Chapter VIII

Knowing It All

“Once there was a girl whose character was read from her step while she was passing by out of sight; only it chanced that she was wearing bedroom slippers, and — . Ah, listen! That’s Lydia coming. Hear that determined tread. The tread of a person who is always right. Hard on the heels, don’t you think? Good afternoon, Miss Howard.” Myra slid hastily from her seat on the center-table. “Why, Lydia, you look as if you would like to throw things.”

“I should,” she responded grimly, “I should like to throw something hard.” Her armful of books skated across the desk to be intercepted by Elinor’s nimble fingers. A glimpse of Ruth behind Lydia showed that her eyes were twinkling. Myra cocked her head and clasped her hands in joyous faith that a joke was coming by-and-bye.

“What’s the matter?” she asked with unsympathetic cheerfulness.

“Nothing except that Miss Ewers opened the recitation by inquiring if anyone in the class could describe a titmouse. Everybody else stared at her so blankly that I volunteered. I told her that fortunately for her opinion of our division I had picked up a magazine in the reading-room some time ago and found an article on nature-study. I said that I was virtually positive about the facts, although the name was not absolutely familiar. I talked for five minute© about how the titmouse is a mammal with a pointed snout, that he lives in burrows and eats insects and has other fascinating habits. I said that I remembered his exact number of teeth, because I have always tried to cultivate scientific accuracy of observation.”

“Yes,” remarked Myra encouragingly, “that is about my own idea, though I feel a trifle more vague with regard to details.”

“Then somebody looked in a pocket dictionary and interrupted me to say that a titmouse does not live in a burrow or have a pointed snout, because it happens to be a bird.”

“A bird!” echoed Myra with a little gasp and a giggle as she ducked her head to the shelter of her latticed fingers, “but you were right about eating insects, weren’t you? That ought to be a comfort. Did the girls laugh? Did they laugh — at you?”

“They did,” corroborated Lydia, “I never felt so — so disconcerted in all my life.”

“What nice words you do use!” sighed Myra, “that’s the way I feel quite often, but I have never succeeded in expressing it so satisfactorily. I call it cheap. Did — did Miss Ewers commend your scientific accuracy?”

Elinor perceived a quiver of genuine mortification under Lydia’s reluctant smile and hastened to divert Myra’s energies. “I’e felt like throwing things myself after having an interview with a purring critic. She was so afraid of hurting my sensibilities that she purred and smoothed, and smoothed and purred, till I was bristling all over inside, like a porcupine ready to hurl its quills.”

“A porcupine can’t hurl its quills, Elinor Offitt,” quibbled Myra, “you’re discouragingly inaccurate for a sophomore, I must say. For such a charming granddaughter with the magical smile — that’s what the seniors say about you. Help, oh, help!”

Elinor doubled her fist and Myra danced tantalizingly near the door till Ruth with a sweep of one long arm lifted her out of the way. “I’m due for an essay interview this minute. Wish me joy!”

“Oh, you’re all right,” groaned Myra enviously, “because you can really write and they criticize you as if you were worth while. What is merely an exhilarating showerbath to you actually drowns and freezes me. I wish my critic would purr a little.”

“That’s another point,” said Lydia in a tone that from a smaller person might have sounded fretful, “when I went to my interview after luncheon, she never even looked around. She just kept on writing at her desk until she was ready. She did not even turn around to speak my name,” repeated offended Miss Howard.

“If she didn’t turn around, undoubtedly she failed to realize who you were,” spoke Myra in consoling accents, while she carried on a lively pantomime out of Lydia’s range of vision, and Elinor bent her eyes on her book in the desperate endeavor not to look.

“She pulled up her chair and rapped on my knee at every sentence of my essay about the Unselfishness of Culture, you know.”

“We know now,” Myra assured her, meanwhile keeping agilely invisible behind her back, while Lydia rummaged everywhere for a book borrowed by some unconscionable acquaintance.

“She said it was superficial, insincere, and untrue. She said it violated the principles of unity, mass, and coherence, and that I must never again write on both sides of the sheet. When she asked if I understood what I had written, I replied, ‘Perfectly, Miss Padan.’ She stared at me in the coolest way and remarked, ‘that is where you have the advantage of me, Miss Howard.’ “

Here a queer kind of suffocated explosion from Elinor’s direction attracted Lydia’s vexed attention. “Do shut that window or you will catch your death of cold. The girls here are inexcusable in falling ill on the slightest pretext. By the way, if you two are going out, will you walk as far as the drug store and bring me this prescription?”

Elinor rosily flushed and oddly short of breath was hurrying into her wraps. Myra composed herself.

“Certainly we will. Elinor, I’m ashamed of you. Why can’t you listen nicely to the lady? Are you under the weather, Lydia? Why don’t you consult the doctor here?”

