THE FIRST GAME.
Marjorie felt so reassured by the party that she decided to tell Lily
all about it, including Gertie’s visit two weeks previous. It was
probably true, as John had surmised, that Sam MacDonald had never seen
the inside of a college, that he was only a cheap sort of sport who
had acquired a smooth manner with girls; but these facts were in no
way alarming since Queenie herself showed no signs of being in love
with him. It was too much to ask, Marjorie supposed, that the kind of
man she admired would be interesting to Queenie. She must expect to be
disappointed in her friends; but there was time enough to worry about
them when the girl actually became engaged.
Lily listened to the incident in much the same mood as John had
displayed, regarding it all as rather a joke.
“I think it’s a good thing it happened,” she remarked. “Because it
was a harmless way for Gertie Reed to take out her spite. And she was
awfully mad that night, you know.”
“Yes, she was—and I’m thankful that she’s out of the troop. I saw
from the beginning that I could never have any influence over her, or
Mame either, for that matter.”
“Well, you’re certainly doing wonders with the others,” observed her
chum admiringly. “It seems almost like a miracle—in such a short time!”
“If it only lasts!” sighed Marjorie.
“Why shouldn’t it?” demanded Lily. “Look at the enthusiasm over that
practice game on Saturday night! Every single scout out, all in
uniform, and proud as Punch. I think Jack was tickled to death with
them, even though we did get beaten.”
“Oh, he expected us to get beaten,” returned her roommate. “But what
pleases me more than the interest in basketball is the actual scout
progress we’re making. Four second-class scouts out of eight is pretty
promising, and if I’m not mistaken, Sophia Ernsberg is going to pass
the test before the first League game, so that we’ll have at least one
substitute.”
“I wish that game didn’t come before Christmas,” said Lily. “So many
things going on here at college—and I’m actually tired.”
“Yes, but I consider it a good thing for the troop. Remember you and I
will be away for ten days, and the girls might lose interest if they
didn’t have something like that to think about.”
“You have the schedule, haven’t you, Marj? What team do we play?”
Marjorie frowned, as if the prospect were not quite to her liking.
“That’s the worst of it,” she answered, “we play that out-of-town
troop—Number Ninety-seven. I understand that they’ve been playing a
good while but by boys’ rules. They just organized into a scout troop
this fall, and adopted girls’ rules. We are both new troops, you see,
but they are experienced players.”
“And you think it would go very hard with our girls if they were
defeated in their first game?”
“Yes, especially if their opponents played rough. But I understand that
Miss Ainsworth is very strict.”
“Miss Ainsworth?”
“The official referee of the League.”
“Well, then don’t worry about it, Marj. We have one more practice,
anyway, before the game.”
The night of the game arrived—the last scout meeting before the
Christmas holidays. The troop had arranged to gather at the settlement
at half past seven and go in a body to the appointed place, one of the
Y. W. C. A. gymnasiums in the upper part of the city. Jack, using his
privilege as official coach, decided to go with the girls; but Marjorie
instructed all other outsiders to go straight to the hall. She did not
want to risk any unnecessary confusion or excitement.
“I never saw a better looking troop!” she cried proudly, when they
were all assembled. “Honestly you girls look wonderful!”
“We have to live up to our officers and coach,” returned Queenie, with
more sincerity than her bantering tone betrayed.
“Six players, one sub, three rooters,” counted Jack, with satisfaction.
“Of course the last are the most important. Don’t forget to make lots
of noise!”
“We’ll make it sound like thirty instead of three!” boasted Clara.
When they entered the building they met uniformed scouts on every side.
Boys and girls alike were rushing about excitedly, as if the management
of the whole match were upon their shoulders.
“Here comes the other team!” cried a husky girl in middy and bloomers,
who in spite of her sneakers, looked at least six feet tall. “Welcome,
worthy opponents!”
Marjorie’s entire troop stood still, rooted to the spot.
“Are you all that size?” gasped Queenie in awe.
The other girl laughed uproariously.
“We’ve got some height—and muscle, too!” she replied with assurance.
“We’re going to give you a fight, even if we are from the country!”
“That’s what we like,” nodded Marjorie, with true sportsmanship.
