As she sulkily viewed the Titian-haired tyrant, who knew her too well for her own peace of mind, she wondered why she had not flung back taunt for taunt. Perhaps Rowena made a shrewd guess regarding her thoughts. Adopting a milder tone she said brusquely: “Oh, quit pouting and come along. None of these stupid girls are worth quarreling over. I suppose that Marjorie Dean, the big baby, told Miss Seymour something hateful about me. That’s the reason she acted so frosty.”
At the mere mention of Marjorie’s name Mignon’s elfish face grew dark. She and Rowena had at least one bond in common, they both despised Marjorie Dean. Mignon reflected that no scheme she had devised for humbling the former had ever borne lasting fruit. Rowena might succeed where she had failed. Rowena had sworn reprisal for the affair of the algebra problem. Undoubtedly, she would seize upon the first opportunity for retaliation. With such a glorious prospect ahead of her, Mignon craftily decided to stick to Rowena and share in her triumph.
CHAPTER XVI—A TINY CLUE
The end of the week following Thanksgiving brought the two temporarily disabled sophomore basket ball players back to school. The day after their return a notice appeared on the bulletin board stating that the junior-sophomore game would be played on the next Saturday afternoon. From all sides it received profound approbation and the recent postponement of the contest served to give it greater importance. The sophomore team had been highly delighted with the respite, and gratefully accorded the credit to Rowena Farnham, who reveled in her sudden advance in popularity.
The juniors had little to say to the world at large. Among themselves they said a great deal. One and all they agreed that the victory of the coming game must be theirs. They yearned to show the public that in postponing the game they had merely postponed the glory of winning it. Though they knew the strength of the opposing team, they confidently believed themselves to be even stronger. How it happened, none of them were quite able to explain, but when the fateful hour of conflict arrived the victor’s crown was wrested from them. A score of 18-16 in favor of the sophomores sent them off the field of defeat, crestfallen but remarkably good-natured, considering the circumstances.
Behind the closed door of their dressing room, with the jubilant shouts of the sophomores still ringing in their ears, they proceeded to take stock of themselves and their triumphant opponents.
“There is no use in talking, that Rowena Farnham is a wonderful player,” was Muriel Harding’s rueful admission. “She could almost have won the game playing alone against us.”
“She’s a very rough player,” cried Daisy Griggs. “She tears about the floor like a wild Indian. She gave me two or three awful bumps.”
“Still, you can’t say she did anything that one could make a fuss about,” said Rita Talbot slowly. “I guess she’s too clever for that.”
“That’s just it,” chimed in Susan Atwell crossly. “She’s as sharp as a needle. She goes just far enough to get what she wants without getting into trouble by it. Anyway, they didn’t win much of a victory. If that last throw of Marjorie’s hadn’t missed the basket we’d have tied the score. It’s a pity the game ended right there. Three or four minutes more were all we needed.”
“I was sure I’d make it,” declared Marjorie rather mournfully, “but a little before, in that big rush, I was shoved forward by someone and nearly fell. I made a slide but didn’t quite touch the floor. All my weight was on my right arm and I felt it afterward when I threw the ball.”
“Who shoved you forward? That’s what I’d like to know,” came suspiciously from Susan. “If——”
“Oh, it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Marjorie hastened to assure her. “It was just one of those provoking things that have to happen.”
“Listen to those shrieks of joy,” grumbled Muriel, as a fresh clamor began out in the gymnasium. “Oh, why didn’t we beat them?”
“Never mind,” consoled Marjorie. “There’d be just as much noise if we had won. You can’t blame them. Next time it will be our turn. We’ve still three more chances. Now that we’ve played the sophs once, we’ll know better what to do when we play them again. We really ought to go out there and congratulate them. Then they would know that we weren’t jealous of them.”
“I’d just as soon congratulate a big, striped tiger as that Rowena Farnham. She makes me think of one. She has that cruel, tigerish way about her. Ugh! I can’t endure that girl.” Muriel Harding made a gesture of abhorrence.
“Come in,” called Marjorie as four loud knocks beat upon the door. “It’s Jerry, Connie and Irma,” she explained, as the door opened to admit the trio.
“Better luck next time,” cheerfully saluted Jerry Macy. “You girls played a bang-up, I mean, a splendid game. I was sure you’d tie that score. You had a slight accident, didn’t you, Marjorie?”
“Yes. Did you notice it?” Marjorie glanced curiously at Jerry’s imperturbable face.
“I always notice everything,” retorted Jerry. “I hope——”
Marjorie flashed her a warning look. “It wasn’t anything that could be avoided,” she answered with a finality that Jerry understood, if no one else did. “I move that we go down to Sargent’s and celebrate our defeat,” she quickly added. “Have a seat, girls. It won’t take us long to get into our everyday clothes.”
“Such a shame,” bewailed Daisy Griggs. “After we’ve gone to the trouble of having these stunning suits made, then we have to be robbed of a chance to parade around the gym as winners. Anyway, they’re a whole lot prettier than the sophs’ suits. I didn’t like that dark green and blue they had as well as ours.”
“They stuck to the sophomore colors, though,” reminded Rita. “It’s a wonder that Rowena Farnham didn’t appear in some wonderful creation that had nothing to do with class colors. It would be just like her.”
Despite their regret over losing the game, the defeated team, accompanied by Jerry, Constance, Irma and Harriet Delaney, who afterwards dropped in upon them, set off for the all-consoling Sargent’s in fairly good humor, there to spend not only a talkative session, but their pocket money as well.
It was not until Jerry, Constance and Marjorie had reluctantly torn themselves from their friends to stroll homeward through the crisp December air that Jerry unburdened herself with gusto.
“Marjorie Dean,” she began impetuously, “do you or don’t you know why you nearly fell down in that rush?”
“I know, of course,” nodded Marjorie. “Someone swept me forward and I almost lost my balance. It’s happened to me before. What is it that you are trying to tell me, Jerry?”
“That someone was Row-ena,” stated Jerry briefly. “Isn’t that so, Connie?”
“It looked that way,” Connie admitted. “I thought she played very roughly all through the game.”
