"I might," conceded Janet, "because I'm more than a little hungry."
"I've got fifty cents. That ought to buy enough food to last until we get
home tonight."
"But we're not going home," Janet reminded her companion. "Have you
forgotten about the roller skating party at Youde's?"
Helen flushed. "To tell the truth, I had. I've been thinking so much
about the play I completely forgot the party."
"Better not. It will be lots of fun."
"I don't know whether I ought to go. If I do, I won't have much time to
study over my tryout part."
"There'll be an hour after school and you haven't more than two
paragraphs to memorize."
"I know them now," said Helen.
"Then come on and go to the party. The bus is leaving school at five
o'clock. We'll be at Youde's in an hour and there'll be a hot supper and
the skating party afterward."
"It's snowing hard," observed Helen, gazing out into the swirling grey.
"You think of everything," expostulated Janet. "Of course, it's snowing,
but the road to Youde's is paved part of the way. If it gets too thick we
can turn around and come back."
Both Janet and Helen had one open period in the afternoon which came at
the same hour and they went into the library to study their tryout parts.
Janet read her lines, stopping several times to chuckle over the
nonsensical words which Abbie Naughton was required to say in the play.
"This is going to be great fun," she told Janet. "How is your part
going?"
"It's a grand rôle, and lots of fun. I know the lines, but I'm supposed
to be in love."
"That shouldn't be a hard part then. You rather like Jim Barron, don't
you?"
"Yes, but what's that got to do with my part?"
"I heard this noon that Jim was trying out opposite you."
"Honestly?"
"Honest true. Of course he may not get it."
"Jim's a grand fellow."
"Seems to me I've heard you say that before," chuckled Janet. "I have a
hunch you'll get that part all right."
Helen went through her rôle while Janet looked on with critical eyes,
suggesting several minor changes which she thought would improve her
companion's chances.
The bell for the final class period sounded and they folded up their
parts and hastened back to the assembly. Their last class for the day was
honors English, a group of advanced English students who also served as
the editors and reporters for the _Weekly Clarion_, writing and editing
all of the high school news which appeared each Friday in the _Times_,
the afternoon daily paper published in Clarion.
It was the honors English class which was sponsoring the roller skating
party at Youde's and Jim Barron, the sports editor, was in charge of the
plans.
There were seventeen in the class, including Cora Dean and Margie Blake,
who wrote the girls' athletic news. Miss Bruder, the instructor, was
small and dark, but somehow she managed to keep her high-tempered class
under control.
This was a mid-week period and the entire time was devoted to writing
stories, which were turned over to Janet for final editing. It was
Janet's task to write the headlines, a job at which she had become
exceedingly proficient.
Promptly at 3:30 o'clock the final bell sounded and writing materials
were shoved hastily aside.
Jim Barron stood up.
"I'm counting on everyone being at the party. The bus will be here at
five o'clock. We'll stop at Whet's drug store on the way out of town to
pick up any of you who aren't here when we start. Remember, we're taking
the money for the party out of the profit we've made from the _Weekly
Clarion_ and it won't cost you a cent. Wear old clothes and plenty of
warm ones. See you here at five."
The class scattered, some of them remaining at school to finish up odd
tasks, others hurrying home to change clothes and prepare for the party.
"Going home?" asked Helen.
"Right now. I'm certainly not going to fall down in these clothes while
I'm skating. I've got an old tweed suit and boots I'm going to wear. Why
don't you change to your corduroys?"
"I thought I'd stay on and work on my part."
"You know that almost to perfection now. Better get into some older
clothes."
Helen acquiesced and they donned their winter school coats and started
down the hill toward home. The snow was still coming down steadily, as
fine and dry as ever.
"I'm glad there's no wind. This would drift terribly if there was," said
Janet, kicking her way through the fine spume.
_Chapter III_
THE WIND ROARS
Janet was home in plenty of time to dress in leisure for the skating
party. Her mother looked in once to make sure that she had plenty of warm
clothes on.
