Jessie Graham Flower - Grace Harlowe\'s First Year at Overton College

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GRACE HARLOWE'S FIRST YEAR AT OVERTON COLLEGE

by

JESSIE GRAHAM FLOWER, A. M.

Author of The Grace Harlowe High School Girls Series, Grace
Harlowe's Second Year at Overton College, Grace Harlowe's
Third Year at Overton College, Grace Harlowe's
Fourth Year at Overton College.

[Illustration: J. Elfreda Had Evidently Found Friends.
_Frontispiece_.]

Philadelphia
Henry Altemus Company
Copyright, 1914, by Howard E. Altemus

CONTENTS

Chapter Page

I. Off To College 7

II. J. Elfreda Introduces Herself 15

III. First Impressions 29

IV. Miriam's Unwelcome Surprise 44

V. An Interrupted Study Hour 55

VI. A Disturbing Note 62

VII. Grace Takes Matters Into Her Own Hands 72

VIII. The Sophomore Reception 84

IX. Disagreeable News 95

X. The Making of The Team 102

XI. Anne Wins a Victory 109

XII. Ups and Downs 118

XIII. Grace Turns Electioneer 125

XIV. An Invitation and a Misunderstanding 132

XV. Greeting Old Friends 142

XVI. Thanksgiving with the Southards 150

XVII. Christmas Plans 161

XVIII. Basketball Rumors 171

XIX. A Game Worth Seeing 181

XX. Grace Overhears Something Interesting 190

XXI. An Unheeded Warning 206

XXII. Turning the Tables 214

XXIII. Virginia Changes Her Mind 227

XXIV. Good-bye to their Freshman Year 239

Grace Harlowe's First Year
at Overton College

CHAPTER I

OFF TO COLLEGE

"Do you remember what you said one October day last year, Grace, when we
stood on this platform and said good-bye to the boys?" asked Anne
Pierson.

"No, what did I say?" asked Grace Harlowe, turning to her friend Anne.

"You said," returned Anne, "that when it came your turn to go to college
you were going to slip away quietly without saying good-bye to any one
but your mother, and here you are with almost half Oakdale at the train
to see you off to college."

"Now, Anne, you know perfectly well that people are down here to see you
and Miriam, too," laughed Grace. "I'm not half as much of a celebrity as
you are."

Grace Harlowe, Miriam Nesbit and Anne Pierson stood on the station
platform completely surrounded by their many friends, who, regardless
of the fact that it was half-past seven o'clock in the morning, had made
it a point to be at the station to wish them godspeed.

"This is the second public gathering this week," remarked Miriam Nesbit,
who, despite the chatter that was going on around her, had heard Grace's
laughing remark.

"I know it," agreed Grace. "There was just as large a crowd here when
Nora and Jessica went away last Monday. Doesn't it seem dreadful that we
are obliged to be separated? How I hated to see the girls go. And we
won't be together again until Christmas."

"Oh, here come the boys!" announced Eva Allen, who, with Marian Barber,
had been standing a little to one side of the three girls.

At this juncture four smiling young men hurried through the crowd of
young people and straight to the circle surrounding the three girls,
where they were received with cries of: "We were afraid you'd be too
late!" and, "Why didn't you get here earlier?"

"We're awfully sorry!" exclaimed David Nesbit. "We had to wait for
Hippy. He overslept as usual. We threw as much as a shovelful of
gravel against his window, but he never stirred. Finally we had to waken
his family and it took all of them to waken him."

"Don't you believe what David Nesbit says," retorted Hippy. "Do you
suppose I slept a wink last night knowing that the friends of my youth
were about to leave me?" Hippy sniffed dolefully and buried his face in
his handkerchief.

"Now, now, Hippy," protested Miriam. "If you insist on shedding
crocodile tears, although I don't believe you could be sad long enough
to shed even that kind, we shall feel that you are glad to get rid of
us."

"Never!" ejaculated Hippy fervently. "Oh, if I only had Irish Nora here
to stand up for me! She wouldn't allow any one, except herself, to speak
harsh and cruel words to me."

"We shan't be able to speak many more words of any kind to you," said
Miriam, consulting her watch. "The train is due in ten minutes."

