“Oh, Jerry! How you startled me.” Marjorie swung about. “I was up in Miss Archer’s office.”
“So soon?” teased Jerry, putting on a shocked expression. “I am surprised.”
“Don’t be so suspicious,” responded Marjorie, adopting Jerry’s bantering tone. “I had a note, if you please, from Captain, to deliver to Miss Archer. I saw the new secretary, too.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Jerry. “You must have only thought you saw her. So far as I know Miss Archer hasn’t secured a secretary yet.”
“But she must have,” Marjorie insisted. “There was a tall girl in her office when I went there. She must surely be the girl to take Marcia’s place, for she was standing at Miss Archer’s desk, going over some papers.”
“That’s funny. What did she look like? You said she was tall?”
“Yes; tall and very pretty. She had big, black eyes and perfectly gorgeous auburn hair——” Marjorie broke off with a puzzled frown. Her own words had a curious reminiscent ring. Someone else had said the very same thing about——Who had said it, and about whom had it been said?
“Now I know you didn’t see Miss Archer’s new secretary,” cried Jerry in triumph. “There’s only one person that can answer to your description. She’s that Rowena Farnham I told you about, Mignon’s side partner. I told you she was going to enter the sophomore class. She was probably waiting for Miss Archer herself. She has to try her exams, I suppose.”
“But what was she doing at Miss Archer’s desk?” asked Marjorie sharply. “Why did she answer me and make me think she was the secretary? She told several other girls that Miss Archer was out!”
“Search me,” replied Jerry inelegantly. “If she’s much like Mignon it’s hard to tell what she was up to. Believe me, they’re a precious pair of trouble-makers and don’t you forget it.”
“I ought to have recognized her,” faltered Marjorie. A curious sense of dread had stolen over her. “Don’t you remember Mary described her almost as I did just now, that day you came to see us, when first you got back to Sanford?”
“Well, nobody’s going to kill you because you didn’t, are they?” inquired Jerry with a grin. “What’s the matter? What makes you look so solemn?”
“Oh, I was just wondering,” evaded Marjorie. Outwardly only slightly ruffled, tumult raged within. She had begun to see clearly what had hitherto been obscure and the revelation was a severe shock. All she could hope was that what she now strongly suspected might not, after all, be true.
CHAPTER V—A STORMY INTERVIEW
Marjorie returned to school that afternoon in a most perturbed state of mind, occasioned by Jerry Macy’s identification of Rowena Farnham as the girl whom she had assisted in the working out of the problem in quadratic equations. She was now almost certain that she had unwittingly assisted in a most dishonest enterprise. If the papers on Miss Archer’s desk comprised the trial examination to sophomore estate, then Rowena had no doubt been guilty of tampering with what should concern her only at the moment when the test began. If they were the sophomore examination papers, why had Miss Archer left them thus exposed on her desk? And now what was she, Marjorie, to do about it? She felt that when she delivered her mother’s note to Miss Archer, she ought to inform the principal of what had occurred during her absence. Yet she hated to do this. It was tale bearing. Besides, her suspicions might prove unfounded.
She was still juggling the trying situation when she entered Miss Archer’s office to deliver her captain’s note. Should she speak of it or not? The fact that Miss Archer was now accessible but extremely busy, with several girls occupying the office benches, caused her to put off her decision for a time. She stopped only long enough to receive a kindly welcome from the principal and to perform her mission as messenger. Then she went dejectedly to her recitation in civil government, wondering resentfully if the event of the morning was the beginning of an unpleasant year.
By a determined effort of will, Marjorie put the whole thing aside to attend strictly to her recitations. But during the study hour that preceded dismissal for the day, a way of settling the difficulty presented itself to her. It was not an agreeable way, but her straightforward soul welcomed it as a means toward settlement. She was resolved to seek Rowena Farnham and learn the truth. The question of where to find her was next to be considered. She had not yet made an appearance into the study hall. Doubtless she was in the little recitation room on the second floor that was seldom used except in the case of pupils with special examinations to try. Marjorie mused darkly as to whether the problem she had obligingly solved would figure in Rowena’s algebra paper.
Half-past three saw Marjorie on her way to the locker room, keeping a sharp lookout for a tall figure crowned with luxuriant auburn hair. Her vigilance met with no reward, however, and she left the school building in company with Irma, Jerry, Constance and Susan, deliberating as to what she had best do next. Outside the high school she caught no glimpse of her quarry among the throng of girls that came trooping down the wide stone steps. Although she took part in her friends’ animated conversation, she was steadily thinking of the self-imposed task that lay before her.
“Let’s go down to Sargent’s,” proposed Susan, gleefully jingling a handful of silver that clinked of sundaes and divers delicious cheer.
“You girls go. I can’t. I’ve an errand to do.” Marjorie’s color rose as she spoke.
“Do your errand some other time,” coaxed Susan. “I may not have any money to spend to-morrow.”
“I’ll treat to-morrow,” Marjorie assured her. “I can’t possibly put off my errand. You can imagine I’m with you. Always cultivate your imagination.”
Four voices rose to protest her decision, but she remained firm. “To-morrow,” she compromised. “Please don’t tease me. I can’t really go with you to-day.”
“We’ll try to get along without you, just this once,” agreed tactful Constance. Something in Marjorie’s manner told her that her friend wished to go on her way alone.
“Go ahead then, Marjorie. Do your errand, faithful child,” consented Jerry, who had also scented the unusual and shrewdly speculated as to whether it had anything to do with their conversation of the morning.
Anxious, yet regretful, to be free of her chums, Marjorie said good-bye and hurried off in an opposite direction. Jerry had said that the Farnhams lived in the beautiful residence that adjoined Mignon La Salle’s home. It was not a long walk, yet how Marjorie dreaded it. Given that Rowena were at home, Mignon would, perhaps, be with her. That would make matters doubly hard. Yet she could do no less than carry out the interview she felt must take place at the earliest possible moment.
It was a very grave little girl who opened the ornamental iron gate and proceeded reluctantly up the long driveway to the huge brown stone house, set in the midst of a wide expanse of tree-dotted lawn. For all the residence was a magnificent affair, Marjorie shivered as she mounted the massive stone steps. There was little of the atmosphere of home about it.
“Is Miss Rowena Farnham here?” was her low-voiced question of the white-capped maid who answered the door.
“She hasn’t come home from school yet, miss,” informed the maid. “Will you step into the house and wait for her?”
“Yes, thank you.” Marjorie followed the woman into a high-ceilinged, beautifully appointed, square hall and across it to a mammoth drawing-room, very handsomely furnished, but cheerless, nevertheless. She felt very small and insignificant as she settled herself lightly on an ornate gilt chair, to await the arrival of Rowena.
