Speed Nell
Molly Brown's Sophomore Days
CHAPTER XI.
THE GREAT SLEET OF 19 —
Many a fall and many a bruise they got that night as they crept along the frozen path. At last they reached a point where the creek had been turned abruptly from its bed and passed through a culvert under the embankment. Here the path also changed its course and headed for the golf links of the college.
"They can never get down the embankment and we can never get up," remarked Judith, who appeared to have forgotten that she had lately been a human volcano. "Why can't we take the short cut back? It couldn't be any worse than this."
"Why not?" answered Molly politely, although it must be confessed she was still tingling under the lash of Judith's flaying tongue, and not one word had she spoken since they left the others.
"Mrs. McLean," called Judith, making a trumpet of her hands, "we're going to cut across the golf links. It will be easier."
"But I'm afraid for you to go alone at this time of night," answered Mrs. McLean.
"What could harm them a night like this?" expostulated her husband.
"Very well, then. I suppose it's all right," said the distracted and wearied lady.
"Don't be uneasy, Mrs. McLean. You'll tak' the high road and we'll tak' the low, but we'll gang to Wellington afore ye," called Molly laughing.
After all, wasn't it absurd enough to make a body laugh – one man, eight helpless women slipping and sliding after him, and she herself making off in the darkness with the only enemy she had ever known! She wished it had been Judy or Nance. She was sure they would have giggled all the way. But who ever wanted to laugh in the presence of this black-browed, fierce-tempered Judith?
They walked silently on for some time, until they came to a little hill.
"I guess we'll have to crawl it," sighed Molly.
Long before this, they had pinned their long skirts up around their waists, and now, on hands and knees, they began the difficult ascent. Just as they reached the top, Molly's slipper bag somehow got away from her and went sliding to the bottom. Suddenly both girls began to laugh. They laughed until the echoes rang, and Molly, losing her grasp on a bush, went sliding after the bag.
"Oh," laughed Judith, "oh, Molly, I shall – " and then the twigs she had been clutching pulled out of the ice and down she went on top of Molly.
The two girls sat up and looked at each other. They felt warmer and happier from the laugh.
"Judith," exclaimed Molly, suddenly, "I could never laugh with any one like that and not be friends. It's almost like accepting hospitality. Shall we be friends again?"
"Oh, yes," replied Judith eagerly. "I am sorry I was rude to-night about the coffee, Molly. You know it's my terrible temper. Once it gets a start, I can't seem to hold it in, and I've had a great deal to try me lately. I apologize to you now. Will you accept my apology?"
"Yes, indeed," Molly assured her. "Come along, let's try again. Once we get to the top of this little 'dis-incline,' as an old colored man at home would call it, we'll be on the links."
The girls both reached the summit at the same moment, and as they scanned the white expanse before them, they exclaimed in frightened whispers:
"There comes a man."
Instantly they slid back to the bottom again and lay in a heap, gasping and giggling.
"Where shall we go? What shall we do?" exclaimed Judith.
"Nothing," answered Molly. "We can hardly crawl, much less run, but I suppose he can't either, so perhaps we are as safe here as anywhere."
"But what man except a burglar could be prowling around Wellington at this hour?" whispered Judith.
"I can't think of anyone, but I should think no sensible burglar would come out a night like this. Besides, do burglars ever come to Wellington?"
"Once there was one, only he wasn't a real burglar. He was a lunatic who had escaped from an asylum near Exmoor."
"Oh, heavens, Judith, a lunatic? I'd rather meet ten burglars. After all, only a lunatic would come out on such a night. Can't we run?"
Molly had a fear of crazy people that she had never been able to conquer.
They rose unsteadily on their frozen feet and began hurrying back in the direction of the trolley embankment. As they ran, they heard a long, sliding, scraping sound. Evidently the man had slid down the little hill. They could hear the sound of his footsteps on the ice. He was running after them. At last he called:
"Wait, wait, whoever you are. I'm not going to hurt you."
In another moment he had caught up with them. Oh, joy of joys, it was Professor Green, wearing a thick gray sweater and a cap with ear muffs. With a cry of relief, Judith flung herself on her cousin's neck while Molly rather timidly clasped his arm. She felt she could have hugged him, too, if he had only been a relation.
"We thought you were an escaped lunatic," she exclaimed.
"I am," he answered, "at least I've been nearly crazy trying to get news of you." He took her hand and drew it firmly through his arm, while Judith appropriated his other arm. "They telephoned over from Exmoor to know if you had reached Wellington safely. We found at the village that the car had not arrived. Then about twenty minutes ago they called us from the car station to say that the conductor and motorman had walked but that you had decided to remain in the car all night. I thought I had better go over and persuade you not to freeze to death by degrees. I am glad you decided to walk. Where are the others?"