“If it were she, I don’t believe she did it purposely,” responded Marjorie. “Even if she did, I’m not going to worry about it. I rather expected she might. Mignon used to do that sort of thing. You remember what a time we had about it last year. But her team and ours were concerned in it. That’s why I took it up. As it was only I to whom it happened this time, I shall say nothing. I don’t wish to start trouble over basket ball this year. If I spoke of it to Ellen she would take it up. You know what Rowena Farnham would say. She’d declare it was simply a case of spite on my part. That I was using it only as an excuse for not being able to throw that last ball to basket. Then she’d go around and tell others that we were whining because we were beaten in a fair fight. I might better say nothing at all. The only thing for us to do is to keep our own counsel and win the next game.”
“I guess your head is level,” was Jerry’s gloomy admission. She was as much distressed over their defeat as were the juniors themselves.
“Marjorie’s head is always level,” smiled Constance Stevens. “I am almost certain that you girls will win the next game. Luck just happened to be with the sophomores to-day. I don’t think they work together as well as you. Miss Farnham is a much better player than the others. Still, I imagine that she might not always do so well as she did in this game. If she saw that things were going against her, she would be quite likely to get furiously angry and lose her head.” Quiet Constance had been making a close study of Rowena during the game. Raised in the hard school of experience, she had considerable insight into character. She seldom criticized openly, but when she did, her opinions were received with respect.
“Your head’s on the same level plane with Marjorie’s, Connie,” agreed Jerry. “I think, too, that Rowena Farnham would be apt to make blunders if she got good and mad. Speaking of getting mad reminds me that Lucy Warner is pouting about those suits of ours. She told Harriet to-day that she thought they were simply hideous. Harriet said that she wouldn’t go in with you girls when you ordered them. She considered them a waste of money. Said if she had one, she’d never get a chance to wear it. Pleasant young person, isn’t she?”
“Perhaps she couldn’t afford to have one,” remarked Constance thoughtfully. “You know her mother is a widow and supports the two of them by doing plain sewing. I imagine they must be quite poor. They live in a tiny house on Radcliffe Street, and Lucy never goes to even the high school parties, or to Sargent’s, or any place that costs money. She is a queer little thing. I’ve tried ever so many times to be nice to her, but she always snubs me. Maybe she thinks I’m trying to patronize her. I can’t help feeling sorry for her. You see I know so well what it means to be very poor—and proud,” ended Constance, flushing.
“She’s a born grouch,” asserted Jerry. “She’s been one ever since I’ve known her. Even in grammar school she was like that. She’s always had a fixed idea that because she’s poor everyone looks down on her. It’s too bad. She’s very bright in her studies, and she’d be quite pretty if she didn’t go around all the time looking ready to bite.”
“Isn’t it funny?” mused Marjorie. “I’ve never noticed her particularly or thought much about her until she made the team as a sub. Since then I’ve tried several times to talk to her. Each time she has acted as though she didn’t like to have me speak to her. I thought maybe she might be a friend of Mignon’s. But I suppose it’s just because she feels so ashamed of being poor. As if that mattered. We ought to try to make her think differently. She must be terribly unhappy.”
“I doubt it,” contradicted Jerry. “Some people enjoy being miserable. Probably she’s one of that sort. As I said before, ‘it’s too bad.’ Still, one doesn’t care to get down on one’s knees to somebody, just because that somebody hates herself. She can’t expect people are going to like her if she keeps them a mile away from her.”
“You are both right,” commented Constance. “She ought to be made to understand that being poor isn’t a crime. But you can’t force that into her head. The only way to do is to wait until a chance comes to prove it to her. We must watch for the psychological moment.” Her droll utterance of the last words set her listeners to giggling. Miss Merton was prone to dwell upon that same marvelous psychological moment.
That evening, as Marjorie diligently studied her lessons, the queer, green-eyed little junior again invaded her thoughts. A vision rose of her thin, white face with its pointed chin, sensitive, close-lipped mouth, and wide eyes of bluish-green that frequently changed to a decided green. What a curious, secretive face she had. Marjorie wondered how she had happened to pass by so lightly such a baffling personality. She charitably determined to make up for it by learning to know the true Lucy Warner. She upbraided herself severely for having been so selfish. Absorbed in her own friends, she had neglected to think of how much there was to be done to make the outsiders happy.
Entering the study hall on Monday morning she cast a swift glance toward Lucy’s desk. She was rather surprised to note that the blue-green eyes had come to rest on her at the same instant. Marjorie smiled and nodded pleasantly. The other girl only continued to stare fixedly at her, but made no answering sign. Forewarned, Marjorie was not specially concerned over this plain snub. She merely smiled to herself and decided that the psychological moment had evidently not yet arrived.
Slipping into her seat she was about to slide her books into place on the shelf under her desk, when one hand came into contact with something that made her color rise. She drew a sharp breath as she brought it to light. So the Observer was at work again! With a sudden, swift movement of her arm she shoved her find back to cover. Casting a startled look about the study hall, she wondered if whoever had placed it there were now watching her. Strangely enough, the only pair of eyes she caught fastened upon her belonged to Mignon La Salle. In them was a light of brooding scorn, which plainly expressed her opinion of Marjorie.
“Could Mignon be the mysterious Observer?” was again the question that assailed Marjorie’s mind. She longed to read the letter, but her pride whispered, “not now.” She would save it until school was over for the day. She and Captain would read it together in the living room.
It was a long, weary day for the impatient little girl. At noon she carried the dread missive home with her, gravely intrusting it to her Captain’s keeping. “It’s another stab from the Observer,” she explained soberly. “I haven’t opened it. We will read it together when I come home this afternoon. I don’t care to read it now.”
She returned home that afternoon to find her mother entertaining callers. Despite her feverish impatience to have the thing over, she was her usual charming self to her mother’s friends. Nevertheless, she sighed with relief when she saw them depart. Seating herself on the davenport she leaned wearily against its cushioned back. The suspense of not knowing had told severely upon her.
