JANE ALLEN: CENTER

By Edith Bancroft

Author of Jane Allen of the Sub-Team, Jane Allen: Right Guard, etc.

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

Akron, Ohio—New York

Copyright MCMXX

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

Jane Allen, Center

Made in the United States of America

CONTENTS

I—The Silver Lining

II—Telltale Tidings

III—Over the Hills and Far Away

IV—Woo Nah and the Fortunes

V—On Their Way

VI—Journey De Luxe

VII—Lost—a Girl

VIII—New York at Last

IX—Girls' Life a La Mode

X—Fears and Fancies

XI—A Strange Predicament

XII—Wellington En Masse

XIII—Stirring the Depths

XIV—Baffling Strategy

XV—Election Night

XVI—Politics Et Al

XVII—Potential Enemies

XVIII—The Woes of "Alias Helen"

XIX—Teams and Teamsters

XX—Stemming the Tide

XXI—The Two Jays

XXII—Jane Allen: Center

XXIII—The Barn Swifts—a Tragedy

XXIV—A Clue to the Mystery

XXV—To the Victors

XXVI—Angels Unawares

XXVII—What the "Bugle" Blew

XXVIII—Madam Nalasky

XXIX—The Boy Stanislaus

XXX—The Acorn and the Oak

CHAPTER I—THE SILVER LINING

Jolly round fleecy clouds tumbled over their playmates in the great, broad playfield of endless blue; baby cloudlets climbed to tops, only to slide down the other side, while haughty, majestic, dignified leaders paraded straight to the prairie line, taking on tones more sombre with each lap of earth left below. A shower should be marshalled, it had been promised the wheat fields, but those young sky rowdies never wanted to work, always romping and skylarking, allowing the silliest little breezes to blow them off their course.

The girl on the grass gazed up; in her gray eyes the steely glints quivered into sharp, silver blade-like flashes, reflected from the arrow of some little god just peeking from behind the cloud mountain. He warned her of the shower, he knew the parade would soon be formed into battle line, yet the girl saw only the sunshine still braving the cloud's attack.

"Just like one's fortune," she mused, "clouds and sunshine, pleasant here and a storm somewhere else. I wonder why we take things so seriously? I believe the greatest philosophy of life is moderation: and I am going to be very moderate with my little worries. The sunshine is only behind the cloud, and the reaction is always crowding the perplexities. I am not going to worry about going away this year."

The girl was retrospective. Vacation was almost over, and Jane Allen would soon leave the hills of El Capitan, her ranch home, to take up her Junior year at Wellington college. Fortified with the resolution against loneliness Jane would try to cover the thought of leaving her dear dad, and her Aunt Mary, with the anticipation of so much joy at the homecoming when the school term would end. A drop of rain fell into her eye with the precision of an eye dropper. She blinked, then jumped to her feet.

"Jan, Janie also Jeanie," she roused herself. "Do you want some woozy gnome to turn you into an old maid? Why the ruminating? In the words of Judy Stearns, why the Willies? Don't you want to go back to Wellington?" she asked herself.

A light sprinkle answered her. That shower would come in spite of the sun still showing blades of defiance. A rumble of thunder chased the flash from her eyes and the playful sky god ducked behind the black mountain. Jane stretched her arms unconsciously into gym rhythm, did a one, two, three and a couple of doubles, then straightened her lithe form, squared her shoulders, and made a quarter of a mile dash to the house. She tumbled into the cushions at Aunt Mary's feet just as the drops assumed the magnitude of splatter and splash.

"Auntie Mary," she panted, "did you notice it is raining?"

"Notice it? I behold it, Janie dear. I am glad you got back in time. These late summer showers often turn into good sizable storms. Where have you been?"

"Under my particular tree. I was telling my fortune in the sky when I espied a whole flock of clouds, that wanted to play with an earth maiden. They flirted outrageously, but I knew you would never consent to my taking up with sky-gods without being properly introduced. So I shook my head, and wig-wagged that they should send their cards to the astronomy class. Auntie, hast any mail?"

"Yes, dear. And one from Wellington."

"Oh, goody-good! It will tell us who won the scholarship. But look at that rain. I wonder if Firefly got to his shed? I must see."

"Janie, don't run in that downpour, Janie!" But the girl was off down the bridle path, waving her arms backward to signify how splendid the sheets of rain felt, tossing up her bronze head, determined to accept the full charge of the unequaled beauty bath in her joyous face. Oh! it was wonderful to be alive and at El Capitan!

