Kitabı oku: «Marjorie Dean, High School Senior», sayfa 6
The wild burst of ardent applause that followed her clever terpsichorean effort pointed to the fact that the masked audience was at least possessed of very human young throats. The Spirit of Hallowe’en declined, however, to respond to the frantic demonstration, and a moment later the imp’s falsetto tones made themselves heard above the din.
“Follow me to the Hall of Fate,” he ordered. “There the Three Weird Sisters tarry to wail the Chant of Destiny.”
This invitation conveyed the information that where the fateful kettle simmered under the guardianship of the weird three must undoubtedly be the Hall of Fate. The guests did not wait to follow, but made a bee-line for it, at least half of them reaching it ahead of their obliging master of ceremonies. Once they had gathered there the Weird Sisters entertained them with a spirited dance about the kettle, to the accompaniment of an unearthly chant, pitched in a minor key.
At the conclusion of it a terrific burst of thunder broke and the Hall of Fate became suddenly flooded with light.
“All aboard for the ball room!” shrieked the imp in a voice that strongly resembled that of Danny Seabrooke. “The Test of True Love will presently be held there.”
This astonishing statement raised a shout of laughter. The young folks needed no second urging, however, as they willingly mounted the two flights of stairs after the imp, who skipped nimbly ahead of them, while the Three Weird Sisters brought up the rear. The apartment used by Hal and Jerry for a ball room, when entertaining their friends, was situated on the third floor of the east wing of the house. It was especially large and airy, with a beautifully polished floor, and, therefore, well suited to the purpose. Jerry always referred to it as the “town hall” and took considerable pleasure in the possession of it.
Arriving in the ball room, the maskers found that the four musicians hired to play for the dancing were already at their post. Despite their curiosity as to what particular ordeal awaited them in the cause of true love, the enticing measures of a waltz sent the masculine portion of the company scurrying for partners. It was not until the fifth dance was over that the imp staggered into their midst, heavily laden with a freight of beribboned brooms. Depositing them in a corner he promptly disappeared, to return presently with a second load. By that time the sixth dance had ended, and the dancers were beginning to murmur concerning their masks, which were becoming rather too concealing for comfort. Then, too, nearly everyone had come into a fair knowledge regarding the identities of at least part of his or her companions.
It was, therefore, wholly to their liking when the ubiquitous imp marched to the center of the floor and declaimed in true Danny Seabrooke fashion: “Damsels of the Domino, please line up across the floor. The Test of True Love is about to begin.” His next order, “Knights of the Domino, your fiery steeds await you! Kindly march in line to the corner and select your steed, then find your partner for the evening!” evoked a tumult of laughter. The Test of True Love promised to be decidedly amusing.
CHAPTER XI – AN UNWILLING CAVALIER
The laughter grew louder when, according to the energetic imp’s direction, four solemn, black-robed figures obediently bestrode their broomstick steeds. They next pranced confidently up and down the line of girls in hopeful search of the fair one, the ribbon rosette on whose sleeve corresponded respectively with the bow on the broom each rode. When the first four had triumphantly ended their quest and marched their newly-acquired partners out of line, four more gallants fared forth to seek their own, and so on until seventeen broomstick knights had appropriated their seventeen respective partners.
“Unmask!” sang out the master of ceremonies, thoughtfully setting the example. Minus the false face he had worn, Danny Seabrooke’s grinning, freckled features looked out from his close-fitted, pointed cap.
“Why, how funny!” exclaimed Marjorie Dean, as she discovered her partner to be none other than Hal Macy. “You are the last person I expected would be my partner.”
“You’re not sorry, are you?” Hal smiled rather tenderly at the lovely girl beside him.
“Of course not,” was Marjorie’s frank reply. “I am awfully glad. I’d rather have you for a partner than any other boy in school.”
“Would you, Marjorie?” Hal’s voice contained a hint of eagerness. Lately he had begun to realize that his boyish affection for Marjorie Dean was verging on a far deeper emotion. Yet the very candidness of Marjorie’s heartily expressed preference for him, showed him quite plainly that she meant it merely in a sense of frank friendliness.
