CHAPTER XXVI—“TURN ABOUT IS FAIR PLAY”
“What did I tell you yesterday?” saluted Jerry Macy, the instant she found opportunity to address Irma Linton the next morning. “Marjorie’s sick. Her mother telephoned me before I started for school. She came from Lucy Warner’s yesterday so sick she couldn’t see straight. Her mother put her to bed and sent for the doctor. She has tonsilitis. Isn’t that hard luck?”
“I should say so. Poor Marjorie. I was afraid of that yesterday. You know she said her throat was sore.” Irma looked unutterably sympathetic. “And the game on Saturday, too. But it can’t be played with Marjorie, Muriel and Susan all laid up. That leaves only Rita, Daisy and Harriet on the team.”
“The sophomores will have to call it off,” decreed Jerry. “It’s only fair. The juniors did that very thing when two of the sophs were sick.”
“You’d better see Ellen this noon or before, if you can, and tell her,” Irma advised. “Then she can break it to the sophs to-day.”
“I’m going to wait for her in the senior locker room this noon,” nodded Jerry. “Then she can post a notice at once. Now I must beat it for Cæsar recitation. I wished he’d been killed in his first battle. It would have saved me a good deal of bother.” Jerry’s jolly chuckle belied her vengeful comment on the valorous general.
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Ellen when Jerry broke the news to her. “That is too bad. Certainly the game will have to be postponed. I’ll write a notice instantly asking the sophs to meet me in the gym at four this afternoon. I must call up on the ’phone and inquire for Marjorie. Dear little girl, I wish I could do a great deal more for her. Thank you for telling me, Jerry.” Ellen hurried off to write and then post the notice before going home to luncheon. Her lips wore a quizzical smile. She wondered what the sophomore team would say when she told them.
She had just finished tucking it into the bulletin board when Nellie Simmons, a member of the sophomore team, paused curiously to read it. The very fact that it came from Ellen’s hands indicated basket ball news. “Hmm!” she ejaculated as she took in its contents. “What’s the matter now?”
“I’ll tell you at four o’clock,” Ellen flashed back. With a slight lift of her shoulders, she walked away. Nellie’s tone had verged on the insolent. She had hardly disappeared when Nellie faced about and hurried toward the sophomore locker room, bumping smartly against Rowena Farnham, who was in the act of leaving it.
“Look out!” cried Rowena. “What are you trying to do? I’m not made of iron.”
“Oh, Rowena, I was hurrying to find you!” exclaimed Nellie. “Ellen Seymour just posted a notice on the bulletin board for the team to meet her in the gym at four o’clock. I think I know what it’s about. Marjorie Dean is sick. I heard Jerry Macy tell Esther Lind. You know what that means to the junior team, with two others away from it. I’m sure Ellen’s going to ask us to postpone the game.”
“I’ll forgive you for almost knocking me down,” laughed Rowena, her black eyes glowing. “So Miss Seymour thinks we will postpone the game to please her and that goody-goody Dean girl. I’ll see that she gets a surprise. Lucky you came to me. I can fix things before I go home to luncheon. I’m going to have a talk with Miss Davis.”
Leaving Nellie plunged in admiration at her daring tactics, Rowena sped up the basement stairs and down the corridor toward Miss Davis’s tiny office. “How are you, Miss Davis?” was her offhand greeting. “I’ve come to you for help.”
Miss Davis viewed her visitor with mild disapproval. “I don’t care to implicate myself in any more of your tangles, Rowena,” she declared firmly.
“Oh, this isn’t entirely my affair. It’s about basket ball, though. That Dean girl is sick and Miss Seymour is going to ask us to postpone the game just on her account. Of course, we’ll say ‘no,’ but Miss Seymour won’t mind that unless you stand by us. It’s pure favoritism. Miss Harding and Miss Atwell are sick, too. Even so, there are three of the team left. If you say the game must go on, it will give poor Mignon a chance to sub in the Dean girl’s place. That Esther Lind played on the sophomore team last year. She could fill the other position and we could have the game. Miss Seymour knows that, but she won’t pay any attention to it. Mignon ought to have been chosen in the first place. You owe it to her to do this for her. Besides, it will give you a good chance to even things with the Seymour-Dean combination.”
