Part 12 (1/2)

Nancy still clung to her plan of getting herself ready for college; never for a moment could she lose sight of the fact that in all probability she would have to make her own living, which Alma, like her mother, was very ready to forget, counting always as they did on happy chance, to smooth out the future for them into a sunny vista. It was not that Nancy was a pessimist. She simply believed that good luck was something more or less of one's own making. She was full of eagerness and enthusiasm for life, as ardent as an ambitious boy, and restive to make a trial of her own capabilities. She knew that there was a possibility of her uncle's providing for them, after all, in spite of his own very clear hints to the contrary; but on the other hand, there remained the fact that he was an eccentric old fellow, more than equally likely to bequeath his entire fortune to some freakish project, or obscure charity organization.

It was not a very easy task to study seriously at Miss Leland's. An earnest student was immediately dubbed, vividly enough, if inelegantly, a ”greasy grind”--and was left more or less to her own devices; but if Nancy was not as popular as Alma, she was regarded with a good deal of respect and genuine admiration by the other girls, and in Charlotte Spencer she had found a really devoted friend.

Underneath her apparent rattle-patedness, Charlotte concealed from the view of those for whom she had no especial regard a stratum of rather unusual common sense, mingled with an idealism and a youthful ardor which few would have suspected in her nature. Opinions concerning her varied widely. Mildred Lloyd considered her crude, for example; most of the girls thought her simply amusing and odd, and hardly knew how to account for some of her queer, serious moods. In one way or another, without apparently studying at all, she managed always to take the highest marks in the school.

She was the only daughter of a very rich Western mine-owner, a widower, who found the problem of managing this child of his more difficult than any commercial nut he had ever had to crack. He had only the vaguest notions as to what was necessary for a girl's career, and imagined that by sending his daughter to a fas.h.i.+onable Eastern school, he was getting at the heart of the solution. Charlotte wanted to study music, ”not like a boarding-school miss,” she told Nancy. ”I want to make it the real thing. I tell you I don't know anything about it--but I'm going to, yet.” Old Mr. Spencer, while he had no objections to one of the arts as a ladylike accomplishment, felt that it was not exactly respectable for a girl to go into it seriously, just why, he would have been at a loss to say. ”You know,” Charlotte had explained, with her humorous smile, ”there is a notion that it's all right for a 'lady' to dabble in anything, painting, music, or embroidery and so on, so long as she doesn't attempt to make a profession of it, or think of making money by it. Of course this idea is changing now a bit, but people like Mildred Lloyd, for instance, and all her kind, still think it's not perfectly '_nice_' as she puts it.” It was not in the least that Mr. Spencer had even a grain of sn.o.bbishness in his rough, vigorous makeup, so far as either himself or his three sons were concerned; his very love for his ”Charlie,” as he called her, made him stubborn in his ideas concerning what was best for her. He wanted her to have everything that he could give her, and he gave her what he imagined her mother would have wanted him to give. It was because Charlotte understood that his stubbornness grew out of his adoration of her, that she good-naturedly gave in to his wishes.

”In good time, I'll do what I want, of course,” she said with serene self-confidence. ”But the least I can do for darling old Dad is to make him believe that all the time I'm doing what _he_ wants. He _is_ such a lamb, you know.”

The warm friends.h.i.+p that grew up between the two girls had a strong bond in the similarity of their position at Miss Leland's, and in the circ.u.mstances of their being there, as well as in their mutual sympathy with each other's ideas.

It was a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, late in October, when the days were rapidly shortening into wintry dusks, and there was even the hint of an early snow in the slate-colored skies, against which the bare, stiff branches of the trees s.h.i.+vered in a nipping wind. Nancy, all ruddy, and breezy from a brisk walk with Charlotte, had come up to her room to finish an English paper. Across the hall a group of girls had gathered around Katherine Leonard's chafing dish, from which the tantalizing smell of thick, hot fudge was beginning to pervade the corridors, and distract the thoughts of the more studious from their unsocial but conscientious labors.

”Come on in, Nance,” called Alma, waving a sticky spoon invitingly.

”Surely you aren't going to work now, are you?”

Nancy hesitated, her hand on the door-k.n.o.b. They all looked so jolly, the room so cosy, and the warm, chocolaty smell of the fudge was almost irresistible. Nancy's nose twitched at the delicious odor, and she smiled uncertainly.

”I've got to finish my English,” she began.

”Oh, bother your English,” cried Dolly Parker, ”None of us have even looked at ours yet. Don't be a 'grind'--come on.”