"I'm glad you're wearing that old tweed outfit. It's warm and at the same
time nice looking."
"Even though it's old, mother?"
"Even though it's old. Tweed always looks nice and that's an especially
pretty shade of brown. It goes so well with your hair. Wear your scarlet
beret and don't forget the boots."
"I won't," promised Janet as her mother started downstairs again.
The Hardy home was pleasant, even though decidedly old-fashioned. There
was a broad porch completely across the front of the house. The house
itself was L-shaped, the base of the L having been added after the
original structure was built. The exterior was shingled and creeping
vines softened the sharper angles.
Janet's room had a south exposure with two dormer windows that added to
the many angles of the low-ceilinged rambling room. The wall paper was
pink and white with gay farm scenes interspersed. Crisp chintz curtains
were at the windows and a gay curtain hid the large, old-fashioned
wardrobe at one end of the room in which she kept her clothes.
Her dressing table was between the dormers with a rose-colored shade on
the electric light.
The bed, a walnut four poster, was against the wall nearest the hall. A
gay, pink-tufted spread covered it. At one side was a small walnut stand
with a shaded reading lamp.
Hooked rugs, reflecting the cheery tone of the room in their varied
colors, covered the dark, polished floor.
Over in the far corner, where the roof sloped sharply, Janet had built a
book case and stained it brown. It was filled with books, arranged in
none too perfect order, showing the interest she had in them.
But Janet had little time now to relax in the charm of her room. Parting
the curtain of the wardrobe she found her tweed suit far to the back. Her
boots were back there too, but they had been well oiled and were pliable.
From a walnut chest of drawers which stood beside the wardrobe Janet drew
woolen socks for it was an 18-mile ride to Youde's and they probably
wouldn't be home until late.
Janet dressed sensibly, woolen hose, heavy tweed skirt, a blue, shaggy
wool sweater and her tweed coat. The crimson beret would be warm enough.
She glanced at the clock. She had spent more time than she had
anticipated, it was after 4:30 and Whet's drug store where they were to
meet the bus was a good six blocks away.
Janet hurried downstairs.
"I've a cup of tea and some cookies all ready," her mother called.
It would be after six o'clock before they ate and Janet drank the tea
with relish. The cookies, crisp and filled with raisins, were delicious
and she put several in the pockets of her coat.
"I put your old fur coat in the hall," said Mrs. Hardy. "Your scarf's
there, too."
"Thanks mother. I'm certainly going to be too warm."
Her mother went to the window. It was nearly dark and the snow still
swirled down in dry, feathery clouds.
"I almost wish you weren't going," she said, "but there doesn't seem to
be any wind."
"Oh, we'll be all right, mother. The bus is large and if the weather
should get bad we could stay at Youde's until it clears. Remember Miss
Bruder is chaperon and she's extremely sensible."
"She needs to be with your crowd on her hands," smiled her mother,
following Janet into the hall.
Janet slipped into her old coat. It wasn't much to look at but it was
warm and serviceable, one of those bunglesome coonskins that were so
popular with college students at one time. She twisted her scarf around
her neck, gave her mother a quick hug and kiss, and strode out of the
house.
Janet kicked along through the dry snow, walking rapidly until she
reached Helen Thorne's home. There were no lights in the southeast room
and Janet knew that Helen must be dressed for that was Helen's room.
She whistled sharply, a long and a short, that penetrated the quick of
the twilight.
The porch light flashed on and Helen, sticking her head out, yelled, "I'm
coming."
Helen hurried down the walk, wriggling into a suede jacket.
"Think that will be warm enough?" asked Janet, who felt very much bundled
up in her coonskin.
"I've got my corduroy jacket underneath and a sweater under that. I'm
practically sealed up against the cold, but I'll run back and get my old
coonskin."
They swung along rapidly toward Whet's scuffing through the dry snow.
