Marjorie Dean, High School Senior

Jerry recited this gem in a high, affected voice, ending with a giggle.

“Very touching,” commented Danny, “and very true. We are, indeed, a happy, hilarious, harmonious, harmless, hopeful, hospitable band.”

“After all,” declared Marjorie, “there’s nothing quite like the Invincible Six, is there? I had a gorgeous time at the Hallowe’en party last night, but these little sessions of ours are so jolly.”

“Hurrah! Marjorie’s given us a name!” cheered Hal Macy. “Hereafter we’ll call ourselves the Invincible Six. It’s a good name, and has a lot of snap to it. It means we are a combination that can’t be downed.”

“Of course we can’t,” agreed Danny Seabrooke glibly. “No combination of which I am a part can be downed. Hence the term ‘invincible.’ It’s lucky for all of you that you have me to lean on. Understand, I speak merely in figurative language. I have no intention of becoming an actual prop for two big fellows like Hal Macy and Laurie Armitage.”

“Don’t worry,” jeered Hal, “we wouldn’t take a chance on you. An unstable prop—you know the rest.”

“I know nothing whatever about it,” returned Danny with dignity. “Furthermore, I don’t wish to know.”

“‘Where ignorance is bliss——’” quoted Hal tantalizingly.

“’Tis folly to waste time spouting proverbs,” finished Danny, his wide grin in evidence.

“Stop squabbling, both of you,” commanded Jerry. “One would think to hear you that the March Hare and the Mad Hatter had both come to life. What about that wonderful idea of yours, Hal? It’s time you quit being so stingy.”

“Keep Dan quiet and I promise to be generous,” was the teasing stipulation.

“Come and sit beside me, Danny,” invited Marjorie with a roguish glance toward the talkative Daniel.

The latter immediately moved his chair with a wild flourish. Planting it beside Marjorie’s he settled himself in it with a triumphant flop. “There’s nothing like proper appreciation,” he declared, beaming owlishly at Hal, who merely smiled tolerantly at this fling.

“Go ahead, Hal,” directed Laurie. “Marjorie’s beneficent influence on Dan will keep him quiet for at least five minutes.”

“All right.” Hitching his chair about until he faced the interested group, Hal began. “You know, of course, that most of the Weston High fellows belong to the Sanford Guards. You know, too, that it is just a high school company and has always furnished its own equipment. Just now the company needs a lot of stuff that it can’t afford to buy. A few of us could club together and buy it, but that wouldn’t suit some of the boys. We ought to try and raise the money in some more democratic way. Now you girls have a club and would like to do something to raise money for it. So I thought between the Guards and the club we could get up some sort of entertainment together that the Sanfordites would turn out to and spend their money. That’s the first half of the idea. The second half is the show itself. Why couldn’t we give a big Campfire in the Armory, and make a lot of money?”

“A Campfire? I never heard of one. What sort of show is it, Hal?” Marjorie leaned forward in her chair, her changeful features alive with curious interest.

“It’s a new one on me!” exclaimed Jerry. “I mean, I never heard of a Campfire, either,” was her hasty amendment.

“A Campfire is a kind of big military show,” explained Hal. “I went to one once in Buffalo. It’s like a bazaar, only instead of booths, there are tents all the way around the Armory except at one end where there’s a little stage. The center of the floor is left free for dancing. Different things are sold in the tents. Confectionery and ices and postcards or anything one cares to have. That would be the part you girls would have to see to. We could have a show and a dance afterward. If we gave it for three nights running we’d make quite a lot of money. Half of it would go to the Lookouts and the other half to the Guards.”

“You’ve certainly got a head on your shoulders, Harold. I forgive you for those disrespectful proverbs.” Danny regarded Hal with grinning magnanimity. “I promise faithfully to be one of the special features at the Woodfire, Coalfire, Nofire—pardon me; Campfire.”

“I’m not sure whether you’ll be there,” retorted Hal. “It will depend entirely upon your behavior.”

“Oh, I’ll be there; never fear” was the airy assurance.

“It’s the very nicest kind of idea,” approved Marjorie warmly. “I am sure that we could work together and carry it out successfully. It means a lot of work, though. When could we have it?” This as an afterthought.

“Thanksgiving would be a pretty good time for us,” proposed Jerry. “We have no school after Wednesday of Thanksgiving week. But there’s football. You boys will be busy with that.”

“Not this year.” Hal shook his head. “Laurie and I are out of it. We’ve had three years of football and so we thought we’d give some of the other fellows our chance. Having to drill so much lately at the Armory has kept us both busy. Then, too, Laurie wanted all the extra time he could get to work on his new opera.”

This last information brought a chorus of surprised exclamations from four young throats. Even Constance was not in possession of this news.

“Now who is stingy?” cried Jerry, looking playful accusation at Laurie.

“Oh, I intended to tell you folks about it tonight,” defended the young composer, flushing. “Hal merely got the start of me. There isn’t much to tell so far. I have a vague inspiration which I’m trying to translate into music. I don’t know yet whether or not it will be worth while.”

“What are you going to name your opera?” inquired practical Jerry. “What is it about?”

“I—that is——” Laurie showed further signs of embarrassment. “I haven’t exactly decided on a name for it. I’d rather not say anything about it for a while. Later on, I’ll be pleased to answer both your questions, Jerry.”

“More mystery!” Jerry threw up her hands in comical disapproval. “Our senior year seems to be full of it. There’s the mystery of Veronica, for instance, and——”

“She is a rather mysterious person,” broke in Laurie. “Last night while she was waiting to do that shadow dance, I stood beside her so as to be ready to take her broom and that stuffed cat she carried on her shoulder after she made her bow on the screen. When she had finished the dance she slipped away from me before I had a chance to congratulate her on her dancing. I thought of course she’d stay for the party. I was surprised when you told me, Jerry, that she wouldn’t hear to it. She seems like a mighty nice girl. Strange, but I could almost swear that I’d met her before last night.”

“You’ve probably seen her going to or coming from school,” remarked Constance. “She is often with us.”

“Oh, I’ve noticed her with you girls, and I’ve always had that same peculiar impression about her. The moment she first spoke to me last night it deepened.” Laurie knit his brows in a puzzled effort to bring back the circumstances of some possibly former meeting with Veronica.

A gleam of sudden inspiration shot into Jerry’s round eyes. “Perhaps you may have met Veronica before last night, Laurie,” she said eagerly. “Think hard and see if you can’t recall the meeting. It might throw a little light on some of the things that puzzle us.”

“Sorry I can’t oblige you,” he declared ruefully after due reflection, “but I can’t remember ever having met her previous to last night. It must be a case of her resembling somebody else I’ve met.”

