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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
“It will do more for you in the way of popularity than your empress
of the world pose. You asked me for my opinion. You now have it.
I’m going for a ride, and a stop at Baretti’s on the way back to
dinner.” Laura rose with the deliberate slowness which characterized
her every movement. “You’d better come along.”
“No; I have letters to write,” Stephanie replied curtly. She was still
piqued at Laura’s scarcely flattering criticism.
“Then you’d better put a ‘Busy’ sign on the door. Miss Ogden has
been here twice to see you while you were out.”
“Oh, that tiresome little upstart!” Stephanie’s face darkened. “I can’t
endure her.”
“She seems to have a crush on you.”
“She’ll have to get over it, then, for I can’t endure her. She’s
underbred.” Stephanie’s red upper lip lifted itself scornfully.
“She’s a freshie, though. Don’t forget that,” Laura reminded. “Class
election’s next week. Be nice to her, and she may nominate you for
president. Antagonize her, and she may do you a lot of damage
among the freshies. Those black eyes of hers can shoot danger
signals. Try snubbing her once, and then—look out.”
“You’re positively maddening today,” Stephanie exclaimed in angry
vexation. “You’ve done nothing but criticize me ever since I came
into the room.”
“At least I’ve said what I had to say to your face.” Laura’s unconcern
at her roommate’s displeasure was apparent. “You’d like it a good
deal less if I had said it to one of the other girls, and behind your
back.”
Stephanie accepted the truth of Laura’s calm statement with a
pettish little shrug. “I shall not put up a ‘Busy’ sign, nor answer the
door if she should knock,” she declared perversely.
“It’s up to you.” It was Laura’s turn to shrug. “Don’t forget, though,
that Miss Ogden rooms with Miss Cairns, and Miss Cairns is one of
the high powers on the campus, as nearly as I can judge. She’s a pal
of the Great I Am.”
“I fail to see any special reason why all that nonsense should be of
interest to me.” Stephanie chose to continue to be perverse.
“Think it over. So long. Shall I hang out the ‘Busy’ sign?”
“No,” Stephanie all but shouted the reply.
“All right. Have your own way about it, and be sorry afterward.” With
this prophetic warning, Laura went out the door, laughing softly,
leaving her stubborn roommate to digest the unwelcome prediction
as best she might.
 CHAPTER XIV

MARJORIE FINDS THE LOST NOTE BOOK

“Only one more case to do, then this job will be finished, and
finished as it should be.” Miss Susanna Hamilton, looking tinier than
usual in the enveloping folds of a blue and white pinafore, gave a
long, satisfied sigh as she viewed the completed work which had
engaged Marjorie, Jonas and herself for several days.
“It truly does look fine,” Marjorie echoed the sigh. Standing beside
Miss Susanna in the middle of the large library at the Arms, she was
a charming study of work in her pale blue smock and dust cap. “Only
to think; we are the first to re-arrange Mr. Brooke’s books since he
himself used them,” she added meditatively.
“Yes,” Miss Susanna nodded rather absently. Her thoughts, as well as
Marjorie’s, were turning to the long-passed master of the Arms
whose influence still pervaded the stately old house like a living
presence.
“Goodness knows the library needed a going-over,” Miss Hamilton
said with a sudden change to practicality. “Jonas has kept the books
dusted, of course; but that’s all. I knew Uncle Brooke’s books were
sadly out of place. I used to help him take care of his library.
Somehow, after his death, I hadn’t a heart for this straightening job.
Toward the last of his life he spent a great deal of time in the library.
He was inclined to forgetfulness at times, which accounts for his
books being so sadly out of place. They’re in order again at last,
thanks to you, Marjorie.” Her keen dark eyes wandered contentedly
from one tall-glassed bookcase to another.
“It’s not yet eleven. I think we’d have time to do that last case
before luncheon, don’t you?” Marjorie was appraising the contents of
a smaller teak-wood bookcase that stood by itself against the east
wall of the library. Three sides of the library were book-lined, but the
east side showed no bookcases other than the one she had just
indicated.
