Speed Nell
Molly Brown's Junior Days
CHAPTER XI.
A SWOPPING PARTY AND A MOCK TRIAL
There was never any tedious convalescing for Judy; no tiresome transition from illness to health. As soon as she determined in her mind that she was well, she arose from her bed and walked, and neither friendly remonstrances nor doctor’s orders could induce her to return.
On Monday morning she appeared in the sitting room wearing a black dress with widow’s bands of white muslin around the collar and cuffs. Molly and Nance were a little uneasy at first, thinking that the delirium still lingered, but Judy seemed entirely rational.
“Why, Judy,” exclaimed Molly, “are you a widow?”
“I shall wear mourning for awhile,” answered Judy solemnly, ignoring Molly’s facetious question. “It is my only way of showing that I am a penitent. I can’t wear sackcloth and ashes as they do in Oriental countries or flagellate my shoulders with a spiked whip like a mediæval monk; nor can I go on a pilgrimage to a sacred shrine. So I have decided to give up colors for awhile and wear black.”
Molly kissed her and said no more. She knew that Judy went into everything she did heart and soul even unto the outward and visible symbol of clothes, and if wearing black was her way of showing public repentance she felt only a great respect for her friend’s sincerity of motive.
“But what are we to tell people when they ask if you have gone into mourning, Judy, because they certainly will?” demanded Nance, taking a more practical and less romantic view of the situation.
“Tell them I’m doing penance,” answered Judy, and thus it got out around college that Judy was making public amends for her angry words to Molly, and there was a good deal of secret amusement, of which Judy was as serenely unconscious as a pious pilgrim journeying barefoot to a holy tomb.
In the midst of these happenings there came a note one day from Mrs. McLean inviting the three young girls to the annual junior week-end house party at Exmoor. Their hosts were to be Andy McLean, George Green and Lawrence Upton and they were to stay at the Chapter House from Friday night until Sunday noon. It meant a round of gayeties from beginning to end, but to Molly it meant something almost out of reach.
“Clothes!” she exclaimed tragically, “I must have clothes. I can’t go to Exmoor looking like little orphan Annie.”
It was in vain that Judy and Nance offered to share their things with her. Molly obstinately refused to listen to them.
“I won’t need any colored clothes, anyhow,” said Judy.
“Yes, you will, Judy. You just must come out of those widow’s weeds for the house party,” Molly urged.
“No,” said Judy, “I’ve made a vow and until that vow is fulfilled I shall never wear colors. I’ve sent two dresses down to the Wellington Dye Works to be dyed black. Fortunately my suit is black already and so is my hat. Now, I have a proposition to make, Molly. I’m in need of funds more than clothes just now and I’ll sell you my yellow gauze for the contents of Martin Luther. He must be pretty full by now.”
“He’s plumb full,” answered Molly proudly. “I hadn’t realized how much I had put in until I tried to drop a quarter in this morning, and lo, and behold, he couldn’t accommodate another cent.”
She held up the china pig and shook him.
“How much should you think he’d hold altogether?” asked Judy. “I don’t want to be getting the best of the bargain and perhaps Martin Luther is worth more than the dress.”
“No, no,” protested Molly. “He could never be worth that much. I think he has about fifteen dollars in his tum-tum. I’ve put in all the money I earned from cloudbursts and about ten dollars, changed up small, for tutoring.”
Judy insisted on adding a blue silk blouse and a pair of yellow silk stockings to the collection to be sold.
“I’ll sell them to someone else if you won’t buy them,” she announced, “and if you need a dress, you might as well take this one off my hands.”
“Well,” Molly finally agreed, “we’ll break open Martin, and count the money and, if there’s anything like a decent sum, I’ll buy the dress. Let’s make a party of it,” she added brightly. “I’ll cut the hickory-nut cake that came from home last night, and Nance can make fudge.”
It was like Molly’s passion for entertaining to turn the breaking open of the china bank into a festival. Nance had once remarked it was one thing to have a convivial soul and quite another to have the ready provisions, and Molly never invited her friends to a bare board.
“Try on the dress and let’s see how you look in it, Molly dear,” ordered Judy. “We’ll open the bank to-night with due ceremony, but I want to see you in the yellow dress now.”
The two girls were about the same height and build. Molly was not so well developed across the chest as her friend and was more slender through the hips. But the dress fitted her to perfection.
“Oh, you’re a dream,” cried Nance, when Molly presently appeared in the yellow dress.