“Jerry will never be satisfied until she knows all the whys and wherefores of Veronica,” laughed Marjorie. “Never mind, Jerry. Some day we may find out that our great mystery amounts to very little after all. By that I don’t mean that we are likely to be disappointed in Ronny. It’s quite probable that we don’t understand her now as we may later on. To go back to the Campfire, we had better decide to-night when we are to have it. I think Thanksgiving would be the best time. I imagine the other Lookouts beside ourselves will think so, too.”

The subject of the Campfire again taken up, the six friends entered into an avid planning for it. The three boys were reasonably sure that the project would find favor with the Sanford Guards, to which military organization they all belonged. The three girls were equally certain that it would meet the approval of their club associates. Their interest centered on the delightful scheme, both Marjorie and Constance entirely forgot the disagreeable news which they had previously agreed must be broken to Jerry.

It was well toward eleven o’clock when tardy recollection of it swept over Marjorie. The sextette were in the midst of a delectable collation of hot chocolate, sandwiches and French cakes, of which they had despoiled the indefatigable tea wagon, when the remembrance of Mignon’s latest iniquity popped into her mind. Luckily for her, Jerry was seated in the chair nearest to her. Under cover of one of Danny Seabrooke’s lively sallies, Marjorie leaned toward Jerry and said softly: “I have something to tell you, Jeremiah. I thought I might have a chance to say it to-night, but perhaps I’d better wait until to-morrow.”

“‘Never put off until to-morrow what you can do to-day,’” was the cheerful reminder. “Wait until we have finished the spread. You can help me trundle the tea wagon out of here and into the kitchen. Then we can talk. I’ll make a loud and special clamor for the pleasure of your assistance. Does Connie know what’s on your mind? I don’t want to seem rude to her.”

“Yes, she will understand,” nodded Marjorie. “She’d rather I’d tell you. She can entertain the boys until we come back.”

Not long after this guarded conversation took place Jerry made good her promise. “Lend me a hand with this tea wagon, Marjorie,” she innocently requested. “You boys needn’t trouble yourselves. Sit still and look pleasant and Connie will do the honors while Marjorie and I do the work. Besides, two’s company,” she added, with good-humored significance.

“Don’t mention it,” affably retorted Danny Seabrooke. “You have my permission to take charge of the tea wagon. Once it looked good to me. Now that it holds nothing but empty dishes, take it away quickly.”

Hal and Laurie obediently kept their seats. They were accustomed to Jerry’s blunt orders and knew that their services were not desired. Constance flashed Marjorie a quick, inquiring glance, which the latter answered with an almost imperceptible nod.

“See how they mind me,” observed Jerry, chuckling, as the two girls left the room, trundling the tea wagon between them. Entering the kitchen she gave it a final impatient shove away from her. “You’re out of it,” she commented as it rumbled along the smooth floor with a protesting jingle of dishes. “You have the floor, Marjorie. What’s the latest? As you don’t look very joyful, I wonder if our dear Mignon has been busy again. Something seems to tell me that I am not a thousand miles off in my guess. After last night, nothing she has said or done can surprise me much. She certainly got nicely fooled, didn’t she? What I’d like to know is, When did she telephone her house?”

“That is precisely what I am going to tell you,” stated Marjorie in deliberate tones; “But, first, I want you to promise me, Jerry, that you will try not to be too much upset by what I’m going to say.”

“That’s a pretty hard promise to make.” Jerry eyed her friend speculatively. “I’ll be as calm as I can, but no calmer.”

Not greatly assured by Jerry’s half promise, Marjorie plunged bravely into the task that confronted her. Before she had ended, Jerry’s good-natured countenance showed signs of storm.

“Of all the mischief-makers,” she sputtered, “Mignon leads the van! She’s gone just a little too far this time; The idea of her slipping around behind our backs to listen to what didn’t concern her. I won’t have her in the club. As president I have some say about it. I shall call a special meeting of the Lookouts, tell them what she’s done, and recommend that she be dropped from the club. We can’t trust her. She’s broken the Golden Rule a dozen times at least since she became a member of the Lookouts. Either she must leave the club or else I shall leave it,” she threatened.

“I was afraid you’d say that. Understand, I agree with you that she deserves to be asked to resign. But we mustn’t ask her to, and you must not resign, either, Jerry. If you did, it might break up the club. We’ve too much at stake now to begin quarreling. We wouldn’t be helping Mignon by asking her to resign. We’d only be responsible for making her more dishonorable than ever. Veronica won’t mind her gossip.”

“Maybe she won’t,” snapped Jerry, “but it’s not fair to the Lookouts to allow Mignon to do and say things that will cause them to be criticized. We’ve got to take some pretty severe action about it or be set down as in her class.”

“That’s what I am coming to,” continued Marjorie. “The time has come when Mignon must be made to understand that she will have to live up to the Golden Rule. As president of the club, you ought to be the one to tell her, but I am afraid——”

“I’ll tell her,” emphasized Jerry grimly, “and in a way that she won’t relish. Maybe then she’ll be glad to resign of her own accord. If she won’t, then I shall.”

“That’s just the point,” broke in Marjorie mournfully. “She won’t resign of her own accord. If you undertake to tell her she will be horrid to you. Then you’ll lose your temper and—we won’t have any president.”

“I guess that’s so.” Jerry frowned fiercely. Marjorie’s wistful ending had its effect on her, however. “Still, who’s going to tell her if I don’t? You can imagine what will happen if Muriel undertakes it. It will be like touching a match to gun powder. Susan has no time for her. Irma’s altogether too gentle. Harriet’s no match for Mignon. Connie—well, Connie might be able to put it over. I doubt it, though. Mignon is so jealous of her on account of her singing and Laurie. She wouldn’t listen to Connie. Afterward she’d be sure to start a story that Connie tried to put her out of the club because of Laurie’s attention to her at the Hallowe’en party. There’s only——”

“Marjorie Dean left to tell her,” supplemented Marjorie quietly.

“You’ve said it,” nodded Jerry. “You are the only one of us who is likely to make an impression upon her. She doesn’t like you, but she’s afraid of you. She knows, even though she won’t admit it, that you are miles her superior. I’d rather be the one to go to her, but you seem to think it wouldn’t be wise. I guess you know what you’re talking about. One of us is it. If you feel you’d like to do the censuring act, then go ahead and do it.”