“Now, Lieutenant, I think we are ready,” said Mrs. Dean cheerily. Taking the letter from a drawer of the library table, she sat down beside Marjorie and tore open the envelope. Her head against her Captain’s shoulder, Marjorie’s eyes followed the Observer’s latest triumph in letter writing:
“Miss Dean:
“Last Saturday showed very plainly that you could not play basket ball. I knew this long ago. Several others must now know it. It would serve you right if you were asked to resign from the team. If you had been thinking less about yourself and more about the game, you might have tied the score and not disgraced the juniors. You are a menace to the team and ought to be removed from it. As I am not alone in this opinion, I imagine and sincerely hope that you will soon receive your dismissal. If you had any honor in you, you would resign without waiting to be asked. But remember that a coward is soon worsted in the fight. Prepare to meet the inevitable.
“The Observer.”
Without speaking, Marjorie turned again to the first page of the letter, re-reading thoughtfully the entire communication. “This letter tells me something which the others didn’t,” she said.
“It tells me that it is high time to stop such nonsense.” Mrs. Dean’s tones conveyed righteous indignation. “The whole thing is simply outrageous.”
“It can’t be stopped until we know who is writing these letters,” reminded Marjorie. “But I think I have a tiny clue. That sentence about disgracing the juniors would make it seem that a junior wrote them. No one would mention it who wasn’t a junior. I’ve tried not to believe it, but now I am almost certain that Mignon wrote them. She would like more than anyone else to see me lose my place on the team. Yes, Mignon and the Observer must be very closely related.”
CHAPTER XVII—IN TIME OF NEED
Three days later Marjorie’s theory seemed destined to prove itself correct. Ellen Seymour came to her, wrath in her eye. “See here, Marjorie,” she burst forth impulsively, “if Miss Davis sends for you to meet her in the gym after school, let me know. I’m going there with you. Yesterday while you girls were at practice she stood there watching you. Do you remember?”
“Yes. I noticed her. She stared at me so hard she made me nervous and I played badly. She has always had that effect on me. Last year when she managed the team she was fond of watching me. She used to criticize my playing, too, and call out one thing to me just when I knew I ought to do another. She was awfully fussy. I hope she isn’t going to begin it again this year. I thought she had left everything to you.”
“So did I,” retorted Ellen grimly. “It seems she hasn’t. Someone, you can guess who, went to her after the game and said something about your playing. She came to me and said: ‘I understand there is a great deal of dissatisfaction on the part of the juniors over Miss Dean’s being on the junior team.’ You can imagine what I said. When I saw her in the gym after school I knew she had an object. But leave things to me. I know a way to stop her objections very quickly. If she sends for you, go straight to the junior locker room from the study hall and wait there for me. If she doesn’t send for you, then you’ll know everything is all right. Remember now, don’t set foot out of that locker room until I come for you.” With this parting injunction Ellen hurried off, leaving Marjorie a victim to many emotions.
So the Observer’s, or rather Mignon’s, prophesy bordered on fulfillment. Mignon and the few juniors who still adhered to the La Salle standard had made complaint against her to Miss Davis in the name of the junior class. As a friend of Miss Merton, Miss Davis had always favored the French girl. Last year it had been whispered about that her motive in creating a second sophomore team had arisen from her wish to help Mignon’s fortunes along. No doubt she had been very glad to listen to this latest appeal on Mignon’s part.
But Marjorie was only partially correct in her conclusions. Though it was, indeed, true that Mignon had besieged Miss Davis with a plea that Marjorie be removed from the team, no other member of the junior class had accompanied her. She was flanked by the far more powerful allies, Charlotte Horner and Rowena Farnham. The plan of attack had originated in Rowena’s fertile brain as the result of a bitter outburst against Marjorie on Mignon’s part. It was directly after the game that she had stormed out her grievances to Rowena and Charlotte. Personally, Rowena cared little about Mignon’s woes. Her mischief-making faculties were aroused merely on Marjorie’s account. Had it been Susan, or Muriel against whom Mignon raved she would have laughed and dubbed her friend, “a big baby.” But Marjorie—there was a chance to even her score.
“You just let me manage this,” Rowena had declared boastfully. “This Miss Davis is easy. She’s a snob. So is Miss Merton. If they weren’t they’d have put you in your place long ago. They can see through you. It’s money that counts with both of them. I’ve made it a point right along to be nice to Miss Davis. In case that frosty Miss Seymour tried to make trouble for me, I knew I needed a substantial backing. Now I’ll ask her to my house to dinner to-morrow night. If she can’t come, so much the better for me. If she can, so much the better for you. Of course you’ll be there, too. Then we’ll see what we can do. You ought to be very grateful to me. I expect she’ll bore me to death. I’m only doing it for your sake.”
Rowena was too crafty not to hang the heavy mantle of obligation on Mignon’s shoulders. Thus indebted to her, Mignon would one day be reminded of the debt. As a last perfect touch to her scheme she had shrewdly included Charlotte Horner in the invitation. Providentially for Mignon, Miss Davis had no previous engagement. So it fell about that Rowena became hostess to three guests. At home a young despot, who bullied her timid little mother and coaxed her indulgent father into doing her will, she merely announced her intention to entertain at dinner and let that end it. The final results of that highly successful dinner party were yet to be announced.
Unwittingly, however, Miss Davis had blundered. In order to strengthen her case she had purposely complained of Marjorie to Ellen Seymour. Knowing nothing of Ellen’s devotion to the pretty junior, she had not dreamed that Ellen would set the wheels in motion to defeat her. She was in reality more to be pitied than blamed. Of a nature which accepted hearsay evidence, declining to go below the surface, it is not to be wondered at that Rowena’s clever persuasion, backed by Mignon’s and Charlotte’s able support, caused her to spring to the French girl’s aid. She was one of those aggravating persons who refuse to see whatever they do not wish to see. She was undoubtedly proficient in the business of physical culture. She was extremely inefficient in the art of reading girls. Sufficient unto herself, she, therefore, felt no compunction in sending forth the word that should summon Marjorie to the gymnasium, there to be deprived of that which she had rightfully earned.
Like many other days that had come to poor Marjorie since the beginning of her junior year, suspense became the ruling power. Two things she knew definitely. Ellen Seymour was for her. Miss Davis against her. The rest she could only guess at, losing herself in a maze of troubled conjecture. Judge her surprise when on reaching the locker room, she found not only Ellen awaiting her, but her teammates as well. They had made a most precipitate flight from the study hall in order to be in the locker room when she arrived.
