Kitabı oku: «Marjorie Dean, High School Junior», sayfa 11
“Yes.” Mrs. Dean bowed in reserved fashion. “Get into the tonneau with the girls, Miss La Salle. We will see that you arrive safely at your own door.”
The unexpected courtesy very nearly robbed the stranded girl of speech. Stammering her thanks, Mignon climbed ruefully into the tonneau and seated herself by Marjorie. As the car began a loud purr, preparatory to starting, her outraged feelings overcame her and she burst into tears. “It was hateful in her,” she sobbed, “perfectly hateful.”
“It was,” agreed Marjorie positively. “But I wouldn’t cry about it. You are all right now.” Then with a view to cheering the weeper, she added: “You sang your part beautifully both nights, Mignon. That’s something to be glad of. This little trouble doesn’t really matter, since everything turned out well.”
“It’s nice in you to say it,” quavered Mignon. “But, oh, how I despise that hateful, hateful girl. I’ll never, never speak to her again as long as I live.”
Marjorie might easily have assured her that this was a wise decision. Instead, she prudently refrained from committing herself. Mignon’s mind continued to dwell on her wrongs. She cried and raged against her treacherous companion during most of the ride home. Constance and Marjorie were obliged to listen and administer judicious consolation. It did not appear to sink deep. Mignon was too self-centered to realize their generosity of spirit. When they left her at the La Salle’s gate she tried to put graciousness into her thanks, but her thoughts were too firmly fixed upon faithless Rowena and herself to appreciate the kindness she had received.
“For once Mignon had to swallow a dose of her own medicine,” commented Constance grimly, as the Deans’ car sped away toward their home, where Connie was to spend the night with Marjorie.
“She found it pretty hard to take,” mused Marjorie. “It’s a good thing, though. This will end Mignon’s friendship with Rowena, but it won’t change her one little bit. I don’t believe she’ll ever change.”
CHAPTER XXIII – A PECULIAR REQUEST
“Four letters for you, Lieutenant. Hunt them,” decreed Mrs. Dean, as Marjorie burst into the living room, her cheeks rosy from the nipping kisses of the winter air.
“Oh, I know where they are.” Jubilantly overturning the contents of her mother’s sewing basket, she triumphantly drew them forth. Without bothering to remove her wraps she plumped down at her mother’s feet to revel in her spoils.
“Here’s one from Mary. I’ll read that last. Here’s one from Harriet.” Opening it she read it through and passed it to her mother. “Harriet’s almost well again. Isn’t that good news? Why – ” she had opened the next – “it’s from Mignon; a little note of thanks. Oh, Captain!” she stared hard at the note. “I’ve discovered something. Mignon’s not the horrid Observer. See. The writing and paper and all are quite different. I’m sure she isn’t. She’d never ask anyone else to write such letters. It’s not her way.”
“Then that is good news, too,” smiled Mrs. Dean. “I am also glad to know it. It is dreadful to misjudge anyone.”
“I know that. I wish I knew who the Observer was, too.” Marjorie sighed and took up the next letter. As she read it she laughed outright. “It’s from General, the old dear. Just listen:
“Esteemed Lieutenant:
“Head up, forward march to the downtown barracks. Report for stern duty at 4:30 to-morrow (Thursday) P. M. Your most military presence is requested to assist in conferring with an official committee in a matter of great importance to the parties concerned. Failure to appear on time will be punished by court-martial. Be warned not to try to ambush your general in the living room to ascertain the facts beforehand. You will only be captured and sent to the guard house.
“Signed,“General Dean.”
“It’s a surprise,” nodded Marjorie. “I know it is. Very well, I’ll show him that I’m not a bit curious. I’ll tell him, though, that it’s not fair to threaten a soldier. Do you know what it’s about, Captain?”
“No; I am equally in the dark. I wouldn’t tell you if I knew,” Mrs. Dean answered teasingly.
“I wouldn’t let you,” retorted Marjorie. “I have to be loyal to my orders. Now I’ll read Mary’s letter and then go and answer it. If I don’t answer it now I might put it off.”
Laying the three notes aside, she busied herself with the long letter from Mary, reading it aloud with numerous exclamations and comments. True to her word, she made no mention to her father of his letter. Delighting to tease her, he hinted broadly concerning it, but failed to draw Marjorie into questioning him.