“I don’t feel that I’d like to do any such thing.” Marjorie’s answer conveyed strong disinclination. “It’s this way, though. You and Connie and I know more about Mignon than the others know. That’s why it would be best for one of us to have a talk with her. If all three of us went to her together, it would be more humiliating for her than if only one of us went. I’d rather it wouldn’t be Connie. Mignon would gossip about her afterward.” Marjorie paused. She disliked to remind Jerry of her short temper.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do.” Jerry rose gallantly to the distasteful interview in prospect. “You and I will form a committee of two and face Mignon together. You can do the talking and I’ll simply go along to see that she doesn’t gobble you up. I promise faithfully to be as dumb as a clam. But only for this one time. Just to please you, Marjorie, I’ll agree to let her escape what she deserves with a warning. But never again. If, after you’ve laid down the law to her, she starts any more gossip, then there will be one face missing among the Lookouts. If it isn’t hers, it will certainly be mine.”

CHAPTER XIV—AN UNREPENTANT SINNER

The opening of the door by a maid cut short further conversation between them. She ushered them into the drawing room with the information that “Miss Mignon” was at home. Inviting them to be seated, she disappeared to acquaint the French girl with their arrival.

Hardly had they seated themselves when the sound of Mignon’s voice raised in sharp question floated down to them from the head of the wide hall staircase. Followed the patter of light descending feet, announcing to them that the dread moment was approaching.

“Good evening.” Mignon’s black brows lifted themselves ironically as she beheld her unexpected callers. “This is really a surprise!” Her elfish eyes roved challengingly from one girl to the other.

“Good evening, Mignon.” Marjorie’s calm salutation betrayed nothing of her inner trepidation.

“How are you, Mignon?” was all Jerry said. She, too, had sensed hostility in her hostess’ satirical exclamation.

“I was taking a look at my French lesson for to-morrow when I heard the door-bell. French, of course, is very easy for me. I need hardly to glance at a lesson before I know it.” Mignon’s sharp chin raised itself a trifle as she made this boast.

“Yes; you have the advantage of the rest of us,” conceded Marjorie honestly. “French is quite hard for me. The poetry is so difficult to translate.”

“Were you girls at the nursery this afternoon?” inquired Mignon suavely. She was wondering mightily what had occasioned their call.

“No. It was Muriel’s and Irma’s turn to go this afternoon. Jerry and I are to take ours on Friday. What afternoon are you to have, and which one of the girls is to go with you? Irma has the list of names. I haven’t seen it,” Marjorie added.

Mignon shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I was asked to be on duty Thursday afternoon. I didn’t inquire who was to help me amuse those tiresome slum youngsters.” She tossed her head with elaborate unconcern. A scornful smile played about her lips. “It really doesn’t matter, though. I shall not be there. I am going out of town on Wednesday evening and shall not return until late Thursday night. I must tell Irma not to count on me this week.”

An awkward silence followed this announcement. Jerry frowned but held her peace. Marjorie’s brown eyes showed a faint sparkle of indignation. Mignon’s slighting reference to the nursery children angered her. No trace of her displeasure lurked in her voice, however, as she said evenly: “I am willing to take your place on Thursday, Mignon.”

“Suit yourself.” Mignon’s shoulders again went into ready play. “I imagine you girls will find that day nursery a white elephant. It will cost the club more time and money than it is worth. It will keep the Lookouts hustling to supply funds for it. The sum of money we now have in the treasury won’t last long at the rate it is being spent.”

“We have thought of a way to put more money in our treasury,” was Marjorie’s quiet assurance.

Jerry’s round blue eyes focussed themselves upon her friend, amazement in their depths. Surely Marjorie did not intend to put Mignon in possession of the Campfire project before the rest of the Lookouts knew it? Marjorie, however, had been visited by a swift flash of inspiration. In view of the prospective Campfire, Mignon might receive the rebuke about to be delivered in a more chastened spirit than she would otherwise exhibit. She was not likely to cut off her nose to spite her face.

“What do you mean?” Alert interest leaped into Mignon’s face. “What is your new plan?”

Marjorie outlined briefly the money-making scheme which Hal Macy had conceived.

“And will there be a show every night?”

“Yes; Laurie Armitage is going to arrange a little revue.”

“Is he really!” Mignon leaned forward, an eager figure of anticipation. “Do you know who is to take part in it?”

“Nothing definite has been decided yet.” Marjorie could scarcely repress a smile. Mignon’s question patently indicated what was in her mind.

“I wonder if he will ask——” Tardily realizing that she was betraying undue eagerness, Mignon checked herself.

She had said enough, however, to give Marjorie the desired opportunity. “I think Laurie ought to ask you to take part in his revue, Mignon. You sang beautifully in the Rebellious Princess. I suppose he would rather choose the girls for it from among the Lookouts. But he said last night that he was going to be very sure that those he asked to help him would work together without friction.”

“Are you accusing me of being a trouble-maker?” Mignon sprang to her feet, her black eyes snapping with anger. “I want you to understand——”

“Please allow me to go on with what I was about to say,” came the dignified interruption.

“I will not——” began Mignon. Her furious tone changing to one of sullenness, she muttered, “Well, say it.”

“I know you won’t like to hear this, but it must be said. Laurie intends to ask Veronica Browning to take part in the revue. She dances very cleverly and is sure to please the audience. I know that you don’t like Veronica, simply because she is poor,” Marjorie went on bravely. “I know, too, that you have said unkind things about her to others. I have learned that you circulated the report that she was paid to come to Jerry’s Hallowe’en party and dance. This was not the case. She offered to dance at Jerry’s of her own free will. She did not remain for the party, simply because she did not wish to do so. If you take part in the revue and Veronica agrees to be in it, too, then you will have to treat her with courtesy and make no slighting remarks about her behind her back. Should you do so, and were Laurie to hear of it, he would be very angry.”

“That for your servant girl!” Mignon snapped derisive fingers. “I shall say whatever I please to her or about her.”

“Then you are not a true Lookout,” condemned Marjorie sternly. “Every time you make an unkind remark about Veronica or in fact anyone else, you are breaking the Golden Rule. We all promised to live up to it. As an officer of the club, you are especially bound to do so. I came here to-night on purpose to remind you of that promise. It is not fair in you to lay the Lookouts open to censure. You are not playing fairly with yourself, either.”

“Thank you for your kind consideration of me,” retorted Mignon in shrill, furious tones. “I know just how sincere it is.”

“It is sincere.” Marjorie’s low, harmonious accents contrasted sharply with Mignon’s high-pitched tones. “It has been hard for me to tell you these things. I have done so because I am trying to warn you before it is too late. Aside from Jerry and me there are only two other girls in the club who would stand by you if you got into trouble through your own mischief-making. The others would simply demand your resignation.”

“You needn’t count on me to stand by you, Mignon, if you keep up your back-biting about Veronica,” flashed Jerry. She had reached the limit of silence. “I’d have asked you to resign before this if it hadn’t been for Marjorie. You make me tired. Why can’t you let well enough alone? You’re an officer in the Lookouts. If you behave yourself you can shine in the revue. You’ll gain more by keeping your opinions of Veronica to yourself.”

