Kitabı oku: «Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XII
THE COMPACT

"Dear Irma," wrote Marjorie, the moment she reached her desk, "will you meet me across the street from school this afternoon? I have something very important to say to you.

"Marjorie."

She wrote similar notes to Muriel Harding, Susan Atwell and Jerry Macy, managing in spite of the watchful eyes of Miss Merton to convey them, through the medium of willing hands, to her schoolmates. This done, she made a valiant effort to dismiss her personal affairs from her thoughts and settled down to her lessons. The first period in the afternoon was now her study hour, due to the change she had made in her geometry recitation.

Marjorie managed to study diligently for at least twenty minutes, on the definitions in geometry given out by Miss Nelson as an advance lesson. Then her attention flagged. She found herself wondering what she had better do in regard to asking Constance to release her from her promise. She was sure Connie would do it. Then, if Mary could be coaxed to listen to her, she would – Marjorie took a deep breath of sheer dismay. Of what use would it be to plan to help Mignon find her better self, then deliberately turn the one girl who liked her against her by relating her past misdeeds? Here indeed was a problem. She knitted her brows in troubled thought over this new knot in the tangle. One thing she was resolved upon, however. She would open her heart to Connie. Perhaps she might be able to suggest a satisfactory adjustment.

The afternoon dragged interminably to the perplexed sophomore and she hailed the ringing of the closing bell with thankfulness. She had caught distant glimpses of Mary during the session and in each instance had seen her in conversation with the French girl. Mignon was losing no time. That was certain.

As Marjorie rose from her seat to leave the study hall she had half a mind to wait just outside the door for Mary. Then a flash of wounded pride held her back. Mary would undoubtedly pass out with Mignon. If she spoke to her chum, she was almost sure to be rebuffed. She could imagine just how delighted Mignon would look at her discomfiture. Unconsciously lifting her head, Marjorie left the study hall without so much as a backward glance.

Outside the door she encountered Jerry Macy.

"Your note said, 'Wait across the street,' but this is a lot better," greeted Jerry. "Let's hurry and get our wraps. Irma and Susie will probably steer straight for your locker. I haven't seen Muriel to speak to this afternoon, but she'll be on the scene, I guess. The sooner we collect the sooner we'll hear what's on your mind. I can just about tell you what you're going to say, though."

"Then you're a mind-reader," laughed Marjorie. Nevertheless, a quick flash rose to her face at Jerry's significant speech.

"I can add two and two, anyhow," asserted Jerry.

True to Jerry's prediction, three curious young women stood grouped in front of Marjorie's locker, impatiently awaiting her arrival.

"Wait until we are outside, girls. I'll be ready in a jiffy." Marjorie slipped into her raincoat and pulled her blue velour hat over her curls. "We can't talk here. Miss Merton is likely to wander down, and then you know what will happen."

"Oh, bother Miss Merton!" grumbled Jerry. "I can stand anything she says and live. Still, I don't blame you, Marjorie. It tickles her to pieces to get a chance to snap at you. Now if Mignon La Salle wanted to sing a solo in front of her locker at the top of her voice, Miss Merton would encore it."

Susan Atwell giggled. "I can just hear Mignon lifting up her voice in song with Miss Merton as an appreciative audience."

The quartette thoughtlessly echoed her merriment. So intent were they upon their own affairs that they did not notice the two girls who were almost hidden behind an open locker at the end of the room. The black eyes of one of them gleamed with rage. She turned to the fair-haired girl at her side with a gesture which said more plainly than words, "You see for yourself." The other nodded. Mignon laid a finger on her lips. Then noiselessly as two shadows they flitted through the open door without having been observed by the group at the other end.

For the moment Marjorie's back had been turned toward that end of the room. She whirled about just too late to see Mignon and Mary as they hurried away. Unusually sensitive to impressions, she had perhaps felt their presence, for she asked abruptly, "Girls, have you seen Mary? She can't have gone, for I'm sure I left the study hall before she did. I ought to wait for her, but I don't know what to do." She glanced irresolutely about her. Then, her pride again coming to her rescue, she said, "Never mind. Suppose we go on. Perhaps I'd better not try to see her now, because I must tell you my plan and I – well – I can't – if she is with us."