“Why, Ellen! Why, girls!” she stammered. A deeper pink rushed to her cheeks; a mist gathered in her eyes as she realized the meaning of their presence. They had come in a body to help her.
“We’re here because we’re here,” trilled Captain Muriel Harding. “In a few minutes we’ll be in the gym. Then someone else will get a surprise. Are we ready to march? I rather think we are. Lead the procession, Ellen.”
“Come on, Marjorie, you and I will walk together. Fall in, girls. The invincible sextette will now take the trail.”
Amid much laughter on their part and openly curious glances from constantly arriving juniors who wondered what was on foot, the six girls had swung off down the corridor before the curious ones found opportunity to relieve their curiosity.
“She’s not here yet,” commented Susan, as they entered the place of tryst. “Isn’t that too bad. I hoped she’d be on hand to see the mighty host advancing.”
“Here she comes,” warned Rita Talbot. “Now, for it.”
CHAPTER XVIII—DOING BATTLE FOR MARJORIE
Two spots of angry color appeared high up on Miss Davis’s lean face as she viewed the waiting six. It came to her that she was in for a lively scene. Setting her mouth firmly, she approached them. Addressing herself to Marjorie, she opened with: “I sent for you, Miss Dean; not your friends.”
“I asked these girls to come here.” Ellen Seymour turned an unflinching gaze upon the nettled instructor.
“Then you may invite them into one of the dressing rooms for a time. My business with Miss Dean is strictly personal.”
“I am quite willing that my friends should hear whatever you have to say to me.” Marjorie’s brown head lifted itself a trifle higher.
“But I am not willing that they should listen,” snapped Miss Davis.
“Then I must refuse to listen, also,” flashed the quick, but even response.
“This is sheer impudence!” exclaimed Miss Davis. “I sent for you and I insist that you must stay until I give you permission to go. As for these girls——”
“These girls will remain here until Marjorie goes,” put in Ellen, admirably self-controlled. “Everyone of them knows already why you wish to see Marjorie Dean. She knows, too. We have come to defend her. I, for one, say that she shall not be dismissed from the team. Her teammates say the same. It is unfair.”
“Have I said that she was to be dismissed from the team?” demanded Miss Davis, too much irritated to assert her position as teacher. Ellen’s blunt accusation had robbed her of her usual show of dignity.
“Can you say that such was not your intention?” cross-questioned Ellen mercilessly.
Miss Davis could not. She looked the picture of angry guilt. “I shall not answer such an impertinent question,” she fumed. “You are all dismissed.” Privately, she determined to send for Marjorie the next day during school hours.
“Very well.” Ellen bowed her acceptance of the dismissal. “Shall we consider the matter settled?”
“Certainly not.” The words leaped sharply to the woman’s lips. Realizing she had blundered, she hastily amended. “There is no matter under consideration between you and me.”
“Whatever concerns Marjorie’s basket ball interests, concerns me. If you send for her again she will not come to you unless we come with her. Am I not right?” She appealed for information to the subject of the discussion.
“You are,” was the steady reply.
“This is simply outrageous.” Miss Davis completely lost composure. “Do you realize all of you that you are absolutely defying your teacher? Miss Dean deserves to be disciplined. After such a display of discourtesy I refuse to allow her the privilege of playing on the junior basket ball team.” Miss Davis continued to express herself, unmindful of the fact that Muriel Harding had slipped away from the group and out of the nearest door. Her temper aroused she held forth at length, ending with: “This disgraceful exhibition of favoritism on your part, Miss Seymour, shows very plainly that you are not fitted to manage basket ball in this school. I shall replace you as manager to-morrow. You, Miss Dean, are dismissed from the junior team. I shall report every one of you to Miss Archer as soon as I leave the gymnasium.”
“I believe she is on her way here now,” remarked Ellen with satirical impersonality. “Muriel went to find her and ask her to come.”
“What!” Miss Davis betrayed small pleasure at this news. Quickly recovering herself she ordered: “You may go at once.”
“Here she is.” Ellen nodded toward a doorway through which the principal had just entered, Muriel only a step behind her. The senior manager’s eyes twinkled satisfaction.
“What seems to be the trouble here, Miss Davis?” The principal came pithily to the point.
“I have been insulted by these disrespectful girls.” Miss Davis waved a hand toward the defending sextette.
“That is news I do not relish hearing about my girls. I wish every teacher in this school to be treated with respect. Kindly tell me what reason they gave for doing so.”
“I sent for Miss Dean on a personal matter. She insisted on bringing these girls with her. I requested them to leave me alone with Miss Dean. They refused to do so. I dismissed them all, intending to put off my interview with Miss Dean until to-morrow. Miss Seymour took it upon herself to tell me that Miss Dean would not come to me to-morrow unless accompanied by herself and these girls. Miss Dean declared the same thing. Such conduct is unendurable.”
“These young women must have strong reason for such peculiar conduct, or else they have overstepped all bounds,” decided Miss Archer impassively. “What have you to say for yourself, Ellen? As a member of the senior class I shall expect a concise explanation.”
“We have a very strong reason for our misbehavior.” Ellen put a questioning inflection on the last word. “Briefly explained, it is this. Miss Davis has been influenced by certain persons to dismiss Marjorie Dean from the junior basket ball team. Because the juniors lost the game the other day by two points, the blame for it has been unjustly placed upon Marjorie. At practice yesterday she did not play as well as usual. These are, apparently, the very shaky causes for her dismissal. I shall not attempt to tell you the true reasons. They are unworthy of mention. As her manager I refused to countenance such unfairness. So did her teammates. They will agree with me when I say that Marjorie is one of the best players we have ever had at Sanford High. We are all in position to say so. We know her work. So we came with her to defend her. I admit that we took a rather stiff stand with Miss Davis. There was no other way.”
“What are your reasons for dismissing Miss Dean from the team?” Still impassive of feature, the principal now addressed Miss Davis.
“I have received complaints regarding her work,” came the defiant answer.
“According to Ellen these complaints did not proceed from either herself or her teammates. If not from them, whom could it interest to make complaint?” continued the inexorable questioner.
“The members of the junior class are naturally interested in the team representing them,” reminded Miss Davis tartly.
