GOSSIP.
Marjorie was behind in her studies; college athletics, class affairs,
and most of all, Girl Scouts, had crowded them out temporarily. But
she was not a girl to let them slide indefinitely; to have to report
“unprepared” more than once at a recitation troubled her conscience.
So, contrary to her custom, she decided to devote Sunday to work.
She had mentioned this fact to John Hadley as they left the scout
meeting the previous evening, and he had willingly fallen in with her
plans, knowing that Wednesday evening would be his.
“Just so long as you promise not to worry over this unpleasantness,” he
agreed. “It isn’t worth it.”
Marjorie laughed lightly; she had learned to be a philosopher.
“They certainly do get provoked easily,” she remarked. “But I think
Queenie was in the right——those girls never exerted themselves in the
least way to pass that tenderfoot test.”
“Then you mean to uphold her in keeping them out of the troop?”
“I don’t think there will be any effort attached to it. They probably
never would bother to study to get into it.”
John looked relieved; he had feared that the little scene would mean
anxiety for Marjorie.
“Then I’ll leave you to your studies all day tomorrow,” he concluded,
as he left her.
Marjorie intended to be as good as her word. While the other girls
loitered in the dining-room over their breakfast on Sunday morning,
or strolled into the library to look over the magazines and papers on
the tables, she went directly to her own room, and assembled her Latin
books. It was thus employed that Lily found her, after church.
“Going to spend the afternoon with John, Marj?” she inquired, dropping
down upon the couch.
“No,” replied her room-mate, without raising her eyes from the
dictionary she was consulting—“with Horace.”
“Horace!” repeated Lily, failing to catch the significance of the
remark. “His name isn’t Horace. It’s Walter.”
“Wrong again, Lil! I haven’t any engagement with Mr. Richards, if
that’s whom you’re referring to. I mean this ‘Horace’—” She held up
her Latin book—“Shall I introduce you?”
“No, thank you,” returned Lily. “I’ve met him quite often enough—I
think I can easily do without him for today. Do you honestly mean that
you’re going to stay inside all this beautiful afternoon and dig?”
“If I don’t have any interruptions. Of course I may go out for a little
air, if I get caught up in what I am doing. But please don’t tempt me,
Lil!”
“I won’t, if you’ve made up your mind. I’m sincerely sorry for you, but
I’ll leave you to your lonely fate.”
“Thanks, you’re a dear. And Lil, will you tell the other girls that
might want to include me?”
“Oh, nobody would think of expecting you for Sunday afternoon. It’s a
foregone conclusion that you’ll spend it with John.”
“Very kind of them, I’m sure,” muttered Marjorie.
The girls of her troop, however, were not so considerate. Early in
the afternoon Gertie Reed and Mame Collins put in an appearance, and,
in spite of her unwillingness to see anyone, and especially those two
girls, she put her work aside and went down stairs.
“I am glad to see you, girls,” she said, with a certain reserve in her
tone. “It will be better to clear up last night’s misunderstanding as
soon as possible.”
“Yea—that’s why we come,” Gertie told her.
“Of course. Shall we sit down—or would you rather go for a walk?”
“Oh, let’s sit down. We can hash things over easier that way.”
“Maybe,” suggested Marjorie, “it would be nicer up in my sitting-room.
My room-mate’s out, so we’d be alone.”
“All right! Suits us,” agreed Gertie. “One place is as good as another.”
They ascended the stairway, Marjorie all the while racking her brains
to decide upon the best manner in which to treat the subject. Gertie,
however, was evidently not worried about such a detail, for she was too
much concerned with the effort it required to ascend the steps.
“Should have thought you’d have an elevator,” she sneered. “If I’d a
known what a climb it was, I’d just as soon stayed where we was.”
“I’m sorry,” apologized Marjorie, “but we never think of it—we’re so
used to it. Of course there is an elevator, but nobody ever remembers
to use it unless they’re sick or hurt.”
“Guess I’ll survive!” rejoined the other, more cheerfully.
Once they were in the room, Gertie plunged into a harangue against her
patrol leader.
“Queenie Brazier thinks she’s some punkins to pull the wool over your
eyes like she’s doin’, Miss Wilkinson. But I’m here to tell you that
she ain’t a goin’ a get away with it, long as I’m around and she treats
me like she done last night.
“She pretends to be the sweet, innocent babe, that does just what the
teacher tells her, but she’s as hard-boiled as the rest of us. If you
knew what I do about her and this here Sam she picked up at the park,
you wouldn’t be treatin’ her so fine.”
Marjorie’s brow clouded; above everything else she hated gossip. Was
this the reason that Gertie had come to see her, just to tell tales on
Queenie, and not to apologize for her own conduct the previous evening?
How differently Queenie had acted, when she was in the wrong!
“She’s a goin’ it pretty strong—every night in the week, ’cept
Saturday,” Gertie continued. “And—” she lowered her tone to a
whisper—“her family ain’t on to it, neither!”
“But Gertie,” Marjorie interrupted, irritably, “I didn’t think you came
out here to talk about Queenie. I want to talk about you—and Mame.”
She nodded toward the other girl, who up to this time had taken no part
in the conversation.
“What’s there to say about us?” demanded the latter, in surprise.
Marjorie came directly to her point.