“Anyway,” whispered Stella to her captain, “their uniforms can’t touch
ours!”
“And we have two college ’Varsity players on our team,” Queenie
reminded her.
“And a whale of a coach!” added Dot enthusiastically.
The girls found the gymnasium as crowded and as confused as the halls.
Evidently, they surmised, this was the usual custom at important games,
but Marjorie sensed that something was amiss. Leaving her girls in the
dressing room, she went in search of Miss Ainsworth.
“She hasn’t come yet,” one of the secretaries in the office informed
her.
“Hasn’t come!” repeated Marjorie in alarm. “Well, what could have
happened?”
“There has been a train wreck on her branch,” replied the other, “and
we suppose that is the reason for the delay.”
“Then what shall we do? Have you someone else who can referee?”
At that moment the city director of the Girl Scouts entered the room.
Apparently she was disturbed over the situation as Marjorie.
“I don’t know what to do, Miss Wilkinson,” she said, “unless we let
your coach referee one-half of the game and Troop Ninety-seven’s the
other half.”
“But our coach is a man,” objected Marjorie. “And I never consider men
strict enough.”
“So is Troop Ninety-seven’s coach a man—but as far as I can see there
is nothing else to do. I don’t know enough about the game myself, or
I’d be glad to do it. If you can suggest anything else——”
“Only postpone the game,” offered Marjorie.
“No, that wouldn’t do—it would mix up the schedule. So I suppose we
shall have to leave it at that—Mr. Bridges is willing to serve the
first half. Will you ask your brother to serve the second?”
“He hasn’t gym shoes,” replied Marjorie doubtfully. “Besides, I don’t
think he would want to——”
“Well, find out and let me know; if he isn’t willing, the other man can
go through with the entire game.”
Marjorie hurried out in search of her brother for the clock informed
her that the game was about to begin. As she had thought, he absolutely
refused to act, on the plea of lack of knowledge.
“I don’t know the fine points of girls’ rules,” he said. “I wouldn’t
want to make a mistake in front of all these people.”
Marjorie sighed; the very worst had happened, she felt. But again she
made up her mind not to let the girls see that she was disturbed; she
would show them only confidence and determination to win.
She noticed that the girls, usually so self-possessed in any
circumstance, were exceedingly nervous as they stepped out on the floor
to warm up; indeed, Stella and Queenie were actually trembling. They
chewed gum continuously, and rushed back and forth from one player
to another, grasping the ball, shooting at the baskets, darting over
to Jack now and again for a last word of encouragement or advice.
She smiled over at Lily, who, like herself, was absolutely calm and
unaffected by the excitement. It seemed hardly possible to her that
these were the same girls who had ridiculed them so nonchalantly not
three months ago on the same floor.
Fortunately for her team, all of the opponents were not so tall or so
heavy as the girl they had met in the hall, and Marjorie was thankful
to learn that this girl played in the center. Without being conceited
about her own skill, she nevertheless felt entirely confident that
she would outjump and outrun the other. Suddenly she felt her spirits
rising; if her own team remembered the signals and the passing that
Jack had drilled them with, they had a good chance of victory.
At last the referee’s whistle blew and the girls scrambled for their
places, Marjorie within the circle alert for the toss-up. The ball
whizzed into the air; quick as a flash Marjorie jumped high, and, in
spite of her opponent’s advantage, touched it and tapped it back. Dot,
true to her instructions, dashed back to receive it, secured it, and
threw it swiftly over the heads of the opposing guards right into the
hands of tall Annie Marshall. As had been pre-arranged, Annie passed it
to Queenie, who was at that very moment cutting for the basket. She
caught it deftly and tossed it into the basket, scoring for her team
two points.
Loud shouts of applause rose from the balcony, admiration for the team
play, the clever, swift passing, the assurance of the girls of this new
troop. Jack Wilkinson rubbed his hands in delight; they were carrying
out his instructions to the very letter.