Her vigil was destined to be tedious, unbroken by the sight of anyone save the maid, who passed through the hall once or twice on her way to answer the bell. Even she did not trouble herself to glance through the half-parted brocade portieres at the lonely little figure in the room beyond. Consulting her wrist watch, Marjorie read five o’clock. She had been waiting for over an hour. She guessed that the girl on whom she had come to call must be with Mignon La Salle. There was at least a grain of comfort for her in this conjecture. If Mignon were at home now, there was small chance that she would be present at the interview.
An impatient hand on the bell sent a shrill, reverberating peal through the great house. An instant and she heard the maid’s voice, carefully lowered. There came the sound of quick, questioning tones, which she recognized. Rowena had at last put in an appearance. Immediately there followed a flinging back of the concealing portieres and the girl who had sprung into Marjorie’s knowledge so unbecomingly that morning walked into the room.
“You wished to see——Oh, it’s you!” The tall girl’s black eyes swept her uninvited guest with an expression far from cordial.
“Yes, it is I,” Marjorie’s inflection was faintly satirical. “I made a mistake about you this morning. I thought you were Miss Archer’s new secretary.” She lost no time in going directly to the point.
For answer Rowena threw back her auburn head and laughed loudly. “I fooled you nicely, didn’t I?” According to outward signs her conscience was apparently untroubled.
“Yes,” returned Marjorie quietly. “Why did you do it?”
Rowena’s laughing lips instantly took on a belligerent curve. The very evenness of the inquiry warned her that trouble was brewing for her. “See here,” she began rudely, “what did you come to my house for? I’m not pleased to see you. Judging from several things I’ve heard, I don’t care to know you.”
Marjorie paled at the rebuff. She had half expected it, yet now that it had come she did not relish it. At first meeting she had been irritated by the other girl’s almost rude indifference. Now she had dropped all semblance of courtesy.
“I hardly think it matters about your knowing or not knowing me,” she retorted in the same carefully schooled tone. “You, of course, are the one to decide that. What does matter is this—I must ask you to tell me exactly why you wished me to work out that quadratic problem for you. It is quite necessary that I should know.”
“Why is it so necessary?”
“Because I must believe one of two things,” was Marjorie’s grave response. “I must have the truth. I won’t be kept in the dark about it. Either you only pretended to play secretary as a rather peculiar joke, or else you did it purposely because——” She hesitated, half ashamed to accuse the other of dishonesty.
“What will you do if I say I did it on purpose?” tantalized Rowena. “Go to your Miss Archer, I suppose, with a great tale about me. I understand that is one of your little pastimes. Now listen to me, and remember what I say. You think I was prying into those examination papers, don’t you?”
“I’d rather not think so.” Marjorie raised an honest, appealing glance to meet the mocking gleam of Rowena’s black eyes.
“Who cares what you think? You are a goody-goody, and I never saw one yet that I’d walk across the street with. Whatever I want, I always get. Remember that, too. If your dear Miss Archer hadn’t been called to another part of the building, I might never have had a chance to read over those examinations. She went away in a hurry and left me sitting in the office. Naturally, as her desk was open, I took a look to see what there was to see. I wasn’t afraid of any subject but algebra. I’m n. g. in that. So I was pretty lucky to get a chance to read over the examination. I knew right away by the questions that it was the one I’d have to try.
“My father promised me a pearl necklace if I’d pass all my tests for the sophomore class. Of course I wanted to win it. That quadratic problem counted thirty credits. It meant that without it I’d stand no chance to pass algebra. I couldn’t do it, and I was in despair when you came into the office. If you hadn’t been so stupid as to take me for Miss Archer’s secretary and hadn’t said you were a junior, I’d have let you alone. That secretary idea wasn’t bad, though. It sent those other girls about their business. I thought you could do that problem if I couldn’t. It’s a good thing you did. I copied it in examination this afternoon and I know it’s right,” she ended triumphantly.
Sheer amazement of the girl’s bold confession rendered Marjorie silent. Never in all her life had she met a girl like Rowena Farnham. Her calm admittance to what Marjorie had suspected was unbelievable. And she appeared to feel no shame for her dishonesty. She gloried in it. Finding her voice at last, the astounded and dismayed interviewer said with brave firmness: “I can’t look at this so lightly, Miss Farnham. It wasn’t fair in you to deceive me into doing a thing like that.”
“What’s done can’t be undone,” quoted Rowena, seemingly undisturbed by the reproof. “You are as deep in the mud as I am in the mire. You helped me, you know.”
“I will not be included in such dishonesty.” Marjorie sprang angrily to her feet and faced Rowena. “If Miss Archer knew this she would not accept your algebra paper. She might not wish to accept you as a pupil, either. I hoped when I came here this afternoon that everything would turn out all right, after all. I hoped that paper might not be the algebra test you were to have. I don’t wish to tell Miss Archer, yet it’s not fair to either of us that you should masquerade under false colors. You have put me in a very hard position.”
It was now Rowena who grew angry. During the interview she had remained standing, looking down on the girl in the chair with amused contempt. Marjorie’s flash of resentment unleashed a temper that had ever been the despair of Rowena’s father and mother. Her dark eyes glowed like live coals, her tall, slender body shook with fury. “If you dare go to Miss Archer with what I’ve told you, I’ll put you in a much harder position. I’ll make you lose every friend you have in school. I know all about you. You’ve bullied and snubbed poor Mignon La Salle and made her lose her friends. But you can’t bully or threaten or snub me. I didn’t want to come to Sanford to live. It’s nothing but a little, silly country town. I didn’t want to go to your old school. My father and mother make me go. My father doesn’t believe in select boarding schools, so I have to make the best of it. If I pass my examinations into the sophomore class I’ll make it my business to see that I get whatever I take a notion to have. You can’t stop me. I’ve always done as I pleased at home and I’ll do as I please in school. If you tell Miss Archer about this morning, I’ll see that you get more blame than I. Don’t forget that, either.”
Marjorie felt as though she had been caught in a pelting rain of hail-stones. Yet the furious flow of vituperation which beat down upon her did not in the least intimidate her. “I am not afraid of anything you may do or say,” she returned, a staunch little figure of dignified scorn. “I came to see you in all good faith, willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Now that I understand exactly how you feel about this affair, I won’t trouble you further. Good afternoon.”
“Stop! What are you going to do?” called Rowena. Marjorie had already passed into the hall. “You’ve got to tell me before you leave this house.” She darted after her steadily retreating caller, cheeks flaming.
At the outer door, Marjorie paused briefly, her hand on the dead latch. “I said ‘good afternoon,’” was her sole response. Then she let herself out and walked proudly away from the house of inhospitality, oblivious to the torrent of hot words which the irate Rowena shrieked after her from the veranda.