“You know I would,” she nodded seriously. “Aren’t we sworn comrades?” The real meaning of his question had passed entirely over her head.
“We are, indeed,” was the hearty response. Inwardly Hal vowed that for the present he would try to regard Marjorie wholly in that light. Yet within himself he cherished a fond hope that some day he might come to mean more to this sweet, unselfish girl than a mere comrade. Although Marjorie did not realize it, that evening marked the beginning of Romance for her.
“I’ll have to confess that I found you out before you unmasked, Marjorie,” he laughed. “Naturally I picked the broom that wore the blue ribbon.”
“You are a most designing knight,” she answered heartily. “I wonder if Laurie discovered Connie beforehand and did likewise.” Her glance travelling the long room a soft “Oh!” escaped her. Laurie had indeed acquired a partner, but that partner was Mignon La Salle. A quick survey of the room discovered Constance standing beside Miles Burton, a senior at Weston High School. Marjorie could not help noting how delighted Mignon looked. Laurie, however, did not appear specially elated. He was making a desperate attempt to hide his disappointment under a show of chivalry which Marjorie knew to be forced.
Before she had time to make further observations, the announcing strains of another dance rang out and she floated away on Hal’s arm. When that dance was over Sherman Norwood claimed her for the next and the succeeding one she danced with Hal.
“Now I must find Connie and have a talk with her,” she declared brightly, when that dance was finished.
“And I must do my duty by Jerry’s guests,” commented Hal somewhat ruefully. “Be a good comrade and save as many dances for me as you can, Marjorie.”
“I will.” Marjorie left him with a smiling little nod and set off to find Constance. Half way across the floor she encountered Jerry who was hurrying to meet her.
“I was looking for you, Marjorie. Come downstairs with me and see if you can’t persuade Veronica, I mean Ronny, I’ve decided to call her that, to stay for the evening.”
“Veronica!” Marjorie’s brown eyes widened. “Is she really here? I thought you said she wouldn’t come. I haven’t seen her.”
“Oh, yes, you have, only you didn’t know it,” chuckled Jerry. “You saw her do that shadow dance. She did say she wouldn’t come. Then when I told her about the stunts I was going to have she offered to come of her own accord and do that dance. But she doesn’t want anyone else to know that she’s here. I can’t understand that girl. She’s certainly the world’s great mystery.”
Marjorie’s face registered her surprise. “She does act queerly sometimes. I don’t know why, unless it’s because she feels that her position at Miss Archer’s might make a difference with us. As though it could. I’d love to see her to-night, if only for a few minutes. Your party is lovely, Jerry. It is so original. I hadn’t the least idea until they unmasked that Harriet, Rita and Daisy were the three witches. I suspected that tall, white figure to be the Crane, and, of course, I knew Danny Seabrooke the minute I first set eyes on him. You and Hal must have worked awfully hard to decorate everything so beautifully. It’s the nicest Hallowe’en party I’ve ever attended.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Jerry beamed her gratification. “It did keep Hal and me hustling. I’m sorry for poor Laurie, though. It’s too bad that he had to go and draw Mignon for a partner. She’ll stick to him all evening like grim death. Trust her to do that.”
“Oh, well, Connie won’t care. It will only amuse her. Laurie isn’t very happy over it though,” was Marjorie’s regretful comment.
As they talked the two girls had been making their way downstairs. In the back parlor they found Veronica, a demure little figure in her plain blue suit and close-fitting blue hat. “I’m glad you came down, Marjorie,” she greeted. “You look so sweet in that peachblow frock. It’s a joy to see you.”
“Thank you, Veronica. Your shadow dance was also a joy to see. You are a very clever young person. I wish I could dance like that.”
“Why can’t you stay, Veronica?” lamented Jerry. “I’d love to have you meet the Weston High boys. They are nice fellows and good dancers.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Veronica made a smiling gesture of protest. “I love to dance. When I was – ” she stopped with her usual strange abruptness. “I must go,” she asserted decisively. “My – Miss Archer will wonder what has kept me so long.”
“But we came down here as a special committee of two to persuade you to stay,” pleaded Marjorie.
“Thank you ever so much. It is dear in you to take so much trouble for a poor servant girl.” Veronica’s gray eyes twinkled as she referred to her lowly estate.
