the first days at glenwood revolved like a magic kaleidoscope—all bits of brilliant things, nothing tangible, and nothing seemingly important. dorothy had made her usual good friends—tavia her usual jolly chums. but viola green remained a mystery.
she certainly had avoided speaking to dorothy, and had not even taken the trouble to avoid tavia—she "cut her dead." edna tried to persuade tavia that "fiddle" was a privileged character, and that the seeming slights were not fully intended; but tavia knew better.
"she may be as odd as she likes," insisted the matter of fact girl from dalton, "but she must not expect me to smile at her ugliness—it is nothing else—pure ugliness."
dorothy had sought out viola, but it was now plain that the girl purposely avoided her.
"perhaps she is worrying about her mother, poor dear," thought the sympathetic dorothy. "i must insist on cheering her up. a nice walk through these lovely grounds ought to brighten her. and the leaves on these hills are perfectly glorious. i must ask her to go with me on my morning walk. i'll go to her room to-night after tea—during recreation. i have not seen her out a single morning yet."
so dorothy mused, and so she acted according to the logical result of that musing. at recreation time that evening dorothy tapped gently on the door of number twelve.
the door was slightly ajar, and dorothy could hear the sounds of papers being hastily gathered up. then viola came to the entrance.
"may i come in?" asked dorothy, surprised that viola should have made the question necessary.
"oh, i am so busy—but of course—did you want to see me?" and there was no invitation in the voice or manner.
"just for a moment," faltered dorothy, determined not to be turned away without a hearing.
viola reluctantly opened the door. then she stepped aside without offering a chair.
"i have been worried about you," began dorothy, rather miserably. "are you ill, viola?"
"111? why not at all. can't a girl attend to her studies without exciting criticism?"
dorothy's face burned. "oh, of course. but i did not see you out at all—"
"next time i leave my room i'll send the nicks word," snapped viola. "then they may appoint a committee to see me out!"
dorothy was stung by this. she had expected that viola would resent the interference—try to keep to her chosen solitude—but the rudeness was a surprise.
"but you are getting pale, viola," she ventured. "couldn't you possibly take your exercise with me to-morrow? i would so like to have you. the walk over the mountains is perfectly splendid now."
"thank you," and viola's black eyes again looked out of their depths with that strange foreign keenness. "but i prefer to walk alone."
dorothy was certain a tear glistened in viola's eye.
"alone!" repeated the visitor. "viola, dear, if you would only let me be your friend—"
"dorothy dale!" and the girl's eyes flashed in anger. "i will have none of your preaching. you came here to pry into my affairs just as you did on the train, when you made me tell all about my dear, darling mother's illness, before those giggling girls. yes, you need not play innocent. i know the kind of girl you are. 'sugar coated!' but you may take your sympathy where strangers will be fooled by it. try it on some of the babes. but you must never again attempt to meddle in my affairs. if you do i'll tell miss higley. so there! are you satisfied now?"
dorothy was stunned. was this flaming, flashing girl the same that had smiled upon her when the sick mother was present? what was that strange unnatural gleam in the black eyes? anger or jealousy?
"i am sorry," faltered dorothy; then she turned and left the room.
one hour later tavia found dorothy buried in her pillows. tears would still come to her eyes, although she had struggled bravely to suppress them.
"doro!" exclaimed her friend in surprise. "are you homesick?"
"no," sobbed the miserable girl. "it isn't exactly homesick—." then the thought came to her that she should not implicate viola, she had promised to save her from further suffering. surely she had enough with the sick mother.
"then what is it?" demanded tavia.
"oh, i don't know, tavia," and she tried again to check her tears, "but i just had to cry."
"nervous," concluded the dalton girl. "well, we must cure that. you know we are to be initiated this evening. aren't you scared?"
"oh, yes," and dorothy sat upright. "i quite forgot. do we join the nicks?"
"unless you prefer the pills. they are the stiffest set—not a bit like our crowd. and the way they talk! a cross between a brogue and tom burbank. 'i came hawf way uptown before i could signal a car-r'," rolled out tavia, mocking the long a's, and rolled r's of the new england girl. "how's that for english? i call it brogue."
"it does sound queer, but they tell me it is the correct pronunciation," dorothy managed to say, while working diligently with her handkerchief on her eyes and cheeks.
"then, as in all things else," declared tavia, "i am thankful not to be orthodox—i should get tonsilitis if i ever tried anything like that."
"where is the meeting to be held?" asked dorothy.
"don't know—we must not know anything. ned says it will be easy. dick is the guide, and i know cologne has something to do with it. i do hope you won't be sad-eyed, doro."
"you can depend upon me to do dalton justice," declared the girl on the bed. "i'm anxious to see what they will do to us. no hazing, i hope."
"in this sunday school? mercy no! no such luck. they will probably make us recite psalms," asserted the irreverent tavia.
"but being parson that would be appropriate for me," dorothy declared.
"and for a chris! that would be all right also," added tavia. "well, i know one or two."
"there is someone coming to call us," and dorothy jumped to her feet. "i must bathe my stupid eyes."
a half hour later the meeting was called. it was held in a little recreation room on the third floor. to this spot the candidates were led blindfolded. within the room the shuffling of feet could be heard, then a weird voice said in a muffled tone:
"hear ye! honored nicks! let their scales fall!"
at the word the bandages were dropped from the eyes of dorothy and tavia.
a glimpse around the half-lighted room showed a company of masked faces and shrouded forms—sheets and white paper arrangements. on the window seat sat the most high nick—the promoter. at her feet was crouched the chief ranger.
"number one!" called the ranger, and dorothy was pressed forward.
"chase that thimble across the room with your nose," demanded the ranger, placing a silver thimble at dorothy's feet.
of course dorothy laughed—all candidates do—at first.
"wipe your smile off," ordered the promoter, and at this dorothy was obliged to "wipe the smile" on the rather uncertain rug, by brushing her mouth into the very depths of the carpet.
"proceed!" commanded the ranger, and dorothy began the thimble chase.
it is all very well for the "uppers" to laugh at the babes, but it was no easy matter to get a thimble across a room by nose effort. yet dorothy was "game," her nominating committee declared in the course of time, and, between many pauses, chief of which was caused by the irrepressible smiles that had to be wiped off on all parts of the floor for every offense, dorothy did get the thimble over to the corner.
"number two," called the ranger, and tavia took the floor.
"the clock," indicated the promoter, whereupon tavia was confined in a small closet and made to do the "cuckoo stunt." each hour called was responded to by the corresponding "cuckoos," and the effect was ludicrous indeed. every break in the call meant another trial, but finally tavia got through the ordeal.
next dorothy was called upon to make a speech—the subject assigned being "the glory of the nicks." an impromptu speech might be difficult to make under such circumstances had the subject been a word of four letters, like snow, love or even hate, but to extemporize on the society which was giving her the third degree—dorothy almost "flunked," it must be admitted.
the final test was that of singing a lesson in mathematics to the tune of america, and the try that tavia had at that broke every paper mask in the room—no, not every one, for over in the corner was a mask that never stirred, one that left the room before the candidates had been welcomed into the society of honorable nicks. that mask went into room twelve.