CHAPTER VI—A QUESTION OF SCHOOL-GIRL HONOR
“I’ve something to report, Captain.” Marjorie entered her mother’s room and dropped dispiritedly at her feet. Unpinning her flower-decked hat, she removed it with a jerk and let it slide to the floor.
“Well, dear, what is it?” Mrs. Dean cast a half anxious look at her daughter. The long strip of pink crochet work, destined to become part of an afghan for Marjorie’s “house” dropped from her hands. Reaching down she gave the dejected curly head at her knee a reassuring pat. “What has happened to spoil my little girl’s second day at school?”
Marjorie flashed an upward glance at her mother that spoke volumes. “I’ve had a horrid time to-day,” she answered. “Last year, when things didn’t go right, I kept some of them to myself. This year I’m going to tell you everything.” Her voice quivering with indignation at the calamity that had overtaken her unawares, she related the disturbing events that had so recently transpired. “I don’t know what to do,” she ended. “Do you think I ought to go to Miss Archer and tell her everything?”
“That is a leading question, Lieutenant.” Mrs. Dean continued a sympathetic smoothing of Marjorie’s curls. “It is one thing to confess one’s own faults; it is quite another to make public the faults of someone else. It is hardly fair to Miss Archer to allow this girl to profit by her own dishonesty. It is not fair to the girl herself. If she is allowed to pursue, unchecked, a course which will eventually lead to a great dishonesty, then you would be in a measure responsible. On the other hand, I abhor a talebearer. I can’t decide at once what you ought to do. I shall have to think it over and give you my answer later. Your rights must be considered also. You were an innocent party to a despicable act, therefore I do not believe that you owe the author of it any special loyalty. I am not sure but that I ought to go to Miss Archer myself about it. You have suffered a good deal, since you began going to Sanford High School, through Mignon La Salle. I do not propose that this new girl shall spoil your junior year for you. Come to me to-morrow at this time and I will have made up my mind what is best for you. I am glad you told me this.”
“So am I,” sighed Marjorie. “I know that whatever you decide will be best for me, Captain. I am not afraid for myself. It’s only that I hate to make trouble for this girl, even though she deserves it. You see it may mean a good deal to her father and mother to have her get along well in school. She said her father wouldn’t let her go away to boarding school. That sounds as though he wanted her to be at home where he could look after her.”
“That must also be considered,” agreed Mrs. Dean. “Now don’t worry about this affair any more. I am sure we shall find the wisest way out of it for everyone concerned. You had better run along now and get ready for dinner. It’s almost half-past six.”
Marjorie reached for her discarded hat. Scrambling to her feet she embraced her mother and went to her room, infinitely cheered. As she left the room, Mrs. Dean sent after her a glance freighted with motherly protection. She had no sympathy for a girl such as Marjorie had described Rowena Farnham to be, and she uttered a mental prayer of thankfulness that her own daughter was above reproach.
No further mention of the affair was made between mother and daughter that evening. Nevertheless, Marjorie went to school the next morning in a far from buoyant mood. She had been wakened by a reverberating roll of thunder, followed by the furious beating of rain against her windows. A true child of sunshine, the steady tapping of the heavy drops filled her with a dread sense of oppression which she could not shake off.
By noon, however, it had passed away with the storm. When she went home to luncheon the sun was high in the sky. The rain-washed streets were rapidly succumbing to his warm smile. Only a puddle here and there, or a shower of silver drops from a breeze-shaken tree remained to remind her of the morning deluge.
Returning from luncheon, she had hardly gained her seat when Miss Merton stalked down the aisle to her desk. “Report to Miss Archer at once, Miss Dean,” she commanded in her most disagreeable manner.
Marjorie’s thoughts immediately flew to yesterday. Was it possible that Rowena Farnham had gone to the principal of her own volition? It was hardly to be credited. Remembering her mother’s note, Marjorie jumped to the conclusion that this was the most probable reason for the summons.
“Good afternoon, Marjorie,” greeted Miss Archer from her desk, as the pretty junior appeared in the doorway. “Come here, my dear. I have something rather unusual to show you.” She motioned Marjorie to draw up a chair beside her own. “I wonder if you can throw any light upon this.”
“This” was an open letter, which she now tendered to the puzzled girl. Marjorie read:
“Miss Archer:
“Yesterday morning, at a little after eleven o’clock, Marjorie Dean and a girl with red hair and black eyes, whose name I do not know, meddled with the examination papers on your desk while you were in another part of the building. Marjorie Dean showed the girl how to do one of the examination problems in algebra. This I know because I heard them talking about it and saw them have the list of questions. Such dishonesty is a disgrace to Sanford High School.
“The Observer.”
Marjorie allowed the letter to fall from her nerveless hands. She felt herself grow hot and cold as she forced herself to meet Miss Archer’s intent scrutiny. Yet she said nothing. Only her brown eyes sent forth agonized signals of distress.
Noting her strange demeanor, Miss Archer’s pleasant face hardened. Was Marjorie Dean really guilty of such dishonor? If innocent, why did she not hotly proclaim the fact? “I am waiting for you to explain the meaning of this note, Marjorie,” she reminded sternly. “Can you do so?”
“Yes,” came the low monosyllable.
“Then do so at once,” crisply ordered the principal.
Marjorie drew a long breath. “I can’t explain my part of it without bringing in someone else,” she faltered.
“You mean Miss Farnham, I suppose?”
Marjorie hesitated, then nodded. It appeared that Miss Archer had already put two and two together.
“I happen to know that Miss Farnham is the only one who could possibly answer to the description this letter gives,” continued Miss Archer impatiently. “She was also the only one to be interested in the papers on my desk. I sent for you first, however, because I wished to give you a chance to explain how you happened to figure in this affair. I have always had a great deal of faith in you, Marjorie. I do not wish to lose that faith. Now I must insist on knowing exactly what occurred here yesterday morning. Did you or did you not assist Miss Farnham in solving a problem in algebra, which she culled from the examination paper in that subject?”
“Miss Archer,” Marjorie said earnestly, “I did help Miss Farnham with that problem, but I had no idea that she was trying to do anything so dishonorable. It all came about through a mistake. I’d rather she would explain that part of it. The reason I happened to be in this office was because of the note my mother asked me to bring you. Miss Farnham was here when I came in. While I sat waiting for you she asked me to help her with that problem. I solved it for her and she took it and went away. I waited a little longer, then left the office.”
Miss Archer’s stern features gradually relaxed as Marjorie made this straightforward account of her own actions. The principal noted, however, that she had revealed considerably less regarding the other girl. “That is a somewhat indefinite statement,” she said slowly. “You have not been frank as to Miss Farnham. You are keeping something back. You must tell me all. I prefer to know the absolute facts from you before sending for the other party to this affair.”
