THE HONOR GIRL (2 page)

“Are you sure you do?” asked Stewart, a bit impudently. “After all, these tests are not real. It’s the later life that is the real test, the home life.”

“Some who have taken such honors in school have been tried by fire and they have shone out pure gold, Cameron,” said the old professor, his voice trembling slightly. He could call to mind instances that brought tears to his old eyes.

“Well, I’d like to see this paragon of yours tried by fire once—the fire in the range, for instance, like the pioneer women. If she could stand that she surely ought to be the honor girl,” laughed the young man. And looking down, as if drawn by some strange attention, he met the eyes of Elsie Hathaway, clear, keen, haughty, and he knew that she had heard him, for she stood just beneath the low gymnasium gallery.

He felt the color stealing into his face annoyingly. What was the matter with him? He tried to comfort himself by thinking that she could not possibly know of whom he was speaking but in his heart he was sure she did all the time. Well, she was only a kid anyway, why should he care? He was glad that Professor Bowen started downstairs.

He hoped to escape this marvelous Hathaway kid further, but the professor was determined his two best-beloved pupils should meet and brought about an introduction. Stewart tried to say something about how much he had enjoyed her dancing, but she held him coolly with her eyes, and turning away talked to Professor Bowen. Cameron Stewart was glad when he at length emerged from the crowd of eager, fluttering schoolgirls and gray, smiling elderly teachers, and was seated in the big leather chair of his beloved professor’s study. But somehow after he was there he could not think of the things he had intended to say and he found himself listening to a long tale of Elsie Hathaway’s achievements, told by the dear old man who could not bear to have his pet pupil discounted.

Elsie Hathaway, cool, dainty, lovely, dividing the honors with the queen of the occasion, moved down the length of the gymnasium slowly, met on every hand by adulation.

“O Elsie, you dear, you were too sweet!” murmured another girl snuggling up to her, proud to be allowed to stay a few minutes by her side.

“Elsie Hathaway, we are proud to lay even the honors of the Athletic Department at your feet,” saluted a teacher, bending to fasten a decoration of fluttering ribbons and gleaming stones on Elsie’s green gauze breast.

They gathered around her, laughing and chattering as only schoolgirls can chatter. Now and then the group would be broken into by friends who wished to be introduced and tell how much they had enjoyed the beautiful entertainment Elsie had given them; and little girls who had been privileged witnesses looked wonderingly at the fairy who was real flesh and blood, after all.

They gave her flowers, they invited her to dine, they showered their compliments freely, as Elsie progressed to the door of the gymnasium, and outside it was the same.

The boys from the neighboring college stood hovering in shadowy groups along the way, watching for her coming with admiring glances.

“Say, that was something great, Elsie! You’d make your fortune on the stage. What a pity so much talent is lost to the public!” said a daring youth.

“It certainly was fine, Elsie. I never saw anything more graceful in my life. Butterflies aren’t as graceful as you, nor a bird on the wing. I didn’t know, one whirl there, but you had been growing some wings yourself and might fly away from us!” chimed in another, gallantly.

“Say, Elsie, that was dandy!” called out a young man who presumed upon a distant cousinship.

And so, laughing and admiring they accompanied her to her uncle’s car where awaited her proud aunt and uncle and two adoring cousins, and as they drove away a low admiring murmur of friendly voices, almost like a cheer, followed her into the night.

One might have expected Elsie’s head to be turned, and she certainly was pleased with all the pleasant things that had been said to her. One drop of bitter was mixed with the sweet, however, perhaps to make the sweet seem all the sweeter.

The beloved aunt and two dear cousins fluttered after her even to her room and stayed to talk over the evening, how everyone did, and what everyone said. They told her as they left that she had been the best of all. But it all surged over her after they were gone, that one bitter drop in the evening’s draught of delight.