Muriel Harding elevated her eyebrows in surprise. Of the four girls who had received Marjorie's notes, she alone had no suspicion of the purpose which had brought them together.

Five pairs of bright eyes scanned the street across from the school building as the little party came down the wide stone steps.

"The coast is clear," commented Jerry. "Now do tell us what's the matter, Marjorie. No, wait a minute." Jerry fumbled energetically in a small leather bag. "Hooray! Here's a real life fifty-cent piece! I can see it vanishing in the shape of five sundaes, at ten cents per eat. We can't go to Sargent's. They cost fifteen – "

"I've a quarter," insinuated Irma.

"All contributions thankfully received," beamed Jerry. "On to Sargent's! We'll talk about the weather until we get there. It's been such a lovely day," she grimaced. "If it rains much more we'll have to do as they do in Spain."

"What do they do in Spain?" Susan Atwell rose to the bait, despite a warning poke from Irma.

"They let it rain," grinned Jerry. "Aren't you an innocent child?"

Well pleased with her success in putting over this time-worn joke on one more victim, Jerry continued with a lively stream of nonsense that lasted during the brief walk to Sargent's.

Once seated about a small round table at the back of the room, which from long patronage they had come to look upon almost as their own, an expectant murmur went the round of the little circle as Marjorie leaned forward a trifle and began in a low, earnest tone. "Girls, I am going to ask you to do something for me that perhaps you won't wish to do. All of you know what happened last year to Connie and me. You know, too, that if anyone has good reason to cut Mignon La Salle's acquaintance, we would be justified in doing it. I was awfully surprised to see her come into the study hall this morning, and I said to myself that aside from bowing to her if I met her on the street, I would steer clear of her. But since then something has happened to make me change my mind. Mary wishes Mignon for a friend, and so – "

"What a little goose!" interrupted Jerry disgustedly. "I beg your pardon, Marjorie, but I can't help saying it."

"This is news!" exclaimed Muriel Harding. "Come to think of it, I did see your friend Mary walking into geometry with Mignon, Marjorie. Why don't you enlighten her on the subject of Mignon and her doings?"

"That's just it." Marjorie repeated briefly what she had said to the others at noon. "I'm going to Gray Gables to see Constance before I go home," she continued, addressing the group. "You see, it's like this. Even if Connie says I may tell Mary everything, will it be quite fair to Mignon? And now I'm coming to the reason I asked you to come here with me. Sometimes when a girl has done wrong and been hateful and no one likes her, another girl comes along and begins to be friendly with her. That makes the girl who has done wrong feel ashamed of herself and then perhaps she resolves to be more agreeable because of it."

"Not Mignon, if you mean her," muttered Jerry.

"I do mean Mignon," was Marjorie's grave response. "Every girl has a better self, I'm sure, but if she doesn't know it she will never find it unless someone helps her. We've never even stopped to consider whether Mignon had any good qualities. We've judged her for the dishonorable things she has done. I can't help saying that I don't like her very well. You can't blame me, either. Still, if we are going to be sophomore sisters we must all stand together." She glanced appealingly about her circle, but on each young face she read plain disapproval.

"You might as well try to carry water in a sieve as to reform Mignon," shrugged Muriel Harding.

"You can't tame a wildcat," commented Susan Atwell.

"Look here, Marjorie," burst forth Jerry Macy. "We know that you are the dearest, nicest girl ever, but you are going to waste your time if you try to go exploring for Mignon's better self. She never had one. If you try to be nice to her she'll just take advantage of your goodness and make fun of you behind your back. Let me tell you something. You know Miss Elkins, who sews for people. Well, she's at our house to-day. She is making some silk blouses for me, and when I went upstairs to the sewing-room for a fitting to-day she asked me if Mignon was in school. Her sister is the housekeeper at the La Salle's and she told Miss Elkins that Mignon was expelled from boarding school because she wouldn't pay attention to the rules. She was threatened with dismissal twice, and the other night she coaxed a lot of the girls to slip out of the dormitory and go to the city to the theatre without a sign of a chaperon. One of the girls had a key to the front door and she lost it. They didn't get home until after one o'clock, and then they couldn't get into the dormitory. The night watchman finally had to let them in and he reported them. She and two others were expelled because they planned the affair. I don't know what happened to the rest of them. Anyway, that's why our dear Mignon is with us once more. I only wish that girl hadn't lost the key." Jerry's face registered her disgust.