"They have gone on by the track," answered Molly. "We slipped down the embankment and couldn't crawl up again. Perhaps you could catch them, if you branched off here and took the other road."
"Never mind," answered the Professor, tucking her arm more tightly through his. "Dr. McLean can look after the others, now that his burdens are lightened by two. I'd better see you across this skating rink. Mrs. Murphy is up waiting for you. I stopped and told her to get hot soup and water bottles and things ready."
"You're a dear, Cousin Edwin," exclaimed Judith. "You are always thinking of other people."
"I expect the old doctor will be a good deal knocked up by this little jaunt," went on the Professor, not taking the slightest notice of Judith's expressions of gratitude, the first Molly had ever heard her make about anything.
It was half-past two o'clock when they reached Queen's Cottage, just ten minutes before the others arrived.
"It's a good thing you found us," Molly said to the Professor as he helped them up the steps. "I believe we'd have been crawling over those links another hour or so if you hadn't."
"I can never explain what made me cut across the links," he answered. "I had my face turned toward the other road when something urged me to go that way."
Dr. McLean always insisted that it was continuous giggling that kept them all from freezing that bitter night. Judith Blount was the only one in the party who suffered from the experience. She spent a week in the Infirmary with a deep cold and sore throat.
"You see," explained Judy Kean sagely to her two friends, "her system was weakened by that awful fit of temper; she lost all mental and bodily poise and took the first disease that came her way."
"She certainly lost all bodily poise," laughed Molly. "I didn't have any more than she did. We slipped around like two helpless infants."
"But you didn't take cold," said Judy.
"I've made up my mind not to have any colds this winter," announced Molly seriously. "After all, there's a good deal in just declining to entertain them. I think the grip is a sort of bully who attacks people who are afraid of him and keeps away from the ones who are not cowards."
The three girls spent half a day in bed sleeping off their weariness, and on Friday afternoon they were able to call on Mrs. McLean, who, being a hardy Scotchwoman, was none the worse from the walk. The doctor, she said, had been up since seven o'clock attending to his patients.
"The truth is," she added, "he would not have missed the sight for anything – the whole world turned into a skating rink and the campus the centre of it."
Everybody in Wellington who could wear skates was out that afternoon. The campus and golf links, as well as the lake, were covered with circling, gliding figures. The best skaters coasted down hill on their skates, as men do on snow shoes. They went with incredible speed and the impetus carried them up the next hill without any effort.
Molly had seen very little skating at home. She had learned as a child, but as she grew up the sport had not appealed to her, because somebody was always falling in and the ice never lasted longer than a day or so. Now, however, the picture of the circling, swaying crowd of skaters thrilled her with a new desire to see if she had forgotten how to balance herself on steel runners.
"Isn't it beautiful?" she cried. "I never saw anything so graceful. They are like birds. First they soar. Then they flap their wings and soar again."
"Flap their feet, you mean," interrupted Judy, "and woe to her who flops instead of flaps."
Mary Stewart came sailing up to them, gave a beautiful curving turn and then stopped.
"Isn't this glorious sport?" she cried, her cheeks glowing with exercise. "Has your President told you about the skating carnival? It's just been decided, and I suppose you haven't seen her yet. It's to take place to-morrow night. Won't it be beautiful?"
"What fun!" cried Molly. "What a wonderful sight!"
"Now, Molly, you are to wrap up very warm," continued Mary, "no matter what kind of a costume you decide to wear. No cheesecloth Liberty masquerades will go, remember."
"Oh, but I can't be in the carnival. I haven't any skates," said Molly.
"I have another pair," answered Mary quickly. "I'll bring them over to you later."
Molly never guessed that this loving friend skated straight down to the village that very instant and bought a pair of skates screwed onto stout shoes at the general store. Tossing away the wrapping paper and smearing the shoes with snow and ashes to take off the new look, she delivered them at Queen's before supper.
"It's lucky I knew what number Molly wore," she said to herself, as she sailed up the campus on her Canadian skates, with strokes as sweepingly broad and generous as her own fine nature.
CHAPTER XII.
The Skating Carnival
All fears of a thaw on the heels of this unprecedented cold wave were put to flight next morning. The thermometer hovered at four degrees above zero and the air was dry and sparkling. Only those who remained indoors and lingered over the registers felt the cold.
There was a great deal to be done before evening. Costumes had to be devised, bonfires built along the lake and at intervals on the links, lanterns hung everywhere possible and, lastly, a quick rehearsal. The best skaters were chosen to give exhibitions of fancy skating; there were to be several races and a grand march.
