  Janet was home in plenty of time to dress in leisure for the skating party. Her mother looked in once to make sure that she had plenty of warm clothes on. “I’m glad you’re wearing that old tweed outfit. It’s warm and at the same time nice looking.” “Even though it’s old, mother?” “Even though it’s old. Tweed always looks nice and that’s an especially pretty shade of brown. It goes so well with your hair. Wear your scarlet beret and don’t forget the boots.” “I won’t,” promised Janet as her mother started downstairs again. The Hardy home was pleasant, even though decidedly old-fashioned. There was a broad porch completely across the front of the house. The house itself was L-shaped, the base of the L having been added after the original structure was built. The exterior was shingled and creeping vines softened the sharper angles. Janet’s room had a south exposure with two dormer windows that added to the many angles of the low-ceilinged rambling room. The wall paper was pink and white with gay farm scenes interspersed. Crisp chintz curtains were at the windows and a gay curtain hid the large, old-fashioned wardrobe at one end of the room in which she kept her clothes. Her dressing table was between the dormers with a rose-colored shade on the electric light. The bed, a walnut four poster, was against the wall nearest the hall. A gay, pink-tufted spread covered it. At one side was a small walnut stand with a shaded reading lamp. Hooked rugs, reflecting the cheery tone of the room in their varied colors, covered the dark, polished floor. Over in the far corner, where the roof sloped sharply, Janet had built a book case and stained it brown. It was filled with books, arranged in none too perfect order, showing the interest she had in them. But Janet had little time now to relax in the charm of her room. Parting the curtain of the wardrobe she found her tweed suit far to the back. Her boots were back there too, but they had been well oiled and were pliable. From a walnut chest of drawers which stood beside the wardrobe Janet drew woolen socks for it was an 18-mile ride to Youde’s and they probably wouldn’t be home until late. Janet dressed sensibly, woolen hose, heavy tweed skirt, a blue, shaggy wool sweater and her tweed coat. The crimson beret would be warm enough. She glanced at the clock. She had spent more time than she had anticipated, it was after 4:30 and Whet’s drug store where they were to meet the bus was a good six blocks away. Janet hurried downstairs. “I’ve a cup of tea and some cookies all ready,” her mother called. It would be after six o’clock before they ate and Janet drank the tea with relish. The cookies, crisp and filled with raisins, were delicious and she put several in the pockets of her coat. “I put your old fur coat in the hall,” said Mrs. Hardy. “Your scarf’s there, too.” “Thanks mother. I’m certainly going to be too warm.” Her mother went to the window. It was nearly dark and the snow still swirled down in dry, feathery clouds. “I almost wish you weren’t going,” she said, “but there doesn’t seem to be any wind.” “Oh, we’ll be all right, mother. The bus is large and if the weather should get bad we could stay at Youde’s until it clears. Remember Miss Bruder is chaperon and she’s extremely sensible.” “She needs to be with your crowd on her hands,” smiled her mother, following Janet into the hall. Janet slipped into her old coat. It wasn’t much to look at but it was warm and serviceable, one of those bunglesome coonskins that were so popular with college students at one time. She twisted her scarf around her neck, gave her mother a quick hug and kiss, and strode out of the house. Janet kicked along through the dry snow, walking rapidly until she reached Helen Thorne’s home. There were no lights in the southeast room and Janet knew that Helen must be dressed for that was Helen’s room. She whistled sharply, a long and a short, that penetrated the quick of the twilight. The porch light flashed on and Helen, sticking her head out, yelled, “I’m coming.” Helen hurried down the walk, wriggling into a suede jacket. “Think that will be warm enough?” asked Janet, who felt very much bundled up in her coonskin. “I’ve got my corduroy jacket underneath and a sweater under that. I’m practically sealed up against the cold, but I’ll run back and get my old coonskin.” They swung along rapidly toward Whet’s scuffing through the dry snow. “I like this,” said Helen, breathing deeply. “The snow’s grand and it isn’t too cold. Wonder if they’ll have any heat at Youde’s?” “Oh, the dining room will be warm, but there’s only a fireplace out in the room where we skate. Wraps will probably feel good there until we get well warmed up from skating.” Out of the haze ahead emerged the