CHAPTER I – A MUSICAL WELCOME
“Remember; we are to begin with the ‘Serenata.’ Follow that with ‘How Fair Art Thou’ and ‘Hymn to Hamilton.’ Just as we are leaving, sing ‘How Can I Leave Thee, Dear?’ We will fade away on the last of that. Want to make any changes in the programme?”
Phyllis Moore turned inquiringly to her choristers. There were seven of them including herself, and they were preparing to serenade Marjorie Dean and her four chums. The Lookouts had returned to Hamilton College that afternoon from the long summer vacation. This year, their Silverton Hall friends had arrived before them. Hence Phyllis’s plan to serenade them.
Robina Page, Portia Graham, Blanche Scott, Elaine Hunter, Marie Peyton and Marie’s freshman cousin, Hope Morris, comprised Phyllis’s serenading party. The latter had been invited to participate because she was still company. Incidentally she knew the songs chosen, with the exception of the “Hymn to Hamilton,” and could sing alto. She was, therefore, a valuable asset.
“I hope Leila has managed to cage the girls in Marjorie’s room,” remarked Blanche Scott. “We want all five Sanfordites in on the serenade.”
“Leave it to Irish Leila to cage anything she starts out to cage,” was Robin’s confident assurance. “If she says she will do a thing, she will accomplish it, somehow. Leila is a diplomat, and so clever she is amazing.”
“Vera Mason isn’t far behind her. Those two have chummed together so long their methods are similar. They were the first girls I knew at Hamilton. They met the train I came in on. Nella Sherman and Selma Sanbourne were with them. Two more fine girls. Portia looked pleasantly reminiscent of her reception by the quartette to which she now referred.
“I heard Selma Sanbourne wasn’t coming back. I must ask Leila about that.” Robin made mental note of the question.
“That will be hard on Nella,” observed Elaine Hunter, with her usual ready sympathy. “They have always been such great chums.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but we must be hiking, girls.” In command of the tuneful expedition, Phyllis tucked her violin case under her arm in business-like fashion and cast a critical eye over her flock.
“Be sure you have your instruments of torture with you,” she laughed. “One time, at home, three girls and myself started out to serenade a friend of ours. Before we started we had all been sitting on our veranda, eating ice cream. One of the girls was to accompany us on the mandolin. She walked away and left it on the veranda. She never noticed the omission until we were ready to lift up our voices. So we had to sing without it, for it was over a mile to our house and she couldn’t very well go back after it.”
“Let this be a warning to you mandolin players not to do likewise.” Marie turned a severe eye on Elaine and Portia, who made pretext of clutching their mandolins in a firmer grip.
“My good old guitar is hung to me by a ribbon. I am not likely to go away from here without it.” Blanche patted the smooth, shining back of the guitar.
“We couldn’t have chosen a better time for a serenade,” exulted Robin. “It is a fine night; just dark enough. Besides, there are not many girls back at Wayland Hall yet. We won’t be so conspicuous with our caroling.”
Meanwhile, in a certain room at Wayland Hall, wily Lelia Harper was exerting herself to be agreeable to her Lookout chums. Three of them she had marshaled to Marjorie’s room on plea of showing them souvenirs of a trip she had made through Ireland that summer.
The souvenirs had been heartily admired, but even they could not stem Muriel’s and Jerry’s determined desire to entertain. First Jerry innocently proposed that they all walk over to Baretti’s for ices. Leila and Vera exhibited no enthusiasm at the invitation. Next, Muriel re-proposed the jaunt at her expense. Vera cast an appealing look toward Leila. The latter was equal to the occasion.
“And are you so tired of me and my pictures of my Emerald Isle that you want to hurry me off to Baretti’s to be rid of me?” she questioned, in an offended tone.
“Certainly not, and you needn’t pretend you think so, for you don’t,” retorted Muriel, unabashed. “Your Irish views are wonderful. So is Baretti’s fresh peach ice cream. Helen was there and had some this afternoon. She said it was better than ever. I was only trying to be hospitable and so was Jerry. Sorry you had to take me too personally.” Muriel now strove to simulate offense. She turned up her nose, tossed her head and burst out laughing. “It’s no use,” she said, “I couldn’t really fuss with you if I tried, Leila Greatheart.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” Leila returned with inimitable dryness.
“Lots of time for Baretti’s and ice cream yet tonight. It’s only half-past eight.” Marjorie indicated the wall clock with a slight move of her head. “We can leave here about nine. We’ll be there by ten after.”
“Certainly; we have oceans of time,” Leila agreed with alacrity. “The ten-thirty rule is still on a vacation and won’t be back for a week or so.”
“Oh, I haven’t told you about my new car,” Vera began with sudden inspiration. “Father bought it for me in August. It is a beauty. He is going to send James, his chauffeur, here with it. It may arrive tomorrow. I hope it does.” Vera launched into a description of her car with intent to kill time. Phyllis had set the hour for the serenade to the Lookouts at a quarter to nine.