“I don’t like your tone, Rowena. It’s hardly respectful. As a teacher I have no desire to ‘even things,’ as you express it.” Miss Davis’s censure did not ring true. She knew that this domineering girl had no illusions concerning her dignity of position.
Rowena merely smiled in the bold, cheerful fashion that she always adopted and which passed for real good humor. She did not take Miss Davis at her word. “Think it over,” she advised. “You know you detest favoritism.” She was well aware that Miss Davis deplored it, only to practise it as regarded herself and Mignon. Mignon in particular had always ranked high in her favor.
To have heard Rowena thus pleading her cause would have astonished Mignon not a little. It was by this very means that Rowena proposed to seek her and win back the French girl’s allegiance. Without her companionship, school had become very tame for lawless Rowena.
“When is this meeting to take place?” asked Miss Davis with well-simulated indifference.
“At four o’clock.” Rowena thrilled with triumph. She knew she had gained her point.
“I may attend it,” was the teacher’s vague promise.
“Thank you. I hope for Mignon’s sake you’ll be there.” With this sly reminder Rowena set off, determining to waylay Mignon on her walk back from luncheon. Not troubling to go home that noon, Rowena swallowed a hasty luncheon at a nearby delicatessen shop and posted herself at a corner, which Mignon was due to pass.
“Wait a minute, Mignon,” she hailed, as the latter was about to pass her by with a haughty toss of her head. “You must listen to me. I’ve just fixed it for you to play on the junior team Saturday.”
Astounded by this remarkable statement, Mignon halted. Rowena had guessed that she would. “I don’t understand you,” she said haughtily.
“Yes, you do,” assured Rowena blithely. “Three of the juniors are sick. I just asked Miss Davis to let you help out. She is going to see Miss Seymour about it this afternoon. All you have to do is to keep still until you’re asked to play, then say ‘yes.’ Now do you believe I’m your friend?” she concluded in triumph.
Mignon’s inimitable shrug went into play. “You are very kind,” she returned with a trace of sarcasm. “It’s about time you did something to make up for all the trouble you caused me.”
“That’s just it.” Rowena clutched at this providential straw, which Mignon had unwittingly cast to her. “I am trying to make it up to you. I won’t bother you any more now. But I hope——” she paused significantly.
“You may walk to school with me,” graciously permitted Mignon. The old fascination of Rowena’s lawlessness was beginning to steal over her.
“Thank you.” Rowena spoke humbly. Inwardly she was jubilant. She was obliged to endure these stupid persons, but they were all her pawns, willed to move about at her dictation.
After she had left Rowena in the corridor, Mignon indulged in sober speculation. There was more to the affair than appeared on the surface. Formerly she would have entered into it with avidity. Now she was bound to respect her father’s mandate or be packed off to a convent school. She alone knew positively that recent association with Marjorie and her chums had not changed her. But she must make a pretense at keeping up an appearance of amiable docility. Rowena’s words still sounded in her ears like a clarion call to battle. But she was resolved to do nothing rash. She would wait and see before accepting the chance to play on the junior team. It was lucky that she need not lend her presence to the meeting that afternoon.
When at four o’clock Ellen Seymour put the matter of postponement to five impassive-faced girls, she was not greatly surprised to listen to their unanimous refusal to consider the proposal. One and all they stolidly set themselves against it.
“You forget that the juniors treated you very nicely when your team met with misfortune,” reminded Ellen gravely. She had vowed within herself that she would not lose her temper.
This reminder brought stubborn replies of, “That was different,” and “They have plenty of equally good players to draw from.”
In the midst of the discussion, Miss Davis appeared on the scene. Ellen understood only too well what that meant. “What seems to be the matter here?” she asked. “Are you discussing the question of postponing the game?”