“I wish you wouldn’t say that, Ronny,” protested Marjorie, unconsciously using Jerry’s new name for the pretty girl.
“Where did you hear that name? I mean the name ‘Ronny?’” Veronica’s startled question held a note of sharpness. “I never mentioned it to you. I am sure of that.” A decided pucker of displeasure showed itself between her dark brows.
“Why – that – why – Jerry mentioned it,” stammered Marjorie, somewhat taken aback by Veronica’s brusque manner of speaking. “She thought of it herself, I suppose.” Flushing, she turned to Jerry for corroboration. The stout girl’s round eyes were fixed shrewdly on Veronica.
“I take all the blame and the credit for it,” was Jerry’s prompt assertion. “It’s a cunning nickname and easier said than Veronica. If you’d rather we’d not call you Ronny, then we won’t. Of course, you never mentioned it to me. I just made it up. It suits you, though. I’ll bet we’re not the first persons to call you by it, either,” she added, hazarding a shrewd guess.
A tide of pink flooded Veronica’s white skin. Her forehead smoothed itself magically. With a short, embarrassed laugh, she said briefly: “I don’t mind if you girls call me Ronny.” She made no attempt, however, to affirm or deny Jerry’s guess. “Now I mustn’t stay another moment, or some of your guests may wander downstairs and find me here.” So saying, she began to move determinedly toward the doorway that opened into the hall, Jerry and Marjorie following. Pausing at the front door only long enough to offer them her hand in parting, Veronica made a quick exit from the house and sped down the drive. Accompanying her as far as the veranda, Marjorie and Jerry watched her in silence until she had been swallowed up in the black shadows of the night.
“Some little puzzle.” It was Jerry who spoke first. “I’ve always said that I knew everything about everybody, but I’ll have to make one exception. I don’t know a single thing about Veronica except what she has chosen to tell me. There’s no way of finding out anything, either. I’d as soon think of asking the Shah of Persia how much gold he had in his royal treasury as to ask Miss Archer about her.”
“No; we couldn’t question Miss Archer,” Marjorie agreed soberly. “We must accept Ronny at her own face value, and not trouble ourselves about her peculiarities. Some day she may explain to us of her own accord the very things that puzzle us now. The best way to do will be to pretend not to notice anything mysterious about whatever she may say or do. We know that she is generous and high-principled and truthful. That ought to be enough for us to know.”
“Yes, that’s so,” admitted Jerry. Tearing her thoughts from the strange girl, who had just left them, she linked an arm in one of Marjorie’s, saying: “We’d better go back to the town hall. We’ve already missed two or three dances.”
Deeply absorbed in conversation, they entered the house and climbed the stairs to the ball room, quite unaware that a black-eyed girl in an elaborate old gold satin evening frock had slipped cautiously from the living room and sheltered herself for a moment in the alcove formed by the stairs.
Mignon La Salle had left the ball room almost immediately after Marjorie and Jerry had exited from it. She had not seen them leave it, however. She had come downstairs on an errand of her own, which had nothing whatever to do with them. Overjoyed at having Laurie Armitage for her partner for the evening, she had resolved to make hay while the sun shone. Mignon had arrived at the Macys’ in her runabout, driven by the long-suffering William. But she did not purpose to return home in it. She intended to return in Laurie’s roadster. On arriving, her lynx eyes had spied it parked before the gate. As Laurie had drawn her for a partner for the evening, she was positive that courtesy would prompt him to see her home, if the occasion demanded it. To make sure of this, she planned secretly to telephone her residence and leave word that William need not come for her. As her father was out of the city on business, she ran no special risk of having her plan fail. When the party was over, she would loudly bewail the non-appearance of her runabout and lay it at the door of poor William’s stupidity. Then Laurie would be obliged to take her home in his roadster, or appear in a most ungentlemanly light. It would also be a great triumph over that hateful Constance Stevens.