Nevertheless, it was a most curious young woman who entered his office the following afternoon at the exact moment of appointment. Her curiosity was lost in wide-eyed amazement as she saw that he was not alone. Seated in a chair beside his desk was a stout, dark man of middle age, whose restless, black eyes and small, dark mustache bespoke the foreigner. But this was not the cause of her astonishment. It lay in the fact that the man was Mignon La Salle’s father. Both men rose as she entered, Mr. La Salle bowing to her in the graceful fashion of the Frenchman.
“Sit here, Lieutenant. Mr. La Salle wishes to talk with you. He is kind enough to allow me to be present at the conference.”
“Miss Marjorie, I have not had the pleasure of meeting you before to-day. It is a very great pleasure. I have already thanked your father for his kindness to my daughter several evenings since. Now I must thank you, too. But I wish also to ask a far greater favor. My daughter, Mignon,” he paused as though at a loss to proceed, “is a somewhat peculiar girl. For many years she has had no mother.” He sighed, then continuing, “I wish her to be all that is good and fine. But I am a busy man. I cannot take time to be with her as I would desire. From my friend Harold Macy I have heard many pleasant things of you and your friends. So I have thought that it might be well to ask you if you – ” Again he paused, his black eyes riveted on Marjorie, “if you will take an interest in my daughter, so that I may feel that her associates are of the best.
“I regret greatly her friendship with Miss Farnham. But that is past. She has told me all, and I have forbidden their further intimacy. Perhaps you are already the friend of my Mignon? If so, it is, indeed, well. If not, may I hope that you will soon become such, indeed?” There was a trace of pleading in his carefully enunciated speech with its slightly foreign accent.
A queer, choking sensation gripped Marjorie’s throat. She was immeasurably touched. Happy in her General’s love, she glimpsed something of the tender motive, which had actuated this stern man of business to plead for his daughter’s welfare.
“I am willing to be Mignon’s friend, if she is willing to be mine,” she answered with grave sweetness. “I think I may speak for my friends, also.”
“Thank you. She will respond, I am sure.” A faint tightening of his thin lips gave hint that he would see to the exaction of that response. “It will be a pleasure to invite you to dine with us to-morrow evening,” he added. La Salle Père evidently intended to allow no grass to grow under his feet.
“Thank you. May I go, General?” Marjorie’s eyes sought her father’s. Though she had maintained a gracious composure, he guessed that she was far from easy over this queer turn of affairs. There was a faintly martyred look in her brown eyes.
“Yes,” he said in a steady, reassuring tone. “Your General approves.” He flashed her a mischievous glance.
“Then you may expect me.” Marjorie rose and offered her hand to the anxious father. “I must go now,” she said. “I am very glad to have met you, Mr. La Salle.”
Once outside the office she drew a long breath of dismay. “I’m quite sure of most of the girls,” was her reflection, “but what, oh, what will Jerry say?”
CHAPTER XXIV – AN UNEXPECTED CALAMITY
Jerry had a great deal to say. She was so justly wrathful she very nearly cried. “It’s the worst thing I ever heard of,” she sputtered. “I wish we’d never revived that old operetta. Then Mignon wouldn’t have sung in it and got left at the switch, and you wouldn’t be asking us to make martyrs of ourselves. After all you’ve said about being through with Mignon, too! It’s a shame!”
“But just suppose her father had come to you and asked you to help her, what would you have done?” pleaded Marjorie.
“Told him Mignon’s history and advised him to lock her up,” snapped Jerry. “I hope – Oh, I don’t know what I hope. I can’t think of anything horrible enough to hope.”
“Poor Jeremiah. It’s too bad.” Marjorie’s little hand slipped itself into the plump girl’s fingers. “You know you’d have done just as I did. I had quite a long talk with Mignon last night. After dinner her father left us to ourselves. It wasn’t exactly pleasant. She would say mean things about Rowena. Still, she said she’d like to try again and wished that we would all help her. So I said for all of us that we would. You won’t back out, will you, Jerry?”
“I don’t know. Wait a week or two and see what she does, then I can tell better. You’ve got to show me. I mean, I must be convinced.” Jerry wrinkled her nose at Marjorie and giggled. Her ruffled good humor was smoothing itself down.
“That means, you will help her,” was Marjorie’s fond translation. “Constance is willing, too. I am sure of Irma and Harriet, but Susan and Muriel are doubtful. Still, I think I can win them over if I tell them that you are with me in our plan.”
