THE SUPPER PARTY.
The following Wednesday Marjorie repeated the story of Gertie’s visit
to her, just as it had happened, reserving not the slightest detail,
in order that her listener might judge for himself. To her relief, he
expressed only amusement.
“I wouldn’t give it a thought, you conscientious little captain!”
he said smilingly. “It was just Gertie’s way of getting back at
Queenie—as she threatened her the other night.”
“Then you don’t think she really is seeing this young man every night
in the week?”
“She may be; but you remember that she didn’t hesitate a single moment
when Mr. Richards suggested a scout meeting for tonight?”
Marjorie had not thought of that before; it reassured her.
“Still, you know she admires Mr. Richards an awful lot,” she remarked.
“But would she, if, as Gertie suggests, she were planning to elope with
the other man?”
“I guess you’re right, John—I’m convinced,” admitted Marjorie happily.
“Then,” she continued after a moment, “you don’t think I would better
do anything—plan to meet Sam, or something like that?”
“Oh, I think that’s a very good idea, just on general principles,
though, and not because you take anything that Gertie said seriously.
How would it do for me to entertain the couple with you for dinner some
night?”
“At home, you mean?” faltered Marjorie. The combination of Queenie and
Mrs. Hadley did not seem particularly good to her.
“No—at one of these little tea-houses, where we sometimes stop. We
could drive somewhere in the car.”
“Oh, John! You’re wonderful! That’s the very thing!” Her eyes rested
upon his admiringly, gratefully. “You are always helping me.”
“That’s what makes me happiest.”
“I wish I could do something for you,” she murmured wistfully.
“You could.”
She looked up sharply, hoping that he was not going to repeat his
proposal of marriage.
“I’d do anything that wouldn’t interfere with my plans for next year,”
she told him.
“It’s only that I want you to promise not to take a job too far
away—in the west or south, for instance—where I could never see you.
Stay in Pennsylvania, or one of the nearby states!”
“All right!” returned Marjorie immediately. “I promise.”
They fell to discussing the little supper party they were to have for
Queenie, and Marjorie decided that it would be best to wait another
week, lest Gertie had told the girl of her visit, and had aroused
her suspicions. It must be a nice, sociable little party; above all,
Queenie must enjoy it.
At the next troop meeting, however, she made no mention of Gertie’s and
Mame’s visit, but simply informed the troop that she had been notified
of their withdrawal.
She found the Ernsberg twins a vast improvement over the members whose
places they had taken; at that very meeting they both passed their
tenderfoot test, and Marjorie prepared the list for registration.
“Sunflower Troop, Number—I wonder what?” she surmised aloud, as she
folded the paper.
“And may we wear our uniforms next week, those that are finished?”
asked Queenie, her face bright with anticipation.
“You certainly may,” replied the captain proudly. “And I hope you are
going to pass that second-class test then.”
“Some of us are ready now!” Queenie announced. “We worked awfully hard
on Wednesday night, when Mr. Richards was here. Stella, Dot and me. If
Annie passes next week, we can register the team in the League.”
“I’m a goin’ a pass it!” put in the latter, with more resolution than
Marjorie had ever given her credit for.
There was no difficulty now in keeping the troop’s interest during the
scout meetings; all of the girls seemed united in trying to learn as
much as possible in as little time, in order that they might get down
to the gymnasium at an early hour. Jack, too, found them delightful
to instruct, for they were quick, apt and enthusiastic. Such rapid
progress did they make at that meeting and the next, that he declared
himself ready to match them against any team in the League.
“Oh, no! Not yet!” gasped Queenie, suddenly growing modest.
“Well, we may play a few outside teams first. What would you all say to
a game next Saturday night?”
“Swell!” cried Queenie, as usual speaking for the troop.
“Yes,” agreed Marjorie. “Only I do wish that some more girls would pass
that second-class test, as Annie did tonight. We haven’t one, single,
registered substitute.”
Queenie looked worried.
“You twins has got t’ get to work!” she commanded seriously.
Both girls saluted respectfully.
“We’ll do that little thing for you, Queenie!”
It was not until after the practice that Marjorie made an opportunity
to extend her invitation to Queenie. Since nothing had been said about
Gertie’s visit at either meeting, she felt comparatively sure that the
patrol leader had heard nothing of it. Evidently she was right, for
Queenie was delighted with the invitation.
“Sure we’ll go!” she cried excitedly. “I’ve been wantin’ you to meet
Sam, so you can tell my mother that you like him. Somehow, they can’t
see him.”
“Why not?” asked Marjorie shrewdly.
“I guess because he never comes to the house. It’s always somethin’
doin with him—a ride or a show, or somethin’. They haven’t had a good
look at him yet.”
“Do you see him often, Queenie?”
“Not as often as he wants,” laughed the other.
They set the date for the following Friday evening, arranging to meet
at the settlement house, and drive off in John’s car.
As the time approached, Marjorie felt herself growing more and more
nervous, as if she dreaded to meet this young man, lest she should
find out that Gertie was right in her estimate of his character. John,
noticing this as they drove to the settlement, reminded her that she
was not to allow herself to be prejudiced.
She was impressed neither one way nor the other by MacDonald’s
appearance; he was not handsome, or even striking looking, but on the
other hand, he was not badly or flashily dressed. The only thing
that Marjorie realized immediately was that he was older than he made
himself to be—much older than the usual college student. In fact, she
decided almost instantly that he was not a college student at all.