“Yes; I think so, too. That case holds Uncle Brooke’s most treasured
books.” Miss Susanna stood regarding it retrospectively. “Not books
which might be considered very valuable from a money standpoint,”
she explained. “It holds the books that were dear to him, for one
reason or another. He never followed any particular arrangement in
the matter of that case. I daresay half of them are standing upside-
down on the shelves. I left it until last, purposely. The case is locked,
but here’s the key.”
The old lady brought a small brass key from the depths of her
pinafore pocket. She trotted across the room to the case and fitted
the key to the lock. Marjorie followed her, standing interestedly
beside her as she swung open the double glassed doors. More than
once, during her stay at Hamilton Arms, while compiling the Brooke
Hamilton biography, she had wondered idly about this particular
case. Its glass doors had inside curtains of a thin, silky Oriental
material which lent to the case an oddly mysterious air. Miss
Susanna had never spoken of it to her, and Marjorie had delicately
forborne making any inquiry to Miss Hamilton concerning it.
“It’s just as he left it.” Miss Susanna’s brisk tones had softened. She
and Marjorie were gazing into the interior of the now open bookcase
at the orderly disorder of the overcrowded shelves. There were
books, thick and thin, large and small, even to tininess, leather and
cloth bindings, standing in uneven rows upon the dusty shelves. On
top of the rows were yet more books, in little piles of twos and
threes, a true sign of an ardent book lover.
“We’ll have to take them out, four or five at a time, dust them and
the space on the shelf that they occupy, then put them back exactly
as we found them,” was Marjorie’s plan of action. “Wait a minute, I’ll
bring you a chair, Goldendede. You shall sit beside me, and direct
this enterprise. Let me do the work. The case is hardly large enough
for us both to work on at the same time.”
She was hurrying across the library before she had finished speaking
for Miss Susanna’s favorite chair. “There, my dear Goldendede, pray
you be seated,” she invited, with a low bow, setting the chair beside
Miss Hamilton, “while your faithful servitor proceeds to work magic.”
“I’ll take you at your word, child. I’m really a little tired. I haven’t
your young strength, and we have delved most industriously this
morning.” The old lady sat down in the chair with grateful alacrity.
Very carefully Marjorie began the task. She started at the left end of
the top shelf of the case, gently pulling out the well-worn bindings
with reverent fingers. Brooke Hamilton had ranged literature in
search of the best was her thought as she continued to explore his
treasures.
“You are welcome to the key to the case at any time, Marjorie,” Miss
Susanna’s bright, bird-like eyes had not missed the warm, interested
light upon Marjorie’s lovely features as her willing hands moved
among the dusty bindings, restoring them once more to something
of their original pristine brightness.
“How dear in you, Goldendede. I was just wishing that I might go
browsing among these books.” Marjorie’s childlike delight at the
unexpected concession was the old lady’s pleasure. “This bookcase
seems a little library in itself, representative of Mr. Brooke and his
broad-mindedness.”
“It is just that. Uncle Brooke’s books were his best friends. They
were dear to him because of the particular message each had for
him.” The mistress of the Arms dropped into one of her not
infrequent intervals of silence which Marjorie had early come to
know and respect. She continued with her work, content to let the
little old lady shatter it at will.
“What is the latest news from the campus, child?” Miss Susanna
came suddenly out of her brief spell of silent abstraction. “‘I have
nerve,’ as Jerry would say, to ask you that, since I’ve been the
means of keeping you away from it for the past week.”
“Then, further to quote Jerry, ‘I like your nerve,’” Marjorie replied
laughingly. “I’ve loved to be here. Not that I love the campus less,
but Goldendede more. I’m going over to Wayland Hall tomorrow
evening to see the girls. Hal has a business appointment in the town
of Hamilton. I haven’t the least idea of what it’s all about. He’s been
very mysterious over it. He’s going to stop for me on his way home.”