"I don't believe Mother would like to have me associate with Mignon." This from gentle Irma Linton, who was usually the soul of toleration.

"And you, too, Irma!" was Marjorie's reproachful cry. "Then there isn't much use is asking you girls to help me."

This was too much for the impulsive Jerry.

"Don't look at us like that. As though you had lost your last friend. Just let me tell you, you haven't. I take it all back. I'll promise to go on a hunting expedition for Mignon's better self any old time you say."

"Sieves have been known to hold water," acknowledged Muriel, not to be outdone by Jerry's burst of loyalty.

"And wildcats have sometimes become household pets," added Susan with her infectious giggle.

"So have mothers been known to change their minds," put in Irma. "I'm ashamed of myself for being a quitter before I've even heard your plan."

Marjorie's dark eyes shone with affection. "You are splendid," she praised with a little catch in her voice. "I can't help telling you now. After all, it isn't a very great plan, but it's the best I could think of just now, and this is it. Mother said I might give a party for Mary when she first came to live with us, but I wished to wait until she got acquainted with the girls in school. Then Connie gave her dance. So I thought it would be nice to have mine in about two weeks, after we were settled in our classes and didn't have so much to worry us. But now I've changed my mind. I'm going to give my party next week and I shall invite Mignon to it You girls can help me by being nice to her and making her have a pleasant evening. If we are really determined to carry out our plan we will have to invite her to our parties and luncheons, too, and ask her to share our good times. The only way we can help her is to make her one of us. If we draw away from her she will never be different. She will just become more disagreeable and some day we might be very sorry we didn't do our best for her."

The eloquence of Marjorie's plea had its effect on her listeners.

"I guess you are on the right track," conceded Jerry Macy warmly. "I am willing to try to be a busy little helper. We might call ourselves the S. F. R. M. – Society For Reforming Mignon, you know."

This proposal evoked a ripple of laughter.

"Irma, do you suppose your mother wouldn't like you to – to – be friendly with Mignon?" asked Marjorie anxiously. "We mustn't pledge ourselves to anything to which our mothers might say 'no.'"

"I think I can fix that part of it," said Irma slowly. "If I explain things to Mother, she'll understand."

"Perhaps we all ought to talk it over with our mothers," suggested Susan.

"I guess we'd better," nodded Jerry. "But what about Connie? Suppose she shouldn't be in favor of the S. F. R. M.? You couldn't blame her much if she wasn't."

"I'm going to see her to-night, after dinner. I intended to go to Gray Gables after school, but you see me here instead," returned Marjorie. "I am almost sure she'll say 'yes.'"

"How are we going to begin our reform movement?" asked Muriel Harding.

"That's what I'd like to know. Who is willing to be the first martyr to the cause? Let me tell you right now, I'd just as soon make friends with a snapping turtle. Only the snapper would probably be more polite."

"You are a wicked Jerry," reproved Marjorie smilingly, "and you know you don't mean half you say."

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. Anyhow, on in the cause of Mignon! I feel like one of the knights of old who buckled on his armor and went forth to the fray with his lady's colors tied to his sleeve, or his lance, or some of his belongings. I've forgotten just what the style was. We are gallant knights, going forth to battle, wearing Marjorie's colors, and Mignon will have to look out or she'll be reformed before she has time to turn up her nose and shrug her shoulders."

"Suppose we start by being as nice to her as we can in school to-morrow," proposed Irma Linton thoughtfully. "If she meets us in the same spirit, maybe something will happen that will show us what to do next."

"That wouldn't be a bad idea," declared Susan Atwell. "I sit near her, so I'll be the first one to hold out the olive branch. But if you hear something drop on the floor with a dull, sickening thud, you'll know that my particular variety of olive branch was rejected."

"Somehow, I have an idea she won't be so very scornful," said Marjorie hopefully.

"Being expelled from boarding school may have a soothing effect on her," agreed Jerry grimly. "I suppose it really isn't very knightly to say snippy things about a person one intends to reform."