"I like this," said Helen, breathing deeply. "The snow's grand and it
isn't too cold. Wonder if they'll have any heat at Youde's?"
"Oh, the dining room will be warm, but there's only a fireplace out in
the room where we skate. Wraps will probably feel good there until we get
well warmed up from skating."
Out of the haze ahead emerged the blob of light that marked the
neighborhood drug store. As they approached they could see two or three
standing near the front door of the store.
Ed Rickey, captain of the football team, jerked open the door.
"Greetings, wanderers of the storm. Enter and be of good cheer."
They stamped the snow off their boots and stepped inside. Cora Dean and
Margie Blake were there. Boon companions, they were seldom apart.
"Hello," said Margie, but there was no warmth in the greeting.
"Hello," replied Janet.
"You must think you're going to the north pole," put in Cora, as she
looked Janet and Helen over coolly.
"Well, not quite that far, but we believe in being sensible and warm,"
replied Helen, and Cora's face flamed, for both she and Margie, always
trying to make an impression, were dressed in fashionable riding breeches
of serge. They were pleasing to look at, but hardly the thing for comfort
on a night when the temperature might drop almost to zero. Instead of
coats they wore zipper sweaters of angora wool. Their boots were
fashionable, but light, and would be of little use in withstanding any
severe cold.
"Here comes the bus," said Ed Rickey, who was bundled up in nondescript
clothes.
"All out that's going to Youde's," he bellowed, imitating a train caller.
The bus ground to a stop in front of the store and the girls followed Ed
across the curb. Jim Barron opened the door. The windows of the bus were
heavily frosted for a heater was going full blast but the driver, a
middle aged man, had a windshield wiper cutting a swath through the frost
that formed on the glass in front of him.
Miss Bruder spoke as they came in.
"Everyone's here," announced Jim. "Find your seats. Next stop at
Youde's."
There was plenty of room in the bus for the vehicle had a capacity of
thirty and there were only eighteen in addition to the driver. Most of
them found seats well to the fore where they could feel the blast of warm
air from the heater.
Clarion was a sprawling city of 19,000, but in less than ten minutes they
had left the street lights behind and were rolling along a smoothly paved
highway.
It was impossible to see out for the windows were frosted solid, but it
was a merry crowd nevertheless. Ed Rickey, who had a fine bass voice,
started in with a school song and the others soon joined him.
Six miles outside Clarion they turned off the main road and swung over
toward the hills which flanked the Wapsie river for it was along the
banks of the Wapsie that Youde's Inn was located.
Their progress was slowed here for the road had not been cleared by a
snowplow. But the snow was less than five inches deep and the powerful
bus forged ahead steadily.
Almost before they knew it they were over the last hill and dropping down
into the river valley. As the bus turned into the inn, floodlights in the
yard were snapped on. A dog, barking eagerly, leaped forward to greet
them.
Ed and Jim were out of the bus first, assisting the others down. With
Miss Bruder in the lead, they trooped toward the rambling, one story inn.
Eli Youde, a coonskin cap on his head, was at the door. Behind him stood
his wife, a buxom, motherly soul of forty-five.
"Supper's on the table now," said Mrs. Youde as she greeted them. "The
girls can take off their things in the room at the right; the boys go to
the left."
There were nine boys and eight girls in the honors English class, but
with Miss Bruder it made an even number and she was so young and full of
fun that she always seemed like one of them.
Cora and Margie stopped before an old fashioned dresser to powder their
noses and pat their hair into shape, but at a skating party these things
were irrelevant to Janet and Helen and they hastened out to join the
group in the dining room.
One long table had been set. There were no place cards and the first to
arrive took the choice seats, which were near a glowing soft-coal burner.
Mrs. Youde, assisted by her husband, brought in steaming bowls of oyster
stew. Three large bowls of crisp, white crackers were on the table, but
huge inroads in them were soon made. Conversation died away as the stew
was ladled down hungry throats.