“Please don’t ask me to tell you, Miss Archer,” pleaded Marjorie. “I’d rather not.”
Miss Archer frowned, This was not the first time that Marjorie had taken such a stubborn stand. She knew the young girl’s horror of telling tales. Yet here was something that she deemed it necessary to uncover. She did not relish being thus balked by a too rigid standard of school-girl honor. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder how Marjorie could have been so easily deceived.
“Do you think this is fair to me?” she questioned sharply. “I feel that I have behaved very fairly to you in thus far assuming that you are innocent. There are gaps in your story which must be filled. I wish you, not Miss Farnham, to supply them. Suppose I were to say, it is very strange that you did not suspect this girl of trickery.”
“But I didn’t, truly I didn’t,” sounded the half-tearful protest.
“I am not actually saying that you suspected her. Tell me this, at least. Did you know that the problem she asked you to solve for her was from the examination sheet?”
“I—she——” stammered the unfortunate junior.
“You did know it, then!” exclaimed Miss Archer in pained suspicion. “This places you in a bad light. If you knew the source of the problem you can hardly claim innocence now unless you give me absolute proof of it.”
“You have my word that I am not guilty.” Her desire to cry vanished. Marjorie now spoke with gentle dignity. “I try always to be truthful.”
Miss Archer surveyed the unobliging witness in vexed silence. At heart she believed Marjorie to be innocent, but she was rapidly losing patience. “Since you won’t be frank with me, I shall interview Miss Farnham as soon as she finishes her examinations of the morning. I shall not allow her to go on with this afternoon’s test until I have reached the bottom of this affair. Come to my office as soon as you return from luncheon. That is all.” The principal made a dignified gesture of dismissal.
The beseeching glance poor Marjorie directed toward Miss Archer was lost upon the now incensed woman. She had already begun to busy herself at her desk. If she had glimpsed the reproach of those mournful eyes, it is doubtful whether she would have been impressed by them. Secretly she was wondering whether she had made the mistake of reposing too much confidence in Marjorie Dean.
CHAPTER VII—FAITH AND UNFAITH
On reaching home that noon Marjorie’s first impulse was to hurry to her mother with a recital of the morning’s events. Greatly to her dismay, Delia met her at the door with the announcement that her mistress had motored to a neighboring town to meet Mr. Dean, who had telegraphed her from there. They would not arrive home in time for luncheon, probably not until late in the afternoon.
Divided between the pleasure of seeing her father and distress occasioned by Miss Archer’s implied disbelief, Marjorie ate a lonely and most unsatisfactory luncheon. She could think of nothing other than the impending session in which she and Rowena Farnham would so soon figure. She pondered gloomily on the strange way in which the knowledge of Rowena’s unscrupulous behavior had been borne to Miss Archer. Who could have written that letter? Could it be laid at the door of one of the several girls who had inquired for the principal and promptly retired from the scene? If this were so, then some one of them must have lingered just outside to spy upon herself and Rowena. She knew the majority of those who had sought the office while she lingered there. Only one or two had been strangers. Of those she knew, she could recall no one of them she would deem guilty of spying.
As she left her home for the high school, Marjorie smiled in wry fashion at the thought of Rowena’s anger when she learned that her unfair tactics had been discovered and reported. If she treated Miss Archer to a scene similar to that which Marjorie had undergone in Rowena’s home, she was very likely to find herself out of high school before having actually entered. As it was, Rowena stood a strong chance of forfeiting the privilege to try the remainder of her examinations.
Twenty minutes past one found Marjorie on the threshold of the principal’s office. At sight of her Miss Archer bowed distantly and went on with her writing. As yet Rowena had not put in an appearance. Ten minutes later she strolled nonchalantly in, her bold, black eyes registering supreme contempt of the world in general. Her smart gown of delft blue crêpe set off her dazzlingly fair skin and heavy auburn hair to perfection. She was a stunning young person, and well aware of her good looks.
“I understand you wish to see me,” she drawled in a tone bordering on impatience. Ignoring Marjorie, save for one swift, menacing glance, she addressed herself to the woman at the desk.
Miss Archer had already risen. Now she fixed the newcomer with stern, searching eyes. “Sit over there, Miss Farnham.” She waved her to a seat beside Marjorie on the oak bench.
With an insolent shrugging of her shoulders, Rowena sat down, placing the length of the bench between herself and its other occupant. “Well, what is it?” she asked unconcernedly.
Miss Archer’s lips compressed themselves a trifle more firmly. “Your manner is distinctly disrespectful, Miss Farnham. Kindly remember to whom you are speaking.”
Rowena’s shoulders again went into eloquent play. “Oh, excuse me,” she murmured.
Ignoring the discourtesy, Miss Archer reached to her desk for the letter, the contents of which Marjorie already knew. Handing it to Rowena she said: “Read this letter. You will then understand why I sent for you.”
Looking distinctly bored, the girl perused the letter. A tantalizing smile curved her red lips as she finished. “This is your work,” she accused, turning to Marjorie.
The latter opened her brown eyes in genuine amazement. The accusation was totally unexpected. “You know very well it is not,” she flung back, the pink in her cheeks deepening.
“Whatever you have to say, Miss Farnham, you may say to me,” reproved the principal. “I have already gone over the contents of this letter with Miss Dean.”
“I have nothing to say,” replied Rowena serenely.
“But I have several things to say to you,” reminded Miss Archer sharply. “I demand a complete explanation of what occurred here during my absence yesterday morning.”
“I am afraid you’ve come to the wrong person, then.” Rowena was coolly defiant. “Miss Dean can answer your question better than I. No doubt she has already said a number of pleasant things about me.”
“Miss Dean has said nothing to your discredit. In fact she has refused to commit herself. She prefers that you do the explaining.” Unconsciously Miss Archer sprang into irritated defense of Marjorie.
Rowena’s black eyebrows lifted themselves. So the goody-goody had refused to betray her! This was decidedly interesting. Her clever brain at once leaped to the conclusion that with Marjorie’s lips sealed it would be hard to establish her own dishonesty. In itself the letter offered no actual proof. It was merely signed “The Observer.” A cunning expression crept into her eyes. “Someone must have been trying to play a joke,” she now airily suggested. “The very fact that the letter isn’t properly signed goes to prove that.”
“Miss Farnham!” The principal’s authoritative utterance betrayed her great displeasure. “You are overstepping all bounds. Miss Dean herself has admitted that she solved an algebraic problem for you. I insist on knowing whether or not that problem was taken from an examination sheet that lay among others on my desk. If so, there is but one inference to be drawn. During my absence you tampered with the papers on my desk. No such thing has ever before occurred in the history of this school. Now I ask you pointblank, did you or did you not meddle with my papers?”