“A business appointment! That sounds interesting.” Miss Susanna
exhibited affectionate curiosity. Hal’s one cross since he and Marjorie
had taken up their residence at Hamilton Estates had been his
inability to decide upon some definite plan of business occupation.
Possessed of a comparatively large fortune, inherited from his
grandfather, his youthful energy rebelled against settling down at
Travelers’ Rest as a country gentleman. Marjorie had found her work
at Hamilton College, the work which had all but parted them forever.
Hal hoped that he might also find a work in their new home,
satisfying to heart and brain. Only lately an idea had come to him as
the result of a prospecting tour about the staid, self-centered town
of Hamilton. Pursuant of his idea he had got into action. The result
had been his appointment with John Saxe, the real estate agent who
had formerly figured in the business ventures of the steady little firm
of “Page & Dean.” The outcome of his appointment with Mr. Saxe
would, he fondly hoped, furnish a happy surprise for Marjorie.
“Of course it sounds interesting. That’s precisely what I said to Hal
when he mentioned the appointment to me. He laughed, but
wouldn’t volunteer any further information. I didn’t ask for any,
either. He has some sort of delightful surprise in store for me. I
know he has,” was Marjorie’s smilingly confident assertion.
Miss Susanna nodded smiling content of the happiness of the two
young people upon whom her affections were so firmly centered.
“There’s the bell.” She suddenly held up a hand in a listening
attitude. “Now who can that be? Not callers, I hope. If it should be, I
shall receive them just as I am; pinafore, dusty hands, and all.”
“It’s Miss Leslie, Miss Susanna.” Jonas had appeared in the open
doorway of the library.
“Oh! What a relief! Ask her to come in here, Jonas.” Miss Hamilton
had bobbed up from the chair at sound of the bell. She dropped into
it again, with a thankful sigh.
“Where have you been keeping yourself, Leslie?” Sight of Leslie
Cairns in the doorway, looking her best in a smart ecru ensemble
and ultra-trim little felt hat, brought Miss Susanna to her feet again,
and hurrying across the room to greet her welcome caller.
“Yes! where have you been, elusive person?” Marjorie hastily shoved
a book, held in her right hand, back into place on a shelf and came
forward, dust cloth cheerfully waving a greeting to the visitor. “Twice
I’ve ’phoned you. ‘Out’ was the answer Annie gave me both times.
Then I wrote you a note, demanding your presence at Travelers’ Inn
at dinner tomorrow evening. I ’phoned Leila, asking her and Vera to
come, too. They can’t come because the Bertramites are
entertaining them at Baretti’s. They’ll be back at the Hall, though, by
seven-thirty, for the Bertramites have to study. Leila said, why not
foregather in Vera’s and her room for the evening. Now you see
what it’s all about. My note to you was a sketchy scrawl. I wrote it in
a hurry. Perhaps you haven’t received it yet.” Marjorie glanced
inquiringly at Leslie.
“Yes; I received it in the morning mail. I was anxious to see you, and
Miss Susanna, so I took a run over here instead of telephoning. I
had an idea you were still busy with the library job. It looks great.”
Leslie’s eyes roved approvingly over the beautiful old room with its
wealth of books from many lands.
“This is the last case, and I have only two more shelves to do.
Please tell Leslie about it, Goldendede, while I work very hard to
finish it.” Marjorie energetically resumed work, making herself a
mental promise to spend a day soon in the library in a leisurely
exploration of the treasures of the quaint old bookcase.
Presently coming to the bottom shelf, she sat down upon the thick
velvet rug, reaching mechanically for the first book at the left end of
the shelf. It was, she saw, a copy of the dissertations of Epictitus,
bound in green morocco, the soft fine leather worn by constant use.
She smiled. Epictitus had been Brooke Hamilton’s favorite
philosopher, so Miss Susanna had told her. She wiped away the dust
very gently from the priceless volume, then opened it, about to give
the yellowed leaves a mild shake.
To her surprise a considerably smaller, black, cloth-bound book
dropped from among the leaves of the Epictitus into her lap. It was
a thin little book, not more than six inches long and three inches
wide. About an inch from the top of the cover a white label had been
pasted that bore the writing of the departed master of the Arms.
