With that Marjorie changed the subject by asking Robin to go to the Hall with her and remain to dinner. “We can go a long way toward planning our next entertainment. I imagine a play would be interesting for a starter. Leila makes a fine stage manager. Katherine Langly wrote a romantic play called ‘The Maid of Honor.’ It is a truly thrilling drama of the English Court during the reign of Queen Elizabeth. During my soph year we talked of giving it. Miss Remson said there was a large cedar chest in the attic of the Hall full of courtier costumes. The students of several years back used them in giving Shakespearian plays.” Marjorie’s usual resourcefulness came to the surface.
“That would be great!” Robin was all enthusiasm at the proposal. “Katherine Langly ought to become a writer or a playwright or something literary. She has written articles and verses and short stories, so I have heard, just for literary practice. She has never tried to sell one of them. She belongs to the Silver Pen, doesn’t she?”
“Yes. She was invited to join it during her freshman year. Think of that! She composed a theme for her English class, and the style was so perfect, Miss Faber read it out to the class,” related Marjorie. “Soon after that she was invited to join the Silver Pen. Leila has often spoken of what fine girls some of the seniors were that year. She belongs to the Silver Pen, too. She was invited to join in her soph year.”
“Portia belongs,” returned Robin. “She is the only one of our crowd who made it. The others of us incline more toward music, I suppose. Phil is thinking of founding a musical sorority. That would be an innovation at Hamilton.”
Full of the new project of producing Katherine’s play, Marjorie and Robin could not resist going over to Randolph House that evening to see Kathie and ask her permission to their plan. At first she demurred. Finally she went to the trouble of hunting for it in the bottom of her trunk so that Robin might read it. The fact that the two girls desired it as a money-maker for their worthy undertaking carried weight with her. She gave her consent, her only objection having been that it was only “trash” and not good enough for a production in a literary sense.
When Marjorie opened her eyes the following Wednesday, on a cold December morning, her first thought was of her appointment that day. She half dreaded consulting the Hall bulletin board for fear of finding another disappointing letter from the agent. None appeared. She met Robin at half-past two that afternoon. They hailed a taxicab for the town of Hamilton, arriving at Mr. Cutler’s office a few minutes before three.
As they were a little early, they were obliged to wait for the agent to finish the business he was transacting with two men. Marjorie drew a long expectant breath as the door to the street closed finally on the agent’s masculine callers.
“Will you young ladies please come into my private office?” he said, after greeting them in his courteous fashion. He opened the door for them and stood aside for them to enter.
The trio seated in the inner office, Mr. Cutler faced the two seniors with an expression that vaguely discomfited Marjorie. While she never tried to read the faces of those with whom she came into contact, she had a peculiar sense of divination which rarely failed her. The agent’s features betrayed no indication of having pleasant news to offer them. On the contrary they were rather tensely set.
“I am very sorry to tell you,” he began, and the hearts of both girls sank, “that the properties which you wished to buy have been sold.” He jerked the words out as though anxious to be done with the disheartening information.