“How many members of the junior class objected to Miss Dean as a player?” relentlessly pursued Miss Archer.
Miss Davis grew confused. “I—they—I decline to talk this matter over with you in the presence of these insolent girls,” she hotly rallied.
“A word, girls, and you may go. I am greatly displeased over this affair. Since basket ball seems to be such a trouble-breeder, it might better be abolished in this school. I may decide to take that step. Desperate diseases require desperate remedies. You will hear more of this later. That will be all at present.”
With the feeling that the gymnasium roof was about to descend upon them, the six girls quitted the battlefield.
“Don’t you ever believe Miss Archer will stop basket ball,” emphasized Muriel Harding when they were well down the corridor. “She knows every single thing about it. I told her in the office. I told her, too, that I knew Rowena Farnham and Charlotte Horner were mixed up in it. They’ve had their heads together ever since the game.”
“I would have resigned in a minute, but I just couldn’t after the way you girls fought for me,” Marjorie voiced her distress. “If Miss Archer stops basket ball it will be my fault. I’m sorry I ever made the team.”
“You couldn’t help yourself.” Ellen Seymour was rapidly regaining her cheerfulness. “Don’t think for a minute that Miss Davis will be able to smooth things over. Miss Archer is too clever not to recognize unfairness when she meets it face to face. And don’t worry about her stopping basket ball. Take my word for it. She won’t.”
CHAPTER XIX—WHAT JERRY MACY “DUG UP”
As Ellen Seymour had predicted, basket ball did not receive its quietus. But no one ever knew what passed between Miss Archer and Miss Davis. The principal also held a long session with Ellen, who emerged from her office with a pleased smile. To Marjorie and her faithful support Ellen said confidentially: “It’s all settled. No one will ever try to shove Marjorie off the team while Miss Archer is here. But basket ball is doomed, if anything else like that ever comes up. Miss Archer says so.” Strangely enough the six girls were not required to apologize to Miss Davis. Possibly Miss Archer was not anxious to reopen the subject by thus courting fresh rebellion. After all, basket ball was not down on the high school curriculum. She was quite willing her girls should be at liberty to manage it as they chose, provided they managed it wisely and without friction. Privately, she was disgusted with Miss Davis’s part in the recent disagreement. She strongly advised the former to give up all claim to the management of the teams. But this advice Miss Davis refused to take. She still insisted on keeping up a modified show of authority, but resolved within herself to be more careful. She had learned considerable about girls.
The three plotters accepted their defeat with bad grace. Afraid that the tale would come to light, Mignon and Charlotte privately shoved the blame on Rowena’s shoulders. Nothing leaked out, however, and they were too wise to censure Rowena to her face. Mignon soon discovered that the obliging sophomore’s efforts in her behalf had cost her dear. Rowena tyrannized over her more than ever. After the second game between the junior and sophomore teams, which occurred two weeks after Marjorie’s narrow escape from dismissal from the team, Mignon came into the belief that her lot was, indeed, hard. The sophomores had been ingloriously beaten, the score standing 22-12 in favor of the juniors. In consequence Rowena was furious, forcing Mignon to listen to her long tirades against the juniors, and rating her unmercifully when she failed to register proper sympathy.
Owing to the nearness of the Christmas holidays and the brief stretch that lay between them and the mid-year examinations, the other two games were put off until February and March, respectively. No one except Rowena was sorry. She longed for a speedy opportunity to wipe the defeat off her slate. She had little of the love of holiday giving in her heart, and was heard loudly to declare that Christmas was a nuisance.
Marjorie and her little coterie of intimates regarded it very differently. They found the days before Yule-tide altogether too short in which to carry out their Christmas plans. With the nearness of the blessed anniversary of the world’s King, Marjorie grew daily happier. Since the straightening of the basket ball tangle, for her, things in school had progressed with surprising smoothness. Then, too, the hateful Observer had evidently forgotten her. Since the letter advising her to “prepare to meet the inevitable,” the Observer had apparently laid down her pen. Marjorie soberly confided to her captain that she hoped Christmas might make the Observer see things differently.
Obeying the familiar mandate, which peered at her from newspaper, store or street car, “Do Your Christmas Shopping Early,” she lovingly stored away the numerous beribboned bundles designed for intimate friends at least a week before Christmas. That last week she left open in order to go about the business of making a merry Christmas for the needy. As on the previous year Jerry Macy and Constance were her right-hand men. Susan, Irma, Muriel and Harriet also caught the fever of giving and the six girls worked zealously, inspired by the highest motives, to bring happiness to the poverty-stricken.
Christmas morning brought Marjorie an unusual windfall of gifts. It seemed as though everyone she liked had remembered her. Looking back on the previous Christmas, she remembered rather sadly the Flag of Truce and all that it had signified. This year Mary and she were again one at heart. She dropped a few tears of sheer happiness over Mary’s long Christmas letter and the beautiful embroidered Mexican scarf that had come with it. She had sent Mary a wonderful silver desk set engraved with M. to M., which she hoped wistfully that Mary would like as much as she cherished her exquisite scarf.
The Christmas vacation was, as usual, a perpetual round of gaiety. Jerry and Hal gave their usual dance. Constance gave a New Year’s hop. Harriet and Muriel entertained their friends at luncheons, while Marjorie herself sent out invitations for an old-fashioned sleigh-ride party, with an informal supper and dance at her home on the return. These social events, with some few others of equal pleasure, sent Father Time spinning along giddily.
“Aren’t you sorry it’s all over?” sighed Constance, as she and Marjorie lingered at the Macys’ gate at the close of their first day at school after the holidays.
“Sorry’s no name for it,” declared Jerry. “We certainly had one beautiful time, I mean a beautiful time. Honestly, I liked the getting things ready for other folks best of all, though. I like to keep busy. I wish we had something to do or somebody to help all the time. I’m going to poke around and see what I can stir up. I try to do the sisterly, helpful act toward Hal; picking up the stuff he strews all over the house and locating lost junk, I mean articles, but he’s about as appreciative as a Feejee Islander. You know how grateful they are.”
“I saw one in a circus once,” laughed Constance reminiscently. “I wasn’t impressed with his sense of gratitude. Someone threw him a peanut and he flung it back and hit an old gentleman in the eye.”