Astonishment at this blunt advice tied Mignon’s tongue for an instant. Secretly she had always been afraid of plain-spoken Jerry Macy. The stout girl had the disconcerting faculty of coming to the point with a vengeance. Her arguments were too clinching to be easily refuted. Marjorie’s earnest speech had had small effect upon Mignon. Jerry had outlined her shaky position in a few brusque words, the truth of which struck home.

Having met her match, Mignon resorted to the world-old feminine artifice. Flinging herself down on a brocade settee she burst into tears. They were not tears of remorse; merely an outward expression of baffled rage. Justly accused, she was overcome by the knowledge of her own inability to clear herself.

Jerry eyed her with patent disgust. “Crocodile tears,” was her uncharitable thought. Marjorie, on the contrary, was moved to pity. Rising, she crossed the room to where Mignon sat huddled on the settee, her face hidden in her hands. Laying a gentle hand on the bowed shoulders, Marjorie said soothingly: “Don’t cry, Mignon. Please try to think of Jerry and me as your friends. We have your interests at heart as well as Veronica’s. I am sure that if you will try to know her, you will find her a delightful girl. No one knows that Jerry and I intended to speak to you about her. No one will ever know. All I am asking you to do is to give both yourself and Veronica a fair chance.”

Mignon answered only with a fresh burst of sobs. This time they were not genuine. Under pretence of weeping, her active mind was already at work, endeavoring to decide what she had best do. To resign from the club would profit her nothing. Once out of it, she would not only miss all the good times in prospect, but also find herself completely out of touch with the members. Far from accepting Marjorie’s rebuke in the spirit in which it had been offered, she now yearned for revenge upon this priggish, goody-goody who had dared to remind her of her shortcomings. Yet how could she retaliate if she deliberately cut herself off from her intended victim? Taking a leaf from Rowena’s book she resolved to bring craft to her aid. She would pretend to fall in with Marjorie’s scheme of conduct. Afterward——

Raising her head with a jerk she said with well-simulated meekness: “I believe you are right, Marjorie. Please give me another chance to show you that I can be a true Lookout.” With an air of deep penitence she held out her hand to Marjorie.

“I am glad you can say that, Mignon.” Marjorie’s hand went out instantly. “Now let us forget all about the disagreeable part. It has been hard for all of us. There is just one thing more I’d like to say. If after you have tried to like Veronica you find that you can’t, then no one will be to blame. We cannot expect others always to see our friends as we see them. You have a perfect right to like or dislike anyone you please. All I ask is——”

“I will try to like her for your sake, Marjorie,” Mignon interrupted with deceitful sweetness. Immediately changing the subject, she began to regale Marjorie with an account of a near accident she had had that day while driving her runabout.

“I think we’d better go,” Jerry announced sharply. She had had quite enough of Mignon and was not impressed by the erring one’s miraculous repentance. She doubted its sincerity, and she could hardly refrain from saying so. She had sat silent and uncompromising during the scene, making no move toward offering a rehabilitating hand. Mignon’s swift change of the subject disgusted her even more. She understood the reason for it if Marjorie did not.

Mignon sent a covert glance toward this stony-faced third party whom she feared. She knew that Jerry was quite out of sympathy with her. She longed to say something particularly cutting to the stout girl but caution warned her to silence.

“Yes, we must go.” Marjorie still stood beside the settee that held Mignon. Now she turned to the latter who had made no move to rise and again held out her hand. “Good night, Mignon,” she said. “Don’t forget the club meeting to-morrow evening.”

Reluctantly Mignon rose to perform the parting civilities which courtesy demanded.

“Good night, Mignon.” Jerry was already half way to the door when she spoke.

“Good night.” Mignon cast a spiteful look toward the stout girl. Following her callers into the hall, she saw them to the door with little enthusiasm. She was longing for them to go and could scarcely forbear slamming the unoffending portal in their faces. Closing it behind them with spiteful force, she clenched her hands in an excess of passionate fury. “Idiots!” she raged. “How dared they come here and humiliate me? They’ll be sorry! Just wait!”

Half way down the walk the reform committee heard the slam of the door.

“Hear that?” asked Jerry savagely. “That’s the real Mignon. Look out for her. You made a mistake when you said what you did about her being free to like or dislike Ronny. You gave her a chance to hit back.”

“But I said afterward that all I asked of her was——” Marjorie stopped. “Why, Jerry, I didn’t say the most important part of my sentence. Mignon interrupted me. Then she began talking about her runabout and I didn’t finish it. I thought she changed the subject because she was dreadfully embarrassed.”

“Of course, she interrupted you.” Jerry grew increasingly scornful. “She knew you’d said just enough to be useful to her. She hasn’t any intention of trying to like Ronny. She’ll treat her just the same as ever. If you say anything about it to her again, she will laugh and quote your own words to you. We might better have stayed at home for all the good we’ve done.”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Jeremiah.” Marjorie linked an affectionate arm in Jerry’s. “I think we’ve done a little good to-night. Mignon will be careful what she says or does for a while. She doesn’t care to resign from the club, else she would have said so to-night. She wants to be in the revue, too. Telling her what Laurie said sounded rather like threatening her, but I had to do it.”

“There is no cure for Mignon,” stated Jerry shortly, “and this is the last time I’ll help play doctor. There’s just one consolation, though. Give her enough rope and she’ll hang herself.”

CHAPTER XV—THE FULFILLMENT OF THE PLAN

One booth would be devoted to the sale of homemade candy, which the mothers of the Lookouts had agreed to contribute. Another would offer hand-painted postcards, pledged by the artistic element of the club. There was also to be a gypsy fortune-teller, a fish pond, a lemonade stand, an ice cream and cake booth, fruit and flower booth, a huge pumpkin on which guesses were to be sold regarding the exact number of seeds it contained, and various other artful attractions which would cost little and yield much profit. It was also deemed advisable to ask the members of the senior class to help at the various booths.

The Sanford Guards had held a meeting on the preceding evening and Hal had informed Jerry of their willingness to take half of the work of preparation on their shoulders. Besides Laurie’s revue, they would offer a funny side show, a shooting gallery, a patriotic booth, as well as furnishing nightly an exhibition of military maneuvers. Jerry duly reported this to the Lookouts, who were well-satisfied. Thanksgiving fell on the twenty-seventh of November. As it was the evening of the fourth on which the meeting was held, the need for swift action became imminent.

“We’ll have to hustle if we are going to do all we’ve planned to do in the next three weeks,” was Jerry’s unofficial reminder. “We have to go to school, you know, and we can’t neglect the day nursery. We’ll have to buy some of the postcards. You girls can never turn out enough in three weeks to supply the demand. The candy and cakes our mothers will take care of, thank goodness. Still, we ought to buy a certain amount of boxed candy. The boys will see to the tents and the counters and such things. Hal says that the military tents the Guards use aren’t large enough. Most of the boys have larger ones of their own that they use to go camping. They will be best for booths. It’s a good thing the Armory is such a whale—I mean, such a large place.”