“Molly, you are adorable,” exclaimed Judy. “You always look better in my clothes than I do.”
“They always fit me better than my own,” said Molly, looking at herself in the mirror over the mantel. “I feel like a princess,” she ejaculated, blushing at her own charming image. “Oh, Judy, I have no right to deprive you of this lovely gown. Your mother, I’m sure, would be very angry.”
“Mamma is never angry,” said Judy. “That is why I am so impossible. Besides, I told you I needed the money. I have spent all my allowance and I won’t get another cent for two weeks.”
Molly took off the dress and laid it carefully in the box, stuffing tissue paper under the folds to prevent premature wrinkles. Her eyes dwelt lingeringly on the pale yellow masses of chiffon and lace.
It would certainly be the solution of her troubles, and oh, the feeling of comfort one has in a really beautiful dress! She put the top on the box and pushed it away from her.
“I’ll decide in the morning, Judy. I can’t make up my mind quite yet. It seems like highway robbery to take the most beautiful dress you have and the most expensive, too, I am certain.”
“I tell you I never liked the color,” cried Judy. “I’m determined to wear black. When I have on black I feel superior to all persons wearing colors. It gives me dignity. There is a richness about robes of sable hue. Some day I’m going to have a black velvet evening dress made quite plain with an immense train stretching all the way across the room. My only ornaments will be a great diamond star in my hair and a necklace of the same, and I shall carry a large fan made of black ostrich feathers.”
The girls laughed at this picture of magnificence and as Molly hurried away to invite the guests to the spread she heard Nance remark:
“You’ll look like the bride of the undertaker in that costume, Judy.”
“Not at all. I shall look like the Queen of Night, Anna Oldham.”
Judy went to the door and looked out. Molly was safely around the corner of the Quadrangle.
“Nance,” she continued, “don’t you think Molly would let me give her the dress?”
Nance shook her head.
“I am afraid not. You know how proud she is. It’s going to be hard to persuade her to buy it at that price. You know it’s worth lots more.”
Judy sighed.
“If I could only do something,” she said. “If I only had a chance.”
“Perhaps the chance will slip up on you, Judy, when you least expect it. That’s the way chances always do,” said Nance.
It occurred to Judy, thinking over the matter of the yellow dress later, that it might be fun to have a “Barter and Exchange Party,” and if all the girls were swopping things Molly could be more easily persuaded to take the yellow dress. All guests therefore were notified to bring anything they wanted to swop or sell to the rooms of the three friends that night.
It turned out to be a very exciting affair. The divans were piled with exchangeable property. Jessie Lynch brought more things than anybody else, ribbon bows, silk scarfs, several dresses and a velvet toque. Millicent Porter, who now spent more time in the Quadrangle than at Beta Phi House, to the surprise of the girls, brought a rather dingy collection of things which no one would either swop or buy. But she enjoyed herself immensely. Edith Williams made two trips to carry all the books she wished to exchange for other books, clothes, hats or money. But Otoyo Sen had the most interesting collection and was the gayest person that night. She was willing to exchange anything she had just for the fun of it.
It was so exciting that they forgot all about Martin Luther until the time arrived for refreshments and they gathered about the hickory-nut cake, now a famous delicacy at Wellington.
“What surprises me is how pleased everybody is to get rid of something someone else is equally pleased to get,” observed Margaret. “Now, for instance, I have a black hat I have always hated because it wobbles on my head. I feel as if I had received a gift to have exchanged it for this green one of Judy’s. And Judy’s so contented she’s wearing my black one still.”
“Oh, but I am the fortunate one,” said Otoyo. “I have acquired an excellent library for three ordinary cotton kimonos.”
“But such lovely kimonos,” exclaimed Edith. “Katherine and I are in luck. Look at this pale blue dressing gown, please, for a French dictionary.”
“I have the loveliest of all,” broke in Molly, “amber beads.”
“But they did not appear becomingly on me,” protested Otoyo, not wishing to seem worsted in her bargains. “And what do I receive in exchange? A pair of beautiful knitted slippers for winter time, so warm, so comfortable.”
“They were too little for me,” announced Molly. “It was no deprivation to exchange them for a beautiful necklace. Really, Judy, this was a most original scheme of yours.”
“But what about Martin Luther?” asked someone. “I thought this spread was really for the purpose of counting up the pennies he had been accumulating.”
Molly took the china pig from the shelf and placed him on the table.
“How shall I break him?” she asked. “Shall I crush him with one blow of the hammer, or shall I knock off his head on the steam heater?”