Without replying, Rowena’s eyes roved shrewdly to Marjorie, as though trying to discover what the latter intended to do. Were she to reply to the question in the negative, would this baby of a girl, whom she already despised, still maintain silence?
Apparently, Marjorie read her thought. “Miss Farnham,” she broke in, her soft voice ringing with purpose, “if you do not answer Miss Archer truthfully, I, at least, will.”
That settled it. Nevertheless, Rowena determined that Marjorie should pay for her interference. “If you must know,” she said sullenly, “I did glance over them. You had no business to leave them on the desk. Miss Dean saw me do it, too, but she didn’t seem to mind. I even showed her that problem in quadratics and told her I couldn’t do it. So she did it for me.”
“Is this true?” To the distressed listener Miss Archer’s amazed question came as a faint and far-off sound. Driven into a corner by Rowena’s spiteful misrepresentation, Marjorie determined to clear herself of the opprobrium. “I saw Miss Farnham with the papers,” she affirmed. “She pointed out to me the one she couldn’t do and I solved it for her. I thought——”
“That will do.” Never to Marjorie’s recollection had Miss Archer’s voice carried with it such unmeasured severity. For once she was too thoroughly displeased to be just. Only that morning Marjorie had earnestly proclaimed her innocence. Brought face to face with Rowena, she had renigged, or so it now seemed to the affronted principal. Abhoring deceit and untruthfulness, she rashly ticketed her hitherto favorite pupil with both faults.
“But Miss Archer,” pleaded Marjorie desperately, “won’t you allow me to——”
“It strikes me that too much has already been said that might better have been left unsaid,” cut in the principal coldly. “You two young women are guilty of a most despicable bit of work. If it lay within my power I would expel both of you from the school you have disgraced. This matter will be taken up by the Board of Education. All I can do is to send you both home, there to await the decision of those above me. Your parents shall be informed at once of what has taken place. As for you, Miss Farnham, in case the Board decides to give you another chance you will be obliged to take an entirely new set of examinations. In a measure I hold myself responsible for this. I should have locked my desk. I have always trusted my pupils. Dishonesty on the part of two of them is a severe blow. You may both leave the school at once. You, Miss Dean, need not return to the study hall.”
Rowena Farnham received her dismissal with an elaborate shrug that plainly indicated how little she cared. Without deigning a reply she strolled out of the office, apparently as self-possessed as when she had entered. Marjorie, however, remained rooted to the bench on which she sat. She could not believe the evidence of her own ears. Neither could she credit the principal’s sudden unjust stand.
“Miss Archer,” she faltered, “won’t you——”
“The subject is closed, Miss Dean. Kindly leave my office.” Miss Archer refused to meet the two pleading eyes that persistently sought hers. This self-revelation of the girl’s guilt had dealt her a hurt which she could not soon forget. To uncover treachery and dishonesty in a friend is an experience which carries with it its own bitterness. The very fact that it is unexpected makes it infinitely harder to bear. Miss Archer’s disappointment in Marjorie was so great as to obscure her usually clear insight into matters. She had trusted her so implicitly. She felt as though she could not endure her presence in the office. Now she kept her gaze resolutely fixed on her desk, nor did she alter it until the echo of the misjudged lieutenant’s light footfalls had entirely died away.
CHAPTER VIII—FOR THE GOOD OF THE ARMY
Marjorie could never quite recall the details of that dreadful walk home. Only once before in her short life had she been so utterly crushed. That was on the day she had rushed from the little gray house, believing that her beloved Constance was a thief. Now it came back to her with force. Just as she had felt on that terrible afternoon, so must Miss Archer be feeling now. Miss Archer thought that she, Marjorie Dean, was unworthy to be a pupil of Sanford High. “If only Miss Archer had listened to me,” surged through her troubled brain as she walked the seemingly endless road home. What would Captain and General say?
Yet with this thought a gleam of daylight pierced the dark. Her Captain already knew all. She knew her daughter to be innocent of wrongdoing. General would believe in her, too. They would not see her thus disgraced without a hearing. She would yet be able to prove to Miss Archer that she was blameless of such dishonesty.
“Well, well!” She had mounted the steps of her home when a cheery voice thus called out to her. The next instant she was in her father’s arms. Delight in seeing him, coupled with all she had just undergone, broke down the difficult composure she had managed to maintain while in Miss Archer’s presence. With a little sob, Marjorie threw herself into her father’s arms, pillowing her curly head against his comforting shoulder.
“My dear child, what has happened?” Mrs. Dean regarded her daughter’s shaking shoulders with patient anxiety as she cried out the startled question.
“There, there, Lieutenant.” Mr. Dean gathered the weeping girl close in his protecting arms. “Surely you aren’t crying because your worthy general has come home?”
“No-o-o,” came the muffled protest. “I’m—glad. It’s—not—that. I’ve—been—suspended—from—school.”
“What!” Mr. Dean raised the weeper’s head from his shoulders and gazed deep into the overflowing brown eyes.
“It’s true,” gulped Marjorie. “I’m not—to—blame—though. It’s all—a—misunderstanding.”
“Then we’ll straighten it out,” soothed Mr. Dean. “Come, now. You and Captain and I will go into the living room and sit right down on the nice comfy davenport. Then you can wail your troubles into our sympathetic ears. Your superior officers will stand by you. You take one arm, Captain, and I’ll take the other.”
Resigning herself to the guidance of those who loved her best, Marjorie suffered herself to be led into the living room and deposited on the friendly davenport, a solicitous parent on either side.
“You’re wonderful, both of you,” she sighed, possessing herself of a hand of each. Her brief gust of grief had spent itself. Her voice was now almost steady.
Mrs. Dean had already made a shrewd guess regarding the reason for Marjorie’s tears. “Is that affair of yesterday responsible for your suspension from school, Lieutenant?” she questioned abruptly.
“Yes.” With an occasional quaver in her speech, Marjorie went over the details of both visits to the principal’s office.
“Hm!” ejaculated Mr. Dean, his eyes seeking his wife’s. “Suppose you tell your general the beginning of all this.”
“It strikes me that Miss Archer behaved in a rather high-handed manner,” he observed dryly when Marjorie had ended her sad little story.
“I can’t blame her so much.” Marjorie was loyal to the death. “I know just how terribly it must have hurt her. I suppose I should have told her everything in the first place.”
Mrs. Dean released Marjorie’s hand and rose from the davenport, intense determination written on every feature. “Miss Archer will listen to me,” she announced grimly. “I shall go to Sanford High School at once. My daughter is entitled to justice and she shall receive it. I am surprised at Miss Archer’s unfair attitude. Go upstairs and bathe your face, Marjorie. General, will you see to the car?”
“But she won’t see me, I am afraid.”