"The dear," murmured her aunt, "and some folks think her willful. I have always noticed that her self will ran in the right direction. She didn't care to leave home for school, of course, but now she loves college life. Well, I do wonder if there is anything more beautiful in life than a glorious young girl."

Was Aunt Mary a little regretful? She had been a young girl once. She had been glorious too. Jane had inherited her own swirl of bronze hair from this self-same Aunt Mary, while the mother, a woman of rare beauty had given the daughter those metallic gray eyes. Their glints could be as soft as silver, or as flashy as steel, so, beautiful eyes, that were velvet in meekness were really metallic in their moody changes. Presently a gale of laughter announced Jane's return.

"Auntie," called the girl who was thus being eulogized, "I am bringing you a guest. Here is Uncle Todd, got caught in the storm, purposes to give you a jolly chat. Come on, Uncle. Aunt Mary wants to hear all about the auction over Lincoln way. They even sold the big tree, Aunt Mary."

On the arm of the young girl there came trudging along the tanbark path Uncle Todd; old, gray, tottering, his cane so much a part of himself as to seem a third member, his uncertain smile ever making its way to Jane's happy face, while she urged and assisted him to the porch. Plainly he loved Jane, and he enjoyed the prospect of a chat with Aunt Mary, for Uncle Todd was a ranch character, serving, by contrast, to picture more clearly the types so varied and so completely different from that which he presented. Uncle Todd was a conservative in a group of rebels. He kept with him the mannerisms of old New York State and was a Yankee of the strongest and deepest dye. Even the twang of voice, and tworl of words, had not been rounded out into the drawl of the hills around El Capitan.

"Good afternoon, or is it still mornin'?" wheezed the old man. "Glad I met Janie or that there shower might have blown me clean into the hereafter. Sich a blow," and he adjusted the confidential cane. "Jest like the one that came one afternoon last summer, when that there city fellar tried to sell me the trick umbrel." He clambered the low steps unsteadily. "And I mind, Janie girl, you happened along that day too. Seems like as if you know just when to happen," chuckling, he put his arm more firmly into that of the girl who urged him along.

"Now, Uncle Todd, you know very well you were perfectly all right when I found you just now. I do believe you were going to sit plumb down and defy the storm. Just to see what it would do at its worst. But you are a little wet," feeling the green coat that covered the bent shoulders. "I wonder, Aunt Mary, if we can't fit Uncle Todd out in some of daddy's regimentals."

"No need, no need," he objected. "This here co't don't leak a mite. Finest yarn—no more of this kind. I fetched it clear from Syracuse," he announced almost reverently.

"But you had better come inside," warned Aunt Mary, "the rain gets in here when the wind turns."

"Just as you say, Miss Allen. Fact is, I never say no to a sit in the parlor. I say to the boys, boys I say; if you want a real good comfortable chin, in a chair that's big enough for you, make it over at Henry Allen's place."

Graciously acknowledging the compliment, Aunt Mary and Jane led the old man into the living room he was wont to call the parlor.

"You are always welcome, Uncle Todd," said the lady.

"How about the boys, Auntie?" teased Jane. "Especially the one who plays the uke. I think he is wonderful. You should see him performing in the corral the other night. My, but he did swing that lasso!"

"You mean the fellar with the long, lanky build? He looks like he's been stretched out when he was wet!" put in Uncle Todd. "Yes, I heard him with that there fiddle box. 'Tain't more'n a mite of a box, with a couple of strings, but it kin keep a fellar awake, I tell you. There's a tree near my hut with a regular rickin' chair, made right in it, and them there boys like that place for their evenin's. Well, Uncle Todd goes to bed earlier than the young fellars and—well, the chap with the fiddle sure does love to tune up," and the usual chuckle ended his quaint statement.

"But I really want to know about the auction, Uncle Todd," interrupted Miss Allen. "I am so sorry Welche's folks had to give the old place up at last. Did they sell everything?"

"Couple times over. Never see such shouting and jumpin'. Why the Deeny girls, them old maids as never twisted their stiff necks to bow to man or beast in these parts, them was the wurst. They just seemed to want to buy every thin' and carry it away in their old barouche." The old man pounded his cane on the buffalo rug in sheer contempt. "Like as if they was goin' to set up a first class boardin' house hotel."

"Oh, you know, Uncle," enlightened Aunt Mary. "They are related to the Welches."

