THE FIRST MEETING.
After Marjorie had made her decision to meet the girls again, she spent
the spare time of her entire week trying to persuade Lily to adopt her
view of the matter. But Lily positively refused to be persuaded. She
was not going down to that place again to be ridiculed—her time was
too valuable. If Marjorie chose to do such foolish things, she must do
them alone.
Her roommate’s opposition made it a little hard for Marjorie, but did
not deter her from keeping her promise to Miss Winthrop. Lily was
always cautious, not nearly so prone to run into new undertakings as
her chum; but she was usually willing to follow later on. In reality
Marjorie had no doubt of Lily; if she won the girls, she would
certainly win her.
Yet she was still dubious in her own heart as to the wisdom of the
venture. She could not picture those girls as ever becoming interested
in a subject so serious as scouting. Nevertheless, it would not be her
fault if she failed, for she resolved to present it in all its dramatic
highlights, to try to get the thrill of the open life into their blood.
She selected her costume with great care for her first meeting with
the girls. Good clothing appealed to them; style was an essential in
their life. She decided upon her new brown suit, tailored in the latest
fashion, emphasizing its beauty by a fawn-colored overblouse, with
stockings of the same hue. Her hat, a chic little velvet toque, carried
out the same motif and completed the charming effect she desired.
It would be interesting, she thought, as she drove into the city, to
meet these girls under such circumstances; to go to them at their
invitation; to talk to them without interference from members of the
opposite sex, whose opinions were so worthless, and yet so weighty with
the girls; to observe them under the more normal condition of every-day
affairs. Perhaps she had been harsh, after all, in her judgment of
them; it really was not fair to watch them at a single social function
and to pass upon their characters with so little knowledge of the
conditions under which they lived and worked. She had known several
college girls whose heads had been turned by popularity and flattery,
yet, in comparison with them, these girls were mere children. It
was, therefore, with a very forgiving spirit that she drew up to the
settlement at eight o’clock and parked her car before its entrance.
Queenie Brazier threw open the door and rushed down the steps as
Marjorie drew her key from the lock.
“Hello, Miss Wilkinson!” she cried. “Right on the dot of eight!”
Marjorie smilingly extended her hand, realizing now that Miss Winthrop
had not exaggerated her story.
“Your car’s awful cute,” commented the girl, slipping her arm through
Marjorie’s and conducting her up the steps. “Wouldn’t mind if I was
rich myself!”
“Oh, but I didn’t buy that!” Marjorie hastened to inform her. “I earned
it—as a reward which was offered to our Girl Scout troop.”
“Gee, do they give things like that in the Scouts!” exclaimed Queenie.
“Me for the scouts, every time!”
“There are all sorts of honors and rewards for the girl who works,”
Marjorie replied cautiously. “But they do not always take such material
form as this one happened to.” She was anxious to dispel Queenie’s
false hope that scouting was an easy path to quick riches.
“Tell me how you won it!” pleaded the other, as she directed Marjorie
into the room where the rest of the girls were gathered.
“All right—later on,” agreed Marjorie. “But now I want to meet the
others.”
The club room was a small one, furnished in the usual plain but cozy
style adapted by most of the up-to-date settlement houses. Miss
Winthrop occupied a chair beside a substantial mission-table, and two
of the girls were perched on top of it, talking in animated tones with
the leader. Two or three of the others were apparently listening to the
conversation, while over on the window sill, an exceedingly stout young
lady was giggling and whispering with a tall slender one. Marjorie
took them all in at a glance, and with some difficulty identified them
with the elaborately dressed maidens of the dance. They all looked
different, she decided, but undoubtedly better.
“Well, Miss Wilkinson, we’re all here—and all glad to see you,”
said Miss Winthrop cordially. “I think Queenie had better do the
introducing, however, for she is more sure of the names than I am.”
“Oh, she can’t remember them all, anyhow,” protested Queenie, rather
embarrassed by the formality of an introduction. “So I won’t have to
repeat them—girls—meet Miss Wilkinson!”
“I’m awfully glad to meet you,” said Marjorie graciously. “But Miss
Brazier is wrong about my not remembering the names; I want to know
them, and I don’t mean to forget them.”
“All right, then—just as you wish, Miss Wilkinson. You know that I’m
Queenie Brazier, and—this here girl is Aggie Smithers, this beet-top
is Clara Abrams, the tall skinny one at the window is Annie Marshall,
this is Stella Cox on the table, with our little mascot beside
her—Dottie Williams. And, oh yes, I forgot Fattie Reed—her real
name’s Gertie. Now you got ’em all.”
“Yes, I believe I have,” replied Marjorie, trying to hide a smile at
the method of introduction. “And I don’t intend to forget them, either.”
“I suppose you will want to get started at once,” put in Miss Winthrop.
“Miss Wilkinson is a very busy lady, so I know she can’t stay long.”
“We ain’t goin’ to treat her rough this time,” muttered Aggie Smithers,
but the remark was lost to Miss Winthrop. Nevertheless Marjorie heard
it, and took it as a good sign.
The leader withdrew, and Queenie escorted Marjorie to the seat at the
table. The other girls brought chairs from the corners of the room and
arranged them in front of her.
“I’d just like to talk tonight,” began Marjorie nervously. “If we——”
“Oh, it’s a lecture, is it?” giggled Gertie Reed. “If it’s goin’ to be
like prayer-meetin’——”
“Shut up, Fattie!” interrupted Queenie, noting Marjorie’s confusion.
“I didn’t mean that I was going to do the talking,” the latter hastened
to explain. “I meant we’d all talk things over, instead of trying to
organize. Queenie, will you tell me what made you think that you would
like to form a Girl Scout troop?”