Rowena cast a sidelong glance of triumph toward Nellie Simmons, which said: “What did I tell you?”
“We are,” was Ellen’s crisp return. “The game must be postponed.”
It was an unlucky speech on Ellen’s part. Miss Davis had entered the gymnasium only half decided upon championing Rowena’s cause. The cool decision in the senior’s tones angered her. “I hardly think that will be necessary,” she retorted. “Three of the juniors are ready to play. Miss La Salle and Miss Lind can substitute for the others. The game will go forward on Saturday.”
“That is absolutely unfair,” cried Ellen. “The juniors were extremely lenient with——”
“That will do.” Miss Davis held up an authoritative hand. “Another word and I will report you to Miss Archer. Then there will be no game on Saturday.”
Ellen did not answer this threat. Her head erect, color high, she walked from the gymnasium and straight to Miss Archer’s office. She had not threatened. She intended to act and act quickly.
“Miss Archer, I have something important to say to you,” she burst forth on entering the principal’s office.
“Sit down, Ellen. I am sure it must be. Don’t tell me it is basket ball!” Miss Archer’s lips tightened.
“But it is.” Impetuously, Ellen poured forth her story. When she had finished, Miss Archer’s face was not good to see.
“I’ll attend to this, Ellen. You did right to come to me. There will be no game on Saturday.”
The following morning five girls received a summons to the principal’s office that put fear into their hearts. When, one by one, they appeared, she motioned them to be seated until the last one had completed the line on the oak bench. Swinging in her chair, she faced them with: “There is an old saying, girls, ‘Turn about is fair play.’ Since you seem to have forgotten it, I am forced to remind you. I understand that you asked the juniors to postpone the first basket ball game of the season, due to the fact that your team was temporarily incapacitated. They did so. That in itself points to an adherence to fair play. Very well. Now there comes a time when the situation reverses itself. Having proved themselves honorable, the juniors have called for a like demonstration of honor on the part of the sophomores. You know best what has happened. You have shown yourselves not only grossly ungrateful, but unfit to be trusted. No one enjoys dealing with ingrates. One understands precisely what one may expect from such persons.
“During the year I have not been pleased with the various reports which have been brought to me concerning sophomore and junior basket ball; particularly sophomore basket ball. It is not long since I was obliged to interfere with sophomore methods. At that time I stated that a repetition of such unfair tactics would result in the stoppage of the game for the rest of the year. I now declare the sophomore and junior teams disbanded. There will be no more games between them this year. I have just one thing further to say. It is unfortunate that the innocent should be obliged to suffer with the guilty. You are dismissed.”
A wavering breath of dismay passed along the row of girls as Miss Archer pronounced sentence upon them. Their own treachery had proved a boomerang. Dejection laid heavy hand upon four of them, as with downcast eyes they rose and quitted the place of judgment. But the fifth member of the disbanded team was not thus so easily dismissed. Far from disheartened, Rowena Farnham sprang forward, hands clenched at her sides, her face an angry flame.
“Who are you that you dare talk of unfairness?” In her devouring rage she fairly screamed the question. “You have disbanded the team just to please that smug-faced, priggish Marjorie Dean. You are not fit to have charge over a school of girls. I am ashamed to be under the same roof with you. I shall ask my father——”
“It strikes me that it is I who should inform your father of your outrageous behavior to me,” interrupted Miss Archer in a stern voice. “I hardly believe that he would countenance such impudence on your part to one in authority over you. You may go home and remain away from school until I send for you. I shall insist on an interview with your father at the earliest possible moment in order to decide what is to be done with you.”
“You won’t have to insist on seeing him,” sneered Rowena. “He will call on you this afternoon. My father won’t see me abused by you. He will use his influence with the Board of Education. Then you won’t be principal of Sanford High School.” With this furious prediction of downfall Rowena flung herself out of the office, confident that she had delivered a telling thrust. Not daring to return to the study hall she sped to the locker room, hastily seized her wraps and departed for her father’s office in high dudgeon.