"Eggzactly. I recall. More reason why they should act decent like. There was Mother Welch, out back in the barn, her apron most pokin' her eyes out at every yell from old Sheriff Nailor."

"Now, I am just going to leave you two and the auction," spoke up Jane, "while I devour the delectable news in my letter. Did you ever have a letter too good to read, Uncle Todd?"

"Yes, girl, I know that feelin'. Like you hate to have it over because you want to have it on. Well, go to it, Janie, and don't swallow too much of that yellar paper. Looks poison like to me."

Jane crushed the yellow envelope to her breast, in sheer delight. Then she snapped up a knitting needle to open the cherished missive.

"You know, Auntie," she whispered, "this will tell us who won dadykin's scholarship." Then raising her voice to Uncle Todd's inquiring eyes, "Daddy gave a scholarship to my college, Unk," she told him. "Do you suppose some very nice, prim, prudy, who took the home correspondence course between making sister Julia pinafores and Jacob's jumpers, has won it? Of course, I respect home cooking girls, and particularly admire the devotees of domestic science, but Grade B from the Branchville would be all out of luck in the Wellington routine. Bye-bye now, and be good. Uncle Todd, don't make Aunt Mary envious with your report of auction bargains. She is always and ever objecting to catalogue prices."

With a gay wave of the letter, in which delight was momentarily suppressed, Jane flitted from the room to the porch, where now the last drops of the afternoon shower were reluctantly counting their totals. She dropped into the big wicker chair near the wisteria arch, and curled up like a kitten, in the way girls have of "fairly eating" a letter.

While she is thus perusing this perfectly private communication let us present Jane Allen formally to our readers.

In the first volume, "Jane Allen of the Sub-Team," we met her as a girl Solitaire. She had been reared on a ranch, without girl companions, and had never realized that tolerance which is necessary in the big world of boys and girls. But once at the Eastern college we like her best in her brave battles against the limits of conventions she finds there, and we cannot but admire the spirit with which she holds out, just long enough, and gives in just in time, to save situations. Perhaps the true deep affection, so soon shown for Jane by her classmates of the freshmen, is the best testimonial to her glory as Jane Allen Sub. Jane had for a time ignored the tame basketball sport, delighting in her stolen rides on Firefly (for her indulgent father had sent the saddle horse to school too with Jane as he expressed it), but finally acknowledging there was something worth while in the game Jane fought for a place on the team, and she won it triumphantly. The opposition tried many turns both fair and foul to defeat her, but Jane won out; with an interesting flourish.

Not less attractive was she as Jane Allen, Right Guard, in the second volume of the series. Girls can be very small sometimes, even behind the sheltering walls of important colleges, and in this story we were introduced to a set of "peculiars" commonly called "snobs," who spent a lot of perfectly good time trying to spoil Jane's ever-growing popularity at Wellington. Just how flatly they failed makes a rather thrilling tale. Haven't you read it? You will love the way Jane rescues Norma, the girl working her way through college, putting down scheme after scheme, concocted just to embarrass the poorer girl. Jane found a legitimate outlet for her talent as a joy maker, and a gloom crusher. Even taking it moderately, one is enthralled with her genius in making and keeping the best of friends, and Judith Stearns her "best," runs a close second with Jane in the popularity contest of the second volume.

CHAPTER II—TELLTALE TIDINGS

The letter which Jane had so counted on, had just now shed its delightful news, and at last she knew who had won the scholarship. Winding herself tighter still in the big wicker chair, so that she seemed a veritable circle of pink organdie, she snuggled the yellow pages closer in her prettily browned hands, read a few lines over for the n'th time and finally, with a spring and a sprint, made her way back to the living room.

Uncle Todd was evidently well pleased with his story of the Welch auction, for the palpitating cane was throbbing up and down in his sinewy hand, and Aunt Mary had completely laid aside her knitting, and sat with hands folded at attention.

"I would call it a shame," she commented as Jane entered.

"And you'd give it the right name," replied Uncle Todd.

At the threshold Jane hesitated. Even to her youthful eyes there was something restful in the picture.

"Good old pals," she said under her breath. "Aunt Mary knows how to entertain reclining years." Then picking up Bonnie, her ebony kitten, she coughed respectfully.

"Good news?" asked Aunt Mary.

"The best ever. Where is dad? I hate to give it to him second handed."

"Your father will not be back till dinner time, dear. He is over Lincoln way."

"Then we will have to enjoy it in trio. You know what it is about, Uncle Todd?"

