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Marjorie Dean at Hamilton Arms
CHAPTER I
WAITING FOR MARJORIE
“They’ll be here before long.” Jerry Macy’s eyes calculatingly consulted the wall clock.
“And, oh, what a surprise!” Veronica Lynne spoke from the deeps of her own mischievous enjoyment.
“It’s going to be an occasion of surprises,” predicted Lucy Warner with the solemnity of a young owl. “Now why are you laughing, Muriel?” This very severely as she caught sight of Muriel Harding’s mirthful face and heard sound of her soft chuckle.
“Why am I laughing? You know better, Luciferous Warniferous, than ask me such a – well – such a leading question.” Muriel failed to make her laughing features match her reproving tones.
“You’re both up to mischief. Think I don’t know the signs?” Jerry accused with a long-suffering air. “Luciferous looks too solemn to be true and your special variety of giggle is a dead give-away.”
“What special variety?” demanded Muriel with blank innocence.
“I wouldn’t attempt to classify it,” was Jerry’s withering retort. “I can only say, ‘it is.’”
“Of course it is.” Muriel light-heartedly furnished a rippling little sample. “Hark!” she held up an arresting hand. “Someone’s coming.”
Three energetic raps on the door followed her announcement. Then the door opened sufficiently to admit the laughing face of Leila Harper.
“Enter the Empress of Wayland Hall,” Leila heralded. She flung the door wide and bowed in Miss Remson. She and Vera Mason followed the little manager. Dressed in her best black satin gown, Miss Remson appeared signally amused at the honors done her. Leila was wearing an exquisite frock of orchid broadcloth. Vera, doll-like and dainty, looked like a cunning Dresden figure in a frock of gentian blue taffeta, the faint blue field scattered thickly with tiny pink rosebuds. Their light-hued dresses pointed to a celebration, as did those of the other girls gathered in ever-hospitable Room 15.
“The Empress of Wayland Hall.” Jerry bowed to the floor, pretended to lose her balance, but miraculously recovered it without accident. “Allow me to conduct you to the throne.” She offered her arm at a stiff angle. “Bow down, all the rest of you. Where are your court manners?” She briskly arraigned the smiling empress’s openly giggling subjects.
“Kindly give us a sample of court etiquette,” Ronny begged with mock humility.
“I thought I had.” Jerry exhibited deep surprise. “Am I crazy, or are you blind?”
“Ahem! My eye-sight is exceptionally keen,” Ronny said sweetly.
“I’ll have it out with you later,” promised Jerry. “Now don’t interrupt me again in the midst of my royal duties. Will your majesty please be seated?” She turned gallantly to the empress. “I would call your attention to the throne. Observe it closely. Would you even suspect it of having been ever anything but a throne?”
“Never,” Miss Remson made gratifying assurance. She feigned the most flattering admiration for the throne. It was composed of Jerry’s couch as a foundation, with all the bedding from Marjorie’s couch stacked upon it. Ronny had contributed a wonderful cloth of gold couch cover which her father had lately sent her from Lower California. Each one of the festive group had contributed her pet sofa pillows. Three fat velvet ones had been laid on the floor in front of the dais. The throne had blossomed into additional gorgeousness by the profusion of rich-hued pillows which graced it.
“It is a gorgeous and most imposing structure,” pronounced Miss Remson, her eyes dancing as she surveyed the metamorphized couch. She prodded its up-piled softness with an investigating hand, then raised herself with a nimble little spring to the place on the right to which Jerry had obsequiously bowed her.
“Thank you for them kind words. Praise is sweet, particularly when there are those about who are shy of proper appreciation. I won’t mention any names, your Majesty. I’m not speaking of myself, or you, either. I have too much delicacy to make disrespectful remarks about us.” Jerry peered knowingly at her majesty who nodded significant return.
“I trust your Majesty will not see fit to show partiality,” Ronny said very severely. “All here are entitled to your royal favor.”
“I see already the difficulties which attend royalty.” Miss Remson made a dismayed gesture.
“Don’t let it agitate you,” said Jerry. “Such – ” She broke off to answer the door. Robin Page flitted across the threshold with a frisky little bounce. “Almost late! Not quite, thank fortune.” She glanced about the room with visible relief. “They haven’t come yet. I was so afraid I’d miss the fun. Two Craig Hall seniors called on me. They asked me to sing at a musicale they intend to give after the holidays. Miss French, one of them, has discovered a prodigy at Craig Hall. She’s a freshie named Miss Oliver. She can play divinely on the piano. But she is shy, and hangs backward when she should come forward. No one at Craig Hall suspected her of being a musical genius until one night last week.”
“Oh, I know her,” cried Muriel. “She’s a little girl with black straight hair and gray-blue eyes. I danced with her at the freshman frolic. She seemed to be rather timid, so I thought I’d encourage her by putting down my name on her card for three dances. I danced one with her then she suddenly disappeared and didn’t re-appear. I inquired for her. Some of the freshies said she was shy. Some said she was snippy. I didn’t think her the least bit snippy. I wrote a note to her on the strength of her being shy. She answered it in about two lines. That was rather snippy, I thought. Now I am all at sea about her. Is she shy, or is she snippy? That is the question.” Muriel ended with a laugh.
“She’s bashful,” Robin declared. “Wait until I salute the Empress of Wayland Hall, and I’ll tell you more of her.” Robin knelt on a plump blue velvet cushion at Miss Remson’s feet. The manager had thriftily set a small foot on each side of the cushion rather than use it as a foot rest. “Please pardon your admiring subject for being so neglectful.” She kissed the manager’s hand in approved gallant style. “Let me venture to remark, noble lady: Your throne is a daisy. Why oh, why, am I not of royalty?”
“Everyone can’t be. We’d not have thrones enough to accommodate the royal gang, if you all qualified,” Jerry pertinently reminded.
“Restrain your ambitions,” advised Lillian Wenderblatt cruelly.
“I’ll make a stagger at it,” sighed Robin. “Now let me finish telling you about my musical freshie before the rest of the royal party arrive. Where was I?”
“Your last remark on the subject was that no one had suspected Miss Oliver of being a musical genius until one night last week,” repeated Katherine Langly in her quiet, accurate fashion. “See what splendid attention I was paying to you.”
“I’m charmed by it,” Robin gushed. “There are times, Kathie, when you are almost respectful to me. One might think, that, having gained such gratifying respect from a member of the faculty, I should be more than entitled to marks of respect from lesser college lights. Not so.” Robin looked vaguely about, not daring to allow her eyes to stop at any single member of the grinning group of girls.
“Another unhappy subject with a chip on her shoulder.” Jerry waved a hand toward Robin, thumb out.
“It behoves the lesser lights of college to be very careful upon whom they shine.” Lillian’s chin was raised to a painfully dignified angle.
“I