The brilliantly-colored account of Miss Archer’s misdeeds which she poured into the ears of her too-credulous father sent him on the trail of the offending principal with fury in his eye. Less than an hour after Rowena had made her sensational exit, a very tall, red-haired, red-faced man stalked into Miss Archer’s office with the air of a blood-thirsty warrior.
“Madam,” he thundered, omitting polite preliminaries, “I am Mr. Farnham and I wish you to understand most emphatically that you cannot criticize my methods of bringing up my daughter. Though she may need occasional mild discipline it is extreme bad taste in you to cast unjust reflections upon her parents.”
“I was not aware that I had done so.” Miss Archer had risen to confront the slandered (?) parent. She met his angry gaze unflinchingly. “I had intended to send for you, however. Now that you are here we may as well settle matters at once. Your daughter——”
“My daughter has been shamefully abused,” cut in Mr. Farnham majestically. “I regret that I ever allowed her to enter a public school. I shall remove her at once from it. The contaminating influence——”
It was Miss Archer’s turn to interrupt in clear, cutting speech. “Allow me to amend your last statement to her contaminating influence. Your daughter is a trouble-maker. I have borne very patiently with her. I cannot regret your decision to remove her from Sanford High School. It simplifies matters immeasurably.”
Miss Archer’s quiet, but intense utterance sent an unbidden thrill of consternation over the irate man. His blustering manner had not intimidated this regal, calm-featured woman. He experienced a sudden sense of defeat. Fearful lest he might reveal it, he cut his call short with, “My daughter will not return to school. Good morning.”
Miss Archer bowed him out, feeling sorry rather than displeased with the big, blustering man whom fatherly love had blinded to his daughter’s faults. She wondered when, if ever, his eyes would be opened. Under what circumstances would he awaken to full knowledge of the real Rowena?
CHAPTER XXVII—THE FIRST DUTY OF A SOLDIER
“And we can have the party in her room? Oh, fine! You’re awfully dear, Mrs. Dean. We’ll be there at two this afternoon. Good-bye.” Jerry Macy hung up the telephone receiver and did an energetic dance about the hall.
“Training for the Russian Ballet?” asked Hal, as, emerging from the breakfast room, he beheld Jerry in the midst of her weird dance.
“No, you goose. I’m doing a dance of rejoicing. Marjorie’s well enough to see us. We are going to have a party for her this afternoon.”
“You are a lovely girl, Jerry, and you dance beautifully.” Hal became suddenly ingratiating. “Am I invited to the party?”
“Certainly not. It’s an exclusive affair; no boys allowed. You may send Marjorie some flowers, though. You’ve only sent them twice this week.”
“I’ll do it. What time is the party?”
“Two o’clock. Get them at Braley’s. That’s the nicest place.” Jerry was obliged to shout this last after Hal, as, seizing his cap and coat, he raced out the front door.
Over two weeks had elapsed since the Thursday morning which had marked the downfall of basket ball. During that time, Marjorie had lain in her dainty pink-and-white bed, impatiently wondering if she were ever going to get well. But one thing had helped to make her trying illness endurable. Never before had she realized that she had so many friends. Her pretty “house” looked like a florist’s shop and her willow table was piled with offerings of fruit and confectionery sent her by her devoted followers. Every day the mail brought her relays of cheery letters, the burden of which was invariably, “You must hurry and get well.”
And now the day of convalescence had dawned. She was able not only to sit up, but to take brief strolls about her room. Her faithful Captain had just brought her word that Jerry and the girls would be with her that afternoon. What a lot they would have to talk about! Marjorie lay luxuriously back among her pillows and smilingly patted a fat letter from Mary Raymond. “How I wish you could be here, too, Lieutenant,” she murmured. “We need you to help us with our good time. Connie’s coming over early to help Captain dress me in my wonderful new pink negligee. It has ruffles and ruffles. I wish you could see it, Mary.”
