Mabel Cronise Jones

“Margaret has pluck and pride. She will hold her head as high as ever, no matter what Miss Van Gerder may choose to say, and if there be any snubbing to be done, she will do it as effectually as Abby Dunbar.”

“Very true, but to think that the two are rooming together!”

“Yes, I confess that, in my opinion, Margaret made a mistake there. I should not have accepted any favors or any invitations from that girl had I been Margaret, but that is her affair, after all.”

“Look! Look quickly, at Abby Dunbar’s face,” whispered Dolly excitedly. “The murder is out! I would give a dime to hear what she is saying. There! Miss Van Gerder realizes that she has said something she will regret. I suppose Abby was pumping in the very persistent way she has, and Miss Van Gerder merely answered her questions. Oh, how could she have been so thoughtless, though? She might have known that Westover is one of the snobbiest colleges in the world.”

“There is no use trying to head her off now,” Beth declared disconsolately. “Still, I mean to have my talk with her anyway. If it be possible to repair the mischief, she will do it. Miss Dunbar is glaring at Margaret as if she would like to murder her!”

“Do you suppose that she remembers all the speeches she has made about Margaret’s aristocratic bearing? If she acts as contemptibly as I expect she will, I shall repeat some of those speeches for her benefit. I’ve been treasuring them in my memory.”

“I wish this meal would come to an end.”

To the two impatient girls, anxious to find out just what Miss Van Gerder had said, and what she would do in amends, dinner seemed a most interminable meal. It came to an end at last, however, and Beth, with her usual directness, walked at once to Miss Van Gerder. “Will you please come to my room a few moments? I wish very particularly to see you. I am Elizabeth Newby, and I am very fond of Margaret Hamilton,” and Beth was speaking the truth when she made that assertion, for she had come to like Margaret as she had not expected that she ever would.

Miss Van Gerder rose instantly, despite Abby Dunbar’s exclamation of annoyance. She had not been able to hear what Beth said, but she was not at all ready to resign her claim on the new arrival.

“Please don’t go, Miss Newby. Miss Van Gerder has just been telling me the most awful thing about Margaret Hamilton, and to think I begged her to room with me, and took her home with me this summer, and that we made her class president, it is too awful–and–”

Miss Van Gerder paused a moment, a rather dangerous light in her eyes. “I shall be glad if I can persuade you to relinquish your claims on Margaret, for I want her as a room-mate myself.” Then she passed on.

Beth squeezed her arm ecstatically, regardless of the fact that they had never been even introduced. “You are a darling, but, oh, what possessed you to tell that girl anything about Margaret?”

“How do you know I did? Oh, I suppose you were watching us. I noticed your eyes on us all through the meal. How do you happen to know anything more about Margaret than her room-mate?”

“That is what I want to tell you. Will you come in, please? This is my room. Let me introduce you to two more of your classmates–my room-mate, Miss Alden, and Miss Sutherland, our star student in biology. No, don’t go, girls.”

“I thought that I was to keep intruders out.”

“We will just lock the doors, and pay no attention to any knocks. Now, Miss Van Gerder, if you please, we will tell you first, what we know about Margaret and how we learned it; we are the only ones in the college who do know anything more than she has seen fit to tell. But don’t imagine that she has said that she was anything that she really wasn’t.”

“I am glad of that, now tell me your story.”

So Beth told it, with various interpolations by Dolly and Mary; she repeated both Rob Steele’s story and the conversation which she and Dolly had chanced to overhear on the night of the freshman entertainment.

“Let me introduce you to two more of your classmates.”

Miss Van Gerder drew a deep breath. “I shall never forgive myself for the mischief I have done, but I will do my best to repair it. Let me tell you what I know of Margaret’s family. In the first place, Mr. Worthington was my great-uncle, and I visited at his Chicago home very often, so that is the way I came to know Margaret. I never saw very much of her, for she was in school or busy helping her mother, and, of course, I was going to teas and receptions, and such things, when I was there, although I wasn’t much more than a child. Mrs. Hamilton was uncle’s housekeeper for years, and after his wife died, he depended on her entirely for things not often entrusted to a servant. He had no children. Mrs. Hamilton was a farmer’s daughter; she is a good, sensible, honest woman. She has always been very ambitious for Margaret, and that is not strange, for Margaret has a fine intellect. She inherits it from her father. He was a farmer’s boy and came from the same locality as Mrs. Hamilton. They knew each other as children, and went to the same district school. There Mrs. Hamilton’s education stopped. Mr. Hamilton, however, had made up his mind, as a boy, to go to West Point. He had no political influence to help him, so he studied with all his energy and might. He finally went to the city, obtained employment at a boarding-house to do work out of schooltime, and so he managed to gain a thorough foundation. He knew that his only chance of getting to West Point at all, lay in his ability to outdistance other boys in a competitive examination. So I suppose no boy ever studied harder than did he.”

She stopped a moment to look at the interested faces of her auditors. “His chance finally came and he was ready for it. A congressional appointment was offered the boy who stood highest. Mr. Hamilton won it. He went to West Point, and for nearly three years he did fine work. While he was there, his father died. His mother had died long before. His father was ill for months before his death, and Mr. Hamilton sent home every cent that he could spare. At Easter time in his third year he was invited, with some other West Pointers, to spend the day with an acquaintance up the Hudson. They got permission and went. I do not know who their host was, but he was not a West Pointer. During the afternoon he took the cadets out in a sailboat. I presume he knew enough of boats ordinarily, but he was drunk that day; he would not let any of the other young men take charge, and so, when a little gust of wind came up, the boat went over. The others escaped with a ducking–even the drunken fellow who was solely responsible for the accident; but Mr. Hamilton struck on a rock, on the boat, or on something–no one ever knew just how it happened; anyway, the boys had hard work saving him, though he was a fine swimmer. When they pulled him into the boat, he was insensible. For weeks they thought that he would not recover, and when he did get well, it was only to learn that he must resign his cadetship. There had been an accident to his spine which rendered him totally unfit for a cadet’s life.”

