DISCOURAGEMENT.
“Come in, Marjorie!” cried Mrs. Hadley, with a cheery smile. “Anna is
just putting dinner on the table—and I’m so glad to have company.
John’s away.”
She looked at the girl keenly, hoping that she would detect a shadow of
disappointment on her face, at the knowledge of her son’s absence. But
it seemed as if Marjorie hardly took in what she was saying.
“I’ve had my supper,” she replied listlessly. “But I’m so thankful to
be here. I’m—all in.”
“What is it, dear?” inquired the older woman, solicitously. “You’re
tired and cold—not sick?”
“Only sick at heart.”
Marjorie dropped into a chair before the open fire, and, withdrawing
her gloves, spread her hands gratefully toward the warmth. “My hike
with the new troop was a dismal failure.”
“Tell me about it!” urged Mrs. Hadley sympathetically.
In a few words the disheartened captain told her story, without
interruption. Her hostess made no comment until they had answered the
summons to dinner.
“Do have some hot coffee, dear,” she said. “You’ll feel better.”
“Thank, you, yes.”
She stirred it moodily, silently. Again Mrs. Hadley did not interrupt.
“Now tell me what you would advise me to do,” Marjorie finally asked.
“Give them up, of course!” replied the other, emphatically. “They are
not worth your effort, your unhappiness. The trouble lies too deep for
you to reach, Marjorie. Their families, the free lawless spirit of the
age in which we live, are to blame. They are young in years, but they
are old in experience—much older than you. If you could take them away
from their homes, their pleasures, their environments, your personality
might conquer theirs. But at the most they see you only three or four
hours a week; and what mark can you hope to leave in so short a time?
There are too many things against you.”
“I guess you are right, Mrs. Hadley,” admitted the girl, wearily. “But
it seems dreadful to give them up—to accept defeat so soon. I like to
win if the cause is worth it, no matter what the odds are against me.”
“I know you do—and you always have. Your courage is marvellous,
Marjorie. But this is something different from anything you have ever
attempted; it is almost beyond human power.”
“And yet,” interposed the girl, “I am sure that Mr. Richards thinks it
could be done.”
“Mr. Richards?”
“Yes—the Boy Scout master who came to talk to the girls last week.”
Mrs. Hadley shut her lips tightly; she remembered that John had
mentioned the young man, and had hinted that he had captivated Marjorie.
“He isn’t thinking of you, dear. You must not sacrifice yourself.”
“But that’s the whole spirit of scouting!” flashed Marjorie. “If I
thought that were all that is hindering me, I wouldn’t give it up. Mrs.
Hadley, will you let me talk to him on the telephone, and—and—tell
him my troubles?”
“Certainly,” acceded her hostess graciously. “But wouldn’t John do?
He’ll be home about nine o’clock.”
“I’d like to have the opinion of both,” answered Marjorie, smiling for
the first time. Something of her usual spirit was returning.
They talked of other things, of college, of Mrs. Hadley’s varied
interests, of John’s work, until Margaret felt that she might try her
luck at the telephone.
“This is Marjorie Wilkinson,” she said, in answer to Mr. Richards’
cheery “Hello!” “And I want to tell you my troubles.”
“Of course,” returned the other. “We all have ’em, you know; even the
leaders of the so-called model troops. And you couldn’t hope to escape.”
“You know how pleased I was with your talk the other night, as I told
you over the phone, but how discouraged I was with the rest of the
meeting, when I tried to teach some of the practical things.”
“Yes, and I reminded you that that was to be expected.”
“I realized that,” admitted Marjorie. “But today I had a real
disappointment. My girls actually got so bored with me on our hike that
they ran away!”
Mr. Richards burst out laughing.
“Then girls are as hard to manage as boys?” he demanded. “I never
realized it before, but I believe it now!”
“Did boys ever do that to you?”
“Yes, and sometimes when six or eight promised to show up for some
shindig, nobody came at all! It’s all in the day’s work.”
“But what would you do? Give them up?”
“No, unless they wanted you to. Leave it entirely up to them.”
“I was thinking maybe I’d just write my resignation to the settlement.”
Mr. Richards was silent for a moment; indeed Marjorie began to wonder
whether he were still on the wire.
“Of course you must do just as you think best,” he concluded. “And
I wouldn’t let it worry me too much. After all, there are plenty of
troops.”
“Thank you,” she replied slowly, “I’ll think it over.”
“And do let me hear from you soon,” he added.
Marjorie, however, was not satisfied; the conversation had not
convinced her one way or the other. In fact, Mr. Richards’ arguments on
the one side had not been so conclusive as Mrs. Hadley’s, on the other.
Turning around, she saw John enter the living room. Mechanically she
got up to greet him.
“Marjorie!” he exclaimed, warmly, his eyes lighting up with happiness.
“This is a joyous surprise!”
“A surprise,” repeated the girl, “but as your mother will tell you, not
so joyful for you people. I’m afraid that I’m not very good company.”
“You’re always good company,” he protested. “But——” his face grew
sympathetic—“what is wrong?”
“I have failed—again!” she murmured.
“Not _again_! It must be for the first time!” John refused to take part
in her depression.
“Marjorie was chaperoning her troop on a hike,” his mother explained,
“and the girls ran away. Naturally she is discouraged.”
“Ran away!” repeated John, in amazement. “Tell me about it—all of it!”
Marjorie settled herself to tell the story once more in detail, and
while she was talking, Mrs. Hadley slipped out. She knew that she had
failed to comfort her, and she wanted to give her son his opportunity.
“And so I am just about ready to give up!” she concluded desperately.
“I don’t think I can ever win those girls.”
“You’re right, Marjorie!” exclaimed John ardently. “It’s so much better
to expend your energy and time on people who will appreciate it.