"I think you are right, Jerry," broke in Marjorie with sweet earnestness. "We must try to think and say only kind things of Mignon if we are to succeed." Taking in the circle of girls with a quick, bright glance, she asked: "Then you are agreed to my plan? It is really a compact?"

Four emphatic nods answered her questions.

"Hurrah for the S. F. R. M.!" exclaimed Jerry. "Long may it wave! Only there's one glorious truth that I feel it my duty to impress on your minds. The way of the reformer is hard."

CHAPTER XIII
IN DEFENCE OF MIGNON

"Here are two letters for you, Lieutenant," called her mother, as Marjorie burst into the living-room, her cheeks pink from a brisk run up the drive. After leaving her schoolmates Marjorie had set off for home as fast as her light feet would carry her. She managed to keep to a decorous walk until she had swung the gate behind her, then she had sped up the drive like a fawn.

"Oh, lovely!" cried Marjorie. "Your permission, Captain." She touched her hand to her hat brim in a gay little salute. Her spirits had been rising from the moment she had left the girls, carrying with her the precious security that they were now banded together in a worthy cause. Surely the snarl would straighten itself in a short time. Mary would soon see that she intended to keep her word about being friends with Mignon. Then she would understand that she, Marjorie, was loyal in spite of her unjust accusations. Then all would be as it had been before. Perhaps Mary wouldn't be quite her old, sunny self for a few days, but the shadow would pass – it must.

"Why, it's from Connie!" she cried out in surprise, as her eyes sought the writing on the upper-most envelope. It was in Constance's irregular, girlish hand. She hastily tore it open and read.

"Dearest Marjorie:

"Last night at my dance I didn't know that father was to be concertmeister in the symphony orchestra. It is a great honor and we are all very happy over it. He kept it to himself until the last minute, because he knew that if he told me, I would insist on going back to New York with him for his opening concert. But I'm going with him just the same. I shall be away from Sanford for a week or so, for I want to be with him until he goes to Boston. I'll study hard and catch up in school when I come back. I wish you were going, too, but later in the season he will be in New York City again. Then Auntie says she will take you and Mary and me there to hear him play. Won't that be glorious? I'll write you again as soon as I reach New York and you must answer with a long letter, telling me about school and everything. I am so sorry I can't see you to say good-bye, but I won't have time. Don't forget to answer as soon as I write you.

"Lovingly,

"Constance."

Marjorie's cheerful face grew blank. Certainly she was glad that Connie would experience the happiness of hearing her father play before a vast assemblage who would gather to do him honor. Nevertheless she was just a trifle cast down over the unexpected flight of her friend to New York. With a start of dismay she remembered that she had intended going to see Constance with the object of clearing away the clouds of misunderstanding. Now she would have to wait until Connie returned. And then, there was Mignon. She felt that it would be hardly fair to begin her crusade without consulting the girl whom Mignon had wronged most deeply. She had perfect faith in the quality of her friend's charity. Constance was too generous of spirit to hold a grudge. Through suffering she had grown great of soul. Still, it was right that she should be asked to decide the question. If she refused outright to sanction the proposed campaign for reform, or even demurred at the proposal, Marjorie was resolved not to carry it forward, even for Mary's or Mignon's sake.

Suddenly she recollected her adjuration to the girls to gain their mothers' consent before going on with their plan. Her brows drew together in a perplexed frown. Had not Mary threatened, in the heat of her anger, that if Marjorie told her mother of their disagreement she would never speak to her again? How could she inform Captain of the compact she and her friends had made without involving Mary in it? Her mother would naturally inquire the reason for this rather remarkable movement. She might be displeased, as well as surprised, over Mary's strange predilection for the French girl. Her Captain knew all that had happened during her freshman year. On that memorable day when she had leaped into the river to rescue Marcia Arnold, and afterward come home, a curious little figure clad in Jerry Macy's ample garments, the recital of those stormy days when she had doubted, yet clung to Constance, had taken place. She recalled that long, confidential talk at her mother's knee, and the peace it had brought her.

All at once her face cleared. She would tell her mother about the compact, but she would leave out the disagreeable scenes that had occurred between herself and Mary. "I'll tell her now and have it over with," she decided.

"What makes you look so solemn, dear?" Her mother had glanced up from her embroidery, and was affectionately scanning her daughter's grave face. "Does your letter from Connie contain bad news? I hope nothing unpleasant has happened to the child."