“Brooke Hamilton,” she read, “Personal Notes.”
Marjorie’s heart began a sudden joyful throbbing. Could the little
black book be the particular, important notebook of which Miss
Susanna had regretfully spoken as lost at the time when she had
turned over to Marjorie the material for her distinguished great-
uncle’s biography?
With a joyful little cry Marjorie was on her feet, and holding out the
little black book to Miss Hamilton.
“What wonderful thing have you found in the old case, child?” Miss
Susanna interrupted her conversation with Leslie to peer tolerantly
through her glasses at Marjorie.
“Look at it, Goldendede,” Marjorie excitedly thrust the notebook into
the old lady’s hands. “It’s a notebook. Mr. Brooke’s own notebook;
the one that you thought was lost. I’m sure of it.”
 CHAPTER XV

BROOKE HAMILTON’S STAUNCHEST ADVOCATE

“I believe you are right, Marjorie.” Miss Susanna’s hands were

trembling slightly as she opened the notebook and read aloud the
first entry. “‘Thought of a new motto today. “Her ways led upward to
the stars.” Note: This motto should be particularly applicable to the
“one” whom I hope may rise, a future guiding light to Hamilton
College.’”
“Why—why—that’s my motto.” Marjorie was looking her utter
amazement. “I mean—” Sudden confusion deepened the pink in her
cheeks to rose. “It’s the one you selected for me for citation,
Goldendede,” she added in embarrassed explanation.
“It’s the one that suited you best, so don’t feel backward about
coming forward and saying so,” Leslie assured with her slow smile.
“Of course it suited her,” chimed in Miss Susanna. “You know, Leslie,
I’ve always said that Marjorie typified Uncle Brooke’s ideal of
girlhood.”
“Wouldn’t you like to read us some more notes, Goldendede?”
Marjorie asked persuasively.
“And thus take the subject off your very retiring self,” the old lady
supplemented pithily. “Very good, my dear.” Miss Hamilton turned
the first leaf and read out to her two avid listeners, “‘Must have
Jenkins retake my foot measurements. Last pair of boots he made
me are a fraction too narrow. Don’t forget to do this. Important.’”
A ripple of laughter greeted this entry.
“From the sublime to the vexatious problems of everyday life,”
commented Miss Susanna. She continued to read aloud the
annotations of her famous kinsman. Short, and to the point, they
revealed clearly the character of Brooke Hamilton—philosopher,
sage, philanthropist, and lastly, unassuming country gentleman.
“This must be the book Uncle Brooke lost not more than a year
before his death. He was greatly annoyed by the loss, and used to
hunt for it by the hour. Many of the annotations contained dates
which he could not remember, offhand. And to think that it’s been
tucked away all these years in the Epictitus! Strange he didn’t find it
again soon after he had lost it.” Miss Hamilton knitted thoughtful
brows. “Ah, now I recall something that may have been the very
reason he didn’t. A friend gave him a very fine copy of Epictitus on
his birthday. He placed the new copy on his desk, in his study. It was
in a much larger print than the other, and his eyes had begun to fail
him considerably then.”
Miss Susanna turned leaf upon leaf of the notebook, reading aloud
to her interested audience of two as she turned them. “There, I
knew I was right about that.” She looked up triumphantly from the
book, then read, “‘Have decided to offer the fifty-thousand
conditional gift to Hamilton through the medium of “the one who
may arise” in my college. I shall ask Norris to handle the matter for
me. I can rely upon him for integrity, and at the same time be of
financial service to him since he is hard put at present in his law
business. I shall go to his office to talk things over with him
tomorrow.’”
“This little book is a precious find to me, girls.” Miss Hamilton’s
hands were trembling with the excitement of what she had just
read. “Uncle Brooke had sometimes spoken vaguely to me of some
such plan he had in mind for the college, but I never knew whether,
or no, he had put it into execution. This annotation tells me that he
must have done so. Once he had put his hand to the plow, he never
turned back.”