It’s ‘pearls before swine!’ Oh, my dear, why throw all that love and
devotion on girls like that, when some of the rest of us are starving
for it? Forget them—and—and—think about me for a little while. I
want you so much! I—I——”
He stopped because he saw that his appeal had met with no answer.
Marjorie only looked disturbed.
“Yes, John, I do want to think about other people—you and your mother,
and everybody else that is good to me. But I can’t just now.”
“When will you?” he asked desperately.
“When college is over and I have this Girl Scout matter and my future
definitely settled.”
“But I want to settle your future!” he cried, leaning forward and
laying his hand over hers. “I want you to promise to marry me—and then
you can take charge of all the scout troops you want to!”
Marjorie did not take her hand away, but looked at him tenderly. She
admired him more than any man she knew, perhaps she loved him—she
was not sure—but she was not ready to surrender her future into his
keeping. She had other plans for herself.
“I can’t promise, John, dear, because my mind is just filled with
other things—work, I mean, a career, if you want to call it that. You
wouldn’t want me half-heartedly. And I’d never be satisfied if I didn’t
give my ideas a try.”
John’s hand dropped listlessly over the arm of the chair, and he gazed
into the fire in silence. There was nothing more to be said; he knew
Marjorie too well to attempt to dissuade her from her purposes.
“Tell me what you have been doing, John,” she said, with forced
cheerfulness.
“Oh, the same old thing. Had a raise in salary—but—oh, what’s the
use!”
Marjorie laughed good-naturedly, and both felt that the tension had
suddenly been relieved.
“Do you suppose your mother would chaperone me back to college?” she
asked. “I really want to see Lil tonight.”
“Certainly!” he answered. “I’ll call her and bring the car around to
the door.”
It was not until they reached the college that the cause of Marjorie’s
visit was referred to again. Then Mrs. Hadley tried to make her promise
to give up the troop.
“I can’t promise till I talk it over with Lily,” she said finally. “But
I think I shall, now.”
“That’s right, dear!” returned the older woman waving good-bye to her
as she entered the doorway.
She rushed up to her room, unable to control her emotion any longer. At
least it would be a relief to cry.
But to her dismay she found that Lily had company. Jeannette Killough
was there.
“Marj!” cried both girls joyfully.
“We were hoping that you’d be back to hear about our thrilling party,”
Lily explained. “We’re going to have a class dance next Saturday night.”
“And you simply have to come!” ordered Jeannette. “We won’t take ‘No’
for an answer.”
Marjorie dropped wearily into a chair, keeping back her tears with
difficulty.
“That old scout troop can go for once——” pursued Lily. “Why, what’s
the matter, Marj?”
“Nothing much—except that my hike didn’t come off as I had hoped.”
“Well, don’t think about it!” advised Jeannette. “We’ll give you
something more pleasant to consider. Bee Tullige’s father has arranged
to get us the Country Club—think of that, Marj! Such an expensive
place, too! And everybody’s going to get a new dress and invite her
very best beau!”
“You’ll go, won’t you, Marj?” persisted Lily.
“Oh, I guess,” replied Marjorie, half-heartedly. Nothing seemed worth
while now.
“Write to Miss Winthrop now and tell her you won’t be at the settlement
on Saturday,” suggested Jeannette.
“All right—only I’m too tired tonight. I’ll promise to do it tomorrow.”
“Daisy will probably take the troop for you,” added the other. “So,
since you’ve promised, I think I better go, because you ought to go to
bed. Good-night!”
But as soon as she was gone, Lily forgot the dance in her anxiety to
hear all about the hike. Marjorie was undoubtedly very unhappy; it was
her chum’s privilege to share her burden.
“Tell me, Marj,” she begged sympathetically.
To her surprise, Marjorie burst into tears.
“Don’t say, ‘I told you so,’ Lil! Please don’t! I couldn’t bear it now.”
Lily came over and sat upon the arm of her chair.
“Of course I won’t honey. You know I believe in you! Tell me about it!”
With her head in her roommate’s lap, Marjorie sobbed out her story of
the dismal afternoon which had ended in her own chagrin. Lily listened
carefully, making a great effort to bring an unbiased mind to the
problem.
“I don’t think it’s as serious as you think, Marj,” she finally
answered. “The girls weren’t really intentionally rude, as they were
at the dance, only thoughtless. And you succeeded before, so I think
you will again—for this, after all, is only a temporary slip on their
part.”
But Marjorie was not convinced.
“I’m afraid the odds are too much against me,” she objected.
“But think of the other perfectly hopeless propositions you have
attacked and conquered,” Lily reminded her. “Ruth Henry’s deceit, those
ghosts at the tea house, the motor bandits——”
“Yes, yes, I know; but they were all different. I didn’t have to win
them over to myself.”
“Still—this is worth trying!”
Marjorie regarded Lily in amazement, wondering what had caused the
change in her point of view. Had she been more conceited, she would
have known that Lily’s faith in her was so great that she believed she
could surmount all obstacles.
“You really wouldn’t resign, then?” she ventured.
“No, I’d hate to see you give up now. And if you think it’s because you
need some help, I’ll go in it with you. After all, Marj, it isn’t so
unreasonable for girls of that type to be bored with a hike. Probably
all their picnics have been at pleasure parks where there are plenty of
amusements. You’ve got to have something inside of you to appreciate a
hike, you know you have. And there simply isn’t anything there.”
A bright smile spread over Marjorie’s countenance; somehow she felt
that if her roommate were on her side, she could tackle the job with
new energy.
“Lil, if you’ll help me, I’ll try anything!” she cried.
“I will—I will—I’ll go with you Saturday week, if you want me. At
least,” she added, “if you go to the class dance this Saturday!”
“You know,” answered Marjorie solemnly, “I promised that I would.”