“Poor Martin!” ejaculated Edith. “He’s not a wild boar to be hunted down and exterminated. He’s a kindly domestic animal who has performed the task set for him by a wise providence. I think he should choose his own death.”
“Every condemned man has a right to a lawyer,” said Margaret. “I offer my services to Martin Luther and will consult him in private.”
“We’ll give him a trial by jury,” broke in Katherine.
“But what’s he accused of?” demanded Molly.
“He’s accused of withholding funds held in trust for you,” put in Margaret promptly.
There was a great deal of fun at the expense of Martin Luther and his mock trial. Katherine presided as Judge. There were two witnesses for the defense and two on the other side, and Margaret’s speech for the accused would have done credit to a real lawyer. The jury, consisting of three girls, Otoyo, Mabel Hinton and Rosomond Chase – Millicent Porter had excused herself with the plea of a headache and departed – sat on the case five minutes and decided that the pig should be made to surrender Molly’s fund in the quickest possible time and by the quickest possible means.
It was almost time to separate for the night when Molly at last placed Martin Luther on a tray in the center of the table and with a sharp rap of the hammer broke him into little bits.
If interest had not been so concentrated on the amount of money hidden in the pig, perhaps it might have occurred to the company that Molly and her two friends had been playing a joke on them when they looked at the heap of ruins on the tray. But if this suspicion did enter the mind of anyone, it was dissolved at once at sight of Molly’s white face and quivering lips.
“My money!” she gasped.
What happened was this. When the china pig was demolished, there rolled from his ruins no silver money but a varied collection of buttons and bogus stage money made of tin. Only about a dollar in real silver was to be found.
“What a blow is this!” at last exclaimed Molly, breaking the silence.
“But what does it mean?” demanded Rosomond.
“It means,” said Nance, “that someone has taken all Molly’s savings out of the china pig and substituted – this.”
She pointed to the pile of stage money.
“But they couldn’t have done it,” cried Judy. “How could they have fished it up through such a small slot?”
“What a low, miserable trick!” cried Katherine.
It was a despicable action. Who among all the bright, intelligent students at Wellington could have been capable of such a dastardly thing? They agreed that it must have been a student. None of the college attendants could have planned it out so carefully.
“Who else has missed things?” asked Margaret with a sudden thought.
“I have,” replied Jessie, “but I never mentioned it because I’m so careless and it did seem to be my own fault. I lost five dollars last week out of my purse. I left it on the window sill in the gym. and forgot about it. When I came back later the purse was there, but the money was gone.”
“How horrid!” cried Molly, her soul revolting in disgust at anything dishonest.
“To tell you the truth I have not been able to find my gold beads for nearly two weeks,” put in Judy. “I haven’t seen them since – ” she paused and flushed, “since the night of our play. I remember leaving them on my dressing table that morning.”
Molly and Nance exchanged glances, recalling the mysterious visitor to their room that night.
Several of the other girls had missed small sums of money and jewelry which they had not thought of mentioning at the time.
“But how on earth was this managed?” demanded Jessie, pointing dramatically to the broken china pig.
“I suspect,” replied Molly, “that this is not the real Martin Luther. When I bought him there were several others just like him on the shelf at the store. Whoever did this must have bought another Martin and the stage money at the same time. They have a lot of it at the store, silver and greenbacks, too. I saw it myself when I bought Martin. They keep it for class plays, I suppose.”
There was a long discussion about what ought to be done. The housekeeper must be told, of course, next morning and a list of all missing articles made out, headed by Molly’s loss of almost fifteen dollars.
It was rather a tragic ending to the jolly hickory-nut cake party. Molly tried to laugh away her disappointment about her savings, but she could not disguise to herself what it actually meant.
“I’m afraid I can’t buy your dress, Judy,” she announced, when the company had disbanded. “I’ll mend up one of last year’s dresses. It will be all right. It’s a lesson to me not to place so much importance on clothes.”
Judy said nothing, but she made a mental resolution that Molly should have that dress.
The next morning the housekeeper was properly notified of what had happened and it was not long before the rumor spread that somewhere about college there dwelt a thief. So remote did such a person seem from the Wellington girls that the thief came to be regarded as a kind of evil spirit lurking in the shadows and gliding through the halls.
CHAPTER XII.
ALARMS AND DISCOVERIES
Several things of importance to this history happened during the week before the house party at Exmoor.