“Horrid thing, I hate him!” she said to herself in the glass. “He just spoiled it all for me. He had an awfully arrogant look. He said he would like to see me ‘tried by the fire in the range.’ I know he was talking about me. His eyes were too honest to keep me from knowing, though his tongue did try to make me think he had enjoyed it, and deceive me about what he had said. He is one of those old-fashioned men who want to keep women down to their ‘sphere,’ I’m sure. Poor fellow! He belongs to a former generation. Well, I’m thankful I don’t have to make fires in ranges nor be tried by them, but if I did, and had to, I’m sure I could excel if I tried. Anyway, I’d like to show that man that I could—and I know I could. I wish they had courses in ranges at school and I’d take one just to prove to the horrid fellow that I could do something in that line, too. It’s my opinion people can do well in anything if they only put their hearts into it, no matter what it is. It may not be so pleasant, but they can make it a means of winning. Dear old Professor Bowen! He thought I was pure gold. I wonder if I am?”

And so she fell asleep.

But the fire that was to try Elsie Hathaway was not far away.

W
hen Elsie awoke the next morning, which was Saturday, everything looked bright in her life. She had forgotten the hateful stranger. He was relegated to the place in her mind with farmers who worked their wives to death, and dull men who saw no good in women except to do drudgery. She remembered only the delightful things that had been said, and the intoxication of the whirling, gliding motion of her dance the night before. It if were right and not frivolous and useless she would delight to go on entertaining people in that way always. It was a delicious sensation to feel herself floating to the music, in the sight of admiring beholders, and to know that she had the power to charm them thus. She felt that the intoxication was dangerous and it was well the gymnasium was closed with last night’s performance. There would be no more temptation that year for showing off. She must be careful not to let that tendency grow. Of all things, she despised people who thought too much of themselves. But there would probably be no danger in that sort of thing next year. She would be a senior and would have to work. This had but been a play and now it was over.

With which sensible reflections she put the finishing pat to a charming outfit and went down to breakfast in a cool muslin of palest sea green, the color that always intensified the red gold of her hair and made it shine like a halo. One of the boys used to say that Elsie Hathaway was the only girl in the world who looked better with light golden eyelashes than she would have done with dark. They seemed but to soften the delicate texture of her skin as white chiffon might do, and made a shy drapery for the grayness of her eyes—eyes that never seemed to flirt or grow boldly intimate. The boys liked her quiet reserve.

And indeed, Elsie Hathaway was well content with life as she had found it the last seven years. She had everything that money could buy or heart could wish, at least within reason, and a home and family whose greatest desire seemed to be to please her, and yet they loved her so wholesomely that it had not seemed to spoil her.

When Elsie’s mother had died, Elsie was a slim little girl of twelve and her aunt and uncle had taken her at once to the city to live with them. There had been a faithful old servant at her father’s home to keep the house running for Mr. Hathaway and Elsie’s two brothers, and there had been no question at all but that Elsie should go to live with her aunt. Her father had accepted passively his sister-in-law’s decision that a girl at Elsie’s age needed a mother’s care. Mr. Hathaway was crushed by the death of his wife and seemed not to be able to plan anything for himself.

Aunt Esther’s home had been wonderful, and Elsie had been made welcome to share all its comforts and luxuries with her two cousins, Katharine and Bettina, and so the happy school years had passed, finding her at the close of her junior year in high school, and full of honors and happiness. She still made her home with her aunt and uncle for they would hear of nothing else. Indeed, she had so grown into the life of the home in the city that it never occurred to her that she might not always be there, or that there was anything else for her to do. She loved them all and they loved her and wanted her. It was her home, as much as if she had been born there. That was the whole story. She loved them all, she loved the life they led, the friends they had, the concerts and lectures they attended, the beautiful summers at the seashore and mountains. She loved the church in which they had their affiliations, and she rejoiced that her lot had fallen in such pleasant places.

During those years she had seen very little of her first home, and had gradually grown farther and farther from both father and brothers until they seemed more like distant relatives than her own blood. They seldom came to see her, and her life was so full and so happy that she had little time to go to them or even to think about them.