“There’s just this much about it, Marjorie.” Jerry spoke with unusual seriousness. “Mignon will have to play fair or I’ll drop her with a bang. Just like that. The first time I find her trying any of her deceitful tricks will be the last with me. Remember, I mean what I say. If anything like that happens, don’t ask me to overlook it, for I won’t. Not even to please you, and I’d rather please you than anybody else I know.”
“I’ll remember,” laughed Marjorie. She was not greatly impressed by Jerry’s declaration. The stout girl was apt to take a contrary stand, merely for the sake of variety. She had expected that Jerry would scold roundly, then give in with a final threatening grumble.
Susan and Muriel she found even harder to convince of Mignon’s repentance than Jerry. Muriel was especially obstinate. “I’ll speak to Mignon,” she stipulated, “but I won’t ask her to my house or go any place with her. Now that we’ve made over five hundred dollars out of the operetta for the library, you know we’ve been talking about getting up a club. Of course, she’ll want to be in it. But she sha’n’t.”
“Then there’s no use in trying to help her,” said Marjorie calmly, “if we don’t include her in our work and our good times.”
“That’s precisely what you said last year,” retorted Muriel. “You invited her to your party and she nearly broke it up. After that I wonder that you can even dream of trusting her. I’ve known her longer than you, Marjorie. When we all went to grammar school together she was always the disturber. She used to fight with us and then come sliding around to make up. She’d promise to be good, but she never kept her word for long.
“Once she behaved pretty well for three months and we began to like her a little. Then one day some of us went to the woods on a picnic. We took our luncheon and spread a tablecloth on the grass. When we had all the eats spread out on the tablecloth and sat down around it, Mignon got mad because Susan said something to me that made me laugh. We happened to look at her, but we weren’t talking about her. She thought so, though. She began sputtering at us like a firecracker. The more we all tried to calm her the madder she got. Before we could stop her she caught the tablecloth in both hands and gave it a hard jerk. You can imagine what happened! All our nice eats were jumbled together into the grass. The ants got into them and we had to throw nearly everything away. She didn’t stop to help pick up things. She rushed off home and none of us spoke to her for the rest of the year. That’s why I can’t believe in her repentance. Sooner or later she’s bound to upset things again, just as she did that time.”
Marjorie could not resist laughing a little at Muriel’s tragic tale of a woodland disaster. “I can’t blame you for feeling as you do,” she said, “but I must keep my word to her father. It means so much to him. Being in the operetta has given her a little start. Perhaps she’s begun to see that it pays to do well. She knows now how it feels to be treated badly. It must remind her of some of the mean things she’s done. If she’s ever going to change, the time has come. But if no one believes in her, then she’ll get discouraged and be worse than ever. Connie is willing to help. I’d be ashamed to refuse after that. Even Jerry says she’ll consider it.”
“Connie is a perfect angel, and Jerry is a goose,” declared Muriel, flushing rather guiltily. It was difficult to continue to combat Marjorie’s plan in the face of Constance’s nobility of spirit. Constance had been the chief sufferer at Mignon’s hands. Reminded of this, Muriel weakened. “I suppose I ought to get in line with Connie,” she admitted. “I’d feel pretty small if I didn’t. I can’t afford to let Jerry beat me, either.”
Muriel’s objections thus overruled, Susan proved less hard to convince. Once more the reform party banded itself together to the performance of good works. Smarting from the effects of Rowena’s cowardly spite, Mignon was quite willing to be taken up again by so important a set of girls as that to which Marjorie belonged. It pleased her not a little to know that she had gained a foothold that Rowena could never hope to win. Then, too, her father had taken a hand in her affairs. He had sternly informed her that she must about-face and do better. Relief at being plucked from a disagreeable situation, rather than gratitude toward her preservers, had predominated her feelings on the eventful night at Riverview. Fear of her father’s threat to send her away to a convent school if she did not show rapid signs of improvement made her pause.
Returning from his business trip, Mr. La Salle had interviewed first William, the chauffeur, then Mignon. From an indulgent parent he became suddenly transformed into a stern inquisitor, before whose wrath Mignon broke down and haltingly confessed the truth. As a result he had forbidden her further acquaintance with Rowena. Reminded afresh of his parental duty, he had pondered long, then through the kindly offices of Mr. Dean, arranged the meeting with Marjorie. Thus Mignon’s affairs had been readjusted and she had been forced to agree to follow the line of good conduct he had stretched for her.