One morning, just before chapel, Molly was visited by several members of the Shakespearean Society, who presented her with a scroll of membership and fastened a pin on her blouse. They then solemnly shook hands and marched out in good order. By this token Molly became a full fledged member of that exclusive body. Margaret Wakefield, Jessie Lynch and Edith Williams were also taken into the society. Most of the other girls in the circle were elected to the various societies that day. Judy and Katherine became “Olla Podridas,” which, as all Wellington knows, is Spanish for mixed soup. Nance was elected into the “Octogons,” and all the girls belonged to one or the other of the two big Greek letter societies.
If Judy had any feelings regarding the Shakespeareans, she was careful to keep them well hidden under her gay and laughing exterior.
The Shakespeareans at Beta Phi House gave a supper for the new members, and later Millicent Porter, in a stunning, theatrical looking costume of old blue velvet, received them in her rooms. Margaret and Edith wore their best to this affair. The Shakespeareans were a dressy lot.
“I wonder why, in the name of goodness, they ever asked me to belong,” exclaimed Molly to herself, as she got into her white muslin, which was really the best she could do. “I wish I could surprise somebody with something,” her thoughts continued. “College friends are just like members of the same family. I can’t even surprise the girls with a shirtwaist. They are intimately acquainted with every rag I possess.”
Molly enjoyed the Beta Phi party, however, in spite of her dress, which Millicent Porter had dignified by calling it a “lingerie.”
“How much nicer you look than the other girls in more elaborate things,” she said admiringly.
Molly felt gratified.
“I don’t feel nicer,” she said. “I have a weakness for fine clothes. I love to hear the rustle of silk against silk. Your blue velvet dress is like a beautiful picture to me. I could look and look at it. There’s a kind of depth to it like mist on blue water.”
Millicent bridled with pleased vanity.
“It is rather nice,” she admitted modestly. “It’s a French dress made by the same dressmaker who designs clothes for a big actress. Don’t you want to see some of my work? I have put it on exhibition to-night. I thought it would interest the new members. The girls here are quite familiar with it, of course.”
Molly was delighted to see the craftsmanship of this unusual young woman, who appeared to be a peculiar mixture of pretentiousness and genius.
When, presently, she led Molly into the little den where her silver work was spread out on view it was almost as if she had turned into a little old man and was taking a customer into the back of his shop.
Some of the other girls had followed and they now stood in an admiring circle around the table whereon were displayed rings and necklaces, buckles and several silver platters.
“You are a wonder,” cried Molly, deeply impressed.
Millicent accepted this compliment with a complacent smile.
“Papa and mamma think I am,” she remarked, “but I have artistic knowledge enough to know that this is only a beginning. When I am able to make a bas-relief of Greek dancing figures on a silver box, I shall call myself really great. At present I am only near-great.”
“What are you going to do with these things?” asked Margaret.
“Oh, nothing. They just accumulate and I pack them away. I don’t have to sell any of them, of course.”
“Don’t you want to exhibit some of them at the George Washington Bazaar?” asked Margaret. “The Bazaar will sell them for you at ten per cent commission. The money goes to the student fund. You can have a booth if you like and dress up as Benvenuto Cellini or some famous worker in silver. I am chairman and can make any appointments I choose.”
Molly could hardly keep from smiling over the expression on Millicent’s face. The worker in silver and the dealer in antiques were struggling for supremacy in the soul of their descendant.
“Oh,” she cried in great excitement, “I will fix it up like a Florentine shop, full of beautiful old stuffs and curios. It will be the most beautiful booth in the Bazaar. And I will choose Miss Brown to assist me. You shall be dressed as a Florentine lady of the Renaissance. I have the very costume.”
Now Margaret, as Chairman of the Bazaar, preferred all appointments to be made officially, but seeing that Millicent was very much in earnest and that such a booth would greatly add to the picturesqueness of the affair, she made no objections.
“There is one thing I would advise you to do, Miss Porter,” she said when the plan was settled, “and that is to keep your silver things under lock and key because there is a thief about in Wellington. You might as well know it, because, sooner or later, you’ll lose something. We all of us have. My monogram ring went this morning. I left it on the marble slab in the wash room and when I came back for it not three minutes later it was gone.”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Molly, “I do hate things like that to happen. Why will people do such things?”
Millicent shrugged her shoulders.
“Perhaps they can’t help themselves,” she answered. “I’ve lost a few little things myself,” she added. “But come into my room, Miss Brown, and let’s talk about your costume. I have a gold net cap that will be charming.”