“We can’t afford to waste a minute,” nodded Muriel Harding. “It’s a good thing, too, that we are out of basket ball this year. I am glad of it. Last year killed my ambition to play.”

“Miss Davis is having her own troubles in making up the teams,” informed Daisy Griggs. “The sophs who played on Rowena Farnham’s team last year all refused to try for the junior team. Nellie Simmons told a girl that she wouldn’t play basket ball again for a hundred dollars. I guess the scolding Miss Archer gave them last year was a little too much for them.”

“I am very sorry there is no senior team,” declared Mignon with a defiant toss of her head. “Basket ball is about the only thing worth while in Sanford High. I think it is very sweet in Miss Davis to try so hard to keep it alive after what she had to endure last year.”

“Whatever she had to stand from the players was her own fault,” flashed Susan Atwell heatedly. “If she hadn’t—— Oh, I forgot—— I’m a Lookout.” Susan subsided with a blush and a giggle.

Mignon’s black eyes gleamed. Others beside herself, it seemed, could gossip. Daisy Griggs and Susan Atwell were both guilty of back-biting. Realizing her advantage she promptly seized it. “It is because I am a Lookout that I am defending Miss Davis. It is hardly fair, I think, to gossip about her behind her back.”

“I’d just as soon say it to her face,” sputtered Susan.

“Suppose we drop the subject of basket ball,” suggested Jerry significantly. “We have other things more important to discuss.”

Mignon opened her lips as though about to make hot reply. Reconsidering, she contented herself with an inimitable shrug that spoke volumes. For once she had scored. She would treasure the knowledge against a time of need. Supremely satisfied with herself, she entered into the further discussion of the Campfire with deceitful amiability. Only one person utterly refuted it. Jerry Macy was not to be deceived for a moment. Unknown to Marjorie, she had determined to constitute herself a vigilance committee of one to keep tab on Mignon. She was entirely through with Mignon and she vengefully hoped that the figurative hanging she had prophesied would soon take place.

The next three weeks found the Lookouts engaged in a whirl of day nursery, Campfire and school. Naturally the Campfire movement predominated their interest. Had they undertaken it alone, they could never have carried it to completion in so short a period of time. The Guards, headed by Laurie, Hal and Danny Seabrooke, proved able coadjutors, and the project took definite shape with a rush.

The Campfire was scheduled to open on Thanksgiving evening, and the excited promoters of it hurried through with their Thanksgiving dinners in order to spend the afternoon in putting the final touches to its various attractions. In a small city like Sanford, advertising the affair had been a simple matter. For two weeks beforehand it had been the main topic of conversation in the two high schools. Gay posters announcing it were prominently placed in several of the largest stores. Typed notices ornamented the locker rooms in both high schools, the pupils of which straightway constituted themselves as ardent news-carriers. This in itself was an infallible method of advertising.

As for the big Armory, it hardly knew itself. A festive collection of tents opened in front to their widest extent, lined three sides of it. At the upper end, at the right of the platform, a palm-screened enclosure had been arranged to hold the Sanford orchestra. Despite the amount of room the booths took up, the space enclosed by them was large. During the early part of the evening it would be used for the military maneuvers. These over it would be turned into a dancing floor. An admission fee of thirty-five cents would be levied at the door, and the spectators would view the entertainment provided from the gallery which extended around three sides of the drill floor.

The Lookouts, in their prettiest evening frocks, assisted by their senior sisters, were to preside over the booths the club had fitted out as their part of the undertaking. The Guards were to look after their own special contributions and act as ushers and program distributors. Colonel Dearborn, a United States Army veteran, the only Sanford survivor of the Civil War, would open the Campfire with a speech of welcome. Captain Baynes, the drill master of the Sanford Guards, was also down for a speech. The latter had received injuries in the Spanish-American war which incapacitated him for further active service in the army. His enthusiasm unquenched, he had organized the Sanford Guards and devoted himself assiduously to their training. He was greatly liked and respected by the Weston High School lads, who had vigorously pleaded for a few words from him to complete the opening ceremonies. Miss Archer had been unanimously chosen by the Lookouts as their representative speaker.

Owing to lack of time, Laurie’s revue would begin at eight o’clock, and last an hour. Constance and Mignon were down on the program for songs. Veronica was to dance, Danny Seabrooke was to demonstrate his agility in a comic juggling act. Laurie and Hal were to display themselves as scientific handlers of fencing foils, while the Crane was to do a funny eccentric dance which he could perform to perfection. Muriel, Susan, Rita Talbot and three Weston High School boys were to contribute a pretty singing and dancing number. Greatly to his discomfiture, Laurie had received numerous requests to play on his violin, and had reluctantly consented to render a solo as the concluding number of the revue. The Weston High Glee Club were to open the performance. The revue was to be followed by ten minutes of military maneuvers, a different drill to be given each night. Then the spectators were to be cordially invited to descend and spend their money.

“I can almost believe I’m a real soldier,” Marjorie confided to Constance, when at half past seven o’clock Thanksgiving evening the two girls stepped into the patriotically decorated Armory which presented a gay and busy aspect. Wherever her eyes chanced to rest she saw the khaki-clad figures of the Guards, their uniforms patterned after those of the regular United States Army.

“It’s inspiring, isn’t it?” Constance, looking very lovely in her pale blue and silver frock, gazed eagerly about her. Standing beside Marjorie, who was wearing her peachblow gown, the two young girls made a pretty picture, as more than one gallant guardsman was ready to testify.

“I do hope everything will go beautifully.” Marjorie clasped her hands fervently. “I have made up my mind that our booth must sell every single box of candy. Irma is sweet among the flowers, isn’t she? The flower booth just suits her. All the girls look lovely. Lucy Warner is a dear in that soft, white gown. She’s a good person to have in the postcards.”

“Now what are you two talking about?” Unobserved, Jerry Macy had stolen up behind them.

“Oh, hello, Jeremiah! How nice you look!” Marjorie reached out to pat Jerry’s plump shoulder. “That white net gown is so becoming.”

“It’ll do,” conceded Jerry gruffly. According to her own statement, praise always made her “feel foolish.” “You and Connie are pretty likely to drag down a few bouquets,” she generously added.

“We’ll do.” Constance mischievously mimicked Jerry.

“Now that we’ve changed compliments, I’ll throw a few bouquets at the shrine of the Lookouts,” grinned Jerry. “We certainly deserve a lot of credit, and we owe a loud vote of thanks to our fathers and mothers. If it hadn’t been for them we wouldn’t have half the stuff for the booths that’s in them now. When this thing is over, the Lookouts must send personal letters of thanks to all who’ve helped us.”