”You're such a shark at it, Miss Garnett wouldn't bother you if you loafed for a month,” added Maizie Forrest. This was quite true--and that was the trouble. It was just because Miss Garnett was so lenient that Nancy felt the responsibility of keeping up in her work resting heavily on herself. Nearly all the girls loafed shamelessly, and Nancy had to guard against the temptation to imitate them. She knew that she would have to pa.s.s a stiff examination in English to enter college, and that it mattered nothing to Miss Garnett whether she pa.s.sed or not.

”Well, the point is that I've got so little to do on it that I might as well finish it up and feel free,” she said, finally. ”I'll come in a little while, so don't, for goodness' sake, eat all the fudge.”

”Oh, Nancy, you make me tired,” pouted Alma. ”If you're going to be such an old poke, you don't deserve any fudge.”

Nancy only laughed in reply, and calmly went in to her room, and shut the door. She flung her sweater on her bed, sent her scarlet tam-o'-shanter after it, and then stood for a moment, her hands in the pockets of her skirt, looking about her. The Prescotts' room was certainly not the cosiest and most inviting in the school, and she had listened long to Alma's pet.i.tions for an easy chair, and a new lamp to take the place of the green-shaded student's lamp which by its hard, sharp light intensified the severe bareness of the little place.

Besides the two beds, there were the two desks, two stiff desk-chairs, and the two small bureaus. Nothing had been added to soften the chilly aspect except a pair of cheap, chintz curtains at the window, and a few small cus.h.i.+ons on the window-seat. They had no pictures or photographs, no rugs, no tea service--none of the hundred and one little knickknacks with which the other girls managed to turn their bedrooms into luxurious little dens. Consequently, they were never besieged by bands of hilarious callers, and Alma herself was never in her room any more than she could help. At night she preferred a dressing-gown chat in Mildred's room, or in Kay Leonard's; even when she studied, which occupied, indeed, little enough of her time, she sought a more congenial atmosphere, and Nancy, except for Charlotte's company, was a good deal by herself. But there was nothing to be done about it. She could not go to the expense of a new rug and an easy chair and a new lamp, and that was all there was to it. Alma felt ashamed of the mute confession of a narrow purse, expressed by the chill simplicity of the room; losing her memory of their straitened means amid the easy affluence of the other girls, she became more and more sulky against Nancy for her rigid economy. She contended that she saw no reason for it--that Nancy was carrying it to unnecessary extremes.

With a shrug of her shoulders, Nancy began to rummage in her desk for her half-finished English paper, and then sat down to it, grimly determined to concentrate on it, and to drive away all distracting thoughts. She forgot about the fudge-party, and an hour went by before she looked up with a sigh, and carefully glancing over her finished pages folded them neatly inside her copy of ”Burke's Speeches.” All her work was finished, and she could look forward to Sunday with a comfortable antic.i.p.ation of unhampered freedom. It was still half an hour before the dressing bell would ring, so she put on her kimono and, her sociable mood having pa.s.sed, tucked herself up on the window-seat with a book.

In a little while the door opened, and Alma came in to change her frock. Nancy glanced up, and saw in an instant that Alma was annoyed.

She felt troubled. It seemed as if every day they were growing farther apart. They no longer had those happy chats together which had bound them close by affection and sympathy. Alma no longer sought her as her confidant, and seemed to resent her advice rather than to seek it.

Instead, the younger girl had, as it were, transferred her affection and her admiration to the headstrong and annoyingly self-a.s.sured Mildred Lloyd. Mildred had deigned to p.r.o.nounce Alma pretty, and ”interesting,” and had ”taken her up” as the phrase is, thereby completely turning poor Alma's head so that she was gradually merging even her personality into a pale imitation of Mildred's blase expressions and mannerisms. Alma was not left ignorant of the fact that Mildred's friends.h.i.+p, like her fancy, was extremely variable, and that she was quite likely to turn a cold shoulder to her new chum, without deigning to provide any reason for doing so. But Alma preferred to believe that in her case Mildred's interest would not wane, just as she preferred to forget her early prejudice of their first meeting with Mildred.

An uncomfortable little silence reigned, which Nancy pretended to be unaware of, by giving a great deal of attention to her book, although the light from the window was so faint that no human eye could have spelt out the words on the page. But when, at length, she was forced by the lateness of the hour to begin dressing, it was impossible to preserve the wretched silence any longer, or to speak as if nothing were the matter.

”You--you seem worried, Alma,” she began hesitatingly. ”Is there something on your mind?”

”I'm not worried a bit,” returned Alma coldly.

”Well--are you angry about something?”

There was a silence. Alma flung her hair over her shoulder and began to brush the ends vigorously, while Nancy watched the operation with an intentness that showed her mind to be on other things. Presently Alma said in a grave voice:

”I know that it's none of my business, of course, but I _do_ think, Nancy, that you are making a mistake.”

”A mistake,” repeated Nancy, in amazement. ”How? How do you mean?”