“It’s about Donald, and he can’t tell, because it wouldn’t be quite honourable to the others, and I found it out accidentally, and papa says he’ll stand by him, though really Donald wasn’t in it at all, for he and Sidney Chester were calling on Miss Gwendoline Vassar, that very night,—that pretty Miss Vassar that all the boys are so stuck on, you know,—and they stopped and smoked with another man coming home, and then they met some other men, who hadn’t being doing anything either, and then they all got mixed up with the ones who did do something, but I don’t know what, and they were all caught together, and none of them would say a word, ’cause perhaps the right ones would be expelled if they were known, and so they’re all going to be rusty-coated, or suspended, or something, and that’s dreadful; and poor Sidney Chester, who didn’t really do a thing this time, may have to leave college entirely and go into his father’s office, and he hates it so, and he really isn’t bad, only full of fun, and papa understands things better than old Mr. Chester does, because he was at college himself, you know, and he says he’ll stand by Don, for he must be loyal to the others, only now perhaps Don can’t get on the team, and he hasn’t done wonders, but he hasn’t done so badly in his work, and he’s such a dear fellow.”
Cricket drew a long breath here, and dashed on.
“And you see he didn’t really do anything himself, and nobody knows we’ve come to you, and I guess papa would take my head off if he knew it, but I knew somebody ought to do something, and you’d feel so badly to punish somebody who didn’t do anything, and Donald didn’t even mean to tell papa about it, but papa always understands, and, oh, dear, if he’s—rusty-coated—I—can’t—bear—it!”
And here Cricket, perfectly unstrung by the nervous tension and the long strain, suddenly surprised herself, and paralysed Eunice, by bursting into convulsive sobs.
In a moment she was on the presidential knees, and her head was on the august shoulder, where she wept a perfect flood of tears into a big collegiate handkerchief which speedily replaced her small, drenched one. Eunice was so overcome by the astonishing spectacle of Cricket in tears that she sat wide-eyed with amazement, staring at her with bated breath.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE RESULT.
But so far as any surprise or discomfiture showed itself on his face, the President seemed to be perfectly accustomed to having strange little girls invade his sanctum, break in on his sacred quiet, pour forth an incoherent tale, and end up by bursting into a flood of tears, and submitting to be taken into his arms to be comforted. He mopped away Cricket’s tears most scientifically, and presently pulled still another handkerchief from some other pocket.
Soon the storm passed, and Cricket, spent with fatigue, found her curly head nestled as confidingly against the President’s shoulder as if it had been her father’s, with only a long-drawn, sobbing breath now and then.
“Now, my little girl, I want to know more about all this,” said the kindly voice, when she was quite calm and quiet again. “You see, I don’t know who my little friend is, yet, either,” he added, smiling down into the gray eyes, in which all the usual mischief and light were nearly drowned out.
“Oh, I quite forgot,” exclaimed Cricket, apologetically, instantly sitting up. “I beg your pardon, if you please. I meant to tell you the very first thing that we are Doctor Ward’s daughters, and then I went and cried, and I’m so ashamed, for, indeed, I’m not a cry-baby, truly I’m not, and I don’t see what made me cry.”