"But, Janie girl, I've got to be a-goin'. Some chores and some cookin' to do, and if I don't get at it in good time I'm apt to slip it by. Good afternoon, ladies," he finished quite grandly. "Can't tell when I had sech a fine time."

"But you can't go now, Uncle Todd," objected Jane. "I am going to drive you over."

"No sich thing. If I don't keep a-walkin' my jints will gum up: I am goin' to walk."

"Oh, if you must," said Jane with the foolish social intonation. "So awfully sorry."

"Don't you jibe me, girlie," and he pinched her elbow. "You know as well as I do what it is worth to walk a mile a day."

"All right, Uncle Todd, but some day I am going to tell you all my good news. There comes Pedro. If you get tired just hail him, and he'll give you a lift."

Then, left alone with her aunt, Jane proceeded with the news from Wellington.

"Just see and listen," she commanded. "What a prospect of oodles of fun and frolic. Dad's scholarship has been won by a Polish artist. Think of it! A girl who plays the violin divinely, and who is—well, let's read it again."

She ran her finger over the introduction of the letter and traced out the lines which told of the Polish girl and the scholarship.

"Mrs. Weatherbee says," she announced, "that the girl is wonderfully interesting, and she is sure we shall be delighted. We are. Then she says the little artist comes from a girls' seminary, where she had been left uncalled for and that there is some mysterious story connected with her presence in America, but of course, (now listen in Auntie) of course, Mrs. Weatherbee knows I will not be carried off by any such sensational reports, but I will take the little Polish girl on her merits. Of course I shall, I shall even take her on trial, but you can picture the other girls, and the Polish artist? Auntie, that Marion Seaton will get in touch with the Bolshevik or something, to dig up trouble for my little friend, see if she doesn't. She will go into the archives of the fall of Poland, and the battle of Warsaw, to find out that my little artist's grandfather once dropped his musket in front of the king's palace. Oh my, Auntie mine," and she loosed some of her pent-up energy in a great "grizzly hug." "Why can't you and dad come along to school with me to see the fun?" For a moment

her gray eyes took on the lingering look her friends called "the dove stare," then recovering her mirthful mood she pranced around, played first with Bonnie, then with Fliver the new puppy, all the while gathering and spending the joy of young girlhood.

"Don't bother too much about my clothes, Auntie dear," she warned with a new thought. "I think I shall ask dad if I may go to the city early, and help fit up my little artist. Then I may find a lot of things I shall like, all ready to wear."

"I had been thinking of proposing that, Janie dear," confessed the aunt, to whom the clothes problem had been an increasing worry with the addition of Jane's years. "I have read all the catalogues and sent for more, but I don't find exactly what I think you would fancy."

"No, and you won't, for I fancy a blouse and a skirt, just a little one, and perhaps a veil for evening wear." She held Fliver out at arm's length to enjoy the joke. "Of course, I would wear a so-called gown with the veil, but I love the veil, it is so shimmery." A scarf snatched from the end of the mahogany table served to illustrate the "shimmer" as Jane floated it triumphantly over her and Fliver's heads. The inevitable interpretative dance followed, and Fliver looked very frightened, evidently envying Bonnie her safety aisle on the rug.

"I am going to get your trunk out to-morrow," announced Aunt Mary, as an interlude. "I want to put some cedar chips in it, and Squaw Watah brought over a wonderful bunch of fragrant herbs, spice bush, savory and rosemary. I wonder where she raised them? She must have obtained some government seeds."

"Watah is a real farmerette," agreed Jane, coming to a standstill against the oaken post. "I would recommend her for a position in the Department of Agriculture. Ta, ta, Auntie, I'm off to get dad. I think he will be over the Copper Turn Hill about now, and I'll ride Firefly to be back with him. I am just dying to tell him the news."

"Janie, do be careful going down that steep hill. The boys who came collecting tin cans the other day told me the rocks fall in a torrent there now."

"Oh, I know. I'll be 'keer-ful.'" The voice came from the second stair landing. Jane Allen was on her way.

She reached her own horse and it took but a few gallops to bring her up to Mr. Allen.

"Do you suppose she will have light wavy hair, and very big blue eyes, Daddy? The aristocratic Poles are always light," was among the first questions.

"But I wouldn't classify them by eyes and hair exactly," replied the man on Victor, the big gray horse. "I've known a really fine Pole who was quite red headed."

"Now Daddy, don't tease. You know a girl must be—well, a little bit pretty at least, to be popular, and I am bound to have my artist wonderfully popular—after we win the battle, of course."