When Grace Harlowe and her three dear friends, Nora O'Malley, Jessica
Bright and Anne Pierson, began to make history for themselves in their
freshman year at Oakdale High School, none of them could possibly
imagine just how dear they were to become to the hearts of the hundreds
of girls who made their acquaintance in "Grace Harlowe's Plebe Year
at High School." The story of their freshman year was one of
manifold trials and triumphs. It was at the beginning of that year that
Grace Harlowe had championed the cause of Anne Pierson, a newcomer in
Oakdale. Then and there a friendship sprang up between the two girls
that was destined to be life long. The repeated efforts of several
malicious girls to discredit Anne in the eyes of her teachers, and her
final triumph in winning the freshman prize offered to the class by Mrs.
Gray, a wealthy resident of Oakdale, made the narrative one of interest
and aroused a desire on the part of the reader to know more of Grace
Harlowe and her friends.

In "Grace Harlowe's Sophomore Year at High School" the girl
chums appeared as basketball enthusiasts. In this volume was related the
efforts of Julia Crosby, a disagreeable junior, and Miriam Nesbit, a
disgruntled sophomore, to disgrace Anne and wrest the basketball
captaincy from Grace. Through the magnanimity of Grace Harlowe, Miriam
and Julia were brought to a realization of their own faults, and in time
became the faithful friends of both Anne and Grace.

During "Grace Harlowe's Junior Year at High School" the famous
sorority, the Phi Sigma Tau, was organized by the four chums for the
purpose of looking after high school girls who stood in need of
assistance. In that volume Eleanor Savelli, the self-willed daughter of
an Italian violin virtuoso, made her appearance. The difficulties Grace
and her chums encountered in trying to befriend Eleanor and her final
contemptuous repudiation of their friendship made absorbing reading for
those interested in following the fortunes of the Oakdale High School
girls.

Their senior year was perhaps the most eventful of all. At the very
beginning of the fall term the high school gymnasium was destroyed by
fire. Failing to secure an appropriation from either the town or state,
the four classes of the girls' high school pledged themselves to raise
the amount of money required to rebuild the gymnasium. In "Grace
Harlowe's Senior Year at High School" the story of the senior class
bazaar, the daring theft of their hard-earned money before the bazaar
had closed, and Grace Harlowe's final recovery of the stolen money under
the strangest of circumstances, furnished material for a narrative of
particular interest. After graduation the four chums, accompanied by
their nearest and dearest friends, had spent a long and delightful
summer in Europe. On returning to Oakdale the real parting of the ways
had come, for Nora and Jessica had already departed for an eastern city
to enter a well known conservatory of music. Marian Barber and Eva Allen
were to enter Smith College the following week, Eleanor Savelli had
long since sailed for Italy, and now the morning train was to bear
Miriam Nesbit, Grace Harlowe and Anne Pierson to Overton, an eastern
college finally decided upon by the three girls.

"Last year we left you on the station platform gazing mournfully after
the train that bore _me_ away from Oakdale," remarked Hippy
reminiscently. "How embarrassed I felt at so much attention, and yet how
sweet it was to know that you had gathered here, not to see David
Nesbit, Reddy Brooks, Tom Gray or any such insignificant persons off to
school, but that I, Theophilus Hippopotamus Wingate, was the object of
your tender solicitations."

"I expected it," groaned David. "I don't see why we ever woke him up and
dragged him along."

"As I was about to say when rudely interrupted," continued Hippy calmly,
"I shall miss you, of course, but not half so much as you will miss me.
I hope you will think of me, and you may write to me occasionally if it
will be a satisfaction to you. I know you will not forget me. Who,
having once met me, could forget?"

Hippy folded his arms across his chest and looked languishingly at the
three girls.

A chorus of giggles from those grouped around the girls and derisive
groans from the boys greeted Hippy's sentimental speech.

Suddenly a long, shrill whistle was heard.

"That's your train, girls," said Mr. Harlowe, who with Mrs. Harlowe,
Mrs. Nesbit and Mary Pierson had drawn a little to one side while their
dear ones said their last farewells to their four boy friends. The
circle about the three girls closed in. The air resounded with
good-byes. The last kisses and handshakes were exchanged. Reckless
promises to send letters and postcards were made. Then, still
surrounded, Grace, Miriam and Anne made their way to the car steps and
into the train. Grace clung first to her mother then to her father. "How
can I do without you?" she said over and over again. Tears stood in her
gray eyes. She winked them back bravely. "I'm going to show both of you
just how much I appreciate going to college by doing my very best," she
whispered. Her father patted her reassuringly on the shoulder while her
mother gave her a last loving kiss.