Molly learned the night before that a sense of balance having once been acquired is never lost. After supper she had ventured out on the campus with Judy and Nance, who were both excellent skaters. With a grace that was peculiarly her own in spite of the first unsteadiness, Molly had been able to skate to the Quadrangle. There, removing her skating shoes, and putting on slippers, she had skipped upstairs to thank Mary Stewart for her kindness. The return to Queen's over the campus had been even easier, and next morning she felt that she could enter the carnival.
Nobody had a chance to talk about costumes until after lunch on Saturday, when there was a meeting of the three friends to decide.
"I don't see how I can go. I haven't a thing picturesque," exclaimed Nance dejectedly.
"Now, Nance, you have no imagination," said Judy.
"One day you tell me I have no sense of humor, and another that I have no imagination. You'll be telling me I have no brains next."
"Here, eat this and stop quarreling," interrupted Molly, thrusting a plate of fudge before them. "When in doubt, eat fudge and wisdom will come."
Judy ate her fudge in silence. Then suddenly she cried exultantly.
"Eureka! Wisdom hath come, yea even to the humble in spirit. Heaven hath enlightened me. I know what we'll wear, girls."
"What?" they demanded, having racked their brains in vain to think of something both warm and picturesque.
"We'll go," continued Judy impressively, "as three Russian princesses."
"What in?"
"Leave that to me. You just do as I tell you. Nance, skate down to the village and buy a big roll of cotton batting. Make them wrap it up well, so as not to offer suggestions to others."
"What must I do?" asked Molly.
"You must turn up the hems of skirts. Take your old last winter's brown one, and Nance's old green one, and – and my velvet one – "
"Your best skirt!" exclaimed Nance aghast.
"Yes, why not? We only live once," replied the reckless Judy. "Turn up the hems all around and baste them. They should reach just to the shoetops."
That afternoon they hurriedly sewed bands of cotton batting around the bottoms of their skirts, bordered their jackets with it, made cuffs and muffs and high turbans. Then Judy dotted the cotton with shoe blacking and it became a realistic imitation of royal ermine. Each girl wore a band of brilliant ribbon across the front of her coat with a gilt pasteboard star pinned to it.
"I suppose this might be taken for the Order of the Star and Garter," observed Judy. "At any rate, we are royal princesses of the illustrious house of Russia, the Princesses Molitzka, Nanitska and Judiekeanovitch. Those are Russian enough, aren't they?"
Never will Molly forget the fun of that glorious evening, nor the beautiful picture of the meadows and fields dazzling white in the moonlight. While the "workers" of the four classes lit the fires and lanterns, the "drones" circled about on the ice singing college songs. From over at Exmoor came a crowd of youths who had skated the ten miles up-hill and down-dale to see the carnival. Sleighing parties from nearby estates drove over with rough-shod teams to draw the sleighs, and all Wellington turned out to see the sights.
"I didn't believe there could be so much originality in the world," thought Molly, admiring the costumes of the students.
There were many Teddy Bears and Bunny Rabbits. One girl wore a black velvet suit with a leopard's skin over her shoulder. On her head was a mythological looking crown with a pair of cow's horns standing upright at each side. There were numerous Russian Gypsies and two Dr. Cooks wearing long black mustaches, each carrying a little pole with an American flag nailed at the top.
Jessie Lynch, not being a skater, sat in a chair on runners, while her good-natured chum, Margaret Wakefield, pushed her about the lake. Margaret wore a Chinese costume and her long queue was made of black skirt braid.
After the parade and the exhibitions of skating, there was general skating and the lake became a scene of changing color and variety.
"It's like a gorgeous Christmas card," thought Molly, practicing strokes by herself in one corner while she watched the circle of skaters skim by her. "And how very light it is. I can plainly recognize Nance going over the hill with Andy McLean."
"Here she is," called Lawrence Upton, breaking from the circle and skating towards her as easily, apparently, as a bird flies. His body leaned slightly. His hands were clasped behind his back, and Mercury with his winged shoes could not have moved more gracefully.
"Come on, Miss Molly, and have a turn," he said.
"What, me, the poorest skater on the pond?"
"Nonsense! You couldn't dance so well if you were a poor skater. Just cross hands like this and sail along. I won't let you fall."
Off they did sail and never was a more delightful sensation than Molly's, flying over the smooth ice with this good-looking young Mercury. Around and round they skimmed, until one of the Exmoor boys blew a horn, the signal that it was time to start the ten miles back to college. Very rough skating it was in places, so Lawrence informed Molly; rather dangerous going down some of the steep hills, but glorious fun.