A general giggle arose at the erring Feejee’s strange conception of gratitude.
“That will be nice to tell Hal when he shows the same delicate sort of thankfulness,” grinned Jerry. “I’m not going to waste my precious talents on him all winter. I’m going to dig up something better. If you girls hear of anything, run all the way to our house, any hour of the day or night, and tell your friend Jerry Geraldine Jeremiah. All three are one, as Rudyard Kipling says in something or other he wrote.”
“I love Kipling’s books,” said Constance. “One of the first things I did when I wasn’t poor any longer was to buy a whole set. That first year at Sanford High I tried to get them in the school library. But there were only two or three of them.”
“That library is terribly run down,” asserted Jerry. “They haven’t half the books there they ought to have. I was talking to my father about it the other night. He promised to put it before the Board. I hope he does. Then maybe we’ll get some more books. I don’t care so much for myself. I can get all the books I want. But there are a lot of girls that can’t, who need special ones for reading courses.”
Jerry’s resolve to “poke around and stir up something” did not meet with any special success. The more needy of the Christmas poor were already being looked after by Mrs. Dean, Mrs. Macy and other charitably disposed persons who devoted themselves to the cause of benevolence the year around. Generous-hearted Jerry continued to help in the good work, but her active nature was still on the alert for some special object.
“I’ve dug it up,” she announced in triumph, several evenings later. The three girls were conducting a prudent review at Jerry’s home, preparatory to the rapidly approaching mid-year test.
“What did you say, Jerry?” Marjorie tore her eyes from her French grammar, over which she had been poring. “I was so busy trying to fix the conjugation of these miserable, irregular verbs in my mind that I didn’t hear you.”
“I’ve dug up the great idea; the how-to-be-helpful stunt. It’s right in our school, too, that our labors are needed.”
“That’s interesting; ever so much more so than this.” Constance Stevens closed the book she held with a snap. “I’m not a bit fond of German,” she added. “I have to study it, though, on account of the Wagner operas. This ‘Höher als die Kirche’ is a pretty story, but it’s terribly hard to translate. We’ll have several pages of it to do in examination. Excuse me, Jerry, for getting off the subject. What is it that you’ve dug up?”
“It’s about the library. You know I told you that my father was going to speak of it at the Board meeting. Well, he did, but it wasn’t any use. There have been such a lot of appropriations made for other things that the library will have to wait. That’s what the high and mighty Board say. This is what I say. Why not get busy among ourselves and dig up some money for new books?”
“You mean by subscription?” asked Marjorie.
“No, siree. I mean by earning it ourselves,” proposed Jerry. “Subscription would mean that a lot of girls would feel that they ought to give something which they couldn’t afford to give. Then there’d be those who couldn’t give a cent. That would be hard on them. What we ought to do is to get up some kind of a show that the whole school would be interested in.”
“That’s a fine idea. It’s public-spirited,” approved Marjorie. “What sort of entertainment do you think we might give? We couldn’t give it until after examinations, though.”
“I know the kind I’d like to give, but I can’t unless a certain person promises to help me,” was Jerry’s mystifying reply.
“Miss Archer?” guessed Constance.
“Nope; Connie Stevens.” Jerry grinned widely at Constance’s patent amazement.
“I?” she questioned. “What have I to do with it?”
“Everything. You could coax Laurie Armitage to help us and then, too, you’d be leading lady. Do you know now what I’m driving at? I see you don’t. Well, I’d like to give the ‘Rebellious Princess’ again, one night in Sanford and the next in Riverview. That is only twenty-five miles from here. A whole lot of the Sanfordites were disappointed last year because they couldn’t get into the theatre to see the operetta. Another performance would pack the theatre, just as full as last Spring. I know the Riverview folks would turn out to it. There are two high schools in Riverview, you know. Besides, we have the costumes and everything ready. Two or three rehearsals would be all we’d need. If we tried to give an entertainment or a play, it would take so long to practise for it. Have I a head on my shoulders or have I not?”
“You certainly have,” chorused her listeners.
“I am willing to do all I can,” agreed Constance. “I’ll see Laurie about it to-morrow.”
“Oh, you needn’t wait until then. He’s downstairs now with Hal and Danny Seabrooke. I told Hal to ask the boys over here this evening. We can’t study all the time, you know. I suppose they are ready to tear up the furniture because we are still up here. Danny Seabrooke is such a sweet, patient, little boy. Put away your books and we’ll go down to the library. Since this is a library proposition, let’s be consistent.”
A hum of girl voices, accompanied by the patter of light feet on the stairs, informed three impatient youths that they had not waited in vain.
“At last!” exclaimed the irrepressible Daniel, better known as the Gad-fly, his round, freckled face almost disappearing behind his Cheshire grin. “Long have we sought thee, and now that we have found thee——”
“Sought nothing,” contradicted Jerry. “I’ll bet you haven’t set foot outside this library. There’s evidence of it.” She pointed to Hal and Laurie, who had just hastily deposited foils in a corner and were now more hastily engaged in drawing on their coats. “You’ve been holding a fencing match. Laurie came out best, of course. He always does. He’s a fencing master and a musician all in one.”
“Jerry never gives me credit for anything,” laughed Hal. “That is, in public. Later, when Laurie’s gone home, she’ll tell me how much better I can fence than Laurie.”
“Don’t you believe him. He’s trying to tease me, but I know him too well to pay any attention to what he says.” Jerry’s fond grin bespoke her affection for the brother she invariably grumbled about. At heart she was devoted to him. In public she derived peculiar pleasure from sparring with him.
The trio of girls had advanced upon the library, there to hold a business session. But the keynote of the next half hour was sociability. It was Constance who first started the ball rolling. Ensconced beside Laurie on the deep window seat, she told the young composer that Jerry had a wonderful scheme to unfold.
“Then let’s get together and listen to it,” he said warmly. Three minutes afterward he had marshalled the others to the window seat. “Everybody sit down but Jerry. She has the floor. Go ahead, Jerry. Tell us what you’d like us to do.” He reseated himself by Constance. Laurie never neglected an opportunity to be near to the girl of his boyish heart.