"I know you will, dear child," she said affectionately. "Remember,
Grace," added her father, a suspicious mist in his own eyes, "you are
not to rush headlong into things. You are to do a great deal of looking
before you even make up your mind to leap."

"I'll remember, Father. Truly I will," responded Grace, her face
sobering.

"All aboard! All aboard!" shouted the conductor. Those who had entered
the train to say farewell left it hurriedly.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" cried Grace, leaning out the car window.

From the platform as the train moved off, clear on the air, rose the
Oakdale High School yell.

"It's in honor of us," said Grace softly. "Dear old Oakdale. I wonder if
we can ever like college as well as we have high school."

CHAPTER II

J. ELFREDA INTRODUCES HERSELF.

For the first half hour the three girls were silent. Each sat wrapped in
her own thoughts, and those thoughts centered upon the dear ones left
behind. Anne, whose venture into the theatrical world had necessitated
her frequent absence from home, felt the wrench less than did Grace or
Miriam. Aside from their summer vacations they had never been away from
their mothers for any length of time. To Grace, as she watched the
landscape flit by, the thought of the ever widening distance between her
and her mother was intolerable. She experienced a strong desire to bury
her face in her hands and sob disconsolately, but bravely conquering the
sense of loneliness that swept over her, she threw back her shoulders
and sitting very straight in her seat glanced almost defiantly about
her.

"Well, Grace, have you made up your mind to be resigned?" asked Miriam
Nesbit. "That sudden world-defying glance that you just favored us with
looks as though the victory was won."

"Miriam, you are almost a mind reader," laughed Grace. "I've been on
the verge of a breakdown ever since we left Oakdale, and in this very
instant I made up my mind to be brave and not cry a single tear. Look at
Anne. She is as calm and unemotional as a statue."

"That's because I'm more used to being away from home," replied Anne.
"Troupers are not supposed to have feelings. With them, it is here
to-day and gone to-morrow."

"Yes, but you were transplanted to Oakdale soil for four years,"
reminded Grace.

"I know it," returned Anne reflectively. "I do feel dreadfully sad at
leaving my mother and sister, too. Still, when I think that I'm actually
on the way to college at last, I can't help feeling happy, too."

"Dear little Anne," smiled Grace. "College means everything to you,
doesn't it? That's because you've earned every cent of your college
money."

"And I'll have to earn a great deal more to see me through to
graduation," added Anne soberly. "My vacations hereafter must be spent
in work instead of play."

"What are you going to do to earn money during vacations, Anne?" asked
Miriam rather curiously.

"I might as well confess to you girls that I'm going to do the work I
can do most successfully," said Anne in a low voice. "I'm going to try
to get an engagement in a stock theatrical company every summer until I
graduate. I can earn far more money at that than doing clerical work. I
received a long letter from Mr. Southard last week and also one from his
sister. They wish me to come to New York as soon as my freshman year at
college is over. Mr. Southard writes that he can get an engagement for
me in a stock company. I'll have to work frightfully hard, for there
will be a matinee every day as well as a regular performance every
night, and I'll have a new part to study each week. But the salary will
more than compensate me for my work. You know that Mary did dress-making
and worked night and day to send me to high school. Of course, my five
dollars a week from Mrs. Gray helped a great deal, but up to the time
Mr. Southard sent for me to go to New York City to play Rosalind I
didn't really think of college as at all certain. Before I left New York
for Oakdale, Mr. and Miss Southard and I had a long talk. They made me
see that it was right to use the talent God had given me by appearing in
worthy plays. Mr. Southard pointed out the fact that I could earn enough
money by playing in stock companies in the summer to put me through
college and at the same time contribute liberally to my mother's
support.

"The home problem was really the greatest to be solved. I felt that it
wouldn't be right for me to even work my way through college and leave
Mary to struggle on alone, after she had worked so hard to help me get a
high school education. So the stage seemed to be my one way out after
all. And when once I had definitely decided to do as Mr. Southard
recommended me to do I was happier than I had been for ages."

"Anne Pierson, you quiet little mouse!" exclaimed Grace. "Why didn't you
tell us all this before? You are the most provoking Anne under the sun.
Here I've been worrying about you having to wait on table or do tutoring
and odds and ends of work to put yourself through college, while all the
time you were planning something different. We all know you're too proud
to let any of your friends help you, but since you are determined to
make your own way I'm glad that you have chosen the stage, after all."

