Molly Brown's Freshman Days

CHAPTER VII

AN INCIDENT OF THE COFFEE CUPS

Molly turned up at the Beta Phi House about five o’clock the next evening. She wore a blue linen so that if any grease sputtered it would fall harmlessly on wash goods, and in other ways attired herself as much like a maid as possible with white collar and cuffs and a very plain tight arrangement of the hair.

“If I’m to be a servant, I might as well look like one,” she thought, as she marched upstairs and rapped on Judith’s door.

“Come in,” called the voice of Jennie Wren. “Judith’s gone walking with her guests,” she explained; “but she left her orders with me, and I’ll transmit them to you,” she added rather grandly. “You are to do the cooking. Here are all the things in the ice box, and there’s the gas stove on the trunk. Miss Brinton and I will set the table.”

Molly gathered that Caroline Brinton, the unbending young woman from Philadelphia, had been chosen as her assistant.

The tiny ice box was stuffed full of provisions. There was the inevitable beefsteak, as Sallie had predicted; also canned soup; a head of celery, olives, grape fruits, olive oil, mushrooms, cheese – really, a bewildering display of food stuffs.

“Did Miss Blount decide on the courses?” Molly asked Jennie Wren.

“No; she got the raw material and left the rest entirely with you. ‘Tell her to get up a good dinner for six people,’ she said. ‘I don’t care how she does it, only she must have it promptly at six-fifteen.’”

There were only two holes to the gas stove and likewise only two saucepans to fit over them, so that it behooved Molly to look alive if she were to prepare dinner for six in an hour and a quarter.

“Where’s the can opener?” she called.

A calm, experienced cook with the patience of a saint might have felt some slight irritability if she had been placed in Molly’s shoes that evening. Nothing could be found. There was no can opener, no ice pick, the coffeepot had a limited capacity of four cups, and there was no broiler for the steak. It had to be cooked in a pan. It must be confessed also that it was the first time in her life Molly had ever cooked an entire meal. She had only made what her grandmother would have called “covered dishes,” or surprise dishes, and she now found preparing a dinner of four courses for six people rather a bewildering task.

At last there came the sound of voices in the next room. She put on the beefsteak. Her cheeks were flaming from the heat of the little stove. Her back ached from leaning over, and her head ached with responsibility and excitement.

“Is everything all right?” demanded Judith, blowing into the room with an air of “if it isn’t it will be the worse for you.”

“I believe so,” answered Molly.

“Why did you put the anchovies on crackers?” demanded the older girl irritably. “They should have been on toast.”

“Because there wasn’t enough bread for one thing, and because there was no way to toast it if there had been,” answered Molly shortly.

No cook likes to be interfered with at that crucial moment just before dinner.

“Here are your cap and apron,” went on Judith. “You know how to wait, don’t you? Always hand things at the left side.”

“Water happens to be poured from the right,” answered Molly, pinning on the little muslin cap. She was in no mood to be dictated to by Judith Blount or any other black-eyed vixen.

Judith made no answer. She seemed excited and absent-minded.

Caroline placed the anchovies while Molly poured the soup into cups, there being no plates. The voices of the company floated in to her. Jennie Wren had joined them, making the sixth.

She heard a man’s voice exclaim:

“I say, Ju-ju, I call this very luxurious. We never had anything so fine as this at Harvard. You always could hold up the parent and get what you wanted. Now, I never had the nerve. And, by the way, have you got a cook, too?”

“Only for to-night,” answered Judith. “We usually eat downstairs with the others.”

“You’re working some poor little freshman, ten to one,” answered Judith’s brother, for that was evidently who it was. Then Molly heard some one run up a brilliant scale and strike a chord and a good baritone voice began singing:

“Why don’t you join in, Eddie? But I forgot. It would never do for a Professor of English Literature at a girls’ college to lift his voice in ribald song.”

Some one laughed. Molly recognized the voice instantly. She knew that Professor Edwin Green was dining at Judith’s that night, and her inquiring mind reached out even further into the realms of conjecture, and she guessed who was the author of his light opera.

“Cousin Edwin, will you sit there, next to me?” said Judith’s voice.

“Cousin?” repeated Molly. “So that’s it, is it?”

Then other voices joined in – Mary Stewart, Jennie Wren and Martha Schaeffer, a rich girl from Chicago, who roomed in that house.

They gobbled down the first course as people usually dispatch relishes, and as Caroline removed the dishes, Molly appeared with the soup. None of the girls recognized her, of course, which was perfectly good college etiquette, although Mary Stewart smiled when Molly placed her cup of soup and whispered:

“Good work.”

Molly gave her a grateful look, and Professor Edwin Green, looking up, caught a glimpse of Molly’s flushed face, and smiled, too.

“I say, Ju-ju, who’s your head waitress?” Molly could not help overhearing Richard Blount ask when she had left the room.

