Part 6 (1/2)
”O Lila,--my magnanimous roommate,--are you asleep? Do you want to listen to my last valentines? I intend to run down and put them in the senior caldron presently. Is this sentimental? When I read it to Berta, she laughed at it.
”My Music
”At thy birth were gathered voices of the sea, Murmur of the breezes in the forest tree, Songs of birds and laughter--”
At this point an open umbrella, which hid the pillow on the farther narrow bed, gave a convulsive s.h.i.+ver, and a fretful voice complained:
”Will you turn off that gas and stop your nonsense? Here it is midnight, if it's an hour, and I haven't slept a wink, with that light blazing. I know I shall fail in the written test to-morrow, Valentine's day or not.”
Bea stared pensively at the Topsy-like corona above the flushed face. ”I don't believe she ever puts her hair up in curlers now, do you? She is superior to such vanities, and anyway, it is naturally curly, you know, and that probably makes a difference. I wonder if she even stoops to making verses. Do you suppose she sends valentines to other girls? Of course, she doesn't care a snap whether she receives more than any, and is declared the most popular senior. H'm-m-m!” drifting into reverie afresh. ”I dare say I could compose a poem on that idea. For instance:
”I know a senior all sedate--”
The umbrella bounced tempestuously across the floor, and was followed by a pillow driven hard and straight at a tousled head that ducked just in time.
”U-huh!” ferociously. ”Well,
”I know a freshman, sure as fate!
Who shall no longer sit up late, Because her long-suffering roommate--”
Here the gas flared suddenly into darkness, and slippered feet scurried away from the desk. The door opened and shut quickly; and Bea, her valentines clutched safely against her dressing gown, was speeding through the dark corridors toward the senior parlor. There a kettle, overflowing with bits of white, swung from a tripod before the shadowy folds of the parlor portieres.
Ah! Bea, bending toward the caldron with arm extended, stiffened without moving. She had heard something. Yes, there it was again--a m.u.f.fled footfall on the stairs near by. Hark! Down the black shaft from the cave above came stealing a second slender figure in a flowing robe of some pale woolly stuff. In her hands also was clasped a packet of envelopes.
”h.e.l.lo, Berta!” Bea said.
”Oh, good-morning, Miss Leigh!” responded Berta, advancing with a tread the stateliness of which was somewhat impaired by a loosely flapping sole. ”Did you rise early in order to prepare for the Latin test?”
Bea brushed aside the query with the contempt it deserved. ”Are all those for your senior? I don't think it's fair for you to copy verses out of any old book, while every one of mine is original; and yet yours count exactly as much. Well, anyway, I wouldn't send my senior anything that was ordinary and unworthy of her acceptance. How many have you?”
This ign.o.ble curiosity was likewise ignored by Miss Berta, who proceeded with dignified slowness to drop her valentines one by one into the caldron. Bea, with lingering care, deposited her contribution on the very top. One slid over the edge, and in rescuing it she disturbed a fold of the portiere. A glimpse within set her eyes to sparkling.
”Berta, there's an open fire in the senior parlor, and it's still red!”
”Ho,” whispered Berta, in reply to the unspoken challenge, ”I'm not afraid! Let's,” and two flowing, woolly robes glided into the warm room, with its heart of glowing coals. One bold intruder nestled in the biggest arm-chair, the other fumbled for the tongs.
”Aren't we wicked! Robbie wouldn't do it.” Berta cuddled deeper among the comforting cus.h.i.+ons. ”But--oh!--doesn't it feel good in here!”
Bea poked a coal until it split into a faint blue blaze. ”We're worse than wicked. We're cheeky,--that's what,--coming into this room without being invited. Suppose some senior should discover us!” She paused, smitten by the terror of the new thought. ”Just suppose my senior should find me here! She has a horror of anything underhanded or sly. I should die of shame!” It was a genuine groan, and Berta was too startled to laugh.
”I guess it isn't very nice of us,” she acknowledged meekly.
”I'm going this instant.” Bea's hand was on the portiere when a rustling in the kettle caught her attention. Through a rift between the folds she spied lace ruffles about a delicate hand that was dropping envelopes down upon the others. Over the tripod a face appeared for one moment in the dim light, and then was gone. Light steps retreated swiftly, and a door closed not far away on the senior corridor. Bea had recognized her senior.
When the two midnight visitors stole timorously forth a moment later, Bea's eyes traveled wistfully toward the big envelope lying squarely on top of all the valentines.
Berta regarded her keenly. ”Why don't you march up and read the name, if you want to so much?” was her blunt question.
”She must be pretty fond of somebody,” whispered Bea, ”if she stayed up till now just to write valentines for her. I wish----”
”Do you think it is sneaking to look?” persisted Berta. ”If she objected to having it seen, she might have turned it address down.”