“We surely must,” chorused Marjorie and Constance.

The Lookouts were indeed indebted to their elders. Mr. Macy, Mr. La Salle and Miss Allison had been especially liberal with monetary gifts, while the fathers of the members in less affluent circumstances had each “done their bit.” The mothers, too, had become loyal candy and cake makers, not to mention the many other services they had rendered ungrudgingly. Anxious to encourage their children to the performance of worthy work, these broad-minded men and women believed it to be their duty to assist the young enthusiasts in every possible way.

“I’m glad we gave Mignon that lemonade job,” commented Jerry, her round eyes wandering to where the big punch bowl stood, thus far minus the French girl’s presence. “She’ll be off by herself where she can’t stir up trouble. She’ll have to stay there, too, when the revue’s over. I calculated on that when I asked her to take charge of the lemonade bowl. She doesn’t know that she’s going to be off in a corner away from the rest of the girls. I didn’t tell her. Maybe she’ll be mad when she finds out. I can’t help it. I hope she will get here on time. It’s just like her to come straggling in late so everyone will see her.”

“Jerry, you are breaking the Golden Rule,” reminded Marjorie.

“Oh, I’m only bending it,” retorted Jerry good-humoredly. “Besides, you two girls don’t count. I must say whatever I think to you. To others I am a clammy clam. Hello! There she comes now. I must say she looks like a lemon in that yellow frock. It’s the exact color of one.”

“She is really stunning!” Marjorie exclaimed generously. “That pale yellow chiffon frock is quite suited to her. It brings out her black eyes and hair.”

“Handsome is as handsome does,” Jerry made skeptical response. “I must leave you now to break the sad news to her. If, in about three minutes, you see her looking like a thundercloud you’ll know the reason.”

Jerry sauntered away to deliver the fateful information to Mignon. The eyes of the two friends meeting, Marjorie made a gesture of dissent. “I’d rather not watch to see how she takes it. It doesn’t seem quite fair. Jerry didn’t stop to think or she wouldn’t have said that. As I’m not in the revue I had better go to my booth.”

“I must hurry behind the scenes,” said Constance. “It’s ten minutes to eight now and my song comes third on the program.”

With this the two girls separated, Constance heading in the direction of a room at the left of the Armory, nearest to the platform. From it the girl performers made their entrance to the improvised stage. The room on the right had been given over to the boys, Marjorie walked slowly toward the candy booth. When half way to it she heard someone call her name. Glancing in the direction of the post card booth, she saw Lucy Warner beckoning eagerly to her. A happy light radiated from the girl’s usually austere features. Her bluish-green eyes sparkled with pleasure. Lucy was childishly delighted to have the opportunity to assist in so important an affair as the Campfire. She felt that she owed this happiness directly to Marjorie.

“Oh, Marjorie!” she exclaimed, as her friend reached the booth. “It’s wonderful! I can’t really believe that this good time has come to me! And I have you to thank for it all! I hope some day to be able to show you how much I appreciate your friendship.”

“I’m ever so glad to see you so bright and happy, Lucy,” Marjorie made earnest response. “You must thank yourself for your good time, though. You are a faithful Lookout. This is only the beginning. There are lots of good times ahead of you.”

Before Lucy could reply, Hal Macy appeared at Marjorie’s elbow with, “Veronica’s here. She’s in the girls’ dressing room. She wants to see you.”

“I’ll come back later, Lucy.” With a friendly nod, Marjorie turned to accompany Hal across the polished floor. A happy smile played about her lips. Whatever the Lookouts might eventually set down to their further credit, they had certainly succeeded in bringing happiness to Lucy Warner.

CHAPTER XVI—A PUZZLING YOUNG PERSON

“You look like—let me see—a painting of ‘Night’ that I once saw!” cried Marjorie, triumphantly recalling it in time to make the comparison. “But what are you going to do with those black and orange wings?” Marjorie was intently eyeing a small pair of black and orange wings that dangled from Veronica’s arm.

“I am the Night, the silvery, shadowy Night,” declaimed Veronica gaily, one white arm raised aloft. “I am going to give you a dance called ‘Night.’ Hence this somber robe. No, the wings don’t belong to Night. Underneath this black pall, I am a glorious black and orange butterfly. I am to do two dances; ‘Butterfly’ will follow ‘Night.’ I can rid myself of this black thing in about one minute or even less. As I come next to you on the program, Connie, I will ask you to wait after your song and fasten on my wings. Here they are.”

“Where did you learn to dance, Veronica?” queried Marjorie thoughtlessly. Instantly she regretted having asked the question. Hastily she added: “That was rather a personal question. Perhaps I shouldn’t——”

“Oh, I don’t object to telling you, Marjorie.” A faintly amused smile dawned upon Veronica’s lips. “I have known how to dance ever since I was a child. Most of my dances like ‘Night’ and ‘Butterfly’ I made up. The Shadow dance I learned from seeing it done by another person. I used to——” Again the provoking break in her speech occurred.

Marjorie’s face fell. Why did Veronica always pause in the middle of what promised to be an interesting revelation? What an extremely peculiar girl she was. She could not refrain from wondering, too, at the beautiful robe that this charming but tantalizing young person wore. It must have cost a considerable sum of money. Yet Veronica appeared to regard it with the carelessness of one who was accustomed to the best of everything. Perhaps she had at one time been possessed of wealth and had met with sudden reverses. Still, it was hardly likely that, given such a contingency, she would now be so humbly earning her living and education. Marjorie’s swift cogitations ended in a sigh of defeat at her inability to reconcile lowly Veronica with her handsome dancing dress.

Veronica’s voice, quivering with suppressed laughter, broke in upon her perplexed meditations. “Now you are wondering all sorts of things about me,” she guessed, flashing a tender glance at Marjorie. “Never mind. Some day I may be able to set all your doubts at rest.”

“It isn’t a question of doubts, Ronny.” Marjorie returned the other girl’s glance with one of equal affection. “I haven’t a single doubt about you. It’s only that sometimes you puzzle me.”

“I know I do. There are certain things——”

The arrival of Constance cut short what bade fair to have been a confidence on Veronica’s part. Directly behind Constance came Mignon La Salle. Her black eyes widened as she caught sight of Veronica. As Constance warmly greeted the latter the French girl continued to stare at the black-garbed figure as though unable to believe her own eyesight.

“Good evening,” she said stiffly, inclining her haughty head very formally to Veronica. “Sorry to intrude. I thought I might find Geraldine here.”

“Didn’t you see her when you came in?” asked Marjorie in surprise.