“No, I am not sick. This is to be used as a disinfectant in case any of you need it. There is scarlet fever in town. As for the doctor, I do not agree with her views. When I objected to some medical decision, she said that she was too hoarse to argue. A physician with a bad cold — note that down! She whispered that I ought to have confidence in men at the head of the profession. Must I then surrender my right to independent reasoning? Must I bow to the dictates of intellectual autocrats?”

“That’s what I think in examinations,” murmured Myra. “But, Lydia, you are changing. You used to enjoy hygiene and agree with the doctor in everything and uphold the faculty and — “

“When I told her what harmful drugs were contained in that last compound which she gave Ruth, she said, `You know it all, don’t you?’ And then she laughed. The rest of the faculty are deteriorating also.”

“Um-m,” mumbled Myra, glancing around frantically for a pretext to laugh, “um-m-ahum, oho-hoho! Doesn’t Elinor look funny with — with her hat on! Her — her coat too — utterly ridiculous! Ohaha-ha! I beg your pardon for smiling, but she does amuse me so intensely with that — that collar on also. Oho-ho-ho! Now she has vanished down the staircase. I must run. Good-bye.”

A minute later Myra thrust a moderately solemn visage back through a crack of the door. “Oh, ah, by the way, Elinor wants to know if the faculty have refused to grant the petition for caps and gowns.”

“The question is to be presented this evening in a special meeting of the Students’ Association. Every member must be present. We shall make it unanimous, and then let the faculty reject it if they dare.”

That night after Chapel, when Prexie and the professors and instructors were marching out, leaving the students in possession, Lydia saw Ruth rise from her seat in the front pew of A’s and pass down the aisle. Lydia intercepted her at the door.

“Ruth, you must stay to the meeting. It is exceedingly important. Every student has a voice in this, and the authorities must understand that we stand united. It is a question of principle: with gowns to hide the shape of the sleeves, the poorer girls are relieved of the expense of following the fashions. Surely, Ruth, you are not so disloyal and unpatriotic and selfish as to grudge this hour for public business.”

“You may be my proxie,” answered Ruth as she paused reluctantly, “honestly, Lydia, I haven’t a minute to spare. This evening is the only time I have to spend on my article for the Monthly. The magazine goes to press to-morrow, and if I fail to have this printed I shall not be eligible for election on the board when the editors hold their annual meeting next week. It is my last chance. I would have been in line now if they had not used the editorial scissors so cruelly. Excuse me, Lydia, but I cannot possibly stay to-night.”

“Oh, you must. You are entirely mistaken about the annual meeting of the editorial board. It takes place in December. That will give you plenty of chance to get your article printed. I am well acquainted with the head junior editor, and she told me so herself. I distinctly remember the date. Sit down at once, Ruth. I am to present the arguments for the petition immediately. Trust my word about the Monthly. I know I am right.”

“Are you perfectly sure? I’d far rather have more time, if possible, especially as my head is muddled from four recitations to-day. If it will please you, Lydia, to have me remain, and you are sure?”

“Positive — absolutely. She said December without the smallest doubt. I heard it with my own ears. Ruth, don’t you think you will enjoy seconding the motion when I make it at the conclusion of the discussion? You must speak quickly. You will certainly be thankful that you stayed.”

During exactly forty minutes Ruth was thankful that she had stayed, for the debate was lively with girls hopping and popping up here and there like excited jack-in-the-boxes. The current of opinion set in more and more strongly toward Lydia’s convictions till at last, upon her hurried withdrawal and dramatic re-entry clad in cap and flowing gown, the petition was carried by unanimous acclaim. The cap was extremely becoming.

As the students poured out of the Chapel, Ruth was caught in a slow-moving eddy near the door, and overheard a whispered admonition.

“Remember! Every editor must be in the office by nine o’clock. The stuff for the next issue must go to the printers to-morrow, and we have not yet decided on the essay or the pastel. One of the literary heads will simply have to get to work and grind out a poem for the foot of the second page. We want to finish our term in a blaze of glory and hand over the old magazine proudly to the new board. They are to take hold in December, you know. There are some promising candidates for the election next week. Don’t forget nine o’clock.”

Fifteen minutes later Myra dashed into the library, leaving the baize doors swinging behind her, and routed out Elinor from her cosy nook in a narrow recess between tiers of shelves.

“Ruth’s in trouble. Crazy! Hair all every which way, ink on nose, elbows spread out on desk! Writing like mad! Door locked! I jigged and called till she let me in and told me to go away. She said she was in a rush to do that essay for the magazine because it is her last chance to qualify as a candidate. Eyes were wild.”

Elinor regarded Myra calmly before replacing her book in its section and leading the way into the corridor.