It was a distinct relief, however, to Marjorie and her friends to find that Mignon was content to be merely on equitable terms. She did not try to force herself upon them, though she received whatever advances they made with an amiability quite unusual to her. They were immensely amused, however, at her frigid ignoring of Rowena Farnham. Her revenge consummated, Rowena decided to re-assume her sway over her unwilling follower. Mignon fiercely declined to be reinstated and the two held a battle royal in which words became sharpest arrows. Later, Rowena was plunged into fresh rage by the news that Mignon had been taken up by the very girls she had over and over again disparaged.
Determined not to be beaten, she continued to waylay Mignon as she went to and from school. Changing her bullying tactics, she next tried coaxing. But Mignon maintained her air of virtuous frigidity and took an especial delight in snubbing the girl she had once feared. It also gave her infinite pleasure to paint Rowena in exceedingly dark colors to whomever would listen to her grievances. Much of this came in round-about fashion to the reformers. They disapproved of it intensely, but held their peace rather than undo the little good they hoped they had already accomplished.
Among her schoolmates the account of Mignon’s near misfortune was received with varying degrees of interest. A few were sympathetically disposed; others merely laughed. Rowena, however, lost caste. Neither her costly clothes, her caustic wit nor her impudently fascinating personality could cover the fact that she had done a treacherous and contemptible deed. The fact that she had left a young girl stranded at midnight in a strange town did not add to her doubtful popularity. Quick to discover this state of affairs, she realized that she had gone a step too far. There was only one way in which she might redeem herself and that lay in the direction of basket ball.
February was speedily living out his short, changeable life. The third of the four games between the sophomore-junior teams was to be played on the last Saturday afternoon of the month, which fell on the twenty-seventh. Thus far each side had won a game. Rowena decreed that the two games yet to be played should go to the sophomores. She would play as she had never played before. Nothing should stand in her way. She would lead the sophomores on to glory and the acclamation of her class would cleanse her blurred escutcheon. Once she had re-established her power she would make Mignon sorry.
Fortunately for her plans, the members of her team had showed no great amount of prejudice against her since the affair of the operetta. They treated her cordially enough during practice and applauded her clever playing. Shrewd to a degree, she divined instantly that they cherished no special regard for her. They were simply using her as a means to the end. Knowing her value as a player, they were egging her on to do well because of their hope of victory in the next two games. She did not doubt that when the season was over there would be a general falling-off in their cordiality unless she so greatly distinguished herself as to win their ungrudging admiration.
Alas for her dream of power, when the third game came off between the two teams, it was the juniors who carried off the palm with a score of 26-14 in their favor. What galled her most was the remarkably brilliant playing of Marjorie Dean. If there lingered a doubt in the mind of Miss Davis regarding Marjorie’s ability to play basket ball, her work on the floor that Saturday afternoon must have completely discounted that doubt. What Miss Davis thought when, from the gallery, she watched the clever playing of the girl she had endeavored to dismiss from the team, was something which was recorded only on her own brain. It was noted by several pairs of watchful eyes that she did not applaud the victors. She had not forgiven them for the difficulties into which they had plunged her on that fateful afternoon.
Losing the game to the enemy made matters distinctly mortifying for Rowena. Among themselves, her teammates gloomily conceded that they had over-rated her as a player. Though they made some effort to conceal their resentment, their cordiality became less apparent. This second defeat precluded all hope of doing more than tieing the score in the one game still to be played. They needed Rowena’s help to bring about that result. Therefore, they dared not express themselves openly. It may be recorded here that the ideals of the four sophomore players were no higher than those of Rowena. Their attitude toward her was glaringly selfish and they were possessed of little loyalty.
The final game was set for the thirteenth of March. Doggedly bent on escaping a whitewashing, the sophomores devoted themselves to zealous practice. So insistently frequent were their demands for the use of the gymnasium that the junior team were obliged to make equally insistent protest against their encroachment.
“I am really glad that this next game is to be the last,” remarked Marjorie to her teammates one afternoon as they were preparing to leave the dressing room after practice. “Basket ball hasn’t seemed the same old game this year. Perhaps I’m outgrowing my liking for it, but really we’ve had so much trouble about it that I long for victory and peace.”
