features, stood by with pins and ribbons. From her mysterious boxes, that Mary supposed contained the switches with which one could do wonders, she brought forth a wig of yellow-brown hair.
“’Pears like this ’ud do. The other young lady hab hair what just come to her shoulders.”
“It is just fine,” exclaimed Elizabeth, “as near the color of Miss Wilson’s as I can hope for.” She studied herself in the mirror as Mrs. Jones adjusted the wig. “I know every gesture that Mary makes except this.” She gave her head a toss, shaking back the fringe of hair about her shoulders.
She hurried dressing for it was almost time for the curtain to rise. “There!” she cried. “I’m ready. I hope the way is clear for me.”
Hastening to the door, she peered into the hall. Not a ‘noble Senior’ was in sight. The girls flitting through the dormitories were Middlers and Freshmen. Confident that she was safe from interference, Elizabeth, her white gown trailing after her, started forth for the chapel. Nancy Eckdahl and Mame Welch joined her at the foot of the stairway.
“Don’t I look like a boiled lobster?” cried Nancy. “But this was the only dress anywhere near my size. It’s Nora O’Day’s. Isn’t it handsome? It is unfortunate that she is so dark and I so fair. But it was this or nothing. Think of a yellow-haired girl in an orange-colored gown.”
The effect was startling. Nora, with her dark eyes and coloring, would have looked like a picture in this vivid orange; but Nancy, with her blue eyes and flaxen hair, looked anything but picturesque.
“But you are comfortable,” gasped Mame, in short breaths. “If Min Kean had had a little more flesh on her bones when this dress was fitted, I would have felt better now. Nancy had to use a shoe-hook to fasten the buttons.”
“Have you seen Laura Downs? She looks exactly like Landis. The dress fits except it is a little short in the waist; but Azzie pinned up the skirt. It doesn’t look bad. She was in our room before she went down. And she ‘did’ Landis to perfection – that same haughty manner that Landis has when she means to impress one.”
As they moved along, their number increased. The leading spirits of the Middler class were there, each decked out in the new gown that some Senior, whose manner and tricks of speech she had been studying for weeks to impersonate, would have worn had she not been locked up in the little greenroom near the stage of the chapel.
There had been no Middler of sufficient height and dignity to impersonate Dr. Morgan. Yet she was a light of so great magnitude that she could not be ignored. Miss Hogue, a special student, a girl devoted to the classics, and a writer for all the school papers, had been pressed into service. Dr. Morgan when she had appeared upon the rostrum during the commencement exercises had worn a gown of black lace, its sombre tone relieved by cuffs and collar of cream duchess. She was very slender and erect. Her mass of brown hair, touched with gray, was always dressed in the same style. During all the years she had been at Exeter, it had been worn in a great coil on the top of her head. Dr. Morgan was no longer young. During the last year, she had been compelled to use eye-glasses. These were attached to her bodice by a gold chain. As she talked they were held in her hand the greater part of the time. In physique, Miss Hogue was Dr. Morgan’s double. Robed in the black gown, which she had borrowed from Dr. Morgan’s maid, and with her hair powdered, she could have easily passed as the doctor herself.
Miss Bowman, in company with her fourteen Seniors, sat in the greenroom and waited. There was no lack of conversation, although Miss Bowman took little part in it. However, she was an interested listener, and laughed heartily at the remarks of her charges. They threatened her; they cajoled; they flattered; they offered her all the good things that could be laid at a Senior’s feet during Commencement. When these availed nothing, they expressed themselves strongly. At intervals of a few minutes, one of the girls would try the doors, shaking them, and pounding with her fists on the panels.
“There are other Seniors somewhere,” cried Mary Wilson. “If we could make them hear, we ’d soon be out of here. We’d stop the Middlers’ banquet.”
Miss Bowman laughed. “Do you still think it is a banquet? Well, it isn’t. They hadn’t the least idea of giving one.”
“But I saw the letter that Elizabeth Hobart sent to Achenbach, the caterer. Isn’t that proof enough?” And Mary looked as if, had this been a legal case, she had Blackstone on her side.
“I saw the orders myself,” she asseverated.
“Of course you did! Elizabeth intended you should!”
“But if there was not going to be a banquet, why should they take all the trouble to make us believe there was?”
“Because, while you were hunting on the wrong scent, they could go on with their plans. You poor Seniors,” compassionately, “how you did work to stop that banquet! Landis had her trip to the city for nothing. Do you know, I don’t believe you could have had it served in the laundry! It gets chilly and damp there in the evening.”
“I’ll get out of this! I won’t stay locked up,” cried Mary. “Come, girls, let’s all yell together and pound on the floor.”