blob of light that marked the neighborhood drug store. As they approached they could see two or three standing near the front door of the store. Ed Rickey, captain of the football team, jerked open the door. “Greetings, wanderers of the storm. Enter and be of good cheer.” They stamped the snow off their boots and stepped inside. Cora Dean and Margie Blake were there. Boon companions, they were seldom apart. “Hello,” said Margie, but there was no warmth in the greeting. “Hello,” replied Janet. “You must think you’re going to the north pole,” put in Cora, as she looked Janet and Helen over coolly. “Well, not quite that far, but we believe in being sensible and warm,” replied Helen, and Cora’s face flamed, for both she and Margie, always trying to make an impression, were dressed in fashionable riding breeches of serge. They were pleasing to look at, but hardly the thing for comfort on a night when the temperature might drop almost to zero. Instead of coats they wore zipper sweaters of angora wool. Their boots were fashionable, but light, and would be of little use in withstanding any severe cold. “Here comes the bus,” said Ed Rickey, who was bundled up in nondescript clothes. “All out that’s going to Youde’s,” he bellowed, imitating a train caller. The bus ground to a stop in front of the store and the girls followed Ed across the curb. Jim Barron opened the door. The windows of the bus were heavily frosted for a heater was going full blast but the driver, a middle aged man, had a windshield wiper cutting a swath through the frost that formed on the glass in front of him. Miss Bruder spoke as they came in. “Everyone’s here,” announced Jim. “Find your seats. Next stop at Youde’s.” There was plenty of room in the bus for the vehicle had a capacity of thirty and there were only eighteen in addition to the driver. Most of them found seats well to the fore where they could feel the blast of warm air from the heater. Clarion was a sprawling city of 19,000, but in less than ten minutes they had left the street lights behind and were rolling along a smoothly paved highway. It was impossible to see out for the windows were frosted solid, but it was a merry crowd nevertheless. Ed Rickey, who had a fine bass voice, started in with a school song and the others soon joined him. Six miles outside Clarion they turned off the main road and swung over toward the hills which flanked the Wapsie river for it was along the banks of the Wapsie that Youde’s Inn was located. Their progress was slowed here for the road had not been cleared by a snowplow. But the snow was less than five inches deep and the powerful bus forged ahead steadily. Almost before they knew it they were over the last hill and dropping down into the river valley. As the bus turned into the inn, floodlights in the yard were snapped on. A dog, barking eagerly, leaped forward to greet them. Ed and Jim were out of the bus first, assisting the others down. With Miss Bruder in the lead, they trooped toward the rambling, one story inn. Eli Youde, a coonskin cap on his head, was at the door. Behind him stood his wife, a buxom, motherly soul of forty-five. “Supper’s on the table now,” said Mrs. Youde as she greeted them. “The girls can take off their things in the room at the right; the boys go to the left.” There were nine boys and eight girls in the honors English class, but with Miss Bruder it made an even number and she was so young and full of fun that she always seemed like one of them. Cora and Margie stopped before an old fashioned dresser to powder their noses and pat their hair into shape, but at a skating party these things were irrelevant to Janet and Helen and they hastened out to join the group in the dining room. One long table had been set. There were no place cards and the first to arrive took the choice seats, which were near a glowing soft-coal burner. Mrs. Youde, assisted by her husband, brought in steaming bowls of oyster stew. Three large bowls of crisp, white crackers were on the table, but huge inroads in them were soon made. Conversation died away as the stew was ladled down hungry throats. Before the bowls of stew had vanished, Mrs. Youde brought in two heaping platters of thick sandwiches. Janet found at least three varieties and was afraid to ask Helen how many she discovered. “This is ruining my weight, but I’m having a fine time,” said Janet between bites and Helen nodded. After the sandwiches came pumpkin pie, great thick wedges of it with a mound of whipped cream on top and a slab of yellow cheese at one side. Ed Rickey yelled for help and when no one volunteered to jounce him up and down to make room for the pie, he managed to get to his feet and trot around the table several times. “I’m never going to