“Oh, just a little Southern girl named Smith, or something,” answered Judith carelessly.

“That young lady,” said Professor Edwin Green, “is Miss Molly Brown, of Kentucky.”

The young freshman’s face was crimson when she brought in the steak and placed it in front of Mr. Blount.

Then she took her stand correctly behind his chair, with a plate in her hand, waiting for him to carve.

Sometimes two members of the same family are so unlike that it is almost impossible to believe that blood from the same stock runs in their veins. So it was with Richard Blount and his sister, Judith. She was tall and dark and arrogant, and he was short and blond and full of good-humored gayety. He rallied all the girls at the table. He teased his Cousin Edwin. He teased his sister, and then he ended by highly praising the food, looking all the time from one corner of his mild blue eyes at Molly’s flushed face.

“Really,” he exclaimed, “a French chef must have broiled this steak. Not even Delmonico, nor Oscar himself at the Waldorf, could have done it better. Isn’t it the top-notch, Eddie? What’s this? Mushroom sauce? By Jupiter, it’s wonderful to come out here in the wilds and get such food.”

Mary Stewart began to laugh. After all, it was just good-natured raillery.

“Why, Mr. Blount,” she said, “there is something to be found here that is lots better than porter-house steak.”

“What is it? Name it, please!” cried Richard. “If I must miss the train, I must have some, whatever it is – cream puffs or chocolate fudge?”

“It’s Kentucky ham of the finest, what do you call it – breed? Three years old. You’ve never eaten ham until you’ve tasted it.”

She smiled charmingly at Molly, who pretended to look unconscious while she passed the vegetables. Judith endeavored to change the subject.

She was angry with Mary for thus bringing her freshman waitress into prominence. But Molly was destined to be the heroine of the evening in spite of all efforts against it.

“Old Kentucky ham!” cried Richard Blount, starting from his chair with mock seriousness, “Where is it? I implore you to tell me. My soul cries out for old ham from the dark and bloody battleground of Kentucky!”

Everybody began to laugh, and Judith exclaimed:

“Do hush, Richard. You are so absurd! Did he behave this way at Harvard all the time, Cousin Edwin?”

“Oh, yes; only more so. But tell me more of this wonderful ham, Miss Stewart.”

Molly wondered if Professor Green really understood that it was all a joke on her when he asked that question.

Suddenly she formed a resolution. Following her assistant into the next room, she whispered:

“Which would you rather do, Miss Brinton? Go over to Queen’s and ask Nance to give you the rest of my ham or wait on the table while I go?”

“I’d rather get the ham,” replied Miss Brinton, whose proud spirit was crushed by the menial service she had been obliged to undertake that evening.

The dinner progressed. In a little while Molly had cleared the table and was preparing to bring on the grape-fruit salad when Caroline appeared with the remnants of the ham. Molly removed it from its wrappings and, placing it on a dish, bore it triumphantly into the next room.

“What’s this?” cried Richard Blount. “Do my eyes deceive me? Am I dreaming? Is it possible – ”

“The old ham, or, rather, the attenuated ghost of the old ham!” ejaculated Mary Stewart.

Even Judith joined in the burst of merriment, and Professor Green’s laugh was the gayest of all.

Molly returned with the carving knife and fork, and Richard Blount began to snip off small pieces.

“‘Ham bone am very sweet,’” he sang, one eye on Molly.

“It is certainly wonderful,” exclaimed Professor Green, as he tasted the delicate meat; “but it seems like robbery to deprive the owner of it.”

“Now, Edwin, you keep quiet, please,” interrupted Richard. “I’ve heard that some owners of old hams are just as fond of things sweeter than ham bones. A five-pound box ought to be the equivalent of this, eh?”

“Really, Richard, you go too far,” put in Judith, frowning at her brother.

But Richard took not the slightest notice of her, nor did he pause until he had cleaned the ham bone of every scrap of meat left on it.

“Aren’t you going to catch your train?” asked Judith.

“I think not to-night, Ju-ju,” he answered, smiling amiably. “Edwin, can you put me up? If not, I’ll stop at the inn in the village.”

“No, indeed, you won’t, Dick. You must stop with me. I have an extra bed, solely in hopes you might stay in it some night. And later this evening we might run over – er – a few notes.”

He looked consciously at Richard, then he gave Molly a swift, quizzical glance, remembering probably that he had confided to her and her alone that he was the author of the words of a comic opera.

Having cleared the table, Molly now returned with the coffee. The cups jaggled as she handed them. She was very weary, and her arms ached. When she had reached Professor Edwin Green, Richard Blount, with his nervous, quick manner, suddenly started from his chair and exclaimed:

“Now, I know whom you remind me of – Ellen Terry at sixteen.”

Nobody but Molly realized for a moment that he was talking to her, and she was so startled that her wrist gave a twist and over went the tray and three full coffee cups straight on to the knees of the august Professor of English Literature.