The abstracted light in the old lady’s eyes spelled her absorbed
listeners to silence. They continued to watch her as she turned the
next leaf, waiting to hear more from her at will. The time-yellowed
leaves of the note book continued to turn under her small fingers.
She was evidently in search of further data concerning her kinsman’s
avowed project.
“Ah; here it is!” she exclaimed. “‘Saw Norris last Tuesday. Have
completed arrangements with him for the “Brooke Hamilton Honor
Fund.” For particulars and necessary accompanying papers, see
secret drawer.’”
“The secret drawer!” Marjorie cried. “It is in Mr. Brooke’s study desk,
isn’t it? Didn’t you say once to me that there was a secret drawer in
the desk?”
“Yes,” An oddly puzzled frown had sprung between Miss Hamilton’s
brows. “I don’t understand what Uncle Brooke meant. There is
nothing in the secret drawer in his study desk. I know that positively
because Jonas and I examined it quite a long time after Uncle’s
death. Jonas knew how to open it. I hadn’t known until he showed
me. There were a few letters in it then, which I turned over to you,
Marjorie, together with other material for the biography. None of
those letters related to either this man Norris, or the honor fund.
Please ring for Jonas, Leslie. He may know of another secret drawer
here. I surely do not.” Miss Susanna looked nonplussed.
“Who is, or, more likely was, the man Norris to whom he intrusted
the matter?” Leslie asked in her keen fashion. “If living, he would be
a very old man now.”
“I don’t know who he is, or was, as the case may he,” Miss Hamilton
replied, a note of distress in her answer. “According to Uncle
Brooke’s notes he is, or was, a lawyer. I know of no lawyer, however,
by the name of Norris, who was practicing law in the town of
Hamilton at that time.” She shook a puzzled head.
Jonas just then appearing in the library doorway, Miss Hamilton
turned eagerly to him, “Jonas, do you know of another secret drawer
here at the Arms besides the one in Uncle Brooke’s study desk?”
Jonas came forward without answering the question, his white
brows contracted in an evident effort at recollection.
“I don’t know where there is another secret drawer at the Arms,” he
said slowly, “but it seems to me I once heard Mr. Brooke speak of
one. I can’t think now, when, or why, he spoke about it. Maybe it’ll
come back to me after a while. I only think that he did speak of it to
me,” the old houseman ended with certainty.
“Marjorie found Uncle Brooke’s notebook; the one he lost, and
worried about losing.” Miss Hamilton held up the little black book,
relating to Jonas in an excited voice the circumstances of the finding
and the important information it contained concerning the “Honor
Fund.”
Jonas’s fine old features registered marked surprise. “He talked to
me about that honor fund, different times,” he said, an excited note
in his own voice. “He must have put his idea through, or he wouldn’t
have written that in the notebook.”
“Do you recall a lawyer in Hamilton by the name of Norris, Jonas?”
Miss Susanna had fixed hopeful eyes on Jonas.
“No,” Jonas answered after due deliberation. “I never heard Mr.
Brooke mention any such man, either. He must have lived there,
though, or in some near-by town. Mr. Brooke said in the note you
just read me that he was going to this man Norris’s office the next
day to see him.”
“Yes,” the old lady nodded, “I wish you to go to Hamilton town this
afternoon, Jonas, and see John Saxe. He knows everybody in the
town and around it. Ask him to look up this man Norris, if he can, as
soon as possible. It was his business to write me concerning this
trust directly after Uncle Brooke’s death. Possibly he thought I knew
the situation regarding it. Nevertheless, he should have
communicated with me, at any rate. He must have been living then.
If he had died before Uncle Brooke died Uncle would have made a
new arrangement with another lawyer about the fund.”
“Perhaps he may have done so, and any data which might relate to
the change of lawyers is in the secret drawer, too,” Marjorie
suggested.
“And we haven’t the remotest idea of where that mysterious secret
drawer may be!” Miss Susanna’s small hands went up in a despairing
gesture.