“Her eyes are generally more or less wild. What is that to me? It is her own fault if she leaves important work till the last minute. Geniuses are always erratic. If she were systematic like Lydia — “

“It was Lydia — it’s Lydia’s fault!” Myra clutched at Elinor’s shoulder. “Don’t you understand? Every minute counts. The editors meet in half an hour to choose the material for the Monthly, and if Ruth doesn’t get something in this time, she will not be eligible for election on the board. She lacks nearly a page of the required amount because they cut out a lot from her last story. She thought she was all ready and qualified till the chief spoke to her about it yesterday. And she was going to hand in her contribution to-night.”

“Well, why doesn’t she?”

“Lydia made her stay to the meeting. She said one of the editors told her that there would be two more issues of the magazine before the annual election. She said that she knew, that she was sure, and that Ruth must stay. Ruth believed her because she’s always getting dates mixed up and Lydia vowed it was so. Now she’s in a hole.”

“It is Lydia’s place to pull her out.”

“Yes, yes, of course, it is; but she doesn’t know about it. I can’t find her. She has gone off somewhere with the committee appointed to draw up the petition. The editors will meet at nine, and Ruth will lose her chance, and we’ve got to do something.” She stamped her foot.

“Go and do it then,” muttered Elinor perversely, but Myra was already darting ahead at sight of Lydia hurrying toward the library.

“Don’t stop me, girls. I haven’t an instant to spare. I am on my way to look up a word in the Century dictionary. The petition is working out splendidly. Its logic is unanswerable. Nothing less than unmitigated tyranny can refuse to grant it. What?”

Myra plunged headlong into her report. Lydia listened with deepening gravity. “I am sure I was right. I do not comprehend how I could possibly have misunderstood. The editor said December distinctly.”

“Yes, yes, but it is December when the new board takes office, not when it is elected. You made a mistake, that’s all. And Ruth is scribbling like a steam-engine, collar off, pen spluttering — “

“Myra has a talent for visualizing,” commented Elinor, who had drawn nearer in the course of her leisurely progress down the hall.

Lydia was reflecting with serious smooth brow and meditative lips. At last she spoke from the serene heights of common sense. “The thing to do is for me to ask the editors to extend the time until ten o’clock before they select contributions for acceptance. That will give Ruth another hour to make up what she lost in the Students’ meeting.”

Myra clapped her hands together. “Good for you! Run as fast as you can to find the chief and I’ll tell Ruth.”

Elinor held her back from flight. “Goosie! wait till Lydia comes back with news of whether they’ll agree to the delay or not. You must not burst in upon Ruth again for nothing.”

Myra glared at her for a moment, dazed by the shock of conflicting purposes: to go or not to go, to yield or rebel. Then she subsided pleasantly upon the settee in front of the hatrack, which happened to be convenient.

“All right. You’re a funny girl, Elinor. You act as if you didn’t care a hang whether Ruth fails or wins, and next minute you show that you are really anxious. What difference does it make to you how often Ruth is disturbed?”

“No difference whatever,” answered Miss Offitt airily, “but Lydia is so noble that I felt obliged to imitate her in my humble fashion.” “Noble?” echoed Myra in a mystified tone, “how is she noble?”

“My dear child! She acknowledges that she has been mistaken. She bows her pride to confess her error — to the juniors and seniors on the board, and she only a sophomore, though a leading one, to be sure. That is bitter as gall to a girl who knows it all.”

Myra stared thoughtfully at her shoes. “I frequently acknowledge that I have made mistakes^” she remarked, “but then I dare say that’s different.”

“It certainly is,” laughed Elinor, “you’re not Lydia Howard.”

“Lydia would never do anything mean,” said Myra slowly, “she would never be dishonest or insincere. Of course she has her faults — I don’t object to the defects of the qualities, provided that people have the qualities of their defects. And Ruth has her faults.” She hesitated before glancing up quickly. “Elinor, do you like Ruth better this year? Sometimes I think you do.”

“Well, I don’t!” Feeling the swift color surge to her forehead, Elinor sought refuge in jesting. “Pity my blushes,” she rubbed her cheek vigorously, “and ignore my crimes. Ruth is endurable enough, so long as I do not have to live with her. But she does make me uncomfortable, and I am not magnanimous. She irritates me by being so different from the normal person. Her queerness is a liberal education. The thought of her bothered me all summer, though I tried my best to forget her. She makes me feel like the guiltiest of wretches for scorning my inestimable privileges. I hate to feel uncomfortable.”

“Maybe it’s good for your character,” suggested Myra with a sober countenance, “just as Lydia’s mistakes are good for hers. Ah, there she is! How goes it, Lydia?”

“The fuss was entirely unnecessary,” announced the victorious ambassador, her handsome head at its most triumphant angle, “they said they would be only too glad to wait for Ruth’s essay, and that I was perfectly justified in urging her to remain for the meeting. They think more favorably of her for that. They agree with me about the deplorable lack of public spirit among women. I knew I was right. Ruth will never lose any advantage if she trusts to my judgment.”

“Did it improve her character?” murmured Elinor in Myra’s ear. “Impossible.”