“Oh, yes. I saw her then, but I wish to tell her something.” Mignon tossed her head. Unable to keep her grievance to herself she continued angrily: “I must have the lemonade bowl moved to one of the booths. I don’t like the present location of it. When Geraldine,” she loftily refused to shorten it to Jerry, “mentioned it to me, I didn’t pay any particular attention to what she was saving. I wish I had. At any rate, it will have to be moved.”

Blank silence succeeded this declaration. Veronica was not in touch with the situation and therefore had nothing to say. Constance and Marjorie knew only too well that stolid Jerry would not yield to Mignon’s whim. This knowledge robbed them both of ready speech.

The sonorous voice of Colonel Dearborn raised in an address of welcome was borne to their ears as a timely bridge over the embarrassing situation.

“The Campfire has begun,” snapped Mignon. “I must find Geraldine.” She flaunted from the room, a disgruntled flash of yellow.

“I must go, too.” Marjorie walked to the open door. “I’ll see you both later. Are you going to stay for the dance, Ronny?”

“No.” Veronica shook her head. “Like Cinderella, I must flit away from the ball as soon as I have danced.” She breathed a faint sigh of regret, then smiled mockingly. “Such social pleasures are not for a poor servant girl.”

Marjorie left the dressing room with these words still in her ears. Taking up her position in the booth she forced herself to forget puzzling Veronica for the moment and gave herself over to listening to the speeches. She had missed the most of the old Colonel’s brief, soldier-like address, so she paid strict heed to those of Captain Baynes and Miss Archer.

When they had retired, to the sound of hearty applause from the overflowing gallery, the Weston High Glee Club lifted up their tuneful voices in the first number of the revue. Danny Seabrooke followed them with a clever juggling act. Marjorie’s heart beat high with love and pride as Connie stepped serenely onto the stage, with the quiet composure that so individualized her, and awaited the prelude to her song played by Professor Harmon. To Marjorie it seemed as though she had never heard Connie sing more sweetly. The song she had chosen was particularly beautiful and her clear, pure notes held a world of pathos that went straight to the heart. Abiding by Laurie’s mandate she refused to respond to an encore, though the audience clamored persistently for it.

Unknown to Marjorie, a curious bit of drama had preceded the dance by Veronica, to which she was impatiently looking forward. Lawrence Armitage had met Veronica when she entered the Armory, enveloped in a long black cloak, and courteously conducted her to the girls’ dressing room. It being his duty to call each act, he was kept busy between the two dressing rooms. As Constance was finishing her song, he hurried to the left-hand dressing room and rapped on the half-open door. From within he heard the sound of cheerful voices and light laughter. Muriel, Susan and Rita, the feminine half of the sextette which was to follow Veronica’s dance, had gathered there and were chatting gaily with the pretty dancer.

“Come,” called Muriel Harding.

Entering, Laurie’s eyes became suddenly riveted on Veronica. A perplexed frown sprang to his brow. He was again obsessed with the conviction that he had previously seen her in this very costume. His puzzlement deepened as he stepped to the door and held it open for her. Catching up a fold of her voluminous robe, she smiled and made him a saucy little curtsey of thanks. Only a few feet intervened between the door and the three steps leading up to the platform. A row of tall potted palms had been set on each side of it, so as to partially conceal the entrance and exit of each performer. The quaint curtsey of the black-garbed girl caused truant recollection to sweep over Laurie in a flood. “Now I know where I first saw you!” he exclaimed in a low, triumphant tone. Like a flash Veronica laid a warning finger to her lips. “Keep it a secret,” she breathed as she flitted by him. The next instant she had scurried up the three steps and onto the platform, leaving behind her a most amazed young man.

A subdued breath of wondering admiration stirred the audience upstairs and down as this lovely apparition of Night glided to the center of the stage. For a brief instant she tarried there, raising her white arms and lowering them with a slow, sweeping gesture that gave the effect of darkness suddenly dropping down upon the earth. Then the orchestra sounded a soft sighing prelude and the black and silver figure circled the stage like a floating, elusive shadow. Few persons in that assemblage had ever before witnessed an interpretative dance such as Veronica performed. It was as though she had become embued with the very spirit of Night and sought to impress it upon her audience. Every movement and gesture was replete with meaning. She brought to the imagination that stir of supreme mystery with which one often watches the darkness gather and the first stars of the evening begin to twinkle in the firmament. At the end of it she exited with a quick, gliding run, arms horizontally outstretched, hands holding up the loose folds of her robe, a veritable winged Night itself rushing swiftly on toward dawn.

Before the first wild echo of applause had spent itself, she was back on the stage, miraculously metamorphosed into a gorgeous black and orange butterfly. She proceeded to give the Sanfordites a spectacle in toe dancing worthy a premiere. Even as she had put the soul of the Night itself into her previous dance, now she truly resembled a huge butterfly, sailing joyously about in the sunshine. The perfection of her interpretation took the audience by storm. When she disappeared, or rather fluttered from the stage, a tumult of approbation set in. Laurie was obliged to mount the platform and explain that Miss Browning would not respond to an encore, before quiet was again restored and the sextette made its appearance.

Although the remaining numbers of the revue each received a generous mead of approval, the honors of the performance were decidedly Veronica’s. Even Constance, for once, held second place. The grace and originality of the former’s interpretations had aroused enthusiasm on all sides.

There was one person, however, who had not been pleasantly impressed by Veronica’s dancing. Mignon La Salle was enraged beyond measure at the triumph of “that servant girl.” Her own solo, as usual a difficult French song which few present had understood and could therefore only mildly appreciate, had been received with a far lesser degree of enthusiasm than she had confidently expected. She blamed Marjorie Dean, who had helped Laurie arrange the program, for placing her song so near to the end of the revue. She was also furious with Jerry Macy. The stout girl had calmly refused to place the lemonade bowl in one of the booths, explaining that, as it in itself was a feature, its present position would not be bettered by moving it to a booth.

Completely out of sorts with the world in general, Mignon cherished a lawless desire to swoop down upon the big cut glass lemonade bowl, overturn it, send it crashing to the floor and fling the cups that surrounded it, after it. Her second thought was to go to Jerry, refuse to become a purveyor of lemonade and shake the dust of the Armory from her disdainful feet. Crafty reflection whispered to her that this course would be folly. Jerry would take her at her word and show little sorrow at being thus deprived of her services. It behooved her to hit upon some new method of retaliation which would doubly repay these hateful girls for the fancied wrongs she had suffered at their hands. She vowed that before the third and last evening of the bazaar had ended she would find a way to do it.