“Why—lots! Do you intend to go on with the scouts, or don’t you?”
Mame only coughed, and Gertie attempted to hedge at the question.
“How could we belong to the scouts when Queenie put us out? She’s the
boss, ain’t she?”
“No,” replied Marjorie, firmly; “I am the captain, and I intend to
control the affairs of my troop as long as I hold that office. I repeat
now what I said last night: If you and Mame show that you are in
earnest, and pass the tenderfoot test, I’ll be only too delighted to
register you, regardless of Queenie’s opinion!”
“She’d bust up the troop!” Mame warned her.
“No, I don’t think that she would,” answered Marjorie. “It would not be
a scout-like thing to do, and I think Queenie is a real Girl Scout. But
I would rather she did, than expect me to be captain of a troop like
that. I must have real Girl Scouts—or nobody!”
“Nuthin’ doubtful about you, is there?” remarked Gertie.
“No; and I don’t want to leave any doubts about my troop. Once more I
ask you both: Do you or do you not intend to join the scouts?”
“I guess not, Miss Wilkinson,” replied Gertie, speaking for both
herself and Mame. “It seems sort of foolish to me.”
“Besides, there’s a grand serial runnin’ Saturday nights at the ‘White
Palace’,” added Mame, “and it’s a shame to miss it, now we’ve begun it.”
“Very well, then, that’s settled. But don’t either of you say that
we put you out, for we didn’t. You were expected last night at the
meeting, and it wasn’t our fault that you stayed away, and missed what
turned out to be a very good time....
“Now—may I make you some tea?”
“All right, I don’t mind,” accepted Gertie. “We got a good ride ahead
of us.”
A moment later, however Marjorie realized that her hospitable
invitation was a mistake on her part. The informality of the little
party gave Gertie a further chance for gossip.
“Ever met this Sam of Queenie’s, Miss Wilkinson?” questioned Gertie.
“Sized him up for yourself yet?”
“No, I haven’t,” answered Marjorie, as she poured the tea. “Now—you’ll
excuse paper napkins, won’t you? And Mame, will you pass the cake?”
Gertie’s eyes shone at the sight of the chocolate fudge cake, and she
helped herself plentifully. Marjorie, noticing her pleasure, seized the
opportunity to direct the conversation away from Queenie.
“Mother made the cake,” she explained. “She usually sends me a box from
home every week-end.”
“It’s swell!” exclaimed Gertie, relapsing into silence while she
consumed it.
“Did you come out by train or trolley?” inquired Marjorie.
“Trolley,” answered Mame, briefly. “We’re goin’ back the same way.”
Gertie, who had finished the refreshment, sought to revive the gossip.
“You sure ought a meet Sam, Miss Wilkinson,” she observed again. “You’d
get a jolt, all right.”
“What’s the matter with him, Gertie?” Marjorie demanded, in
exasperation. “I can’t see that it’s any affair of ours who Queenie’s
friends are!”
“I should of thought you’d be the last person in the world to want any
scout of yours, let alone the patrol leader, to keep steady company
with a feller her family put the lid on!” challenged Gertie.
Marjorie’s eyes flashed; she was genuinely angry now.
“What do you mean?” she cried.
“I mean Queenie sees him ’most every night without her ma knowin’ it.
If he was all right, she’d be only too glad to bring him home!”
“Maybe they think she’s too young to have company,” Marjorie ventured.
“Maybe they don’t! She’d had lots of dates before—even had fellers to
supper Sunday nights.”
Gertie grinned maliciously; at last she was thoroughly enjoying herself.
“Well, I wouldn’t let it concern me, if I were you,” concluded
Marjorie, with a clear note of dismissal in her voice. “Queenie has too
much good sense to do anything rash.”
“That’s just where you make your mistake!” retorted the other, rising.
“The real dope is—” she paused to give emphasis to the final shot she
was about to fire—“the real dope is: she’s got it into her head to
elope! You can take that from me!”
“What?”
Marjorie was startled, in spite of herself.
“Thought that would nail you!” smirked Gertie.... “Well, guess we
better beat it.”
Silently Marjorie accompanied them down the stairs to the college door, disturbed by their visit more than she would admit even to herself.
When she returned to her room, she did not take up her books again,
but sat very still, lost in meditation. She assured herself that
there was very little basis of truth in Gertie’s last supposition,
yet she could not dismiss it entirely from her mind. Queenie was so
impulsive, so young, the glamour of the thing might get the better of
her judgment. What a tragedy that would be, if the young man were, as
Gertie suggested, far from what he should be!
She could not make up her mind whether to tell Lily or not, but finally
she decided that it would hardly be fair to Queenie. Undoubtedly the
story was an exaggeration, if not an absolute lie, and it would only
do harm to repeat it. She rejected also the idea of consulting the
girl’s parents, for the same reason; the only remaining solution was
to investigate for herself. She must meet the man, and form her own
judgment of him; then, if she found cause for worry, she could plead
with the girl herself.
“I must plan it like a party,” she thought, “so that Queenie won’t
suspect anything. But how can I arrange it? Two girls and one man would
seem so one-sided——”
In a flash the answer came to her.
“I’ll consult John!” she decided. “Thank goodness he’s in sympathy with
my work!”