"Oh, no, Captain. Quite the contrary. It's something nice," returned Marjorie quickly. "Let me read you her letter." She turned to the first page and read aloud rapidly Constance's little note. "I'm so glad for her sake," she sighed, as she finished, "but I shall miss her dreadfully."

"I suppose you will. Good fortune seems to have followed the Stevens family since the day when my lieutenant went out of her way to help a little girl in distress."

"Perhaps I'm a mascot, Captain. If I am, then you ought to take good care of me, feed me on a special diet of plum pudding and chocolate cake, keep me on your best embroidered cushion and cherish me generally," laughed Marjorie, with a view toward turning the subject from her own generous acts, the mention of which invariably embarrassed her.

"And give you indigestion and see you ossify for want of exercise under my indulgent eye," retorted her mother.

"I guess you had better go on cherishing me in the good old way," decided Marjorie. "But you won't mind my sitting on one of your everyday cushions, just as close to you as I can get, will you?" Reaching for one of the fat green velvet cushions which stood up sturdily at each end of the davenport, Marjorie dropped it beside her mother's chair and curled up on it.

"I've something to report, Captain," she said, her bantering tone changing to seriousness. "You remember last year – and Mignon La Salle?"

Mrs. Dean frowned slightly at the mention of the French girl's name. Mother-like, she had never quite forgiven Mignon for the needless sorrow she had wrought in the lives of those she held so dear.

Marjorie caught the significance of that frown. "I know how you feel about things, dearest," she nodded. "Perhaps you won't give your consent to the plan I – that is, we – have made. But I have to tell you, anyway, so here goes. Mignon La Salle went away to boarding school, but she – well she was sent home, and now she's back in Sanford High again. This afternoon Jerry, Irma, Susan, Muriel Harding and I went together to Sargent's for ice cream. While we were there we decided that we ought to forgive the past and try to help Mignon find her better self. The only way we can help her is to treat her well and invite her to our parties and luncheons. If she finds we are ready to begin all over again with her, perhaps she'll be different. We made a solemn compact to do it, provided our mothers were willing we should. So to be very slangy, 'It's up to you, Captain!'"

"But suppose this girl merely takes advantage of your kindness and involves you all in another tangle?" remarked Mrs. Dean quietly. "It seems to me that she proved herself wholly untrustworthy last year."

"I know it." Marjorie sighed. She would have liked to say that Mignon had already tied an ugly snarl in her affairs. But loyalty to Mary forbade the utterance. Then, brightening, she went on hopefully: "If we never try to help her, we'll never know whether she really has a better self. Sometimes it takes just a little thing to change a person's heart."

"You are a dear child," Mrs. Dean bent to press a kiss on Marjorie's curly head, "and your argument is too generous to be downed. I give my official consent to the proposed reform, and I hope, for all concerned, that it will turn out beautifully."

"Oh, Captain," Marjorie nestled closer, "you're too dear for words. There's another reason for my wishing to be friendly with Mignon. Mary has met her and likes her."

"Mary!" Mrs. Dean looked her astonishment. "By the way, Marjorie, where is Mary? I had quite forgotten her for the time being. You didn't mention her as being with you at Sargent's."

"She wasn't there," explained Marjorie. "She didn't wait for me after school. She must have gone on with – with someone and stopped to talk. I – I think she'll be here soon." A hurt look, of which she was entirely unconscious, had driven the brightness from the face Marjorie turned to her mother.

Mrs. Dean was a wise woman. She discerned that there had been a hitch in the programme of her daughter's daily affairs, but she asked no questions. She never intruded upon Marjorie's little reserves. She knew now that whatever her daughter had kept back had been done in accordance with a code of living, the uprightness of which was seldom equalled in a girl of her years. She, therefore, respected the reservation and made no attempt to discover its nature.

"What are you going to do first in the way of reform, Lieutenant?" she inquired brightly.

"Well, I thought I would invite Mignon to my party, the one you said I could give for Mary. I'd like to have it next Friday night. Friday's the best time. We can all sleep a little later the next morning, you know."

"Very well, you may," assented Mrs. Dean. "Does Mary know of the contemplated reform?"