Posting herself before her hearers with an exaggerated air of importance, Jerry made a derisive mouth at Danny Seabrooke, who was leaning forward with an appearance of profound interest, which threatened to land him sprawling on the floor. “I’m not used to addressing such a large audience,” she chuckled. “Ahem! Wow!” Having delivered herself of these enlightening remarks she straightened her face and set forth her plan with her usual brusque energy. She ended with: “You three boys have got to help. No backing out.”
“Surely we’ll help,” promised Laurie at once. “It’s a good idea, Jerry. I can have things going inside of a week. That is, if my leading lady doesn’t develop a temperament. These opera singers are very temperamental, you know.” His blue eyes rested smilingly on Constance.
“I’m not an opera singer,” she retorted. “I’m only a would-be one. Would-be’s are very humble persons. They know they must behave well. You had better interview your tenor lead. Tenors are supposed to be terribly irresponsible.”
Amid an exchange of equally harmless badinage, the six willing workers discussed the plan at length. So much excited discussion was provocative of hunger. No one, except Hal, said so, yet when Jerry disappeared to return trundling a tea wagon, filled with delectable provender, she was hailed with acclamation.
“What splendid times we always have together,” was Marjorie’s enthusiastic opinion, when seated beside Hal in his own pet car she was being conveyed home. Snatches of mirthful conversation issuing from the tonneau where the rest of the sextette, Jerry included, were enjoying themselves hugely, seemed direct corroboration of her words. Invited to “come along,” Jerry had needed no second urging.
“That’s your fault,” Hal made gallant response. “You are the magnet that draws us all together. Before you and Jerry were friends I never realized what a fine sister I had. If you hadn’t been so nice to Constance, she and Laurie might never have come to know each other so well. Then there’s Dan. He always used to run away from girls. He got over his first fright at that little party you gave the first year you came to Sanford. You’re a magician, Marjorie, and you’re making a pretty nice history for yourself among your friends. I hope always to be among the best of them.” Hal was very earnest in his boyish praise.
“I am sure we’ll always be the best of friends, Hal,” she said seriously, though her color heightened at the sincere tribute to herself. “I can’t see that I’ve done anything specially wonderful, though. It’s easy to be nice to those one likes who like one in return. It’s being nice to those one doesn’t like that’s hard. It’s harder still not to be liked.”
“Then you aren’t apt to know that hardship,” retorted Hal.
Marjorie smiled faintly. She had known that very hardship ever since she had come to Sanford. She merely answered: “Everybody must meet a few, I won’t say enemies, I’ll just say, people who don’t like one.”
That night as she sat before her dressing table brushing her thick, brown curls, she pondered thoughtfully over Hal Macy’s words. In saying them she knew he had been sincere. It was sweet to hope that she had been and was still a power for good. Yet it made her feel very humble. She could only resolve to try always to live up to that difficult standard.
CHAPTER XX—CONSTANCE POINTS THE WAY
“This is a nice state of affairs,” scolded Jerry Macy. “What do you suppose has happened, Marjorie?” Overtaking her friend in the corridor on the way from recitation, Jerry’s loud question cut the air like a verbal bomb-shell. Without waiting for a reply she continued in a slightly lower key. “Harriet has tonsilitis. Isn’t that the worst you ever heard? And only three days before the operetta, too. We can’t give it until she gets well, unless somebody in the chorus can sing her rôle. I’m going to telephone Laurie after my next class is over and tell him about it. The chorus is our only hope. Some one of the girls may know the part fairly well. They all ought to after so much rehearsing last Spring. Most of them can’t do solo work, though. Do you think you could sing it?” Jerry had drawn Marjorie to one side of the corridor as she rapidly related her bad news.
“Mercy, no!” Marjorie registered dismay at the mere suggestion. “I wouldn’t dream of attempting it. Isn’t it too bad that Harriet hasn’t an understudy? I’m ever so sorry she’s sick. How dreadfully disappointed she must be.”
“Not any more so than half of Sanford will be when they hear the operetta’s been postponed. Every reserved seat ticket’s been sold. Who’d have thought that Harriet would go and get tonsilitis?” mourned Jerry. “There’s a regular epidemic of it in Sanford. You know Nellie Simmons had it when the sophs wanted that basket ball game postponed. Quite a number of Sanford High girls have had it, too. Be careful you don’t get it.”
Marjorie laughed. “Oh, I won’t. Don’t worry. I’m never sick. We’ll have to go, Jerry. There’s the last bell.”
“You had better touch wood.” Jerry hurled this warning advice over one plump shoulder as she moved off.
It brought a smile to Marjorie’s lips. She was not in the least superstitious. She grew grave with the thought that the operetta would have to be postponed. At the first performance of the “Rebellious Princess,” Harriet had sung her part at a moment’s notice. Until then she had been Mignon La Salle’s understudy. Struck by a sudden thought Marjorie stopped short. Jerry had evidently forgotten that Mignon knew the rôle. Still, it would do no good to remind her of it, or Laurie either. She believed that Jerry, at least, would infinitely prefer that the operetta should never be given rather than allow Mignon to sing in it. The mere mention of it was likely to make her cross. Marjorie decided to keep her own counsel. She had no reason to wish to see Mignon thus honored, particularly after her treacherous attempt to do Constance out of her part. Then, too, there was the new grievance of the Observer against her.
By the time school was over for the day, Constance had already been acquainted with the dire news. Apart from her two chums, Jerry had told no one else except Hal and Laurie. When the three girls emerged from the school building, accompanied by Susan, Muriel and Irma, they saw the two young men waiting for them across the street. The latter three faithful satellites immediately took themselves off with much giggling advice to Jerry that four was a company, but five a crowd. Jerry merely grinned amiably and refused to join them. She knew her own business.
“This is too bad, Jerry,” were Laurie’s first words. “What are we to do?”
“That’s for you to say,” shrugged Jerry. “All I can think of to do is have a try-out of the chorus. If none of them can sing Harriet’s part, we’ll have to call it off. I mean postpone it.” Jerry cast a sly glance at Hal to see if he had noticed her polite amendment.