Before the bowls of stew had vanished, Mrs. Youde brought in two heaping
platters of thick sandwiches. Janet found at least three varieties and
was afraid to ask Helen how many she discovered.
"This is ruining my weight, but I'm having a fine time," said Janet
between bites and Helen nodded.
After the sandwiches came pumpkin pie, great thick wedges of it with a
mound of whipped cream on top and a slab of yellow cheese at one side.
Ed Rickey yelled for help and when no one volunteered to jounce him up
and down to make room for the pie, he managed to get to his feet and trot
around the table several times.
"I'm never going to be able to bend down and put on a skate," groaned Jim
Barron, who had begged a second piece of pie and was now looking ruefully
at the last crisp crust. He wanted it, but he didn't quite dare and with
a sheepish look he pushed the plate away from him.
"Perhaps we'd better sit around a few minutes before we start skating,"
suggested Miss Bruder. The suggestion was welcomed and while Mr. Youde
carried armfuls of woods into the skating rink to fill the fireplace they
told stories around the roaring fire in the heater.
"I feel better," announced Jim a few minutes later. "In fact, I'll be
courteous enough to help any of you weak damsels get your skates on.
Let's go."
With Jim in the lead, they trooped into the skating rink. The fireplace,
along one wall and halfway down the rink, was roaring lustily as Mr.
Youde piled it with fresh fuel.
The skates were in boxes, numbered for size, and ranged in rows along the
walls. Jim, Ed and one of the other boys did the fitting while the girls
sat on a long bench.
"Here's a pair that ought to be long enough for you," grinned Jim as he
placed a skate under Janet's right foot.
"Oh, I don't know that I'm such a clodhopper," smiled Janet. "Anyway,
I'll bet I can beat you around the rink the first time."
"It's a go," replied Jim, fastening the other skate. "Wait until I get
the wheels under my hoofs."
Janet stood up and tried the skates. Jim had found an excellent pair for
her. They felt true and speedy. She tried a preliminary whirl. Her
balance was good.
Jim shot out onto the floor, tried to make a sharp turn, lost his
balance, and sat down with a thud that shook the room.
"First down," yelled Ed Rickey, who hastened to Jim's aid and entangled
himself over Jim's outstretched legs. Ed also went down and shouts of
merriment echoed through the room.
"Ready Jim?" asked Janet when the husky senior was back on his feet.
"Just as ready now as later," he replied and they shot away, Janet's feet
moving swiftly as she got up speed.
Jim had the longer legs, the more powerful strokes, but Janet was fast
and light. That might overcome the advantage of her heavier rival.
"Go on, Janet, go on!" she heard Helen shouting as they took the first
turn.
Jim was still ahead, but he was going too fast for a safe turn and he
skidded sharply and lost speed at the next turn while Janet, her feet a
twinkle of motion, shot ahead. Jim yelled in protest, but Janet only went
the faster and flashed by the finish at least two yards ahead of the
puffing Jim.
From then on the rink buzzed with the roll of the skates as in couples
and singly they sped around the room.
Ed Rickey was a wizard on skates and after the first rush of skating,
when some of them were content to sit on the benches near the fireplace,
he gave a demonstration of fancy skating.
Janet had never imagined Ed had that grace and sense of rhythm but the
big fellow was remarkably light on his feet.
Then they were back on the floor again, this time in a series of races
Jim Barron had planned, some of them rolling peanuts the length of the
rink and back and others skating around backwards in tandem races.
In spite of the roaring fire, the room was cold and Janet felt the chill
creep through her bones. She stopped skating and edged over close to the
fireplace just as the bus driver came in and spoke to Eli Youde. The
innkeeper departed at once with the driver and Janet heard the bang of an
outer door as though it had been caught by the wind and closed violently.
But there had been no wind when they came down into the valley to the
inn.
If the wind had come up, the snow might drift badly. She put that thought
out of her mind, and rejoined the skaters.
