Brenda's Cousin at Radcliffe: a Story for Girls
Copyright© 2024 by Helen Leah Reed
Chapter 5: College Callers
One afternoon as Julia and Ruth were walking toward Elmwood a human whirlwind stormed past them, composed, as it seemed, chiefly of woollen sweaters and legs in knee breeches.
“There,” said Ruth, “what geese boys can make of themselves! Actually, I think that I recognized Philip among them.”
“Yes, I believe he’s in training.”
“Well, I’m glad that he has something to do. But I wonder that he and Will haven’t called on us.”
“Seeing us may remind them. I know that they have been intending to call.”
Julia’s surmise proved correct, and that very evening the cards of the two Seniors were brought to them. When Julia and Ruth went downstairs to see them, Philip said in half apology:
“We’ve often wandered in this direction in our evening strolls, but we have never had the courage to come in.”
“What in the world made you so courageous tonight?”
“Well, you see,” said Will, “Philip came back to the club after dinner with glowing accounts of you both. He said that he could not see that you had changed a hair since coming to Radcliffe.”
“What in the name of common sense did he expect?” Ruth’s voice had a note of indignation.
“Why, we expected a great alteration. In the first place, to be typical Radcliffe girls you ought to wear glasses. Then I am sure that you ought to have had a huge bundle of books under your arm, and your clothes—it gets on my nerves to see the clothes most of the Cambridge girls wear; I suppose they are Radcliffe girls. But I could see that you looked as up-to-date as Edith.”
Philip, almost out of breath with the exertion of explaining himself, was disconcerted by the laughter that greeted his words.
“It is greatly to be feared,” said Ruth, “that the typical Radcliffe girl would be as hard to find as the average Harvard student. I haven’t seen either of them yet. But it’s really too funny for you to have expected Julia and me to develop our college peculiarities so soon. Give us time and we may become typical.”
“Ah, well, of course now,” said Philip, “I did not expect to find you entirely changed, although you know yourself that college might make a difference.”
“Naturally we’d rather not belong to the tiresome class of persons who are always the same, yet we do not wish our friends to find us altered.”
“No, you were well enough before,” and Will glanced toward Ruth.
“So you thought it best to let well enough alone?”
“Now, really you are severe! But not to dwell on personalities—how do you like your rooms here? They seem very domestic.”
“These are not our special rooms,” explained Julia; “our study is upstairs.”
“When are we to see your study, or ‘den,’ as I suppose you will come to call it?”
“I’m afraid that you would not think it typical enough to be called a den.”
“But when are we to see it?”
“Oh, later we’ll give you a tea, with Aunt Anna or Mrs. Blair to chaperon us. You’ll have a chance then to offer any amount of advice.”
“We’ll give you points that may be useful next year.”
“Ah! next year we’ll be Sophomores, and Sophomores know everything,” retorted Julia.
“Yes, and sometimes more than everything. We did, didn’t we, Philip?”
“I should say so! I’ve never since been so wise as I was in that Sophomore year. I’d almost like to be a Sophomore again.”
“You may have the chance,” interposed Will, “if you drop down a class at a time.”
Philip looked uncomfortable.
“Be careful, please; no twitting on facts.”
“On facts?” queried Ruth. “Is it as bad as that?”
“Oh, the Faculty has a wretched habit of giving a fellow warnings, especially at the beginning of the Senior year, just to see how he will take them.”
“Why,” said Julia, “I should take them as warnings.”
She saw by Philip’s expression that there was more than a mere suggestion of truth in what Will had said, and she resolved at the first favorable opportunity to have a serious talk with him. She remembered that the preceding year he had spoken of one or two conditions to be worked off before the close of his Senior year, and she began to fear that he had neglected to do this. In spite of his little affectations, Philip had a charm for Julia. At least she felt a genuine interest in him, partly on his own account, and partly because she was so fond of Edith. She hoped that he would make more of himself than some of the young men in his set had thought it worth while to make of themselves.
While her thoughts were wandering, the conversation of the other three went straight on.
“If we only knew what you would like,” Philip was saying, “we might give you something more substantial than points for your room. I have a fine ‘To Let’ sign that was hung out originally somewhere down in the ‘Port.’ I haven’t really room for it, and—”
“Oh, that’s only black and white. When you make a present, you ought not to be mean,” said Will. “What’s the matter with that barber’s pole that you cherish so carefully in a corner of your room? I hear that its former owner is still searching for it. A Radcliffe room would really be a safer retreat for it than yours.”
“Oh, no, I wouldn’t get these girls into trouble. If I present them with anything it must be something ennobling, —a tidy, or—or—a picture-scarf, or something of that kind.”
“We haven’t a tidy in our room,” interposed Ruth triumphantly.
“Then it must have a very unfeminine appearance,” responded Philip. “I am sorry that Radcliffe influences are so hardening. It wasn’t that way when you helped in that Bazaar. Don’t you remember what work I had to find something suitable for a college room, and there was nothing to be had but tidies, and dolls, and things like that? Your minds were all feminine enough then.”
“I remember that I found just what I wanted,” said Will, smiling at Ruth. “A very beautiful sofa pillow, with a crimson ‘H’ embroidered upon it.”
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