"I think you are wise, Anne," agreed Miriam. "With two such people as
Mr. Southard and his sister to look after you, there can be no objection
to your following your profession."

"I am glad to know that you girls look at the matter in that light,"
replied Anne.

"Suppose we had offered any objections?" asked Grace.

"I'll answer that question," said Miriam. "Anne would have followed the
path she had marked out for herself regardless of our objections. Am I
right, Anne?"

"I don't know," said Anne, flushing deeply. "You have all been so good
to me. I couldn't bear to displease my dearest friends, but it would be
hard to give up something I knew could result in nothing save good for
me." Anne paused and looked at Grace and Miriam with pleading eyes.

"Never mind, dear," comforted Grace. "We approve of you and all your
works. We are not shocked because you are a genius. We are sworn
advocates of the stage and only too glad to know that it has opened the
way to college for you."

"Shall you let the fact that you have appeared professionally be known
at Overton?" asked Miriam.

"I shall make no secret of it," returned Anne quietly, "but I won't
volunteer any information concerning it."

"I wonder what our freshman year at Overton will bring us," mused Grace.
"I have read so many stories about college life, and yet so far Overton
seems like an unknown land that we are about to explore. From all I have
heard and read, exploring freshmen find their first term at college
anything but a bed of roses. They are sometimes hazed unmercifully by
the upper classes, and their only salvation lies in silently standing
the test. Julia Crosby says that she had all sorts of tricks played on
her during her first term at Smith. Now she's a sophomore and can make
life miserable for the freshmen. I am going to try to cultivate the true
college spirit," concluded Grace earnestly. "College is going to mean
even more to me than high school. I don't imagine it's all going to be
plain sailing. I suppose, more than once, I'll wish myself back in
Oakdale, but I'm going to make up my mind to take the bitter with the
sweet and set everything down under the head of experience."

"To tell you the truth," Miriam said slowly, "I am not enthusiastic over
college. I value it as a means of continuing my education, and I'll try
to live up to college ideals, but I'm not going to let anyone walk over
me or ridicule me. I'm willing 'to live and let live,' but, as Eleanor
Savelli used to say when in a towering rage, 'no one can trample upon me
with impunity.'"

"I wonder when we shall see Eleanor again," said Anne, smiling a little
at the recollection called up by Miriam's quotation.

"That reminds me," exclaimed Grace. "I have a letter from Eleanor that
I haven't opened. It came this morning just before I left the house."
Fumbling in her bag, Grace drew forth a bulky looking letter, bearing a
foreign postmark, and tearing open the end, drew out several closely
folded sheets of thin paper covered with Eleanor's characteristic
handwriting.

"Shall I read it aloud?" asked Grace.

"By all means," said Miriam with emphasis.

Grace began to read. Anne, who sat beside her, looked over her shoulder,
while Miriam, who sat opposite Grace, leaned forward in order to catch
every word. They were so completely occupied with their own affairs,
none of them noticed that the train had stopped. Suddenly a voice
shrilled out impatiently, "Is this seat engaged?" With one accord the
three girls glanced up. Before them stood a tall, rather stout young
woman with a full, red face, whose frowning expression was anything but
reassuring.

"Yes--no, I mean," replied Grace hastily.

"I thought not," remarked the stranger complacently as she stolidly
seated herself beside Miriam and deposited a traveling bag partly on the
floor and partly on Grace's feet.

"These seats are ridiculously small," grumbled the stranger, bending
over to jam her traveling bag more firmly into the space from which
Grace had hastily withdrawn her feet. Then straightening up suddenly,
her heavily plumed hat collided with the hand in which Grace held
Eleanor's letter, scattering the sheets in every direction. With a
little cry of concern Grace sprang to her feet and, stepping out in the
aisle, began to pick them up. Having recovered the last one she turned
to her seat only to find it occupied by their unwelcome fellow traveler.

"I changed seats," commented the stout girl stolidly. "I never could
stand it to ride backwards."

Grace looked first at the stranger then from Miriam to Anne. Miriam
looked ready for battle, while even mild little Anne glared resentfully
at the rude newcomer. Grace hesitated, opened her mouth as though about
to speak, then without saying a word sat down in the vacant place and
began to rearrange the sheets of her letter.

