“Make the most of me tonight. I’m going to leave you tomorrow. I happen to remember that I can’t be always with you.” Jerry trailed out the remark in a melancholy tone. “I like the permanent fixture idea, but I can’t be it. I have to go the round of the campus houses tomorrow and see what I can gather up for the auction. There are times when I wish I were not quite so necessary to Hamilton,” was Jerry’s regretfully modest ending.
“You don’t know what you are talking about.” Marjorie gave a funny little chuckle. “First you said I couldn’t lose you. Then you said just the opposite.”
“I know it. I seem to be like that, don’t I?” Jerry beamed foolishly upon her lovely chum.
Marjorie got into her own evening coat, a springtime affair of pale tinted silk and lace, and the pair paraded downstairs arm in arm. Jerry’s nonsense had served to restore Marjorie’s lighter spirits to normal light-heartedness. During the short ride in the limousine to Hamilton Concert Hall an energetic conversation occupied the attention of all three. It concerned the library which was to be presented to the dormitory girls when the dormitory should be completed.
Miss Susanna was determined that the students who were now the dormitory seniors should be present the next fall when the dormitory would be finished and opened. She had just announced her intention of defraying the railway expenses of the graduate “dorms” wherever they might be.
All three were also happy over Guiseppe Baretti’s present to the dormitory. He had long announced his intention of giving the “dorm a nice present.” A few days previous he had sent for Robin and Marjorie and solemnly informed them that he wished to take the expense of furnishing the dorm with the best grill room that money could secure. “I buy all for it; all,” he declared with an inclusive spread of the arms. “Then I do this. What you want buy. You give me the list ev’ry week. I buy for the dorm same I buy for me. This don’ cost me half’s much it cost the dorm.” His offer was accepted with the same deep gratitude which it seemed to Marjorie that the Travelers owed almost everyone.
The orchestra pit of the hall looked like a florist’s shop. As the trio entered the fragrance of roses and violets was wafted to their nostrils.
“Um-m. All the actors are in line for a donation,” muttered Jerry. “I hope our offerings to the bunch haven’t been side tracked.” The Travelers had gathered up among themselves a goodly sum of money for the purpose of honoring the members of the cast with flowers. Vera’s dainty pen and ink were all gone before the Hamilton Arms detail reached there.
“Miss Mason said to tell you that she had saved some sketches for you,” was the comforting assurance that met the party at the door. The message was delivered by a sophomore who was doing usher duty.
Seats of honor well up front had been reserved for the mistress of the Arms and her bodyguard. Seated in the brilliantly lighted room, the perfume of flowers on the air, the pleasant, well-bred murmur of subdued voices in her ears Marjorie thrilled to it all as she had always vibrated to the social side of Hamilton College.