Filled with this laudable intention, Mignon had sped cat-footed down the stairs. The sound of girlish voices suddenly emanating from the back parlor brought her to a halt. She heard Veronica’s warm greeting of Marjorie and recognized her unmistakable tones. Breathlessly she took in the conversation that ensued. The moment she heard Veronica announce her departure, Mignon made a swift, noiseless dash for the living room, gaining it just in time to avoid being seen by the trio as they passed from the back parlor into the hall. Hardly had the front door closed upon them when she darted across the room and took refuge behind a Japanese screen.
Determined not to be balked in her resolve to telephone her home, she crouched there and waited until the sound of the reopening and closing front door followed by footsteps on the stairs and the hum of receding voices, informed her that Marjorie and Jerry had returned to the ball room. Fearing further interruption to her project, she lost no time in calling up her home and impressively delivering her command to the maid who answered the telephone. Well pleased with what she had heard and done, Mignon returned to the dancers inwardly congratulating herself on her own cleverness.
As the evening progressed she found Lawrence Armitage a far from devoted knight. True he danced with her several times and was uniformly courteous in his behavior toward her, but whenever he could seize an opportunity to spend a moment or two with Constance Stevens he made good use of it. At supper, which was served at small tables in the dining room, she was secretly furious to find herself and Laurie at the same table with Constance Stevens and Miles Burton, the senior from Weston High School. Her instant suspicion was that the situation had been arranged by Jerry at Laurie’s request. Although she had only surmised this, at least part of her conjecture was quite true. Out of sympathy for Laurie, good-natured Jerry had favored him to this extent. Hal also had privately rallied his boy friends to the cause by saying to them sub rosa: “You fellows had better keep Mignon busy dancing. Are you on?” Mignon’s swift rise in popularity as a dancer proved that they were. This, however, she did not at first suspect. Her insatiable vanity prevented her from seeing through that ruse.
It was not until supper had ended and the dancing had been resumed that light began to dawn upon her. It came with the dismaying knowledge that Laurie had not been near her for six dances. Three of them he had danced with Constance Stevens. Following on that discovery came the disagreeable suspicion that perhaps he had persuaded his friends to help him out. She was by no means anxious to believe this. Nevertheless, the bare idea of it plunged her into a most unpleasant mood. Too wise even to intimate to the young man that she disapproved of his tactics, she began to look about for someone on whom she might vent her spite.
It may be said to Laurie’s credit that he was entirely innocent of the crimes she attributed to him. He knew nothing whatever of Jerry’s and Hal’s private campaign for his benefit. Noting that Mignon was receiving plenty of attention from his friends, he very naturally gravitated toward Constance. In reality none of the young folks except Mignon looked upon the broom episode as being other than a huge joke. Her sentimental preference for Laurie, which she knew was not reciprocated, caused her to clutch at any straw that would win her his attentions.
Gradually becoming convinced of her cavalier’s perfidy, Mignon crossly snubbed two Weston High boys who asked her to dance and switched haughtily toward a corner of the room where a big punch bowl of fruit lemonade awaited the thirsty. As she neared it her elfish eyes began to sparkle with malicious purpose. Standing beside it was Lucy Warner, her small face aglow with half envious delight as she watched the dancers. Unfortunately for Lucy, she did not know how to dance.
“Having a good time?” inquired Mignon patronizingly, as she toyed with the handle of the silver ladle preparatory to filling a cup with lemonade.
“Oh, yes.” Forgetting the disapproval of Mignon which Marjorie Dean’s recent explanation concerning the secretaryship had caused her to feel, Lucy answered almost eagerly. The next instant she stiffened perceptibly, and started to move away from Mignon.
“Wait a minute,” ordered Mignon, quick to note the change. “What’s the matter? Are you angry with me? I’m sure you have no reason to be.”
Remembering Marjorie’s injunction not to allow herself to be drawn into a quarrel with the French girl, Lucy hesitated. “You will have to excuse me,” she said quietly. “I am going home now.”
“Oh, are you? That’s too bad. I was just about to tell you something. Never mind. Perhaps it wouldn’t be wise to tell you.”
“What do you mean?” Lucy’s green eyes gleamed surprised displeasure. The suspicious side of her nature, however, clamored for information. She knew that she ought to go on about her business, but curiosity stayed her feet.
