“Ask me something easier. It depends upon how long Bean lingers on the campus. I’m only going up there now to plan my campaign. I may not pull down my corn cribs till fall. As for landing in a snarl—not friend Leslie.” She strolled to the door of Natalie’s boudoir, where the two had been lounging. Hand on the door, she paused. “Bean is in line for trouble.” Her heavy brows drew together ominously. “I told you I was a business shark. I intend she shall know it, too.”
CHAPTER XIII.—AN UNGRACIOUS BEAUTY
True to their word the five Travelers left Hamilton Arms at a quarter to nine o’clock in order to spend a little time with Miss Remson before retiring. On the way to Wayland Hall the letter written by the master of the Arms in the heyday of his youth to the Marquis de Lafayette, his mature counsellor and friend, formed the chief topic of conversation.
“One might call that letter the cornerstone of Hamilton,” Leila said thoughtfully.
“Yes,” chimed in Vera. “Lafayette seems to have been the favored confidant of Mr. Brooke’s magnificent idea. At that time many of the country’s ablest men did not believe in the higher education for women. He was unique for those days.”
“It was because he loved his mother so dearly that he could understand what a college would mean in the training of girls,” was Robin’s sober conjecture. “I hope he copied the letter and sent it.”
“Oh, I am sure he sent it,” Marjorie sprang into ready defense of her idol. “I imagine he always tried to finish whatever he set out to accomplish. Otherwise he could never have become the founder of Hamilton College.
“It seems strange to hear read a letter from one great man of long ago to another. Lafayette seems longer ago in time than he really was. My uncle has a letter which was written by George Washington. It describes a horse Washington offered a certain man for sale. The horse’s name was Magnolia. My uncle bought the letter from a dealer in rare books and letters. I’ll write him and ask him to send me a typed copy of it,” Robin volunteered.
“Do; then I shall believe that Washington was no fairy tale. When I was a little girl didn’t I believe that he belonged in an American fairy tale? It was my old nurse who told me that he was an American king who had cut down one hundred cherry trees at a stroke and who went to war in an invisible coat of mail so that he was never hurt. She had ideas of her own about him.” Leila gave an enjoying chuckle.
It was the signal for more chuckles from her companions. It was difficult to say which was more diverting, Leila’s droll remarks, or her inimitable manner of making them.