Pandemonium reigned for a few moments. Miss Bowman, exasperatingly cool, sat smiling. When the clamor ceased, she said, “Really, you are very childish. Why not accept this with the spirit of philosophers? You are here – you cannot get out until the Middlers see fit. Why not sit down and converse sweetly? There’s the weather. It’s a safe subject. Nothing personal about it. Or if you wish – ”
“Shut up!” cried Mary, stamping her feet, and wholly losing her temper. “If you had that key we’d fall upon you tooth and nail.”
“And take it from you!” It was Landis who finished the remark.
“So I thought!” responded Miss Bowman complacently. “That’s why I haven’t it.”
It was Min Kean who first showed the spirit of a philosopher. “Oh, what’s the use of fussing about it? We’re here, and I suppose we shall stay here until those Middlers see fit to let us out. The more fuss we make, the more fun for them.”
At this Landis drew herself erect. “That is just what I was about to say. A great deal of their fun will vanish when they discover that it is all one to us whether we get out or stay here. I’m about as well satisfied. My throat was a little husky anyway. Perhaps I would not have been able to make that high note. How mortified I should have been!”
She spoke in seeming sincerity. Mary Wilson eyed her suspiciously. She sighed. “Landis believes that we are what we make people believe we are. You would make a capital actress, Landis. The only fault you have is that you would always be playing to the gallery.”
Her hearers laughed, accepting the remark as a bit of pleasant chatter. Mary did not fully grasp how much truth her remarks contained. Landis alone appreciated the words. Her face flushed and she turned her head aside for an instant that the girls might not see she was hurt.
“I don’t know but that it is a good thing,” Mary rattled on. “We’re sure of an audience, at least. What shall we do now?”
“What can we do!” wailed a meek-looking little Senior from the darkest corner of the room. “There’s nothing except ask conundrums. I’ll begin. Why did we ever – ?”
“What more do you want?” asked Landis, turning about quickly to face them. “I’ll begin. What goes around a – ”
“Hush hush,” came a chorus of whispers. From the chapel below music could be heard. It was the Germania orchestra of twelve pieces from the city, to secure which the Seniors had heavily taxed themselves.
“All that music going to waste,” wailed the little figure from the dark corner.
“It’s not going to waste, dearly beloved,” came the response from Miss Bowman. “The Middlers will enjoy it even more than you would have done. They are not paying the bill.”
The instant the music ceased, the drop went up. Again a groan arose from the prisoners. They could see all that was enacted on the stage, yet could not hear the words.
“There’s Dr. Morgan,” whispered Mary. “She can’t know that anything is wrong, and that we are locked up here. When she turns toward us I’ll tap, and she’ll see to it that we are set free.”
A tall and stately figure, in an imported gown of black lace, crossed the stage. Reaching the center she paused, raised her eye-glasses and swept the audience with her characteristic glance. She began her remarks, and had said but a few words when she was stopped by a round of applause. The Seniors who had not been booked for that evening’s performance understood that something had gone amiss. There were hurried remarks – “It isn’t the Doctor;” “It’s that Miss Hogue;” – “That’s the girl that’s in our classics;” – “This is the Middlers’ work.”
Miss Hogue, following Dr. Morgan’s manner, gave almost word for word the address of the morning. She did it well. A round of applause followed her from the stage. She returned to receive the flowers which were intended for Dr. Morgan, then announced as the next number an oration by Miss Wilson.
“Well, I couldn’t hear what she was talking about,” sighed Mary from her place in the greenroom. “But it was just the way Dr. Morgan would have done. Did you notice how she raised her glasses, then turned her head to look sharply? The Doctor does that every time. Who’s this dressed in – ” She didn’t finish her question. She paused to look closely. Then exclaimed, “Oh, Elizabeth Hobart, you little Spaniard! And with my dress on, too.”
Elizabeth swept across the stage. She paused a moment, then tossed back her hair.
“Miss Wilson!” “Miss Wilson!” came the appreciative cries from the Freshmen and specials sitting below. The Seniors, in little groups of twos and threes, had their heads together arranging for a general action. They were so scattered throughout the house that quick planning was impossible.
“I am charged with pride and ambition,” began Elizabeth, in the same tones and with the same gestures she had heard and seen Mary use hundreds of times while practicing. Even those in the greenroom caught her words.
“I’ve another charge against her,” exclaimed Miss Wilson. “She’s purloined my dress. Oh, I wish she would look this way.”