“How horribly, horribly sad.”

“It was sad, and he wished thousands of times that his companions had let him drown. He would not give up hope until he had spent every cent of money he possessed in consulting specialists. But they could do nothing for him. He drifted to Chicago, perfectly unfit for any heavy work. He tried several things and had to give them up. Then uncle chanced to advertise for a coachman. Mr. Hamilton answered the advertisement, told uncle his story, and stayed with him from that time until his death about six years ago.”

“And Mrs. Hamilton?”

“He had very few friends, and all the time that he was at West Point he had corresponded with Mrs. Hamilton. They had always been good friends; she must have been very pretty as a girl. When uncle heard that they were to be married, he fitted up a tiny coachman’s house in the rear of his grounds. He liked them both very much. Afterward, he induced Mrs. Hamilton to come up to the house and act as his housekeeper. He came to depend upon her more and more.”

“But where do you suppose their money came from?”

“Uncle left Mrs. Hamilton seven thousand dollars. He knew that Margaret wished to fit herself for a teacher in the higher grades, and he always meant to help her through college. The money was intended partly for that purpose, I am sure. Margaret probably refused to come unless her mother would stop working. After she has graduated here, she can easily secure a position, and support them both. They will have plenty of money to last until then, for Mrs. Hamilton must have saved considerable, too. Uncle paid her generously.”

“I think that your story of her father is very sad. With his education it does seem as if he could have secured some clerical work or some position in a bank.”

“There are eight hundred applicants for every such place; besides, Mr. Hamilton could not sit in a cramped position, writing; he had to have a certain amount of outdoor life, though he could not walk far. Really, his work at my uncle’s, suited his health admirably, though it was hard for him to take a servant’s position; there is no doubt of that. Uncle was kind to him, and made the position as easy as possible, still there was no denying the fact that he was a coachman. One day a young man came to visit uncle while I was there. It turned out that he had been at West Point while Mr. Hamilton was a cadet. Margaret’s father felt horribly disgraced, though there was no reason why he should. He had to meet Lieutenant Maynard, and it hurt his pride fearfully to act the part of a servant toward his former classmate. He always felt rebellious and bitter. He wasn’t big enough to realize that ‘a man’s a man for a’ that.’ I suppose it is hard to keep that fact in mind under all circumstances, and I have no business to be preaching, for I would probably feel more bitter than did he, if I should ever be similarly placed. As long as his own ambitions had been defeated, he became ambitious for Margaret. She was to have a fine education, and to be a professor in some college. She had a few school friends, but not many intimates. Her mother felt that she was slighted at school.”

“And yet,” Beth could not resist saying reproachfully, “you have made it even worse for her here.”

“Yes, but you must believe that I did it all unwittingly. I never gave a thought to what I was saying. I shall never forgive myself for my carelessness. It came about naturally enough, though. Miss Dunbar seemed intensely interested in Margaret, and kept asking questions until I was rather out of patience, particularly as I was trying to listen to a story which Professor Newton was telling. She wanted to know where I had met Margaret and if I knew her very well. I said that I met her at my uncle’s home in Chicago. Was Margaret visiting there? No, she lived there. Oh, then she was some relative of my uncle’s? And I carelessly said no, that her mother had charge of uncle’s house. I should have thought twice before speaking, if I had not been giving my main attention to Professor Newton. As soon as I had made the remark, there seemed to be a volcanic eruption at my side, and I thought that Miss Dunbar would have hysterics on the spot. She said that she regretted the fact that Margaret was her room-mate; that she was not accustomed to rooming with servants, and, of course, she will be awfully disagreeable to her. I took a double room, but I intended to be alone. Now, however, I shall ask one of the professors to allow Margaret to come in with me. The sooner that is done, the better for all concerned. I wonder to whom I had better go?”

“Go to Professor Newton,” said Dolly promptly, “and take Miss Sutherland with you. She is Professor Newton’s niece, and can help you out, if you need any assistance, but I do not suppose you will.”

“Thanks for the suggestion. I shall get the permission first, but possibly Margaret will not care to room with me after the hornet’s nest I have raised. I wonder, Miss Alden, if you would ask her to come here while Miss Sutherland and I are interviewing Professor Newton?”

“I shall be very glad to do so. It will be much better to have your talk here, than in her room, where Abby Dunbar would be liable to interrupt you at any moment. And, Miss Van Gerder, do not feel too conscience-stricken over your inadvertence. For my part, I believe that Margaret will be glad, after the first fuss is over. No one, then, can accuse her of sailing under false colors. Everything will be perfectly open and aboveboard.”

“It is good of you to say so, but I am sure that your room-mate does not hold that opinion. At least, I made no mention of her father. I presume that would be a still harder thing for Miss Dunbar to overlook.”

“I think,” said Dolly persistently, “that it would have been better for all concerned, if you had said that Mr. Hamilton was your uncle’s coachman. Then everything would have been told at once, and Margaret would have no future disclosures to dread.”

“I think I was sufficiently stupid as it was;” and then Mary and Miss Van Gerder went off to see Professor Newton, while Dolly went in search of Miss Hamilton.

She did not fancy the errand much, for she had a premonition that Miss Dunbar might also be in the room, and that a scene would be inevitable. And she was not wrong.