For the next half hour Molly was lost in the delights of Millicent’s collection of beautiful theatrical costumes, pieces of old brocades and velvets. She drew them carelessly from a carved oak chest and tossed them on the bed in a shimmering mass of rich colors. Molly lingered so late over these “rich stuffs” that she was obliged to run all the way back to the Quadrangle and fell breathless and exhausted on a stone bench just inside the court as the watchman closed the gates.
Nance and Judy were late, too. Nance had been to a secret conclave of the Octogons and Judy had been having a jolly, convivial time with the Olla Podridas. The three girls met in their sitting room as the last stroke of ten vibrated through the building. They were undressing in the dark stealthily, in order to avoid the eager eye of the housekeeper, who was not popular, when they heard a great racket in the corridor.
“What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” called several voices through half open doors.
The housekeeper making her rounds for the night passed them on the run.
“I’ve been robbed! I’ve been robbed!” wailed the voice of Minerva Higgins. “I won’t stand having my things stolen from me. Who has dared enter my room?”
“What have you been robbed of?” asked the matron sharply. She was a lazy woman and detested disturbances.
“Two of my best gold medals I won at Mill Town High School. They were pure gold and very valuable.”
“Good riddance,” laughed Judy. “If anything in school could be spared, it is her gold medals.”
“You’re only in the same box with all the rest of us, Miss Higgins,” called a student who roomed across the hall. “Everybody in the Quadrangle has lost something.”
“They haven’t lost gold medals,” cried Minerva. “They haven’t had them to lose. I could have spared anything else. I valued them more than everything I possess. They will be heirlooms some day for my children to show with pride.”
There were stifled laughs from several of the rooms, and someone called out:
“Suppose you don’t have any?”
“Then she’ll leave ’em to her grandchildren,” called another voice.
“Poor, silly, little thing,” exclaimed Molly, as the matron, intensely annoyed, went heavily past.
“Old Fatty’s gone now. Let’s light a lamp,” suggested Judy, who either felt intense respect or none at all for all persons. There was no moderation in her feelings one way or the other.
“It’s a queer thing about this thief-business,” sighed Molly. “It makes me uncomfortable. I can’t think of anyone I could even remotely suspect of such a thing.”
“She must be a real klep.,” observed Judy, “or she never would want the fair Minerva’s gold medals. They’re of no use to anybody but Minerva.”
“Do you suppose Miss Walker will get another detective like Miss Steel?” asked Nance. “She was a fine one. The way she tipped around on noiseless felt slippers and listened outside people’s doors was enough to scare any thief.”
“Oh, yes,” said Judy. “She was the real thing. And she wanted everything quiet. If Minerva Higgins had set up a yowl like that at Queen’s she would have been properly sat upon by Miss Steel.”
If Molly’s mind had been especially acute that evening she would have noticed that her two friends were keeping up a sort of continuous duet as they lingered over their undressing. As it was, she barely heard their chatter because she was thinking of something far removed from thieves and detectives.
“We’ll be called down about the light if you don’t hurry, girls,” she cautioned. “Why are you so slow?”
“By the way, did you know there was a package over here on the table addressed to you, Molly?” said Nance.
“Why, no; what can it be?”
Filled with curiosity, Molly made haste to cut the string around a square pasteboard box. Whatever was inside had been wrapped in quantities of white tissue paper.
“It feels like china,” cried Molly, tearing off the wrappings. “Why it’s – ”
“It’s after ten, young ladies,” said a stern voice outside the door.
Judy turned out the light.
“It’s Martin Luther, girls,” whispered Molly.
Judy crept to her room and returned presently with a little electric dark lantern her father had given her. This she flashed on the china pig.
“One sinner hath repented,” she whispered. “It is Martin.”
Nance reached for the hammer.
“Break him open,” she ordered. “Let’s, see if the money’s safe. He might be filled with stage money, too.”
Molly struck Martin Luther with the hammer, muffling the sound with a corner of the rug. The flashlight revealed quantities of silver.
“Oh, girls!” she exclaimed, “I’ve got it all back. I’m glad the thief repented and I’m glad, oh, so glad, to get the money.”
“And now the sale is on again,” said Judy, jumping about the room in a wild, noiseless dance.
“I can’t resist it,” ejaculated Molly. “I’ll buy the dress if you really want to sell it, Judy.”
They looked carefully at the address on the box. It was printed with a soft pencil and merely said: “Miss M. Brown.”
“I suppose the girl felt sorry,” Molly remarked. “But it’s a pity she started up so soon again after her repentance and took Minerva’s medals.”