“Miss Winthrop, I guess,” replied the youthful leader. “She said if we
wanted a club here any more, we’d have to have a leader, and we all
liked your looks, so we asked for you. And then she told us how you
were a Girl Scout, and we thought we’d like to try that.”
“But some of us,” put in Annie Marshall, the tallest and oldest girl
in the group, “thought we was too old—that it was only something fer
kids. I’m goin’ on seventeen myself.”
“Gracious!” laughed Marjorie, “we had lots of active scouts in our
troop who were eighteen, and we older ones do scout work yet, as a
senior patrol. There are plenty of things in it for older girls.”
“We like the uniform,” continued Queenie, “and we’re crazy about goin’
camping sometime. And that’s about all there is to it, isn’t it? Except
of course meetin’ here once a week—and we could do as we please at our
own meetin’s.”
“I’m sorry,” said Marjorie, kindly, but firmly, “but you couldn’t. Once
you’re scouts, you have to follow the scout law, and do the scout work.
And it is work, too, though it’s mighty interesting work. If you want
to win the honors, the merit-badges and the medals, you have to go in
for it hard. So it must be all or nothing.”
“Sounds too strenuous to me!” yawned Gertie. “We ain’t ladies of
leisure, Mrs. Wilkinson. We all work.”
“Neither am I, for that matter,” said Marjorie.
“What do you do?” asked Stella Cox, in surprise.
“I go to college. I finish this year.”
“You still in school!” repeated Queenie in amazement. “You must ’ave
started awful late!”
Marjorie smiled at the bluntness of the remark.
“I started at six,” she explained. “But it’s eight years at grammar
school, four at high, and four at college.”
“Then you must be twenty-one!” calculated Queenie.
“Exactly!” replied Marjorie. “If I weren’t, I couldn’t be your captain.”
“Tell us more about what the scouts do, and how you earned your car,
Miss Wilkinson,” urged Queenie.
Marjorie noticed a revival of interest when this question was asked;
almost subconsciously she realized that pleasure in one form or another
was these girls’ idol. Yet how could she give them the kind they
wanted, and, if she could, would she be willing? Was it not rather her
duty to create a new ideal for them?
“Winning that car was only a side-line for us,” she told them finally.
“A wealthy old lady had read some accounts of our troop’s doings in the
newspapers, and wanted to prove our mettle. So she wrote to us that
if we would motor to California without accepting any assistance of
any kind from men along the road, and if we would make the trip in six
weeks’ time, and not spend more than a certain amount of money, she’d
give each girl a new roadster as a reward.”
“Phew!” whistled Queenie in admiration. “And you really did it?”
“Yes, we did, though lots of times we thought we had lost out. Once we
got stuck in the mud, and some men offered to pull us out, and two or
three times we were held up and robbed. One car was stolen from us,
too. It certainly was exciting. But girls, you mustn’t bank on things
like that happening. We had been scouts for five years then, and had
been working terribly hard. And perhaps ours is the only troop in the
country that had such an experience.”
“Then tell us about some of the good times you had your first year,”
suggested Stella Cox.
“Our first year was a good deal like any other troop’s first year. We
had hikes, worked to pass our tenderfoot, second-class, and first-class
tests, met some other troops, had contests, and finally went camping
the first summer. Of course that was the best of all.”
“How soon can we go camping?” asked Queenie.
“After you pass your second-class tests, and prove by your hikes that
you have some knowledge of the out-of-doors. We’ll have to arrange some
Saturday afternoon hikes to learn the essentials of camp life——”
“Now, girls, are you ready to vote on the question? Do you, or do you
not want to organize as a scout troop?”
Looking about the group, she saw hesitation written on several of
their countenances; only their youthful leader seemed to sustain the
enthusiasm. As usual, she was the spokesman.
“Shall we take a vote on it?” repeated Marjorie.
“Yea—all right,” assented Queenie. “Only first tell me: if we have
just an ordinary club, would you be our leader?”
“No—I’m very sorry. But I want to devote my spare time in the
interests of scouting.”
“Could we dance?” inquired Aggie, with a giggle.
“Certainly,” responded Marjorie—“that is, subject to supervision—Now,
if you’re ready, let’s vote. All in favor of forming a scout troop, say
‘Aye.’”
“Aye!” answered Queenie loudly with a faint echo from the others.
“Opposed, ‘No.’”
There was silence.
“But you must be sure of yourselves, girls,” Marjorie insisted. “There
have to be at least eight girls to form a troop—and there are only
eight here tonight—so if one dropped out, it would be impossible to
organize. Please don’t be afraid to speak out frankly: if there are any
who do not care to join, now is the time to say so!”
“Sure they all want to, Miss Wilkinson!” asserted Queenie, with
conviction. “Besides, if they didn’t they could drop out of our crowd,
and I’d soon bring somebody else in to fill their place. You can count
on me to have eight skirts here every Saturday night regular, if that’s
goin’ to be our time for the meeting.”
“It suits me,” approved Marjorie, smiling at the high-handed way in
which Queenie managed her followers. “Then I will give you these
hand-books tonight, and ask you to read them before next week. And two
things more: we need to choose a flower name and a patrol leader.”
Briefly she explained the functions of the non-commissioned officer;
hardly had she finished before the girls demanded Queenie.
“No use electin’—it’s unanimous!” declared Aggie.
“And the flower?” continued Marjorie.
The girls looked at Queenie.
“Sunflower!” she announced in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she had
previously settled the matter. “It’s so bright and noisy-like—just
like us!”
“Yea—Sunflower!” repeated the others, all at once.
“Sunflower it is,” concluded Marjorie, rising. “Have it blooming next
Saturday night—and I’ll see you then.”
Almost before they knew it, she was gone—delighted to find patient
John Hadley at the wheel in her little roadster.