"Why don't you do like Baron Munchausen on the mountain? Sit on a silk handkerchief and slide down," suggested Molly.
"We have done some sliding of that kind," he answered, laughing, "but it was accidental and there was no time to get out a pocket handkerchief."
At last the great carnival was over, and Molly, falling in with a crowd of campus girls, started for home, singing with the others:
"Good-night, ladies, we're gwine to leave you now."
It was nearly ten when she tramped upstairs, still on her skates. Judy called out to her from her room, but Nance had not returned. Molly unlaced the skating boots, removed the Russian Princess costume, and flinging her time-worn eiderdown cape around her shoulders, sat down to toast her toes.
"Judy," she called presently, "what have you done with Nance?"
"The last I saw of the Lady Nance she was going over the hill with her sandy-haired cavalier."
"I saw her, too, but I haven't met up with her since. I'm afraid she will get a 'calling' if she isn't back pretty soon."
The girls waited silently. Presently they heard the last of the carnival revellers return. The clock in the tower struck ten. Mrs. Markham locked the hall door and put out the hall light, and still no Nance.
"She's gone off skating with Sandy Andy and forgot the time," whispered Judy, who had crept into Molly's room to confer. "It's a good joke on proper old Nance. I think she was never known to break a rule before."
"You don't suppose anything could have happened to them, do you?"
"Of course not. But you know how absorbed they do get in conversation. They wouldn't hear a cannon go off a yard away."
"They are awfully strict here about being out with boys," observed Molly uneasily. "I do wish she would come home."
The girls lingered over the register talking in whispers until the clock struck half-past ten.
"Molly, suppose they have eloped!" Judy observed.
"Eloped!" repeated Molly, amazed. Then she began to laugh. "Judy, is there anybody in the world so romantic as you? Why, they are mere infants. Andy isn't nineteen yet and Nance was only eighteen last month. I think we'd better slip out and find them. Come on."
Very quietly the two girls got into their things. They wore their rubbers this time, and Molly very thankfully carried the imitation ermine muff. The entire household was sound asleep when out into the sparkling, glittering world they crept like two conspirators.
"Suppose we try the links first," suggested Judy, "since both of us saw them disappearing last in that direction."
"If we were really ladylike persons we'd be afraid to go scurrying off here in the dark," observed Molly.
"I'm not afraid of anything," Judy replied, and Molly knew she spoke the truth, for Judy was the most fearless girl she had ever known.
When they reached the summit of the hill, they began calling at the tops of their voices, "Nance! Nance Oldham!"
There was no answer and not in all the broad expanse of whiteness could they see a human being.
"I wish I knew what to do," exclaimed Molly, growing more and more uneasy. "Suppose she has been injured – suppose – suppose – "
"There they are!" cried Judy. "The young rascals, I believe they are utterly oblivious to time."
Far over the ice appeared the two figures. They were not skating but walking, and several times before they reached the girls they slipped and fell down.
"You are a nice pair," cried Judy. "Don't you know it's way after hours and everybody is in bed long ago?"
"Why, Nance, dear, what has happened? Why are you walking?" asked Molly, who was rarely known to scold anybody.
"I am very sorry," said Nance stiffly. "I couldn't help it. The heel of my shoe came off and I couldn't skate. Mr. McLean – "
Judy smiled mischievously.
"They've been quarreling," she said under her breath.
"And Mr. McLean had to bring me back much against his will."
"Nothing of the sort, Miss Oldham," put in "Mr." McLean, flushing angrily. "I was very glad to bring you back. I only said – "
"Never mind what you said. It was your manner. Actions speak louder than words."
"Come along," put in Molly. "This is no time for quarrels. It's after eleven. Andy, what will you do? Skate back to Exmoor or stay at your father's?"
"I shall skate back, of course," he answered in an heroic voice. "The other fellows might think something had happened to me."
"Here, Nance, put on one of my overshoes," said Judy. "That will keep you from slipping and we must hasten e'er the midnight chime doth strike. Farewell, Andrew. God bless you, and a safe journey, my boy."
Judy struck a dramatic attitude and Molly was obliged to laugh, in spite of the serious faces of the others.
"Hadn't I better see you home?" asked Andrew stiffly.
"Forsooth, no, good gentleman. Begone, and the sooner the better."
"Come on, you silly goose," laughed Molly, and the three girls hurried home. Once they stopped to look back, and young Andy, skating as if the foul fiends were after him, was almost at the end of the course.
There was no Miss Steel that winter to keep a sharp ear open for late-comers and the girls crept safely up to bed. Twice in the night Molly heard Nance weeping bitterly. But she said nothing because she knew that such quarrels are soon mended.