CHAPTER XVII—CHOOSING A VICTIM

That it had been a highly profitable evening became evident to the Lookouts, when just before midnight they happily viewed their depleted booths and fell to counting their gains. Everything had progressed with unrivaled smoothness. Even Mignon’s black eyes glistened as she counted the wealth of nickels and small silver which had accrued from the despised lemonade bowl. She had taken in almost thirty dollars and plumed herself accordingly. Jerry had been right in her calculation as to the best place for the lemonade. Far from admitting it, Mignon merely felt increasing bitterness toward Jerry.

Busy Jerry was quite unaware of Mignon’s dark sentiments toward herself. Had she known of them, they would have caused her small anxiety. She was too blissfully elated over the success of the Campfire to do anything but rejoice loudly as she moved from booth to booth, a good-sized cash box in hand, to collect the evening’s profits.

“It’s a howling success,” she caroled joyously, as she entered the candy booth. Seated on a high stool Marjorie was too much absorbed in the counting of little piles of money, from notes to pennies, to do more than nod emphatically to this triumphant salutation.

“I believe almost everyone who was here to-night bought a box of candy,” she said solemnly as she finished with a heap of nickels and marked down the amount they made on a slip of paper. “We’ve taken in——” She hurriedly calculated the joint receipts. “Would you believe it? I have one hundred and two dollars here. If we keep on like this we won’t have enough candy to last us over to-morrow night.”

“It’s pretty much the same in all the booths. You folks are quite a little ahead of the others, though. You’re the original candy kid, Marjorie. That’s not slang. It’s a compliment.”

“It sounds like both,” laughed Marjorie. “Wasn’t the revue fine, Jerry? Did you ever before see anyone dance like Ronny. She’s a marvel. Not that I liked her dancing a bit better than Connie’s singing,” she added loyally, “but it was so entirely different from anything we’ve ever had at a show. She told me to-night that she made up both those dances herself.”

“She gets curiouser and curiouser,” commented Jerry. “One who didn’t know could never be made to believe that such a gorgeous person was working her way through high school. What puzzles me most is where—— I guess I won’t say it. I’m a Lookout.”

“I know what you mean. I thought of it, too. It’s her own affair. We mustn’t discuss it, or her, either.” Marjorie was equally bent on loyalty.

“There’s something I’ve just got to say, though,” declared Jerry. “Mignon behaved a lot better about the lemonade bowl than I thought. She asked me to change the location of it. Of course I said ‘no.’ She looked pretty stormy for a minute, then she said, ‘Have it your own way,’ and walked off, shrugging her shoulders. I expected she’d make a fuss, and for once she gave me a pleasant surprise. I hope she behaves like a reasonable human being during the other two nights of the Campfire.”

It was on Marjorie’s tongue to relate to Jerry what Mignon had said in the dressing room. Considering it in the light of gossip she refrained from repeating it. She hastened to agree with Jerry that she also hoped for the best regarding Mignon and let the subject drop.

Friday saw the Lookouts and the Guards early at the Armory, hard at work preparing for the rush they trusted that evening would bring. There was much to be done and they spent the day in indefatigable toil, going home only long enough to snatch a hasty luncheon before returning to their tasks. The program of the revue was to remain the same save for a change of songs on the part of the vocalists. There were to be no addresses, however, as on the opening night.

Their painstaking preparations were again rewarded by a crowd of pleasure seekers almost as large as that of the previous evening. Again everything slid gaily along as though on invisible wheels. Midnight again ushered in the counting of large gains. Saturday proved an equally busy day. The youthful promoters of the Campfire were troubled only by the alarming possibility that their wares were sure to give out long before the evening was over. They decided wisely to sell out every last article of which the merchant booths boasted and let the dancing and amusement booths do the rest.

Despite the work of the Campfire, the day nursery received its afternoon quota of two Lookouts. It was an obligation which had to be met, Campfire or no Campfire. Even Mignon La Salle, when asked if she would do duty Saturday afternoon, acquiesced without a murmur, taking care to inquire of Irma Linton, however, before committing herself, as to who would be her partner in the enterprise. Her thoughts centered on the Campfire, Irma had consulted her book and replied absently, “Lucy Warner.” Nor did she note the peculiar gleam in the French girl’s eyes as she answered suavely, “Very well, you may count on me to go with her.”

The opportunity to hold a heart-to-heart talk with Lucy was something for which Mignon had been vainly watching ever since the Hallowe’en party. Due to Marjorie Dean’s discreet counsel, Lucy had not given the French girl the slightest conversational opening. She had surrounded herself with a wall of icy reserve which Mignon had found impregnable. She was, therefore, secretly jubilant over the unexpected manner in which Fortune had favored her. It was late Friday evening when Irma had informed her of it and Lucy had already gone home. Irma had explained to Mignon that it was really Jerry’s turn to go to the nursery, but owing to her many duties at the Campfire she had asked for a substitute.

This accorded even better with Mignon’s plans. There was every possibility that Lucy would know nothing of the substitution until it would be too late to protest against it. Jerry, herself, was yet to be reckoned with, however. Irma would undoubtedly inform Jerry that she, Mignon, was to take her place. If Jerry took the trouble to inquire who was to accompany Mignon she would promptly veto Lucy’s going. Yet there was a fighting chance that busy Jerry might forget to ask this question. Mignon hoped that she would. She also decided, that she would not put in an appearance at the Armory on Saturday before going to the nursery. She would telephone Irma in the morning that she could not go there before night, but would be on hand at the nursery for her detail.

There are times when Fortune apparently leans kindly toward the unworthy. In the long run, however, she generally deserts these wrong-doers, leaving them to flounder miserably in the meshes of the nets they have heartlessly set for others. For the time being, at least, she had chosen to favor Mignon. Owing to a number of important letters Lucy Warner had promised to write for Miss Archer, she had also arranged to be away from the Armory until Saturday evening. She had planned to go directly from the office to the day nursery, where she confidently expected Jerry to meet her.

As for Jerry, she had thankfully received Irma’s promise to supply a substitute and inquired no further into the matter. Had Marjorie or Constance known of the arrangement Irma had innocently made, it would have been changed. Caught up in the whirl of the Campfire, neither of them remembered to question Irma regarding who was to do duty at the nursery on Saturday. Thus for Mignon the field was miraculously cleared of impediments.

When, at four o’clock, Lucy entered the playroom of the nursery, her amazement can be better imagined than described. Instead of seeing good-natured Jerry Macy, her displeased eyes rested on Mignon La Salle. Bored indifference written on her sharp features, the French girl lounged in a chair in a corner of the playroom, apparently with no intent toward making herself useful. Strangely enough she was now the only person in the room.

“Hello, Lucy,” she drawled. “You don’t seem pleased to see me.”

“I’m not,” snapped Lucy. “Where is Jerry Macy? She is to be on duty with me this afternoon.”

Mignon merely shrugged her shoulders by way of an answer.