“Some Chinese puzzle,” Leslie commented.
“Maybe the secret drawer is somewhere in the Chinese room,” came
as a sudden inspiration from Marjorie, prompted by Leslie’s mention
of the word “Chinese.”
“It may be there.” Miss Hamilton cast a half startled glance at her
companions. “The room has a number of odd Oriental stands and
cabinets, any one of them might easily contain a secret drawer. To
find it, though!” Up went her hands again. “A needle-in-the-haystack
search, I’m afraid. I know less about the Chinese room than any
other room in the house. Jonas is far more familiar with it than I.
You’ll have to be chief hunter, there, Jonas.”
“I guess I will.” Jonas looked pleased at being thus appointed to the
search.
“One thing is certain. The secret drawer must be found. It is
somewhere in this house which narrows down the area to be
searched to the few rooms Uncle Brooke continually used,—his
bedroom, his study, the Chinese room and the library. Of the four, I
should say the library is the least likely to contain it. The only piece
of furniture in here that might contain it is the library table. I doubt
the possibility of there being a secret drawer in it.”
Miss Susanna rose, went over to the massive, claw-legged
mahogany table, and began a slow prowl about it, her sharp eyes
taking in its every detail. Jonas had already begun the search,
tapping the sides of the table as he peered along the carvings of
them for what might prove to be a cunningly concealed spring. He
opened the drawers of the table, subjecting the inside of them to
the same careful examination.
“There’s no secret drawer in this table,” was his opinion, spoken at
the end of his methodical investigation.
“I’m satisfied, too, there isn’t,” agreed the mistress of the Arms.
“Tomorrow, Jonas, we will tackle the study. There may be another
secret drawer in the study desk besides the one of which we know.
This afternoon I want you to go to Hamilton and see what you can
learn regarding Lawyer Norris. If we should be lucky enough to find
the secret drawer within the next few days it won’t be necessary to
start an investigation, regarding the fifty thousand dollars involved in
this affair. The one note plainly states Uncle Brooke’s intention of
offering a fifty thousand dollar honorarium to Hamilton College
under certain conditions, laid down by him. The note of later date
states that he completed some sort of arrangement for it with
Lawyer Norris. As a trust fund the fifty thousand would have,
probably, been deposited in bank at once by Norris. Uncle Brooke
used the Hamilton Trust largely, although he was a depositor in
several New York City banks. If he gave his check for the honor fund
to Norris, together with instructions to him to deposit the check, it
may be the Hamilton Bank was used for the transaction. In such
case the bank should have the record of the transaction. If so, why
was I not notified of it soon after Uncle Brooke’s death?” Miss
Susanna’s question was asked with hurt belligerence.
“An arrangement entire separate from your kinsman’s other financial
affairs may have been made by him with Norris,” Leslie hazarded.
“His notes state his confidence in Norris. No doubt then he made the
check out to Norris. Of course he might have given him bonds
instead.”
“He had no bonds at the time he sent for Norris. His large fortune
was almost all in cash or in real estate. His father left him a great
deal of land, in and about Hamilton, and Hamilton Estates. I’d prefer
not to call the Hamilton Trust into the matter, though we may find it
necessary in the long run to do so.”
“Surely, if the Hamilton Bank had been asked to handle the check
you would have heard something about the matter, either directly, or
indirectly, during all the years you have lived at the Arms,” was
Leslie’s further opinion.
“I’m inclined to that view of it, too. I doubt if the Hamilton Bank is in
any way concerned in this Norris business.”
“Why not let my father investigate for you?” proposed Leslie. “He’s
coming to Hamilton to see me for a day or two, soon after he lands.
If, by that time, you haven’t found the secret drawer, then please let
my father help you in the matter, Miss Susanna,” Leslie earnestly
petitioned.
“Peter? I never once thought of him!” Miss Susanna exclaimed,
brightening visibly. “He’s the very man I need to help me. I should
be eternally grateful to him, if he would.”
“He will,” Leslie promised.