“Oh, nothing much.” Mignon shrugged her shoulders. “It was merely about something that happened last year. I’ve changed my mind. I am not going to tell you. You know it’s forbidden among the Lookouts to gossip. I’ll just give you a piece of advice. As a Lookout, it would pay you to keep your eyes open. There are some very deceitful girls in Sanford High School. One of them in particular pretends to be your friend. I should advise you to be careful what you tell her. She is not to be trusted.”
“What do you mean?” Lucy again demanded, with a deep scowl. She wondered if Mignon’s last insinuation meant Marjorie Dean.
“Use your eyes and ears and you’ll find out for yourself.” With an amused laugh, Mignon set the cup she held on the table and walked away, her spite for the moment satisfied. She had managed to plant a seed of discord in Lucy’s inflammable brain. She hoped with all her heart that it had sprouted and would grow rapidly.
That it had not died became evident in the rather reserved farewells which Lucy made to Jerry, her hostess, and several of the girls. Among them was Marjorie who wondered a little at the other girl’s chilly demeanor. Earlier in the evening Lucy had been radiant. Always charitable in thought, Marjorie laid it to the fact that Lucy was perhaps a trifle tired. Yet the almost hostile stare of her peculiarly-colored eyes haunted Marjorie for the remainder of the evening.
Twelve o’clock marked the wind-up of the Hallowe’en party. By a quarter after that hour the young revelers had begun to troop down the front steps of the house, their gay good nights echoing on the still air. Greatly to her joy, Lawrence Armitage dutifully inquired of Mignon if her runabout were parked outside, or if she expected the La Salle’s chauffeur to come for her. On replying that her chauffeur would be waiting at the gate with the runabout, she was even better pleased to hear him politely announce his wish to see her safely to it.
Mignon was doubly elated by the fact that Constance and Marjorie were directly behind her. Mr. Dean had come to take both girls home, as Constance was following her usual after-party custom of spending the night with Marjorie. The French girl was quite ready to set up an out-cry over the non-appearance of her runabout. She was anxious that Constance in particular should see her calmly appropriate both Laurie and his roadster.
Her black eyes blazed with triumph as she surveyed the little row of automobiles which stretched itself along a portion of the street in front of the Macys’ residence. Her runabout was not among them.
“Why, where is my car?” she cried out in well-simulated dismay. “Isn’t that provoking? That stupid William has misunderstood that he was to come for me. It’s just like him to make such a mistake! What am I to do?” Mignon rolled appealing eyes at Laurie.
Sheer vexation sealed Laurie’s lips for an instant. He knew only too well what courtesy demanded him to do, and he rebelled at the thought. Mignon’s loud outcry had already attracted the attention of a group of guests who stood surrounding Hal and Jerry Macy. The young host and hostess had strolled to the gate with their friends to wish them a last good night. Every pair of eyes was now centered on Mignon.
Drawing a long breath, Laurie reluctantly came to the French girl’s rescue. “I will take you home – ” he began with polite aloofness.
“There comes your runabout, Mignon,” called Muriel Harding sweetly. Her alert eyes had spied it as, with William at the wheel, it passed under the arc light and made rapid approach.
Muriel’s announcement elicited no response from Mignon. She stood motionless on the walk, her gaze fixed fiercely upon the undependable William as he turned the runabout and halted it just ahead of the other cars. Under the glare of the gate lights the varying expressions of her stormy face told their own story. With the realization of defeat came the need for instant action. William was already moving toward the group of young folks. He was looking for her. She must intercept him before he came too close to them.
Electrified by the fear of exposure, she darted toward the chauffeur, who, glimpsing his charge, strode forward. She was just a second too late. “I got your ’phone message not to come for you, Miss Mignon,” he boomed mercilessly, “but your father just got home and he says that I was to drive over after you just the same.”
Taken at a complete disadvantage, Mignon could only mutter an embarrassed good night to the outwardly grave, but inwardly gleeful Laurie. Ignoring the amused group of boys and girls, she flounced into the runabout without a word to the innocent betrayer of her carefully-concocted scheme. During the drive home, however, she shed tears of heart-felt rage against her father’s untimely interference. She vowed vengefully that he should pay for it, thereby proving conclusively that, when it came to a matter of a grudge, she was no respecter of personages.