There was a great deal of noise, Molly remembered. She herself was so horrified and stunned that she stood immovable, clutching the tray wildly, as a drowning person clings to a life preserver. She heard Judith cry:

“How stupid! How could you have been so unpardonably awkward!”

At the same moment Mary Stewart said: “It was entirely your fault, Mr. Blount. You frightened the poor child with your wild behavior.”

And Professor Green said:

“Don’t scold, Judith. I’m to blame. I joggled the tray with my elbow. There’s no harm done, at any rate. These gray trousers will be much improved by being dyed cafe au lait.”

Then Richard Blount rose from the table and marched straight over to where Molly was standing transfixed, still miserably holding to the tray.

“Miss Brown,” he said humbly, “I want to apologize. All this must have been very trying for you, and you have behaved beautifully. I hope you will forgive me. My only excuse is that I am always forgetting my little sister and her friends are not still children. Will you forgive me?”

He looked so manly and good-natured standing there before her with his hand held out, that Molly felt what slight indignation there was in her heart melting away at once. She put her hand in his.

“There is nothing to forgive, Mr. Blount,” she said, and the young man who was a musician pricked up his ears when he heard that soft, musical voice.

“And I’ve robbed you of your ham,” he continued.

“It was a pleasure to know you enjoyed it,” she said.

Presently Molly began clearing the table. Richard sat down at the piano. It was evident that he never wandered far from his beloved instrument, and the girls gathered around him while he ran over the first act of his new opera.

Professor Edwin Green said good night and took himself and his coffee-soaked trousers home to his rooms.

“You can follow later, Dickie,” he called.

As he passed Molly, standing by the door, he smiled at her again, and Molly smiled back, though she was quite ready to cry.

“The ham was delicious,” he said. “Thank you very much.”

That night, when Molly had wearily climbed the stairs to her room and flung herself on her couch, Nance, writing at her desk, called over:

“Well, how was the beefsteak?”

“I didn’t get any,” said Molly. “Even if there had been any left, I was too tired to eat anything. I’m afraid I wasn’t born to be anybody’s cook, Nance, or waitress, either.”

And Molly turned her face to the wall and wept silently.

Lest we forget, we will say now that two days after this episode of the coffee cups, there came, by express for Miss Molly Brown, a five-pound box of candy without a card, and the girls at Queen’s Cottage feasted right royally for almost two evenings.

CHAPTER VIII

CONCERNING CLUBS, – AND A TEA PARTY

At the first meeting of the freshman class of 19 – , Margaret Wakefield of Washington, D. C., had been elected President.

Just how this came about no one could exactly say. She could not have been accused of electioneering for herself, and yet she made an impression somehow and had won the election by a large majority.

“Anybody who can talk like that ought to be President of something,” Molly had observed good naturedly. “She could make a real inauguration speech, I believe, and she knows all about Parliamentary Law, whatever that is.”

“She dashed off the class constitution just as easily as if she were writing a letter home,” said Judy.

“That’s not so easy, either,” added Nance mournfully.

The girls were silent. It had gradually leaked out as their friendship progressed that Nance’s home was not an abode of happiness by any means. And yet Nance had written a theme on “Home,” which was so well done that she had been highly complimented by Miss Pomeroy, who had read it aloud to the class. Molly often wondered just what manner of woman Nance’s mother was, and she soon had an opportunity of finding out for herself.

But the conversation about the new class president continued.

“President Wakefield wants us to have bi-monthly meetings,” continued Judy. “She wishes to divide the class into committees and have a chairman for each committee – ”

“Committees for what?” demanded Molly.

“Dear knows,” laughed Judy, “but her father’s a Congressman, and she has inherited his passion for law and order, I suppose. She wants to conduct a debate on Woman’s Suffrage to meet Saturdays. It’s to be called ‘The Woman’s Franchise Club,’ and she wishes to establish by-laws and resolutions and a number of other things that are Greek to me, for ‘the political body corporate.’ She says it’s a crying shame that women know so little about the constitution of their own country, and in establishing a debating society, she hopes to do some missionary work in that line.”

Judy had risen and was waving her arms dramatically while her voice rose and fell like an old-time orator’s.

“I suppose we ought,” said Molly; “but I’d rather put it off a year or so. There are so many other things to enjoy first. Besides, it will be four years before I reach the voting age, and by that time I hope my ‘intellects’ will have developed sufficiently to take in the constitution of the country.”

“Anyhow,” exclaimed Judy, “I’m proud to have a class president who’s such a first-class public speaker, because it takes it all off our shoulders. Whenever there’s a speech to be made or anything public and embarrassing to be done, we’ll just vote for her to do it, because she will enjoy it so much.”

“But are you going to join the debating club?” asked Nance.

“I suppose it’s our duty to,” replied Molly; “but I do hate to pin myself down. Suppose we say we’ll go to one and listen?”