Queenie and Sam sat in the back seat, so there was little opportunity
for general conversation during the ride. Once, when John overheard
them discussing basketball, he joined in.
“Go in for sports yourself, MacDonald?” he asked apparently idly,
though Marjorie sensed the fact that he was leading up to his
purpose—namely to extract information from the young man whom Gertie
termed questionable.
“No, only as a fan. I watch the sporting page in the paper.”
“Go in for any college athletics?” pursued John. “Miss Brazier said you
were a Penn man.”
“Was—I quit last year,” replied the other hastily. “You a college man?”
“Yes, Princeton. But I didn’t graduate either.”
They drew up in front of the little inn which John had decided upon,
and the men helped the girls to get out. Marjorie could not but be
pleased with MacDonald’s manner; he seemed perfectly at ease, familiar
with the accepted social code. She found herself wondering at Queenie’s
attraction for him, for, whatever the girl’s good points were, she was
undoubtedly crude, her manners were often rough and boisterous, and her
English was frightful. And although pretty, she was scarcely above
the average American girl of her own age and class. Her strong point,
Marjorie thought, was her genuineness, and that quality was seldom
attractive to men of MacDonald’s type. Yet she had personality, too; or
how else could she be such a pronounced leader in her own little group?
They selected a little table with a prettily shaded lamp, and John
ordered a tempting dinner. It was all so pleasant that Marjorie felt
just as if she were accompanied by any of her college friends.
She watched John wonderingly, as he led the conversation, seeming
perfectly content to let it remain upon general topics, except now and
then, when it returned to the always interesting subject of the troop
and the team. He apparently made no progress at all with MacDonald as
far as personalities were concerned, yet he did not seem disturbed.
Probably he was learning more than Marjorie had any idea of.
“May I smoke, Miss Wilkinson?” asked Queenie, when the meal was over.
“That’s up to you,” replied Marjorie indifferently. “It’s permitted
here, I believe.”
“Well, why shouldn’t I?” flashed the younger girl challengingly, as
if Marjorie had actually expressed disapproval. “Can you tell me any
reason why a girl shouldn’t smoke as well as a fellow?”
“None,” replied Marjorie with provoking calmness.
“Then you don’t object—I mean the Girl Scouts don’t?”
“It is a generally accepted rule of both the Boy and Girl Scout
organizations alike that their members do not smoke at least until they
are twenty-one years of age. All athletes keep this up as long as they
are in training—men and women alike. So if you are really interested
in becoming a _fast_ basket-ball player, I want to warn you that it
cuts your wind.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Queenie in surprise, “I felt sure you would think it
was an awful sin!”
“And you liked the idea of shocking me!” Marjorie remarked. “Well, I
don’t consider it a sin at all; I think the same moral laws apply to
girls as to men, and instead of being a moral issue at all, it’s a
physical one that concerns your health.”
This was an entirely new aspect to Queenie, and she pondered it
thoughtfully.
“I believe you’re right, Miss Wilkinson, and I wish that you’d give
the troop this same line of talk. Because we need to work up every
advantage we can get for our team. Then you don’t smoke?”
“No, nor eat candy when I’m in training. I happen to play on both the
’Varsity basketball and hockey teams for my college.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Queenie admiringly. “No wonder you’re a whiz on our
team!”
The men listened in amusement to this conversation, and could not help
admiring Marjorie as she drove her point home. MacDonald, however,
began to grow restless, as if he wanted to break up the party, and
suggested that they go out in the air again.
“I’ve had a marvellous time, Mr. Hadley!” said Queenie, as if to
indicate that it was over.
“Glad you enjoyed it,” returned John heartily. “We must do it again.
Shan’t we take in a movie?”
“No, thanks,” replied the girl graciously. “Mr. MacDonald has an
engagement. So just drop us anywhere.”
“Can’t we take you home, Queenie?” inquired Marjorie. “Or we could
drive Mr. MacDonald to wherever he wants to go.”
“Oh, no, don’t bother,” replied the young man hastily. “I’m leaving
town tonight, and have a few errands before I go.”
“Very well,” replied Marjorie, seeing that it was useless to insist.
After their guests had left them, Marjorie turned to John expectantly.
“What do you make of him, John?” she asked.
“Probably a travelling salesman—from nowhere. He’ll probably
disappear, and Queenie won’t see him again.”
“Do you think he’s all right?”
“Possibly.”
“You seem doubtful.”
“I am. I couldn’t get a thing out of him, as you probably noticed.
He said he wasn’t from Philadelphia, but when I asked him where he
was from he said I’d probably never heard of the place—some spot in
Kansas. I didn’t even find out what his line was, and can’t say I
tried hard. I thought I could size him up from his general line of
conversation.”
“Yet he seemed courteous and well-bred.”
“Only a veneer. No, to be frank, I don’t like him. I’d rather have
Queenie pick out a man with the worst grammar in the world than one of
these smooth birds. But I don’t think we need to worry about her—she
doesn’t seem serious.”
“Can you find out whether he ever did go to Penn—look it up, I mean?”
Marjorie pursued.
“I don’t have to, my dear. He never went.”
Marjorie sighed; but it was not a sigh of great discontent. As John
said, there was probably no real cause for worry, and nothing to
do about it. She resolved simply to keep in touch with Queenie’s
engagements, and learn if she saw him again. If she were in love, she
had certainly been successful in concealing the fact from both of them.
And one of her strongest characteristics was her frankness!