THE “FOOL-KILLER”
As soon as Jacquette opened her eyes, next morning, she closed them
again, and tried to bring back the glittering scene of the evening
before. Bobs had proved a perfect cavalier, as good a dancer as
quarterback, and two o’clock had come before anyone remembered time.
Yes, she could see the brilliant hall, the blue and gold decorations,
the huge copy of the Sigma Pi pin done in electric lights on the wall
just over the orchestra, the richly dressed mothers of two of the girls
presiding at frappé, as chaperones of the occasion; she even heard
strains of music, and carriage numbers being called, as they came out
into the frosty air--but, all the time, she knew that it was past, and
that nothing was left to happen. For weeks she had been looking forward
to this dance. Now that it was over, the year stretched ahead in grey
monotony.
After a few days, however, she awoke to the fact that another event,
fully as exciting, though very different in nature, was looming in the
near future. Two of her teachers warned her that she would have to do
better work if she hoped to get through her half-yearly examinations in
January.
Jacquette heard them in shocked astonishment. In Brookdale she had been
the star of all her classes. It seemed unbelievable that she could
be facing utter failure; yet the semi-final examinations, she knew,
counted as much in the year’s standing as the dreaded June finals
themselves.
As she started for home that day, she was wondering, with a sick dread,
how Tia would feel when she told her, and whether, if she really
should fail, the Sigma Pi girls would carry out that dreadful threat of
taking away her pin. At least, she made up her mind, if hard study from
now on could avert the calamity, it should never come, and she began
her campaign by resolutely refusing to join in a special frolic which
was coming off in the sorority rooms that afternoon.
Her grandfather and Aunt Sula were both out, when she reached home; so
Jacquette had the library to herself, and she set at work with a will.
Half an hour passed. Then she saw Rodney Fletcher, a grammar school
boy, dashing across the street to her door.
“Give me shelter, Miss Willard?” he asked, breathlessly. “You know I’m
coming up to high school in February, and the Beta Sigs and the Elks
are both trying to pledge me now, so as to be sure of me when I get
there. The Elks are bound to clinch the thing to-day, but I don’t want
to give them an answer till I see what the Beta Sigs are going to do,
and they’ve asked me down to their frat house to-night. I’ve skipped
out, so my mother can tell the Elk boys I’m not at home. Oh, look!
They’re coming over here. Hide me somewhere!”
While he was speaking, Jacquette, entering into the fun, had hurried
him into the dining-room, and had drawn the heavy curtains.
“Don’t give me away, now! On your honour,” was his parting injunction,
as she turned to admit the delegation of Elks--but the whole affair
took a different colour, a minute later, when the first Elk to walk in
was Bobs Drake!
Playing a joke on Bobs was the last thing she had thought of. She
had never before known him to take an active part in fraternity
contentions; yet here he was, and there, in the dining-room, was
Rodney, trusting her to keep him hidden. There was nothing to do but
to carry it through, and explain to Bobs, afterward.
“We just stopped to ask if you’d seen Rod Fletcher to-day?” he was
saying, as she reached this decision.
“Why, yes; he was here a little while ago,” she answered, cautiously.
“We can’t get track of him,” put in another boy. “His mother says she
doesn’t know where he is.”
“Does she? Well, he isn’t at home, then. Mrs. Fletcher would tell you
if he were,” Jacquette assured them, beginning to enjoy the joke for
its own sake, and feeling certain that Bobs was going to understand,
later on.
“We won’t stay. I see you’re studying,” Bobs said, considerately.
“But we’d appreciate it if you’d put in a good word for the Elks with
Rodney. We don’t want the Beta Sigs to get him, because he’s worth
having.”
“I’m sorry, Bobs,” she answered, decidedly, “but I’ve promised Aunt
Sula that I won’t take sides with any fraternity. Besides, I doubt if
Rodney would be influenced by anything I could say.”
She had followed the boys to the door while she spoke, and, as they
went down the walk, she heard them rallying Bobs on his failure to
secure her as an ally. That bothered her, and she found it hard to get
back into the spirit of study after Rodney had gone.
Next morning at school, the first thing she heard was that the Beta
Sigmas had pledged Rodney at their fraternity house the night before,
and this, coupled with the disturbing fact that Bobs was missing from
school, altogether, for the next three days, had a demoralising effect
on Jacquette’s good resolutions about work.
On the fourth morning she stopped Louise in the hall between bells to
say,
“Wait a minute, Louise. Tell me what you know about Bobs? I saw him
going upstairs, just now, but he wouldn’t give me a chance to speak to
him, even, and I don’t understand why. Is it true that he’s not coming
back to school?”
There had been disturbing rumours about Bobs. He was quoted as having
said that there was no special object in finishing his senior year, now
that the football season was over. With his record as quarterback to
help him, the boys said, he could easily get into college on the work
he had already done. Yet now, on the day before the Christmas vacation,
he had appeared again, and seemed to be attending his classes, as usual.
“Hush!” Louise answered. “Something dreadful happened in chemistry
class, and Bobs has gone to the office, now. I can’t stop, but I’ll
tell you all about it at noon.”