The opposing team, however, displayed no admiration, only consternation
and anger at the dexterity of their rivals. The captain glanced
anxiously at the coach, who was frowning, but she received no
encouragement. The whistle blew again; the game continued in much
the same manner, with Marjorie’s team scoring six more points to the
other’s none. Then, ever so cautiously, when the referee’s back was
turned, the center winked at her side-center and forwards, and began
to play rough, using her body to guard, waving her arms, pushing and
elbowing her opponent until she obtained possession of the ball. The
side-center took the hint, employing her greater weight against Dot,
shoving her rudely aside in their mad scramble for the ball after
the toss-up. To the amazement of Marjorie’s team this conduct went
by unnoticed; whether the referee did not see it, or whether he did
not consider it wrong, they could not tell, but he called no foul.
Marjorie’s team stopped scoring; the ball somehow travelled down to the
opponent’s basket, and the forwards, imitating their centers, began
to fight for their goals. They scored point after point; Marjorie’s
players were powerless to use their passing; even if they did secure
the ball, and apparently held it fast in their hands, their opponents
knocked it out, and tossed it, or even kicked it in the opposite
direction. Marjorie stood it as long as she could; finally she called
time-out.
“I am sorry to seem to protest,” she said apologetically, turning to
the referee, “but really we are not playing girls’ rules at all. You
have not called a single foul!”
The man colored.
“I have to admit that I don’t know much about girls’ rules,” he
replied. “I’m not refereeing from choice, you know. Nobody would be
more thankful than I to see Miss Ainsworth appear.”
“Well,” explained Marjorie, relenting a little at his humility, “it is
a foul to charge or attack a player with the ball, and two hands on it
give possession. Our team won’t play this kind of game.”
“I’ll be as careful as I can,” the other agreed. “But you
know—fellows’ rules—and fellows’ games——”
“Yes, I understand,” smiled Marjorie. “But do your best!”
She walked across to her own little group, who were taking advantage of
the time-out to talk with each other in animated and angry tones about
their opponents.
“Let’s get in and fight!” cried Queenie. “Do them like they’re doin’
us! Kick ’em and trip ’em——”
Marjorie shook her head sadly.
“No, girls, that’s a contemptible way to play, and I am surprised that
any Girl Scouts would stoop to it. I would be mortally ashamed of my
team if they would do such a thing. Better a thousand times to lose the
game.”
“But our team has them cinched a mile!” protested Stella, who was very
eager to win.
“I wish we could consult Mr. Wilkinson!” exclaimed Queenie. “He’d let
us play rough.”
“No, he wouldn’t, either,” answered Marjorie. “He’s too good a
sport for that—and that kind of playing is the poorest kind of
sportsmanship. We can consult him between halves, but not on a
time-out. There’s the whistle—remember now, girls—good, clean
playing!”
The girls sulked a little, but Marjorie knew that they would do as she
asked.
The game proceeded with very little difference. The referee eased his
conscience by calling one personal foul when the opposing side-center
actually knocked little Dot Williams down in an attempt to secure the
ball; but after that he subsided into the same slip-shod manner. At
last the whistle blew for the half, with Troop Ninety-Seven in the lead
at a score of 14–10.
Marjorie’s team was absolutely worn out, besides being angry and
disgusted. They rushed over to Jack, repeating their plea to use the
same kind of tactics their opponents were employing. But Jack was as
firm as Marjorie in his refusal; in fact, he went farther and said that
if they tried it in spite of his orders, he would sever his connections
with the team. This was the deciding factor; the girls all liked and
admired their coach, and had no desire to lose him.
To Marjorie’s amazement, however, she saw the opposing team return
to the floor with a sullen sort of dejection in their countenances.
What, she wondered, could be the cause of this, in the light of their
probable victory? The captain shuffled towards her.
“You the Captain?” she asked Marjorie somewhat gruffly.
“Yes,” she replied, still at a loss because of her manner.
“Well, Miss Ainsworth has been here ever since that time-out, and says
that if our team doesn’t apologize for its playing, we are out of the
Girl Scout League. So—I apologize.”
“I accept in the name of the team,” answered Marjorie, greatly relieved.
Then, to her delight, Miss Ainsworth took her place in the center of
the floor, and the teams began playing again, much as they had started
off at the beginning. Again Marjorie’s team worked its signal plays,
its passing, and all the manoeuvers which Jack had taught them. The new
referee performed her task in silent approval, and she was frankly
delighted to witness their victory.
The final score was 36–16 in the favor of Marjorie’s team.