“When we were down on the meadow-road,” Eugenia began that evening to an attentive audience of her house-mates, “it got a little bit dusky. We heard some horses coming fast behind us, and it was my Cousin John Ford, who is a senior at Winsted, and three men from his frat-house. They stopped to speak to me, and I introduced them to Fluffy and Montana Marie, who were riding beside me. We happened to be quite a little ahead of the others. John said something about Montana Marie’s queer Mexican saddle, and that freshman put on her awful magenta handkerchief again, and asked him if he liked cow-girls and ‘real exciting’ rides, and of course John said yes. And she said to come on then, and hit his horse with her whip, and they just tore off in the dark.” Eugenia’s big brown eyes were round with horror. “John is a splendid rider or he wouldn’t have stayed on, because his horse—it’s one of his own and a thoroughbred—had never been touched with a whip before, and it nearly went crazy when Montana Marie whacked it. So his horse flew and the Imp flew too, and John tried to stop, but she just shouted again and again, and egged both the horses on. John telephoned me as soon as I got home, to say that his neck wasn’t broken, and to inquire for hers. He seemed to think it was a joke, but for my part”—Eugenia looked as severe as so small and so pretty a young lady was able to look—“for my part I think it was unladylike and dangerous, and I hope Georgia will never want to ask her to go riding with us again. My horse almost ran too.” Eugenia grew a shade more haughty. “She asked John to call and to bring his three friends. I—I’m afraid he’ll come.”
“I shouldn’t be much surprised if he did,” agreed a caustic senior, who roomed next door. “Montana Marie O’Toole is not exactly a lady, and she—well, I don’t know that she is ever exactly inconsiderate except on horseback. But she’s always interesting, foot or horseback. Were your crowd—were you thinking of dropping her because she messed up your ride?”
Eugenia flushed. “She’s asked the Mountain Day party to dinner to-morrow night at the Vincent Arms. She boards there, you know. She seems to be—very rich. I don’t know much about her family, but Betty Wales has met her mother and liked her. I—I do want to see the inside of that wonderful boarding-house.”
“Millionairesses’ Hall, isn’t it called?” asked the senior. “Yes, I’ve wanted to go there too, for dinner, but I don’t know anybody who’ll ask me. They have flowers on the tables every night, and seven courses. You’d better go.”
Eugenia considered. “It would be fun. Only—she was really horrid—racing off that way with John.”
“Maybe he won’t call on her, after all,” consoled the senior. “If he does—eat her dinner first, drop her afterward. But whether you drop her or not, she’s bound to stay in fashion here. She’s interesting, lady or no lady. Don’t go riding with her, if you don’t like her Western style. But for my part, I think she’s really too good to miss. Now isn’t it just like that lucky Betty Wales to have the most entertaining freshman, as well as the most fascinating tea-room, to amuse herself with?”
At the very moment when the caustic senior was making this remark, Betty Wales sat at her desk in the fascinating tea-shop. The entertaining freshman sat beside her. For once she was not smiling. Spread out on the desk before Betty were three distinct and separate warnings, in freshman math., freshman Latin, and freshman lit., respectively. Betty Wales had seen a few warnings before, but she did not remember any that were quite so frank and unqualified in their condemnation of the recipient’s scholastic efforts and attainments as the three euphemistically addressed to Miss M. M. O’Toole.
CHAPTER V
THE B. C. A.’S “UNDERTAKE” MONTANA MARIE
Madeline Ayres had come up to Harding to celebrate the acceptance of a novel by her favorite firm of publishers. Babbie Hildreth had come too, to help Madeline celebrate, and also to talk to Mr. Thayer about that most important topic, the date of “the” wedding. And so of course the “B. C. A.’s” had appointed a special tea-drinking, to celebrate the acceptance of the novel, the visits of Madeline and Babbie, the prospect of a wedding in their midst, and the general joys involved in the state of being “Back at the College Again,”—which is what B. C. A. stood for. Equally of course the tea-drinking was to be held at the Tally-ho.
But when the hour of the grand celebration arrived, a damper was put on everything; Betty Wales had sent a hastily scribbled note, by an accommodating freshman who was going right past the Tally-ho, to say that she was too busy to come.