The last time she had seen her father he had asked her how she would like to come home and keep house for him, and she shuddered inwardly at the very thought, although she told him gaily how impossible it was. That was three months ago. Her father had sighed and looked old. His breath smelled of liquor, and he was continually smoking an ugly little black pipe. She shrank from him as if he had not been her father. Uncle James was not like that. He was pleasant, and he never drank. She tried to forget her father as much as possible. As for her brothers she scarcely felt they belonged to her, even distantly. And the days had been so full and so happy that it had been easy to forget.

The sun was shining brightly and the breakfast was very festive. Waffles and honey and strawberries, and all the talk ran upon last night—what this one and that one had said about Elsie. Uncle James even had a word to quote from Professor Bowen.

“He called you the Honor Girl, Elsie!” he said. “I must say when he got done praising you, I began to feel honored that I belonged to you. Why, according to your principal, you have taken the cake—with all the frosting—away from everyone else in town.”

There was a merry twinkle in her uncle’s eyes, but she knew that behind all his teasing there was a loving pride in her accomplishments, and her heart swelled with joy. She felt that this was a glorious day, the crown of all the days that had passed before.

The girls had planned to play tennis at the country club that morning, so after breakfast was over and her uncle had gone down to his office, they went up to their rooms to dress for their game.

“Elsie,” called Katharine from her room, “did you find that book of poems yet? I simply have to have it for tomorrow. I promised Miss Keith I would bring it to Sunday school. She wants to quote it in an article she’s writing, and she needs to send it off Monday.”

“No, Katharine,” said Elsie, “I didn’t find it. But I’m afraid I must have left it out at Father’s house”—she always spoke of her former home as “Father’s house” now—“I remember I was learning a poem out of it the last time I went out there, and I’m sure I left it up on my little old bureau. Oh, that’s easy. I’ll run out there right after the game.”

“But the concert! You’ll be late for the concert I’m afraid. Those trolleys are so slow! What a pity Daddy had to use the car this morning! We could have gone out in no time.”

“It won’t take me long if I go right in on the bus from the Club House. Don’t worry! I’ll get it for you, kitten,” said Elsie cheerfully. She felt she could do almost anything today, she was so very happy.

In her pretty little sports dress of white jersey trimmed with jade and a close white felt hat, she started out with her cousins, Katharine in pink and Bettina in pale blue, their rackets under their arms, and happiness on their faces. Elsie also carried a book to read on her long ride out to Morningside where her father’s house was located.

“We’d go with you,” said Katharine, “only Mamma said we had to finish those things for the bazaar this morning or we couldn’t go to the concert, you know—” said Bettina wistfully as they parted at the corner where the bus line and trolley crossed.

“Oh, surely!” said Elsie. “I don’t mind. I’ll be home soon. Work hard and have your embroidery all done by the time I get there.”

And so Elsie was on her way out to her old home to get the book she had left there months before. In her heart she felt a secret shame, for she knew she had chosen this hour for going partly because her father and brothers would not be there.

She did not wish to encounter her father’s request again; there had been something hungry in his face, which she had not analyzed at the time, that had made her uncomfortable, disturbed the harmony of her life.

The book she was reading held her interest all the way out to the suburb where her old home was. The climax of her story was reached just as the conductor called out her street and she closed her book with a start and hurried out of the car, not even glancing from the window as she went.

She had little interest in the old place. She was only anxious to complete her errand and hurry away before anybody should return to detain her, for she had planned to go with Bettina and Katharine to the symphony concert that afternoon, and she wanted to get back before lunch.

The house was gray stone and shingle, and stood knee-deep in straggling grass and overgrown vines. It presented a startling neglected look in the bright sunlight as the girl walked up the gravel path. She frowned, and wondered why her brothers did not cut the lawn, train the vines, and clean the edges of the walk. It was disgraceful to let things go this way. She felt a thrill of thankfulness that she did not live in such a run-down home. What a contrast to Aunt Esther’s trim, comfortable house in the city!