“Nonsense,” returned her mother with unusual brusqueness. Stepping into the hall, she consulted the telephone directory. “Give me Sycamore 213,” she called into the transmitter. “Miss Archer? This is Mrs. Dean. Marjorie has just come from school. I am sure you will accept my word that she has done nothing dishonest. Will it be convenient for you to see us at once? Thank you. We will be at the high school within the next half hour.”
During the short telephone conversation, Marjorie stood at her mother’s side, hardly daring to breathe. Mrs. Dean hung up the receiver to the accompaniment of her daughter’s wild embrace. “Go and make yourself presentable,” she chided. Disengaging the clinging arms, she gave Marjorie a gentle shove toward the stairs.
Youth’s tears are quickly dried, its sorrows soon forgotten. Ten minutes afterward, a radiant-faced lieutenant presented herself in the hall, renewed buoyancy in her step as she and her captain passed through the gate to where the automobile awaited them with Mr. Dean at the wheel.
“I’ll stay here,” he decided as they drew up before the high school. “Let our valiant captain lead the charge. You can fall back on your reserves if you are routed with slaughter.”
“Captain’s won half the battle,” joyfully declared Marjorie. “Now I am sure I can win the other half.” Blowing a kiss to her father she set her face toward vindication.
Miss Archer greeted Mrs. Dean in a friendly, impersonal fashion, which showed plainly that she was not displeased with the latter for taking such prompt action. Her bow to Marjorie was distinctly reserved, however. She had yet to be convinced of the girl’s innocence.
“According to Marjorie’s story, Miss Archer,” began Mrs. Dean with gentle directness, “she has been the victim of circumstantial evidence. I am not here to criticize your stand in this affair. I understand that you must have been severely tried. I merely wish to ask you to allow Marjorie to tell her story from beginning to end. She came to me yesterday with it, and asked my advice. I deferred decision until to-day. It seems I was a day too late. However, I wish her to do the explaining.”
A faint, embarrassed flush stole to Miss Archer’s face as she listened. She was beginning to realize that she had for once been too quick to condemn. Mrs. Dean was too high-principled a woman to attempt to smooth over her own child’s offences. Under the battery of her friend’s clear eyes, the principal found herself penitently responding: “Mrs. Dean, I must admit that I am at fault. Had I stopped to listen to Marjorie, I am now certain that I should have found her explanation satisfactory.”
“Thank you.” Mrs. Dean extended a gracious hand in which the principal laid her own with a smile. The two women understood each other perfectly.
Marjorie’s sensitive lips quivered as Miss Archer’s hand went out to her also. “I am only too glad to be able to apologize for misjudging you, Marjorie,” she said with grave gentleness. “The truest atonement which I can make is to say ‘I believe in you’ without a hearing.”
“But I wish to tell you everything, Miss Archer,” assured Marjorie earnestly. “It was only because I hated the idea of tale-bearing that I didn’t tell you this morning. I thought that Miss Farnham——”
“Would tell me,” supplemented the principal. “I quite understand. Frankly it would help me very much if you put me in complete possession of the facts of the case. I hardly believe you owe it to Miss Farnham to conceal anything.”
With a charitable striving toward placing the other girl in the least obnoxious light, Marjorie gave Miss Archer a true but unmalicious version of all that had passed between herself and Rowena Farnham.
“This is simply outrageous,” was Miss Archer’s emphatic verdict. “Miss Farnham is a menace to Sanford High School. In all my experience with young women I have never met with her equal. I shall recommend the Board that she be not allowed to enter the school. A firebrand such as she has shown herself to be is more than likely to spread her devastating influence throughout the school. We have a duty to perform to the parents who intrust their daughters to us which cannot be overlooked.”
“I agree with you,” was Mrs. Dean’s grave response. “Still, I am very sorry for this girl, and for her parents. We all wish to be proud of our children. It must be dreadful to be disappointed in them.”
“You, at least, will never be called upon to bear such a disappointment.” Miss Archer’s hearty reply caused an exchange of affectionate glances between her hearers.
“I hope I shall always prove worthy of Captain’s and your trust.” Marjorie’s little speech rung with modest sincerity. Hesitatingly she added: “Miss Archer, couldn’t you possibly give Miss Farnham another chance? When I was at her house the other day she said that her father and mother wanted her to go to high school. She’d rather go to boarding school, but they won’t let her. If she isn’t allowed to enter Sanford High she will have to go away to school. That might not be the best thing for her.” Marjorie paused, blushing at her own temerity.
“You are a very forgiving little girl.” Miss Archer eyed the pleader in a whimsical fashion. “There is a great deal in your view of the matter, too. It is a question of one girl’s parents against many, however. So far as I can remember this is the first case in the history of the school that warranted dismissal. As you have been the chief sufferer in this tangle, your plea for clemency should be respected. It shall be mentioned to the members of the Board of Education. That is all I can promise now. Personally, as you are great-spirited enough to plead for her, I am willing to do my part. But only on your account. I doubt the advisability of allowing her to go on with her examinations. However, ‘forewarned is forearmed.’ Should she be permitted to enter the school, I shall keep a watchful eye on her.”
Real admiration of Marjorie’s readiness to help one who had treated her so shabbily caused the principal to speak as confidentially to her pupil as she might have to a member of the Board. Marjorie, as well as her mother, was aware of this. Yet far from being elated at the mark of confidence, the pretty junior bore her honors almost humbly. She merely thanked Miss Archer in the sweet, gracious fashion that set her apart from all other girls with whom the principal had come in contact during her long service on the field of education.
Almost immediately afterward the Deans said farewell and departed happily to convey the good news to their somewhat impatient chauffeur, who sat in the automobile pondering whimsically on the length and breadth of women’s chats. Long after they had gone, Marjorie’s winsome, selfless personality haunted the busy principal. To be truly great one must be truly good was her inner reflection. Remembering past circumstances in which Marjorie had figured ever as a force for good, she marveled that she could have doubted her. And as a vision of the girl’s lovely face, animated by the light from within, rose before her she mentally prophesied that Marjorie Dean was destined one day to reach the heights.
CHAPTER IX—A SUDDEN ATTACK
“Where were you yesterday afternoon?” demanded Jerry Macy, as Marjorie walked into the locker room at the close of the morning session.
Marjorie considered for a moment. Should she tell Jerry or should she not? She decided in the negative. “I was at home a part of the afternoon.”
Jerry measured her with a calculating eye. “You don’t want to tell me, do you?” was her blunt question. “All right. Forget it. Anyway, we missed you. You’re a mysterious person. One day you march off on a dark, secret errand after making lavish promises to treat on the next. When that day rolls around you don’t appear at all. Never mind. I saved your face by treating for you.” Jerry delivered her opinion of her friend’s peculiar behavior good-humoredly enough. Underneath, however, she was a tiny bit peeved. She was very fond of Marjorie and prided herself that she was entirely in the latter’s confidence.
