Dorothy Dale's School Rivals

Dorothy’s blue eyes looked out of the car window, but she saw nothing. All her faculties were bent upon thinking--thinking of something that evidently was not pleasant. Tavia fussed around in the next seat, scattering books, candy boxes, wraps, gloves and such “trifles.” She finally left the things to their fate and climbed in with Dorothy.

“We’ll soon be back to the old Glen, Doro,” she said, “and I know you’ll be glad. As for me, I count this my last hour of freedom, and feel as if I were going to----”

“Now, Tavia, you know perfectly well that you are just as fond of Glenwood as I am,” replied Dorothy, with something akin to a smile. “But of course, you have to get your fun out of growling. Really, I think this time you won’t be able to get it out of me. I am--glum!”

“That will be the best fun ever. To have you glum! Have you been to a fortune teller, or anything like that, Doro?”

Dorothy looked harder than ever out of the window, and did not bother to reply.

“Because, Doro,” went on Tavia, “if she told you a friend is going to be married it’s me. If she said you would get a letter, asking for money, that’s from me. If she said a very dear friend was going to get in some new kind of trouble, that will also be me, and last, if she said you were going to cross water, it will be on account of my health. I love fortune tellers, they pick out such good news,” and Tavia glanced across the aisle at a rather good-looking young man, who was reading a theatrical paper.

Dorothy touched Tavia’s hand. “There,” she said, “I am not going to have any more blues. I can’t manage well with them, and I have to manage you, Tavia.”

“Now, have you only just discovered that? Well, all I can say is that I am glad the other girls did not get these seats. They are--ahem--so convenient!”

“But there is one vacant place just back of the young man whom you are watching,” said Dorothy, teasingly.

“And there comes one of our girls,” exclaimed Tavia. “I wager she flops into it.”

The prediction was correct. A new girl, with very up-to-date apparel, and very flashy jewelry, had taken the vacant seat. The book she carried showed its title plainly, and was, of course, one of “the best sellers.”

“Next she’ll drop the book under his seat, and he’ll have to speak to her in returning it,” said Tavia. “Now, why didn’t I think of trying that? Such a chance!”

Dorothy was interested in the new girl and paid little attention to the talk that Tavia was making for her benefit, for, though Tavia always loved to do absurd things, she would not have spoken to the stranger.

“She is the young lady we were introduced to on the depot platform,” Dorothy remarked. “Her name is Jean Faval.”

“Ought to be Bean Flavor,” said Tavia, trying to pun on the name. “She looks sort of--canned.”

“I think her very stylish, but that skirt is tight. I wouldn’t wear one like it myself,” Dorothy replied.

“And a Dutch neck on the train,” continued Tavia, looking at the very white neck of the new girl, who wore no collar. “I believe she wears slippers, and the very thinnest silk hose.”

“It’s warm enough for both, and I shouldn’t mind having forgotten my heavy walking shoes,” Dorothy said.

Just then the book dropped. Tavia almost jumped out of her seat. She actually gasped. The young lady across moved her foot, and the book came out in the aisle.

In an instant Tavia had it in her hands, and was passing it back.

“Oh, thank you so much!” spoke the owner, in a suspicious tone. “I could have gotten it.”

“It was not the least bit of trouble,” and Tavia uttered a false note that caused the young man to turn and observe her.

“Anything I can do?” he asked, politely. “Have you lost anything?”

Both girls answered in the same words.

“Oh, no; thank you.”

He glanced over at Dorothy, then resumed his paper. Miss Faval found her place in her book, and Tavia turned to her chum.

“Didn’t I tell you? Am I not a prophet? But I spoiled it, and I am dying laughing from head to foot.”

“She will think you rude,” cautioned Dorothy.

“I hope she thinks me the entire conjugation, and the worse ones on the last page. I can see some fun with her at Glen.”

“Please, Tavia,” begged Dorothy, “don’t try to get into trouble before we arrive there. You have plenty of time during the term,” and she looked bored--quite unlike the real Dorothy.

“Say, Doro,” exclaimed Tavia, “I actually believe you want to get rid of me. I’ll run off and leave you to your dismals. I know Dick and Ned have a brand of chocolates I am particularly fond of, and your own Cologne always tips the porter for ice water. So be good, and,” she added in a whisper, “don’t miss any of the circus,” nodding her head toward the other side of the aisle. “Be sure to render me a satisfactory and full report.”

Tavia flaunted off, and Dorothy again pressed her pale face to the window pane. The hills and vales were rolling away, and of course the fast train seemed to be standing still. The wonderful changes of scenery, that had never failed before to interest her, she now scarcely saw.

In the rear of the car were a number of her companions, but she was really glad to be alone. There was Rose-Mary Markin, known as Cologne; Edna Black, called Ned Ebony; Molly Richards, titled just Dick, and others picked up along the route to Glenwood School, in the mountains of New England.

Dorothy was not sick. She was gloomy, and whatever caused this gloom had occurred just before the girls left for school, for up to that time she had been the same vivacious, sprightly girl who had ever been a favorite with her acquaintances and companions. The change in her manner was, therefore, so marked that even the reckless Tavia noticed it instantly, as did the other girls, who were wise enough (on advice of Cologne, Dorothy’s most intimate friend after Tavia) to let Dorothy alone, and not bother her.

The sun was fading into shadows, and soon the train would pull into the familiar little Glenwood station. Then what a time there would be! Dorothy thought of it, and again determined to be cheerful. Tavia would be, as Tavia herself had declared, “on top of the heap,” for while there was no hazing allowed, something that made a splendid imitation was ever practiced on the first night, the “fun” not being confined to new scholars, either.

The car attendant came through the train, and turned on the lights. The strange gentleman with the paper across the aisle asked him if they would get in on schedule and he replied they had lost a little time, but were making it up now.

“Thought you had an extra clip on,” commented the stranger.

Scarcely were the words uttered than Dorothy and everyone else was thrown from their seats, and then there was a terrific crash.

Instantly there followed screams and commotion. The lights went out, and many passengers rushed for the doors. Dorothy realized she was not hurt. Next, the other girls from the rear of the car were hanging around her, displaying very little of the common sense that had been drilled into them at Glenwood.

“Oh, Dorothy, what is it?”