Jean Baird - Elizabeth Hobart at Exeter Hall

“Why this semester?” rejoined a tall girl in the group as she came forward extending her hand. “Why not the year?”

“She may not survive,” said Miss Wilson. “If she’s able to stand me one semester, then she’ll be compelled to stay the year out.”

“I am Anna Cresswell,” continued the tall girl to Elizabeth. “Mary Wilson’s introductions leave much to be desired. She rarely sees fit to mention the names of the people she introduces.”

Miss Stoner and Miss Kean came up at this juncture. They had changed their traveling dresses, and were wearing light challis. They were introduced to Elizabeth, but neither made mention that they had seen each other in the car or had come up in the carriage together. Landis was most demonstrative in greeting Miss Wilson, chiding her for not writing during vacation, and declaring that they must make up for lost time by spending a great many leisure hours together now. Miss Wilson laughed merrily. She had been busy all summer, she said, and had written only to her own people. Elizabeth noticed that she expressed no desire to mortgage her future leisure hours by any promises.

“You busy?” exclaimed Landis. “Now, what were you doing – reading novels, dressing and driving about?”

“I should scarcely be content with such a summer, Landis. No; I played nurse-girl to Mrs. Gleason’s large family. I was busy, too. The place was no sinecure, I assure you.”

“Mrs. Gleason – from Gleasonton?” exclaimed Min. “Why, I thought she had no children.”

“She hasn’t – but she adopts them annually. During July and August we had a dozen babies at their home. We went for them in the morning and took them back at night, and I gave each one of them a bath every day.” This last was said triumphantly.

“I’ve heard she was rather – eccentric!” said Landis.

“Don’t you know her?” asked Elizabeth.

“No; I do not – not personally,” was the response, “but we have mutual friends.”

Miss Wilson would have quitted Miss Stoner and Miss Kean here, but was prevented by Landis telling her experience that day in the train, how a woman, a total stranger, had taken her to task for throwing away her lunch.

“She was a common-looking person,” she added. “One could see she belonged to the middle class, and I suppose had been compelled to practice economy, so that my throwing a sandwich away seemed recklessly extravagant.”

“Did you think she was common-looking?” asked Elizabeth. “Her skin was as fine as a baby’s, and her eyes were beautiful. Didn’t you see how expressive they were?”

“No, I didn’t. All I could see was her gingham shirtwaist suit with its prudish white linen cuffs and collar, and her rough straw hat.”

Miss Wilson put her arm through her roommate’s to hurry her.

“Excuse us, girls, if we walk faster; I wish Miss Hobart to meet Nancy. She’s the girl ahead with Anna Cresswell.”

Elizabeth was borne along toward the dining-hall, at the door of which Miss Cresswell and her companion stopped.

“Nancy, I wish you and Miss Hobart to meet,” said Miss Wilson, “and I intend that you shall be good friends. Nancy and I were brought up together, and she’s used to me. When you want anyone to sympathize with you because of me, go to Nancy.”

“Her name is Miss Eckdahl,” added Miss Cresswell with a smile.

“But she should have known. Everyone should know Nancy without being told. What is the good of being famous otherwise? If your name goes not abroad, what is the good of being a champion in mathematics or anything else? When I say ‘Nancy,’ the intelligent person should know that I mean – ”

“Nancy Hanks,” added the girl herself. “I might be mistaken for the famous trotter.”

So chatting, they entered the dining-hall. Tables set for six each filled the room.

“Miss Cresswell, will you take charge of Elizabeth – I’m going to call you Elizabeth; you don’t look nearly old enough to be Miss Hobart.”

“Yes; come with me, Miss Hobart. Nancy, I presume you and I part here. I shall be surprised if Miss Morgan permits you and Mary to be together much longer.”

She led the way to a table by the window where she seated herself at its head, placing Elizabeth at her right.

“Miss Morgan never allows roommates to sit together at meals,” she explained, “or two girls who have been reared together as Mary and Nancy have. She wishes us to know all the students, and tries to prevent our forming little cliques, as we’re bound to do when we room and eat and study with the same people.”

“But what if you should not like the other people?” asked Elizabeth. “It must be rather unpleasant to sit at meals with someone whom you do not like.”

“That is one of the lessons Miss Morgan is giving us the opportunity of learning. We may discover on close acquaintance that one is more likable than we first supposed; and if that is impossible, then we learn to keep our dislikes to ourselves.”

The dining-hall was rapidly filling. Landis Stoner and Min Kean came in among the last, the former taking her place at Miss Cresswell’s table, sitting beside Elizabeth.

“Why, Anna Cresswell,” she exclaimed, leaning forward, “did Miss Morgan put you at the head of the table?”

“How else should I be here? You surely did not think I came unasked.”

“Oh, no, I spoke without thinking. Of course, you would not come unless she asked you to do so. I was surprised, that was all.”

“Why surprised? You know I am a Senior, and it is customary to give them the head.”

“Oh, yes, of course. But there are Seniors who haven’t been given the head. That is what made me speak.”

Miss Cresswell turned the conversation to other subjects. Elizabeth was the only new student at the table. She felt that some reason other than the one given had caused Miss Stoner to speak as she had. It was not until some days later that she learned that Landis was a Senior. She learned, too, that the girl was ambitious to be first, even in so slight a thing as sitting at the head of a table and playing hostess to five girls, generally of under classes.

“Are you on the second floor again this year, Landis?” asked a little pink-and-white, china-doll girl from the foot of the table.

“Yes, Mame. Min and I have the same rooms as before. The third time is the charm. I presume something good will happen this year.”

“Perhaps Min will get through the preliminaries,” was the rejoinder. “She won’t pull through from any effort she makes herself. If her friends wish to see her graduate, they will be compelled to resort to something. Get her to pick four-leafed clovers and wear them in the toe of her shoe, possibly. That has been known to work where all else fails.”

Landis looked serious at the jest. Her manner grew quite self-assertive as she replied, as though expressing herself quite settled the question. Yet throughout there was an assumed self-deprecatory air, as though she would not have her hearers think she was either maligning her friend or lauding herself too highly in the comparison suggested in her speech.

“Don’t blame Min too much. Some work which would be possible for you or me, is impossible for her. I did not realize until we roomed together what a difference there can be in – in – minds. I could not have believed that any one would consider a theorem or a page of French difficult. But,” with an arch glance, “these past two years have taught me a great deal. I am more sympathetic, and oh so much more thankful that I am – ”

“Not as ‘ these publicans and sinners,’” finished the girl at the foot. As she spoke, her glance swept over the table to include among “these” all who sat there.