“You’re not cross with me, are you, Jerry?” Marjorie regarded the stout girl rather anxiously. She could not conceive of being on the outs with funny, bluff Geraldine Macy.
“No; I’m not a silly like Mignon,” mumbled Jerry gruffly. “You ought to know that by this time without asking me.”
“Jerry Macy, I believe you are angry with me,” declared Marjorie, looking still more troubled.
“No, I’m not,” came the quick retort. “I’m not blind, either, and my head isn’t made of wood.”
“What do you mean?” It was Marjorie’s turn to speak quickly.
“Just what I say,” asserted Jerry. “You’ve had some sort of trouble over that Farnham girl. Rowena—humph! It ought to be Row-ena with a special accent on the Row. I knew by the way you looked and spoke of her day before yesterday that something had gone wrong. I’ll bet I know where you went on that errand, too. You went to her house. Now didn’t you?”
Marjorie gave a short laugh. It held a note of vexation. “Really, Jerry, you ought to be a detective. How did you know where I went yesterday after I left you?”
“Oh, I just guessed it. It’s like you to do that sort of thing. I’m dying to hear what it’s all about. Are you going to tell me now?” She accented the “now” quite triumphantly.
“I hadn’t intended to mention it to anyone, but I might as well tell you. You seem to know quite a little bit about it already. I can’t say anything more now. Here come Susan and Muriel. We’ll talk of it after we leave them at their street. By the way, where is Constance? She wasn’t in school this morning.”
“Don’t know. I wondered about her, too. She didn’t say yesterday that she wasn’t coming to school to-day. Maybe her father marched into Gray Gables without notice.”
“Perhaps. I’ll ask the girls if they know.”
Neither Susan, Muriel nor Irma, the latter joining the quartette immediately after, knew the reason for Constance Stevens’ absence. The five girls trooped out of the building together, chatting gaily as they started home for luncheon. Marjorie gave a little shiver as it occurred to her how near she had come to losing her right to be a pupil of Sanford High. She felt that nothing save the loss of her dear ones would have hurt her more than to have been dismissed from school under a cloud.
“Now tell me everything,” began Jerry, the moment they had parted from the three girls to continue on up the pleasant, tree-lined avenue.
“I think that was simply awful,” burst forth the now irate Jerry, as Marjorie concluded her narration. “Talk about Mignon—she’s an angel with beautiful feathery wings, when you come to compare her with Row-ena. I hope the Board says she can’t set foot in school again. That’s what I hope. I’ll tell my father to vote against letting her try any more examinations. That’s what I’ll do.”
“You mustn’t do that.” Marjorie spoke with unusual severity. “What I’ve said to you is in confidence. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair. For her father’s and mother’s sake I think she ought to have another chance. It might be the very best thing for her to go to high school. She will be far better off at home than away at boarding school. If she could go away to a college it would be different. Colleges are more strict and dignified. A girl just has to live up to their traditions. General says that even in the most select boarding schools the girls have too much liberty. So you see it wouldn’t be a good place for this girl.”
“I see you’re a goose,” was Jerry’s unflattering comment. “You’re a dear goose, though. You certainly have the reform habit. I can tell you, though, that you are all wrong about this Farnham girl. You remember how beautifully we reformed Mignon, and how grateful she was. Mignon’s a mere infant beside gentle, little Row-ena. You notice I still say Row. It’s a very good name for her. Of course, we could change off occasionally and call her Fightena, or Quarrelena, or Scrapena.” Jerry giggled at her own witticism.
Marjorie could not forbear joining her. Jerry’s disapproval of things was usually tinged with comedy. “You’re a heartless person, Jeremiah,” she reproved lightly. “I’m not going to try to reform Miss Farnham. I can’t imagine her as taking kindly to it. I’m only saying that she ought to have another chance.”
“Well, if you can stand it I can,” Jerry sighed, then chuckled as her vivid imagination pictured to her the high-handed Rowena struggling in the clutches of reform. “Miss Archer ought to have thought twice and spoken once,” she added grimly. “That’s what she’s always preaching to us to do.” Jerry was no respecter of personages.
“I can’t blame her much,” Marjorie shook her head. “It’s dreadful to think that someone you’ve trusted is dishonorable. It hurts a good deal worse than if it were someone you had expected would fail you. I know.”
“I suppose you do.” Jerry understood the significant “I know.” Rather more gently she continued: “Perhaps you’re right about Fightena, I mean Row-ena. You generally are right, only you’ve got into some tangled webs trying to prove it. Anyway, she won’t be a junior if she does manage to get into school. She’ll be a sophomore. I hope she stays where she belongs. You’d better look out for her, though. If she really thinks you wrote that anonymous letter—I don’t believe she does—she’ll try to get even. With Mignon La Salle to help, she might bother you a good deal. I hope they have a falling out.”
“You are always hoping some terrible thing,” laughed Marjorie. “You have the hoping habit, and your hopes about other people are really horrifying.”
“Never mind, they never amount to much,” consoled Jerry with a chuckle. “I’ve been hoping awful things about people I don’t like for years and that’s all the good it’s ever done.”
“I think I’ll run over to Gray Gables after school,” Marjorie changed the subject with sudden abruptness. “Want to go with me?”
“I’ll go,” assented Jerry. “I owe Charlie a box of candy. I promised it to him the night of Mary’s farewell party. Mary wrote me a dandy letter. Did I tell you about it?”
“No. I’ve had one from her, too; eighteen pages.”
“Some letter. Mine was only ten.”
The introduction of Mary’s name into the conversation kept the two girls busy talking until they were about to part company.
“Don’t forget you are going with me to see Constance,” reminded Marjorie as Jerry left her at the Macys’ gate.
“Do you believe that I could possibly forget?” Jerry laid a fat hand over her heart in ridiculous imitation of a certain sentimental high school youth whom Marjorie continually endeavored to dodge.
“See that you don’t,” was her laughing retort. “Shall we ask Muriel, Susan and Irma to go with us?”
“None of them can go. Muriel has to take a piano lesson. Susan has a date with her dressmaker, and Irma’s going shopping with her mother. You see I know everything about everybody,” asserted Jerry, unconsciously repeating Constance Stevens’ very words.
“You surely do,” Marjorie agreed. “Good-bye, then. I’ll meet you in the locker room after school to-night.”
“My name is Johnny-on-the-spot,” returned the irrepressible Jerry over her shoulder.
“Oh, dear!” Marjorie exclaimed in impatience, as she walked into the locker room at the end of the afternoon session to find Jerry already there ahead of her. “I’ve left my Cæsar in my desk. I’ll have to go back after it. That lesson for to-morrow is dreadfully long. Somehow I couldn’t keep my attention on study that last hour, so I just bundled all my books together and thought I’d put in a busy evening. I don’t see how I missed my Commentaries. It shows that my mind was wandering.”