be able to bend down and put on a skate,” groaned Jim Barron, who had begged a second piece of pie and was now looking ruefully at the last crisp crust. He wanted it, but he didn’t quite dare and with a sheepish look he pushed the plate away from him. “Perhaps we’d better sit around a few minutes before we start skating,” suggested Miss Bruder. The suggestion was welcomed and while Mr. Youde carried armfuls of woods into the skating rink to fill the fireplace they told stories around the roaring fire in the heater. “I feel better,” announced Jim a few minutes later. “In fact, I’ll be courteous enough to help any of you weak damsels get your skates on. Let’s go.” With Jim in the lead, they trooped into the skating rink. The fireplace, along one wall and halfway down the rink, was roaring lustily as Mr. Youde piled it with fresh fuel. The skates were in boxes, numbered for size, and ranged in rows along the walls. Jim, Ed and one of the other boys did the fitting while the girls sat on a long bench. “Here’s a pair that ought to be long enough for you,” grinned Jim as he placed a skate under Janet’s right foot. “Oh, I don’t know that I’m such a clodhopper,” smiled Janet. “Anyway, I’ll bet I can beat you around the rink the first time.” “It’s a go,” replied Jim, fastening the other skate. “Wait until I get the wheels under my hoofs.” Janet stood up and tried the skates. Jim had found an excellent pair for her. They felt true and speedy. She tried a preliminary whirl. Her balance was good. Jim shot out onto the floor, tried to make a sharp turn, lost his balance, and sat down with a thud that shook the room. “First down,” yelled Ed Rickey, who hastened to Jim’s aid and entangled himself over Jim’s outstretched legs. Ed also went down and shouts of merriment echoed through the room. “Ready Jim?” asked Janet when the husky senior was back on his feet. “Just as ready now as later,” he replied and they shot away, Janet’s feet moving swiftly as she got up speed. Jim had the longer legs, the more powerful strokes, but Janet was fast and light. That might overcome the advantage of her heavier rival. “Go on, Janet, go on!” she heard Helen shouting as they took the first turn. Jim was still ahead, but he was going too fast for a safe turn and he skidded sharply and lost speed at the next turn while Janet, her feet a twinkle of motion, shot ahead. Jim yelled in protest, but Janet only went the faster and flashed by the finish at least two yards ahead of the puffing Jim. From then on the rink buzzed with the roll of the skates as in couples and singly they sped around the room. Ed Rickey was a wizard on skates and after the first rush of skating, when some of them were content to sit on the benches near the fireplace, he gave a demonstration of fancy skating. Janet had never imagined Ed had that grace and sense of rhythm but the big fellow was remarkably light on his feet. Then they were back on the floor again, this time in a series of races Jim Barron had planned, some of them rolling peanuts the length of the rink and back and others skating around backwards in tandem races. In spite of the roaring fire, the room was cold and Janet felt the chill creep through her bones. She stopped skating and edged over close to the fireplace just as the bus driver came in and spoke to Eli Youde. The innkeeper departed at once with the driver and Janet heard the bang of an outer door as though it had been caught by the wind and closed violently. But there had been no wind when they came down into the valley to the inn. If the wind had come up, the snow might drift badly. She put that thought out of her mind, and rejoined the skaters. It was less than five minutes later when the innkeeper and the bus driver returned, striding down the center of the rink. Mr. Youde held up one hand and the skaters gathered around him. “Wind’s coming up and the snow’s starting to drift. May be bad in another hour or two. If you want to get home before midnight you’d better start now for it will be slow going up in the hills.” “We’ll start at once,” decided Miss Bruder. “Get your wraps, everybody.” Janet, some unknown fear tugging at her heart, hung back and spoke to Mr. Youde. “Is it perfectly safe to start the trip back?” she asked. “I guess so. That’s a powerful bus. But you’d better start now before the wind gets bad. This snow is going to drift like fury before morning. I expect we’ll be blockaded for a couple of days.” Janet rejoined the girls in the room where they had left their coats. A horn sounded outside and they hastened to don their wraps. The floodlights in the yard flashed on and the group, bidding the Youdes cheery goodnights, hastened out to the bus. |
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