But Elizabeth was wise. She let no glance wander toward the greenroom. She tossed back her locks again, threw out her hands and continued, “The charge is true, and I glory in its truth. Whoever achieved anything great in letters, arts or arms who was not ambitious? Cæsar was not more ambitious than Cicero. It was only in another way.” She went through the oration without a pause, and bowed herself from the stage in the midst of a round of hearty applause from the delighted audience.
Dr. Morgan, with her usual dignity, announced that Miss Landis Stoner from Potter County being absent by foreseen circumstances, Miss Mame Welch would sing the “Jewel Song” from Faust.
Mame, resplendent but uncomfortable in the finery belonging to Landis, then appeared. She raised her head, straightened her shoulders, looking unutterably bored and weary, although self-confident enough for a score of such songs. But the instant her voice arose, the Seniors who had gotten together started to sing. Their voices filled the chapel, drowning out even the laughter and applause.
“Where, oh, where are this year’s Seniors,Where, oh, where are this year’s Seniors,They are not in the cold, cold world.Every one sing for the grand old Seniors,Every one sing for the grand old Seniors,For they’re not in the cold, cold world.”The moment there was a lull, Miss Welch caught her own tune and started bravely on her song, only to be again drowned out. She did not give up. She sang in spite of all opposition, for the most part out of the tune. Then with the airs and manner of one who had succeeded beyond all expectations, she left the stage, in some disorder but not vanquished.
The pseudo Dr. Morgan then arose, and with the dignity born of her position and years, requested order, saying that if there was further interruption she must ask the watchmen present to expel the disturbing element. Her speech was a master stroke. Exeter then had a dozen special officers about the grounds and buildings. Most of them had never been in Dr. Morgan’s presence. Those in attendance, not understanding the state of affairs, took the request in good faith, believing that it was the real Dean of Exeter addressing them.
Then the farce which the Seniors had prepared was played.
Nancy, or the “boiled lobster,” as she had nicknamed herself, was last to appear.
She played on Nora O’Day’s guitar “The Spanish Cavalier,” the only selection she could pick out, and sang it in a weak, trembling soprano. Nora both sang and played well. Nancy, in her vivid orange gown, did her best. Her audience, by this time conscious that there was something amiss, could no longer be suppressed.
“Oh, say, darling, say,When I’m far away,Some times you may think of me, dear – ”“Could he ever think of anything else?” came in a stage-whisper from below. Every one heard, and every one smiled. Nancy sang on:
“I’m off to the war – ”
“I don’t blame him,” came again. Laughter swept over the hall.
“To the war I must go – ”
“Don’t bother about returning – ”
Nancy laughed aloud. The curtain fell. The program for the evening was finished.
CHAPTER XIV.
RETALIATION
The Seniors accepted the Middlers’ fun in good part. Even Mary forgave Elizabeth the wearing of her new gown.
“Oh, well,” Mary had exclaimed after the affair was over, and a group of girls had gathered in her room, “‘Every dog has his day.’ We had ours last year; and next year you will pay the fiddler for a new set of Middlers.”
“If they don’t pay before that,” said Landis, sententiously.
“It’s a long lane that has no turning,” said Min.
“But we will leave before the turn comes,” laughed Elizabeth.
“What will you do?”
“Jump the fence and take to the fields,” was Elizabeth’s reply.
“If I wear my orange gown to-night will I look like Nancy?” asked Nora O’Day.
“I hope not,” said Nancy, while a chorus of strong negatives arose from the other girls.
“Then I’ll wear it,” said Nora.
The excellent spirit with which the Seniors took their imprisonment was quite enough to awaken suspicion in the minds of Middlers had they been in a cautious mood. But they were too uplifted with their recent success to think of aught else. Beside, there was little time now for planning and executing vengeance. Dr. Morgan gave a tea to the Seniors and their friends late that afternoon. Thursday evening was the date for the ball and banquet. Friday the general exodus would begin.
“What have you on hand for this morning?” asked Mary, as she and Elizabeth were dressing for breakfast.
“There’s plenty. I’m undecided what to do. One party is going boating; another plans to take a tally-ho ride, and have lunch under the trees which mark the place of the Wyoming massacre. The Freshmen are having a small “feed” down in room B. Everyone in this hall is invited. It’s a mild affair. Just drop in, eat a sandwich and salad, exchange addresses, and bow yourself out. I think I’ll go out boating first and then attend the Freshmen’s ‘drop-in.’ And you?”
Mary sighed. “I must rest a little for Dr. Morgan’s ‘at home.’ I haven’t had enough sleep for a week. I know I look like Medusa. I’ll start my packing, sort of get my personal belongings into shape. If I have time, I may walk down to the boat-house. But don’t wait for me. Any one of a score of trifles may delay me.”