“Come on over to my house this evening. You can use my Cæsar. We’ll put one over on the busy little bee and have some fun afterward. Besides, Hal will be grateful to me for a week. I’ll make good use of his gratitude, too,” grinned wily Jerry.
Marjorie’s cheeks grew delightfully pink. In her frank, girlish fashion she was very fond of Jerry’s handsome brother. Although her liking for him was not one of foolish sentimentality, she could not help being a trifle pleased at this direct insinuation of his preference for her.
“All right. I’m sure Captain will say ‘yes,’” she made reply. “I won’t bother to go back after my book. If I did Miss Merton might snap at me. I try to keep out of her way as much as I can. Where are the girls? Have they gone?”
“Yes, they beat it in a hurry. Come on. Let’s be on our way.” Though deplorably addicted to slang, Jerry was at least forcefully succinct.
It was a fairly long walk to Gray Gables, but their way led through one of the prettiest parts of Sanford. Situated almost on the outskirts of the town, the picturesque dwelling was in itself one of the beauty spots of the thriving little city.
“There’s the Jail.” Jerry indexed a plump finger toward the inhospitable stone house which Marjorie had so lately visited. The two girls had reached the point where a turn in the wide, elm-shaded avenue brought them within sight of the La Salle and Farnham properties. “It would be a good place for Row-ena, if she had to stay locked up there. She could think over her sins and reform without help. I hope——”
“There you go again,” laughed Marjorie. “Don’t do it. Suppose some day all these things you have hoped about other people were to come back to you.”
“I won’t worry about it until they do,” Jerry made optimistic answer. “If I——” She checked herself to stare at a runabout that shot past them, driven at a reckless rate of speed by an elfish-faced girl. “There they go!” she exclaimed. “Did you see who was in that machine? Oh, look! They’re slowing up! Now they’ve stopped! I hope they’ve had a breakdown.”
Marjorie’s eyes were already riveted on the runabout which they were now approaching. A tall figure whom she at once recognized as belonging to Rowena Farnham was in the act of emerging from the machine. Hatless, her auburn head gleaming in the sun, her black eyes flaming challenge, she stood at one side of the runabout, drawn up for battle.
“She’s waiting for us!” gasped Jerry. “Let’s turn around and walk the other way, just to fool her. No; let’s not. I guess we can hold our own.”
“I shall have nothing to say to her,” decided Marjorie, a youthful picture of cold disdain. “Don’t you say a word, either, Jerry. We’ll walk on about our own business, just as though we didn’t even see her.”
Jerry had no time to reply. Almost immediately they caught up with the belligerent Rowena. Realizing that her quarry was about to elude her, she sprang squarely in front of them with, “Wait a minute. I’ve something to say to you.” The “you” was directed at Marjorie.
Marjorie was about to circle the lively impediment and move on, when Mignon La Salle called from the runabout, “I told you she was a coward, Rowena.” A scornful laugh accompanied the insult.
That settled it. Marjorie’s recent resolution flew to the winds. “I will hear whatever you have to say,” she declared quietly, stopping short.
“I don’t very well see how you can do anything else,” sneered Rowena. “I suppose you think that you gained a great deal by your tale-bearing yesterday, don’t you? Let me tell you, you’ve made a mistake. I’m going to be a sophomore in Sanford High School just the same. You’ll see. You are a sneaking little prig, and I’m going to make it my business to let every girl in school know it. You can’t——”
“You can’t talk like that to Marjorie Dean.” Before Marjorie could reply, Jerry Macy leaped into a hot defense. “I won’t have it! She is my friend.”
“Shh! Jerry, please don’t,” Marjorie protested.
“I will. Don’t stop me. You,” she glared at Rowena, “make me sick. I could tell you in about one minute where you get off at, but it isn’t worth the waste of breath. Marjorie Dean has more friends in a minute in Sanford High than you’ll ever have. You think you and Mignon La Salle can do a whole lot. Better not try it, you’ll wish you hadn’t. Now get busy and beat it. You’re blocking the highway.”
“What a delightful person you are,” jeered Rowena. “Just the sort of friend I’d imagine Miss Dean might have. As I have had the pleasure of telling her what I think of her, you may as well hear my opinion of yourself. You are the rudest girl I ever met, and the slangiest. My father and mother would never forgive me if they knew I even spoke to such a girl.” Having delivered herself of this Parthian shot, Rowena wheeled and stepped into the runabout with, “Go ahead, Mignon. I don’t care to be seen talking with such persons.”
As the runabout started away with a defiant chug, Jerry and Marjorie stared at each other in silence.
“I hope——” began Jerry, then stopped. “Say,” she went on the next instant, “that was what Hal would call a hot shot, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” Marjorie admitted. In spite of her vexation at the unexpected attack, she could hardly repress a smile. Quite unknowingly Rowena had attacked Jerry’s pet failing. Her constant use of popular slang was a severe cross to both her father and mother. Over and over she had been lectured by them on this very subject, only to maintain that if Hal used slang she saw no reason why she shouldn’t. To please them she made spasmodic efforts toward polite English, but when excited or angry she was certain to drop back into this forceful but inelegant vernacular.
“I suppose I do use a whole lot of slang.” Jerry made the admission rather ruefully. “Mother says I’m the limit. There I go again. I mean mother says I’m—what am I?” she asked with a giggle.
“You are a very good friend, Jerry.” Marjorie looked her affection for the crestfallen champion of her rights. “I wouldn’t worry about what she—Miss Farnham says. If you think you ought not to use slang, then just try not to use it.” Marjorie was too greatly touched by Jerry’s loyalty to peck at this minor failing. “What a strange combination those two girls make!” she mused. “I can’t imagine them being friends for very long. They are both too fond of having their own way. I must say I wasn’t scared by all those threats. It isn’t what others say about one that counts, it’s what one really is that makes a difference.”
“That’s just what I think,” agreed Jerry. “We all know Mignon so well now that we can pretty nearly beat her at her own game. As for this Rowena, she’d better wait until she gets back into Sanford High before she plans to do much. All that sort of thing is so silly and useless, now isn’t it? It reminds me of these blood-and-thunder movies like ‘The Curse of a Red Hot Hate,’ or ‘The Double-dyed Villain’s Horrible Revenge,’ or ‘The Iron Hand of Hatred’s Death-Dealing Wallop.’” Jerry saw fit to chuckle at this last creation of fancifully appropriate title. “You’re right about those two, though. Don’t you remember I said the same thing when I first told you of this Farnham girl? Mignon has met her match, at last. She’ll find it out, too, before she’s many weeks older, or my name’s not Jerry Macy.”