“It’s not the game,” contested Muriel. “It’s those sophs with Rowena Farnham leading them on. Why, even when Mignon was continually fussing with us we never had any trouble about getting the gym for practice. Oh, well, one week from to-morrow will tell the story. If we win it will be a three to one victory. We can’t lose now. All the sophs can do is to tie the score.”
“Where were our subs to-day?” demanded Daisy Griggs. “I didn’t see either of them.”
“Harriet couldn’t stay for practice. She was going to a tea with her mother,” informed Susan. “I don’t know where Lucy Warner was. I didn’t see her in school, either.”
“She must be sick. She hasn’t been in school for almost a week,” commented Muriel. “She is the queerest-acting girl. You’d think to look at her that she hated herself and everybody. She makes me think of a picture of an anarchist I once saw in a newspaper. When she does come to practice she just sits with her chin in her hands and glowers. I can’t understand how she ever happened to come out of her grouch long enough to make the team.”
“She’s awfully distant,” agreed Marjorie dispiritedly. “I have tried to be nice to her, but it’s no use. My, how the wind howls! Listen.” Going to the window of the dressing room, she peered out. “It’s a dreadful day. The walks are solid sheets of ice. The wind blew so hard I could scarcely keep on my feet this noon.”
“I fell down twice,” giggled Susan Atwell. “It didn’t hurt me much. I scraped one hand on a piece of sharp ice, but I’m still alive.”
“Be careful going down the steps,” warned Daisy Griggs, ever a youthful calamity howler.
“Don’t croak, Daisy. If you keep on someone will take a tumble just because you mentioned it,” laughed Muriel. “We can’t afford that with the game so near.”
Dressed at last, their paraphernalia carefully stowed away, the team trooped from the gymnasium and on to their locker room. “I wish I had worn my fur coat,” lamented Muriel. “I’ll surely freeze in my tracks. Are you ready, girls? Do hurry. I am anxious to face the wind and get it over with. I think I’ll take the car home.”
“Ugh!” shuddered Susan. Issuing from the high school building a blast of piercing air struck her full in the face. “We’ll be blown away before we get down the steps.”
“Oh, come along, Susie,” urged Muriel laughingly. “Don’t mind a little thing like that. Look at me. Here goes.” Muriel valiantly essayed the first icy step. A fresh gust of wind assailing her, the hand holding her muff sought her face to protect it.
How it happened no one quite knew. A concerted scream went up from four throats as Muriel suddenly left her feet to go bumping and sliding down the long flight of ice-bound steps. She struck the walk in a heap and lay still.
“Muriel!” Forgetting the peril of the steps, Marjorie took them heedlessly, but safely. A faint moan issued from Muriel’s lips as she knelt beside her. Muriel moaned again, but tried to raise herself to a sitting posture. She fell back with a fresh groan.
“Where are you hurt?” Marjorie slipped a supporting arm under her. By this time the others had safely made the descent and were gathered about the two.
“It’s my right shoulder and arm. I’m afraid my arm is broken,” gasped Muriel, her face white with pain.
“Let me see.” Marjorie tenderly felt of the injured member. “Do I hurt you much?” she quavered solicitously.
“Not – much. I guess it’s – not – broken. It’s my shoulder that hurts most.”
Several persons had now gathered to the scene. A man driving past in an automobile halted his car. Leaping from the machine he ran to the scene. “Someone hurt?” was his crisp question. “Can I be of service?”
“Oh, if you would.” Marjorie’s face brightened. “Miss Harding fell down those steps. She’s badly hurt.”
“Where does she live? I’ll take her home,” offered the kindly motorist. Lifting Muriel in his arms he carried her to the car and gently deposited her in its tonneau. “Perhaps you’d better come with her,” he suggested.
“Thank you, I will. Good-bye, girls. Go on over to my house and wait for me. I’ll be there in a little while.” Lifting her hand to the three frightened girls, who had advanced upon the machine with sundry other curious pedestrians, Marjorie gave Muriel’s rescuer the Hardings’ address, climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.
“Poor Muriel,” wailed Daisy Griggs, as the car rolled away. “I told her to be careful. I hope she isn’t hurt much. And the game next week!”
Three pairs of startled eyes met and conveyed the same dismaying thought. What would the team do without Captain Muriel?