"No. You see I hated to say much to her about Mignon, because it wouldn't be very nice to discredit someone you were trying to help. Don't you agree with me?"

"I suppose I must. But what of Constance?"

"That's the part that bothers me," was Marjorie's troubled reply. "I'm going to write her all about it. I know she'll be with us. She's too splendid to hold spite. I think it would be all right to invite Mignon to my party, at any rate. But there's just one thing about it, Captain, if Connie objects, then the reform will have to go on without me. You understand the way I feel, don't you?"

"Yes. I believe you owe it to Constance to respect her wishes. She was the chief sufferer at Mignon's hands."

The confidential talk came to a sudden end with the ringing of the doorbell.

"It's Mary." Marjorie sprang to her feet. "I'll let her in."

Hurrying to the door, Marjorie opened it to admit Mary Raymond. She entered with an air of sulkiness that brought dread to Marjorie's heart.

"Oh, Mary, where were you?" she asked, trying to appear ignorant of her chum's forbidding aspect.

"I was with Mignon La Salle," returned Mary briefly. "Will you come upstairs with me, please?"

"I'd love to, Lieutenant Raymond. Thank you for your kind invitation." Marjorie assumed a gaiety she did not feel.

Without further remark Mary stolidly mounted the stairs. Marjorie followed her in a distinctly worried state of mind. The quarrel was going to begin over again. She was sure of that.

Mary stalked past the half-open door of Marjorie's room and paused before her own. "I'd rather talk to you in my room, if you please," she said distantly.

"All right," agreed Marjorie, with ready cheerfulness. She intended to go on ignoring her chum's hostile attitude until she was forced to do otherwise.

Mary closed the door behind them and faced Marjorie with compressed lips. The latter met her offended gaze with steady eyes.

"I heard you and your friends making fun of Miss La Salle this afternoon, and I am going to say right here that I think you were all extremely unkind. She heard you, too. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Marjorie Dean!"

"Why, I don't remember making fun of Mignon!" exclaimed Marjorie. "What do you mean?"

"Then your memory is very short," sneered Mary. "But I might have expected you to deny it."

It was Marjorie's turn to grow indignant. "How can you accuse me of not telling the truth?" she flashed. "I did not – " She stopped, flushing deeply. She recalled Jerry Macy's humorous remark about Mignon as they stood talking in front of her locker. "I beg your pardon, Mary," she apologized. "I do remember now that Mignon's name was mentioned while we were standing there. But it was nothing very dreadful. We were saying that if Miss Merton heard us talking she would scold us, and Jerry only said that if Mignon chose to sing a solo at the top of her voice, in front of her locker, Miss Merton wouldn't mind in the least. Everyone knows that Mignon has always been a favorite of Miss Merton. I am sorry if she overheard it, for truly we hadn't the least idea of making fun of her. It was Jerry's funny way of saying it that made us laugh. I'll explain that to her the first time I see her."

Mary's tense features relaxed a trifle. She was not yet so firmly in the toils of the French girl as to be entirely blind to Marjorie's sincerity. Her good sense told her that she was making a mountain of a mole hill. There was a ring of truth in Marjorie's voice that brought a flush of shame to her cheeks. Still she would not allow it to sway her.

"It wasn't nice in you to laugh," she muttered. "She was dreadfully hurt. She feels very sensitive about being sent home from school. Of course, she knows she deserved it. She said so. But – "

"Did she really say that?" interrupted Marjorie eagerly.

"I am not in the habit of saying what isn't true," retorted Mary coldly.

"Listen, Mary." Marjorie's face was aglow with honest purpose. "I said to you, you know, that if you wished Mignon for a friend I would be nice to her, too. Captain has promised to let me give my party for you on next Friday night. I am going to invite Mignon to it, and we are all going to try to make her feel friendly toward us."

"She won't come," predicted Mary contemptuously. "I wouldn't, either, if I were in her place. I shall tell her not to come, too."

"Then you will be proving yourself anything but a friend to her," flung back Marjorie hotly, "because you will be advising her against doing something that is for her good." With this clinching argument Marjorie walked to the door and opened it.

"Whether I say a word or not, she won't come," called Mary after her. But Marjorie was halfway down the stairs, too greatly exasperated to trust herself to further speech.