“You are only playing invalid,” laughingly accused Constance Stevens. It was a little after one o’clock. She and Mrs. Dean had just finished arraying Marjorie in the half-fitted pink silk negligee that had been one of Captain’s cheer-up gifts to her. “I never before saw you look so pretty, Marjorie,” she declared, as she stepped back to view the effect. “You ought always to wear your hair down your back in long curls.”
“Just imagine how I’d look. And I so nearly a senior, too. Connie, do you suppose Mignon will come to my party?” Marjorie asked with sudden irrelevance.
“When I invited her to it she said she’d come,” returned Constance. “You can’t tell much about her, though. The day before Miss Archer forbade basket ball I saw Rowena stop her and walk into school with her. I thought it rather queer. She had said so much against Rowena after that night at Riverview.”
“She is a strange girl,” mused Marjorie. “I am not very sorry that Rowena Farnham has left high school. Judging from what you just said, it wouldn’t have been long until they grew chummy again. Rowena would have found a way to win Mignon over to her.”
In making this prediction Marjorie had spoken more accurately than she knew. Emboldened by her success in once more attracting Mignon’s attention to herself, Rowena had planned to follow that move with others equally strategic. But before she had found opportunity for a second interview, basket ball had been doomed and she had ceased to be a pupil of Sanford High.
Being among the first to get wind of Miss Archer’s decree and Rowena’s exodus from school, Mignon secretly rejoiced in the thought that she had not been implicated in the affair. She had fully made up her mind to accept the invitation to play on the junior team, were it extended to her. When she discovered the true state of matters, she made haste to declare openly that had she been asked, nothing would have induced her to accept the offer. As for Rowena, she should have known better. After the shabby treatment she had received from Rowena, it was ridiculous in her to dream that she, Mignon, would lend herself to anything so contemptible. A few such guileful speeches to the more credulous girls caused Mignon’s stock to rise considerably higher. Others who knew her too well looked wise and held their peace. Mignon alone knew just how narrowly she had missed falling into a pit of Rowena’s digging.
Quiet Constance entertained her own view of the incident. It coincided completely with Marjorie’s thoughtful opinion. “It’s hard to part a pair of girls like those two,” she said. “They have too much in common. Between you and me, I don’t imagine Mignon will stick to us very long. She’s not interested in us.”
“No, I suppose she thinks us rather too stiff-necked. Oh, well, we can only do our best and let the future take care of itself. There’s the doorbell, Connie. That must be Jerry. She told Captain she’d come over early. Will you go down and escort her in state to my house?”
Constance vanished to return almost immediately, but without Jerry. She had not come back empty-handed, however. A large, white pasteboard box bearing the name “Braley’s” revealed the fact that Hal had outstripped his sister.
“Oh, the gorgeous things!” gurgled Marjorie, as she lifted a great sheaf of long-stemmed pink rosebuds from the box. Her pale cheeks took color from the roses as she spied Hal’s card with a cheering message written underneath in his flowing, boyish hand. “He’s been such a comfort! Just as soon as I get well I’m going to have a little dance and invite all the boys.” Marjorie touched the fragrant token with a friendly hand. “Laurie sent me some violets yesterday. Those on the chiffonier.”
“He sent me some, too,” admitted Constance rather shyly.
“How strange!” dimpled Marjorie. “Oh, there’s the bell again! That surely must be Jerry!”
Before Constance was half way downstairs, Jerry was half way up, her broad face beaming, her arms laden with a large, round object, strangely resembling a cake.
“Oh, take it!” she gasped. “My arms are breaking.”
Constance coming to her rescue, the two girls soon made haven with Marjorie and a lively chattering began. Frequent alarms at the front door denoted steadily arriving guests and a little past two found Marjorie’s strictly informal reception in full swing, with girls tucked into every convenient corner of her room. Her own particular chums, including Ellen Seymour and Esther Lind, were all there. Even Susan and Muriel, who had been busy getting well while she lay ill, were able to be present. Lucy Warner was also among the happy throng, a trifle shy, but with a new look of gentleness in her green eyes and a glad little smile on her somber face.