"I'll finish this some other time, girls," she said briefly.

"Oh, you needn't mind me," calmly remarked the stranger. "I don't mind
listening to letters. That is if they've got anything in them besides 'I
write these few lines to tell you that I am well and hope you are the
same.' That sort of stuff makes me sick. Goodness knows, I suppose
that's the kind I'll have handed to me all year. Neither Ma nor Pa can
write a letter that sounds like anything."

By this time Miriam's frown had begun to disappear, while Anne's eyes
were dancing.

Grace looked at the stout girl rather curiously, an expression of new
interest dawning in her eyes. "Are you going to college?" she asked.

"Well, I rather guess I am," was the quick reply. "I'll bet you girls
are in the same boat with me, too. What college do you get off at?"

"Overton," answered Grace.

"Then you haven't seen the last of me," assured the stranger, "for I'm
going there myself and I'd just about as soon go to darkest Africa or
any other heathen place."

"Why don't you wish to go to Overton?" asked Anne.

"Because I don't want to go to college at all," was the blunt answer. "I
want to go to Europe with Ma and Pa and have a good time. We have loads
of money, but what good does that do me if I can't get a chance to spend
it? I'd fail in all my exams if I dared, but Pa knows I'm not a wooden
head, and I'd just have to try it again somewhere else. So I'll have to
let well enough alone or get in deeper than I am now."

The stout girl leaned back in her seat and surveyed the trio of girls
through half-closed eyes. "Where did you girls come from and what are
your names?" she asked abruptly. "Partners in misery might as well get
acquainted, you know."

Grace introduced her friends in turn, then said: "My name is Grace
Harlowe, and we three girls live in the city of Oakdale."

"Never heard of it," yawned the girl. "It must be like Fairview, our
town, not down on the map. We live there, because Ma was born there and
thinks it the only place on earth, but we manage to go to New York
occasionally, thank goodness. Ever been there?" she queried.

"Once or twice," smiled Miriam Nesbit.

"Great old town, isn't it?" remarked their new acquaintance. "My name is
J. Elfreda Briggs. The J. stands for Josephine, but I hate it. Ma and Pa
call me Fred, and that sounds pretty good to me. Say, aren't you girls
about starved? I'm going to hunt the dining car and buy food. I haven't
had anything to eat since eight o'clock this morning."

J. Elfreda rose hurriedly, and stumbling over her bag and Grace's feet,
landed in the aisle with more speed than elegance. "You'd better come
along," she advised. "They serve good meals on this train. Besides, I
don't want to eat alone." With that she stalked down the aisle and into
the car ahead.

"It looks as though we were to have plenty of entertainment for the rest
of our journey," remarked Anne.

"I prefer not to be entertained," averred Miriam dryly. "Personally, I
am far from impressed with J. Elfreda. She strikes me as being entirely
too fond of her own comfort. Now that she has vacated your seat, you had
better take it, Grace, before she comes back."

Grace shook her head. "I don't dislike riding backward," she said, "if
you don't mind having her sit beside you. Perhaps some one will leave
the train by the time she comes back; then she will leave us."

"No such good fortune," retorted Miriam. "She prefers our society to
none at all. I think her advice about luncheon isn't so bad, though.
Suppose we follow it?"

Five minutes later the three girls repaired to the dining car and seated
themselves at a table directly across the aisle from their new
acquaintance. J. Elfreda sat toying with her knife and fork, an
impatient frown on her smug face. "These people are the limit," she
grumbled. "It takes forever to get anything to eat. If I'd ordered it
yesterday, I'd have some hopes of getting it to-day." Then, apparently
forgetting the existence of the three girls, she sat with eyes fixed
hungrily on the door through which her waiter was momentarily expected
to pass. By the time that the chums had given their order to another
waiter, J. Elfreda's luncheon was served and she devoted herself
assiduously to it. When Grace and her friends had finished luncheon,
however, the stout girl still sat with elbows on the table waiting for a
second order of dessert.

"Good gracious!" remarked Miriam as they made their way back to their
seats. "No wonder J. Elfreda is stout! I suppose I shouldn't refer to
her, even behind her back, in such familiar terms, but nothing else
suits her. I'm not charitable like you, Grace. I haven't the patience to
look for the good in tiresome people like her. I think she's greedy and
selfish and ill-bred and I wouldn't care to live in the same house with
her."

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