“What have you to say, Constance and Marjorie?” queried Laurie. “But the street is not the place for a consultation. Suppose we go down to Sargent’s to talk it over. I spoke to Professor Harmon this afternoon, but he said he’d rather leave it to me. He’s busy just now with that new boy choir at the Episcopal Church. He wants me to direct the operetta.”
Voicing approval of this last, the three girls allowed their willing cavaliers to steer them toward Sargent’s hospitable doors. Hal, Marjorie and Jerry took the lead, leaving Constance and Laurie to follow. Nothing further relating to the problem that had risen was said until the five were seated at a rear table in the confectioner’s smart little shop. Then Laurie abruptly took it up. “We are ready for suggestions,” he invited.
“I have one.” There was a peculiar note of uncertainty in Constance’s voice as she spoke. “You are not going to be pleased with it, but it seems to me the only thing to do.” More boldly she added: “Let Mignon La Salle sing the part.”
“Never!” burst from Laurie and Jerry simultaneously.
The appearance of a white-coated youth to take their order halted the discussion for a moment. As he hurried away Marjorie’s soft voice was heard: “I thought of that, too, this morning. I had made up my mind not to speak of it. Connie makes me ashamed of myself. Connie is willing for Mignon to sing the part that she cheated herself of. I think we ought to be.”
In silence Laurie stared at her across the table, his brows knitted in a deep frown. Then his gaze rested on Constance. “You girls are queer,” he said slowly. “I don’t understand you at all.”
“I do,” declared Jerry, far from pleased. “I can’t say I agree with them, though. If we ask Mignon to sing the part (I don’t know who’s going to ask her), she will parade around like a peacock. She may say ‘no’ just for spite. She doesn’t speak to any of us.” Then she added in a milder tone, “I suppose her father would dance a hornpipe if we let her sing it. I heard he felt terribly about the way she performed last Spring. You know he put off a business trip just to go to hear her sing, and then she didn’t. She had nobody but herself to blame, though.”
Unwittingly, Jerry had struck a responsive chord in Hal. Leaning forward, he said impulsively, “Then I think I’d ask her, Laurie. Mr. La Salle is a fine man. His office is next to Dad’s. I often go in there and talk to him. He is mighty interesting. He has traveled all over the world and knows how to tell about what he’s seen. He’s all wrapped up in Mignon. You can see that. I wish you’d ask her just on his account. It would pay up for last Spring.”
“Three against two,” grumbled Jerry, “and one of them my own brother. Do we stand our ground, Laurie, or do we not?”
Laurie did not answer immediately. He had not forgiven the French girl her transgression against Constance. The battery of earnest blue and brown eyes bent upon him proved fatal to his animosity. “Our ground seems to be shaky,” he answered. “The majority generally rules.”
“Then you will ask her?” Constance flashed him a radiant smile that quite repaid him for his hinted decision in Mignon’s favor. “It will have to be you. She wouldn’t do it for us.”
Laurie showed lively consternation. “Oh, see here——” Innate chivalry toward girlhood overtook him. “All right,” he answered. “I’ll ask her.”
In the midst of countless woes, arising from her unwilling allegiance to Rowena Farnham, Mignon next day received the glorious invitation from a most studiedly polite young man. If anyone other than Lawrence Armitage had come to her with the request she would, in all probability, refused pointblank to countenance the idea. Mignon still cherished her school-girl preference for the handsome young musician. She, therefore, assented to the proposal with only the merest show of reluctance. Laurie made it very plain, however, that Constance Stevens desired it. Inwardly, Mignon writhed with anger; outwardly, she was a smiling image of amiability.
Afterward she experienced the deepest satisfaction in boasting to Rowena of the honor which had come to her.
“I think I’ll be in that operetta, too,” had been Rowena’s calm decision. “I’ll go to that Lawrence Armitage and tell him I shall sing in the chorus.” Straightway, she went on this laudable errand, only to be politely but firmly informed that there were no chorus vacancies. Over this she raged to Mignon, then consoled herself and dismayed the French girl by calmly announcing, “I’m going to the theatre with you just the same and watch the silly operetta from behind the scenes. Let me know when you have your rehearsals, for I intend to go to them, too.”
Resorting to craft, Mignon managed to attend the first rehearsal without Rowena. The latter discovered this and pounced upon her on her way home with a torrent of ungentle remarks. Bullied to tears, Mignon was obliged to allow Rowena to accompany her to the second and third rehearsals, the third being the last before the public performance.
Though the cast secretly objected to this, they made no open manifestation of their disgust. It was now fairly well known how matters stood between Rowena and Mignon. The latter had no reason to complain of the universally civil treatment she received. It was merely civil, however, and contained no friendliness of spirit. By the entire cast the French girl was regarded as an evil necessity. For that reason they also reluctantly endured Rowena’s presence. But Rowena derived no pleasure from her intrusion, except the fact that she was a source of covert annoyance to all parties. Her jealous soul was filled with torment at being left out of the production. Shrewd intuition alone warned her not to create even the slightest disturbance. She had determined to go with the cast to Riverview. Consequently, she did not propose cutting off her nose to spite her face.
The knowledge that the proceeds from the operetta were to be devoted to school use, rallied the Sanfordites to the cause. The Sanford performances went off without a hitch before a huge and delighted assemblage. It may be set down to her credit that Mignon La Salle sang the part of the proud step-sister even better than Harriet Delaney had rendered it. Her dramatic ability was considerable and her voice and temperament were eminently suited to her rôle. On this one occasion her long-suffering parent was not disappointed in his daughter. Natural perspicacity caused him to wonder not a little how it had all come about, and he made a mental note to inquire into it at the first opportunity. Strongly disapproving of the intimacy between Mignon and Rowena Farnham, he was hopeful that this honor done his daughter would throw her again among the finer type of the Sanford girls. From his young friend Hal Macy he had received glowing descriptions of Marjorie and her close friends, and he longed to see Mignon take kindly to them.
Could he have peeped into Mignon’s subtle brain, his dreams would have vanished in thin air. Ever the ingrate, she was thankful to none for the unexpected chance to glitter. At heart she was the same tigerish young person, ready to claw at a moment’s notice. Within her lurked two permanent desires. One of them was to win the interest of Lawrence Armitage; the other to be free of Rowena.