Mignon appeared, but did not stay to the merry-making. She was full of polite sympathy and apparently bent on doing the agreeable. But in her black eyes lay a curious, furtive expression, which Marjorie mentally decided made her look more than ever like the Evil Genius. After a sojourn of perhaps twenty minutes, during which she walked about restlessly from girl to girl, exchanging commonplaces, she pleaded an engagement and took her leave.
Her presence somewhat of a strain, her departure was not mourned. Now wholly congenial, the party dropped all reserve and became exceedingly hilarious. Despite Mrs. Dean’s protests, they had insisted on bringing their own refreshments, and later on Marjorie’s pink-and-white house was turned into a veritable picnic ground. Jerry’s weighty contribution turned out to be an immense many-layered cake, thickly iced and decorated. “A regular whale of a cake,” she styled it, and no one contradicted her. After the luncheon had been eaten to the ceaseless buzz of girlish voices, each trying to out-talk the other, the company proceeded further to amuse the lovely convalescent with various funny little stunts at their command.
“Girls,” at last reminded thoughtful Irma, “it is after four o’clock. We mustn’t tire Marjorie out. I move we go downstairs to the living room and lift up our voices for her benefit in a good, old-fashioned song. Then we’ll come back, say good-bye and run home.”
The wisdom of Irma’s proposal conceded, the singers trooped downstairs. Presently, through the open door, the sound of their clear, young voices came up to her as she lay back listening, a bright smile irradiating her delicate features. It was so beautiful to know that others cared so much about making her happy. She had so many things to be thankful for.
Afterward when all except Jerry and Constance had kissed her good-bye and departed with bubbling good wishes, she said soberly: “Girls, doesn’t it make you positively shiver when you think that next year will be our last in Sanford High? After that we’ll be scattered. Most of us are going away to college. That means we’ll only see each other during vacations. I can’t bear to think of it.”
“Some of us will still be together,” declared Jerry stoutly. “Susan, Muriel and I are going to Hamilton College if you do. You see, you can’t lose us.”
“I don’t wish to lose you.” Marjorie patted Jerry’s hand. Her brown eyes rested a trifle wistfully on Constance. Marjorie knew, as did Jerry, that Connie intended to go to New York to study grand opera as soon as her high school life was over.
“You are thinking of Connie.” Jerry’s eyes had followed Marjorie’s glance. “She won’t be lost to us. Hamilton isn’t so very far from New York. But what’s the use in worrying when we’ve some of this year left yet and another year before us? One thing at a time is my motto.”
“You are a philosopher, Jeremiah.” Marjorie brightened. “‘One thing at a time,’” she repeated. “That’s the right idea. When I go back to school again, I’m going to try my hardest to make the rest of my junior year a success. I can’t say much about my senior year. It’s still an undiscovered territory. I’m just going to remember that it’s a soldier’s first duty to go where he’s ordered and ask no questions. When I’m ordered to my senior year, all I can do is salute the colors and forward march!”
“Lead on and we’ll follow,” asserted Jerry Macy gallantly. “I guess we can hike along and leave a few landmarks on that precious senior territory. When I come into senior estate I shall use nothing but the most elegant English. As I am still a junior I can still say, ‘Geraldine, Jerry, Jeremiah, you’ve got to beat it. It’s almost five o’clock.’”
Left together, after Jerry had made extravagantly ridiculous farewells, Constance seated herself beside Marjorie’s bed. “Are you tired, Lieutenant?” was her solicitous question.
“Not a bit. I’m going to make Captain let me go downstairs to-morrow. It’s time I was up and doing again. I am way behind in my lessons.”
“You’ll catch up,” comforted Constance. Inwardly she was reflecting that she doubted whether there were any situation with which Marjorie Dean could not catch up. Her feet were set in ways of light that wandered upward to the stars. Though to those who courted darkness it might appear that she sometimes faltered, Constance knew that those same steady feet would carry her unfalteringly through her senior year to the wider life to come.
How Marjorie explored her new senior territory and what landmarks she left behind in passing will be told in “Marjorie Dean, High School Senior.”
THE END