“There’s more to this than appears on the surface.” Miss Hamilton’s
lips set themselves in severe line. “Granted we find the secret
drawer, the finding of the data relating to the honor fund may only
serve to prove treachery to his trust on Lawyer Norris’s part. As heir
to my uncle’s fortune and estate, Hamilton Arms, he at least owed it
to me to inform me of the trust Uncle Brooke had reposed in him.”
“Possibly he was under the impression that you knew of the fifty-
thousand dollar fund through your uncle, and had been instructed by
Mr. Brooke to assume the responsibility of choosing ‘the one’ in the
event of his death,” Marjorie made meditative suggestion. “In such
case, he might wait for you to communicate with him regarding it.”
“I’ll admit such a contingency,” the old lady conceded rather
reluctantly. “We’re all at sea in the matter, it seems. Either Norris, or
else the secret drawer, must be found; both preferably.”
“This much seems certain, Lawyer Norris was not commissioned by
Mr. Brooke to choose ‘the one’ in the event of Mr. Brooke’s decease,”
Marjorie said.
“I’m not so sure of that.” Miss Susanna showed inclination toward
distrust of the lawyer. “Uncle Brooke never did things by halves. You
must remember, this particular transaction was made less than two
years before his death. He was then over eighty years old. He knew
his end was near. He had often said as much to me. I believe he
would have appointed me to choose ‘the one’; not the man Norris. I
knew Uncle; his hopes, dreams; ideals, and he knew that I knew
them. I can’t understand why he did not confide in me at the time
he formulated a definite plan.” Her voice trembled a trifle on the last
words, the manifestation of a hurt spirit.
“I’ve no doubt but that the lost papers may hold an explanation of
that,” Marjorie advanced comfortingly, “and they’re tucked away
somewhere in this very house. Somehow, I have faith in Lawyer
Norris. Mr. Brooke would not have chosen him for such an important
responsibility if he hadn’t been sure of his truth and honor.
“Uncle Brooke’s staunchest advocate.” Miss Susanna drew Marjorie,
standing beside her, into the circle of an arm. “If neither the papers,
nor Lawyer Norris should be found, I could still carry out his wish.
The important point to be considered, after all, would not be the fifty
thousand dollars. The finding of ‘the one’ would be the real problem,
except—” her eyes came to rest with luminous tenderness upon the
lovely face bent seriously upon her,—“the one has already been
found. I found her for Uncle Brooke, long ago, not far from my
gates. She helped a very cranky old lady pick up an overturned
basket of plant pots, and showed her how beautiful girlhood might
be. Afterward, I came to know her better, not only as a friend, but
as an inspiration to Uncle Brooke’s college, giving her best to it
because of her appreciation of its founder. He chose the motto ‘Her
ways led upward toward the stars,’ as applicable to ‘the one.’
Without knowing it I chose the same motto as best suited to
Marjorie. It is almost as though I had received his direct approval of
my choice.”
 CHAPTER XVI

LESLIE’S QUEER PROBLEM

“And is it yourself, and no other? Is it not time you put in an

appearance at the Hall with many apologies for having forgotten
us?” Leila Harper ushered Marjorie into her room, her smiling lips in
decided apposition to her severe tone.
“It is myself, and, may I ask, who else might it be?” Marjorie
retorted as she and Leila enthusiastically wrung hands.
“Ask me nothing. I am that glad to see you, I have no flip answer at
my tongue’s end. We have all been busy, it would seem. I have been
at the Playhouse, with only the typewriter for company, pounding
out the parts for my opening play. Midget was invited to become co-
editor with Jane Everest on the ‘Campus Echo.’ Leslie is wrestling
with a queer problem of her own. You will hear more about it this
evening. And Hamilton Arms has held you a willing captive. We
should have come to see you in the evening, except that we have
had callers here every night for a week. The Bertramites dinner at
Baretti’s ended my social rush for a while. I shall begin to lead the
life of a hermit for the next three weeks.”