“Gone to the office,” meant an interview with the principal, and, all
through her French recitation, Jacquette was wondering what Bobs could
have done. Over and over again, Mademoiselle’s searching eyes and
sudden questions brought her back to the subject, but, when the bell
finally rang, the amount of French she had absorbed was very slight.
Then she and Louise flew together like magnet and needle. “Never mind
luncheon!” said Jacquette. “Let’s walk down the street where we can be
alone. Now, tell me!”
“’Twas just this,” Louise began obediently. “Some of the boys have
been getting up an illustrated magazine called the ‘Fool-killer’--just
one copy, you know, on fine paper, pen and ink work, with illuminated
initials--an awfully clever thing. It has caricatures of all the
faculty, representing the teachers as saying ridiculous things against
secret societies in high schools, and so on. The boys meant to
circulate it by passing it around under desks until all the pupils had
seen it. So, this morning, just as Mr. Talbot called the chemistry
class to order, the magazine was handed to Bobs Drake, and, after a
minute, he passed it over to me, opened at a killing picture of Mr.
Talbot, talking against football with one side of his mouth and against
fraternities with the other. I don’t believe Mr. Talbot would have
noticed Bobs handing me the magazine, but, Jacquette, you know my
failing. The minute I saw that picture, off went my laugh--right there
in class! I hadn’t the slightest warning that it was going to happen.
Never do have, you know.”
“Louise--you poor girl!”
“Well, Mr. Talbot was down at my desk in a flash, and, before I could
do a thing, he had the ‘Fool-killer’ in his hand, looking it through.
Wasn’t it dreadful? There he stood, turning page after page, and we
waited. At last he looked up at Quis, and said, ‘Mr. Granville, do you
happen to know who executed this masterpiece?’”
“Oh! Quis could have done it--but he wouldn’t!”
“Well, there were two or three Beta Sigs sitting near Quis, and they
sat up straight, but Quis held his head high, and said, ‘Yes, sir, I do
know.’”
“No!”
“Yes. Mr. Talbot was surprised, too. Of course his next question was,
‘Who did it?’ but Quis absolutely refused to answer. Then Mr. Talbot
asked why he wouldn’t answer, and Quis gave one glance over at the
Elk boys, where Bobs was sitting, and said, ‘Because I consider it
dishonourable to tell tales of anyone!’ And, Jacquette, the class
cheered!”
“But, Louise, you aren’t going to say Bobs did it?”
“Wait till I get to that. Of course Mr. Talbot was angry at the
cheering, and, next thing, turned on Bobs.”
“Well?”
“Bobs wouldn’t answer, either, but he did look at Quis as much as
to accuse him of having given him away, I thought. We all expected
it would end in Mr. Talbot’s sending them both to the office, but,
instead, he went back to his desk and began the recitation. I guess he
didn’t know that Quis was starting for New York, right after class, for
he let him get away while he was talking to Bobs, and the end of it is
that Bobs has gone to the office alone.”
“And you think Bobs got up the magazine, and Quis knows, and won’t
tell?”
“I--don’t know. You see, it stands against Bobs that he’s been out of
school for several days doing no one knows what. There’s so much fine
lettering in the magazine; it would take a great deal of time. And
everyone knows how clever Bobs is at drawing, and how he loves a joke.
I’m afraid.”
“And I don’t believe it! If Bobs had done it, he’d have owned up.”
“But you don’t stop to think, Jacquette, that owning up would have
meant bringing discredit on his whole fraternity. The Beta Sigs would
crow so if the Elks got into disgrace. It isn’t a bit like owning up
alone.”
“I know; but I don’t believe it. If I could only get hold of Quis, I’d
make him tell who did it. He said he knew. But his train has started by
now.”
“Yes, and you mustn’t worry, dear. I dare say Bobs will come out of it
all right. Everybody likes him so--teachers and all. I’m terribly sorry
I laughed, but I just can’t go without my luncheon on account of it.
I’m starving. Come and get a sandwich. You’ll feel better.”
“No. I can’t eat a thing!” And Jacquette, starting back toward the
school alone, turned the corner and met Bobs face to face.
He would have passed, but she insisted on speaking and almost with the
first words it came out that he had seen Rodney leaving her house,
just after he and the other boys had been dismissed that day, and that
his faith in girls had vanished with the sight. Of course the fellows
had joked him, but that was the least of it. The part he could not get
over was that he had believed Jacquette to be “square,” and now she had
proved herself “just like all the girls--tricky!”
Jacquette’s explanation had waited so long that the words of it tumbled
over each other. She looked very sweet and sorry, standing there, her
face flushed with feeling, and, as she talked, the winter wind caught
one of her curly yellow braids and tossed it over her shoulder. Bobs
remembered, suddenly, that she had put her hair down in braids the
day after he had said sorority girls were in too much of a hurry to
be grown-up. He stamped the snow from his feet, irresolute--trying
not to forgive her. Then he looked straight into her honest eyes, and,
turning, walked back to the school at her side.
“I see how it was, Jack, and I’d like to shake hands on it,” he said,
as they reached the entrance. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again; I
may not come back to school any more after vacation. I tried to quit,
right after this Rodney Fletcher business, but my mother cried about
it; so I couldn’t. You know I haven’t any father to make me do things,
but when my mother cries it’s the same thing. So I started in again,
but now there’s a new trouble, and I don’t know what may come of it.
I’m on my way home, in disgrace for refusing to answer questions in the
office.”
“I know what you mean; Louise told me,” Jacquette answered, giving him
her hand, “and I just want to say that I don’t believe, for one minute,
you ever did it.”
Bobs looked at her with an expression that she could not understand.
Then, instead of saying, as she had hoped he would, that he had not
done it, he merely repeated, “You don’t believe it? I’m glad.”
All the way upstairs to Mademoiselle’s room, Jacquette was asking
herself what Bobs had meant by that response, and the question was
still troubling her when the closing hour came that afternoon, and
Mademoiselle began to distribute the monthly report cards among the
pupils in her study room.
Jacquette walked to the desk slowly, dreading to see hers, and she
was not surprised when Mademoiselle, in passing it out, looked at her
reproachfully.
“My little Willard, I am sorry,” she said, gravely. “Will you stay and
talk with me after school, honey?”
Jacquette scanned the figures on the card as she took her seat. She
had fallen below, for the month, in algebra and physiography, and her
standing, even in English and French, was near the danger mark.
“Sorry for you, dear,” Blanche Gross whispered, as the pupils
rose to file out of the room. “Come up to the sorority rooms when
Mademoiselle’s done with you, and tell us all about it.”
When Jacquette lifted her eyes, she found herself alone with
Mademoiselle.
“Come and sit here by me, dearie,” began the French teacher, with one
of those searching glances from under her dark eyebrows. “That is
right. Now, chicken, you were meant to be a good little child. What can
be the trouble?”
Her manner was gentleness itself, but it compelled an answer, and
before Jacquette realised what she was doing, she found herself pouring
out her troubles.
“I know, honey, I know!” Mademoiselle said, at the end. “I, too, have
seen this wonderful ‘Fool-killer.’ There is one page with a very
dreadful picture of a French lady who says ‘lambkin’ to the big boys!”
She shrugged her shoulders ever so little. “That is mere fun! The
part that worries me is, why did he not own up like a man when he was
questioned?”
“Oh, Mademoiselle!” Jacquette reproached her. “You think he did it!”
“There is not one particle of doubt, my child. When he was in my French
class, in this very room, two years ago, I took from him this same
picture of the French lady saying ‘lambkin.’ No one else could have
reproduced it so perfectly. But he was never a sneak in those days, and
I cannot believe now, that he realises how his refusal to confess turns
suspicion upon an innocent party.”
“What innocent party? Not Quis? Does anyone think Quis did it?”
Mademoiselle stared blankly. “Dearie!” she said at last. “Honey! My
little Willard! Your cousin Marquis did it!”
“Quis did it! And then took credit for keeping still because it would
be dishonourable to tell! And let the class cheer him--and made
Bobs all this trouble. Mademoiselle! he couldn’t! He has too much
conscience.”
“Conscience; ah, but he was not using Marquis Granville’s conscience
when he did this. He was governed by his fraternity conscience--a
vastly different thing from the individual conscience, dearie. Whatever
happened, he must not bring discredit on his Beta Sigma fraternity,
don’t you see? I, myself, know one dear little child with golden braids
who has been writing English themes for another member of her sorority,
just because she has the mistaken idea that her vow of sisterhood
requires that dishonest act. But she was governed by her sorority
conscience when she did it.”
Jacquette flushed scarlet. She had not dreamed that anyone outside
of the sorority knew how much she was helping Mamie Coolidge with
her English. “Mademoiselle, you know every single thing we do!” she
exclaimed.
“Not everything, honey, but more than you guess. You can fool the
pretty, young teachers, but the little old French ladies with green
eyes, they know--_they know!_” She shook her head solemnly, but the
dimples came in her cheeks, and her eyes twinkled.
“You’re not old, and your eyes aren’t green!” Jacquette cried,
impulsively. “You’re perfectly darling! And oh--I do believe you’re
right about Quis. I see it all.”
“There’s no doubt of it, my chicken,” Mademoiselle concluded, beginning
to put away the books and papers on her desk. “Now you are to dismiss
from your mind all the little Quisses and all the little Bobses, and
not worry about them any more. I, myself, will write to that dear
little wretch in New York. You shall give me his address. He will be
sorry, for I know he has not meant to make so much trouble, and he will
confess at once. You will see.
“For you, my sweet pet, it is certainly trouble enough that you
must take home to dear auntie this abominable report card. But yet,
remember, that is in the past. Your scholarship for the month of
December has been sacrificed, honey; laid on the altar of--what? Shall
we say, of a Sigma Pi Epsilon dance? Think it over, dearie, and see if
I am right. And study a few hours every day in the Christmas vacation
to make up back work. Then start again with the new year, pass your
semi-final examinations, and begin the next half, in February, with the
spirit of work. That is all, honey. You may go.”