“You can’t. Miss Susanna had ordered yours and Vera’s presence at
the Arms at seven o’clock dinner tomorrow night. You are to bring
Kathie, Lucy, Lillian and Doris with you. You are to tear them away
from any engagements they may have made. Goldendede has
something important to tell the Travelers. Robin and Phil are coming,
too. I’ve already ’phoned them.”
“Now what has happened?” Leila cocked her head inquisitively to
one side. “This much I can guess. Leslie knows all about it. When I
asked her for news of the Arms last night, knowing that she had
lunched there yesterday, she had little to say except that the library
looked fine, and Miss Susanna was well. I saw mystery in the tail of
her eye. But I am so polite. I said nothing to her about it.” Leila gave
Marjorie a drolly hopeful glance.
“I tell you a tiny little bit, Leila Greatheart,” Marjorie conceded
indulgently. “Something happened yesterday at the Arms that was in
the nature of an astonishing surprise. Leslie was there when it
happened. Goldendede wishes the girls she has invited to dinner to
hear about it. She intends to tell them.”
Marjorie felt the color rising in her cheeks. Her own surprise at the
finding of Brooke Hamilton’s notebook had been secondary to that of
Miss Hamilton’s avowed choice of “the one.” To cover her sudden
feeling of confusion she asked hastily, “Where is Vera?”
“Now you are asking me something. Midget is at the freshie frolic.
It’s tonight, you know, and seems a very clannish affair. There were
more than enough sophs to go round. No juniors or seniors were
invited this year to help on escort duty. Midget was asked to be one
of the three judges of the beauty contest. She, Doris and Calista
Wilmot are the fateful trio. The contest was to be held at nine-thirty,
so Midget will be here before you go.”
“There’s a freshie at the dormitory who ought to win it,” Marjorie
declared with enthusiasm. “I don’t know her name, but I do know
she is a beauty. I happened to be over at the dorm the day she
arrived. She actually took my breath. She has violet blue eyes and
curly black auburn hair, and the sweetest face, with a skin like a
roseleaf.”
“I’ve met her. Her name is Carol Burke. The dorms are hoping she’ll
win the contest. They say, though, that she will be awfully upset, if
she should win it; that she’s very shy, and retiring, with but little idea
of her own good looks. That is the way you were, Beauty, when I
dragged you into the first contest.” Leila flashed Marjorie one of her
inimitable smiles.
“I remember I felt awfully cross with you because of it,” Marjorie
reminded. “Now, in my settled old age, I can afford to smile over it.”
“But if you were to walk into the gym tonight in your violet dress you
would win it again,” Leila predicted.
“My violet dress!” Marjorie hurried away from the subject of the
contest. “It seems strange, Leila, but it looks as lovely as ever; not a
bit old style. Captain shortened it and took out the sleeves, and now
it’s a dream. How are the Bertramites? I must have them over at the
Rest soon to dinner.”
“They are—” Two deliberate, successive knocks on the door sent
Leila scurrying to open it for Leslie, who had dropped Marjorie at the
Hall and had then gone on to the garage with her roadster.
“Come on into my room for a while,” Leslie invited. “Marjorie hasn’t
seen Fifteen since it was done over. Jewel Marie is gaily fox-trotting
at the frolic, thank goodness, and we can discuss the affairs of the
universe in peace. Leave a scrawl on the table for Vera when she
comes in, Leila. Have you seen Miss Remson yet?” she turned to
Marjorie.
“Yes; only for a moment. She had to go to town on unexpected
business. I’ll run over tomorrow to see her. Goldendede wants her to
be at the dinner tomorrow night.”
“’Tis done. ‘Midget, Attention! Come to Fifteen. No knocking
necessary,’” Leila read out, then gave the penned message a
vigorous drying fluttering before running it through with a long,
black-headed pin, and sticking the pin into the middle of the study
table.
Leslie closed the door of Fifteen behind her comrades to the tune of
admiring exclamation from Marjorie.
“Can this celostrous cozy corner be old Fifteen?” Marjorie’s face
glowed appreciation of Leslie’s artistry.
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