It was less than five minutes later when the innkeeper and the bus driver
returned, striding down the center of the rink. Mr. Youde held up one
hand and the skaters gathered around him.
"Wind's coming up and the snow's starting to drift. May be bad in another
hour or two. If you want to get home before midnight you'd better start
now for it will be slow going up in the hills."
"We'll start at once," decided Miss Bruder. "Get your wraps, everybody."
Janet, some unknown fear tugging at her heart, hung back and spoke to Mr.
Youde.
"Is it perfectly safe to start the trip back?" she asked.
"I guess so. That's a powerful bus. But you'd better start now before the
wind gets bad. This snow is going to drift like fury before morning. I
expect we'll be blockaded for a couple of days."
Janet rejoined the girls in the room where they had left their coats. A
horn sounded outside and they hastened to don their wraps. The
floodlights in the yard flashed on and the group, bidding the Youdes
cheery goodnights, hastened out to the bus.
_Chapter IV_
LITTLE DEER VALLEY
In spite of her warm clothing, Janet could feel the sting of the night
air. It was much colder than when they had arrived. The snow seemed to be
less, but the wind was shipping it in little eddies across the yard.
With the heater running full blast, the bus was comfortable and they
found seats well up toward the front. Miss Bruder counted them to make
sure that everyone was on hand. Reassured, she told the driver to start
the return trip.
The windows were heavily frosted and it was like being in a sealed room,
the only peephole being the small frame of glass which the windshield
wiper kept clear.
"What time is it?" Janet asked Helen, who had a wrist watch.
"Nine forty-five. We're starting home early."
Janet nodded, but she was glad they had made the start. It wouldn't have
been pleasant staying at Youde's if they had been snowed in for the
lonely inn had few comforts.
The powerful engine of the bus labored as the big machine topped a grade
out of the valley and they swung down into another. For five or six miles
it would be one hill after another and Janet wondered if the snow was
drifting down in the valleys.
The road was little used and if the wind increased, it might make travel
exceedingly difficult. But she dismissed that thought from her mind for
the bus had heavy chains on the double wheels at the rear.
The spontaneity which had marked their trip out was missing and
conversation soon died away. Everyone was tired and willing to snuggle
down into their coats.
Janet must have been dozing for the heavy roar of the bus motor awoke her
with a start.
They were backing up. Then they stopped and the driver shifted gears. The
bus leaped ahead, the throttle on full and the exhaust barking in the
crisp air. Gradually their forward motion ceased and the wheels ground
into the snow.
Without a word the bus driver shifted instantly into reverse and they
lurched backward. The driver stopped the bus, set the emergency brake,
and dodged out into the night.
"What's the matter?" asked Helen, who was almost hidden in her fur coat
and deliciously sleepy.
"I think we've hit a drift," replied Janet.
"We ought to be almost home, though. It seems like we've been traveling
for ages."
"I expect we are," but Janet didn't feel the optimism that she meant her
words to convey.
If the wind had increased they might find themselves in a serious
situation.
The bus driver opened the door and stuck his head in.
"One of you fellows come out and give me a hand with the shovels."
Jim Barron, nearest the door, responded with Ed Rickey at his heels.
After several minutes the bus driver came back inside and slowed the
motor down to idling speed and the wave of heat from the heater
diminished noticeably.
With the motor barely turning over, outside noises were audible and Janet
could hear the rush of the wind. Particles of the fine, dry snow were
being driven against the window beside her.
It was at least fifteen minutes later when Jim, Ed and the driver
returned, red-faced and breathless from their exertions. The boys dropped
into the front seats while the driver opened the throttle and sent the
big machine lumbering ahead.
The bus plunged into the drift, the chains on the rear wheels biting deep
into the snow. Once they swung sharply and Janet gasped, but they swung
back and with the engine taxed to the limit finally pulled through the
drift.
Janet saw Jim look around and she thought she detected grave concern in
his eyes. Then he turned away and she was too far away to speak to him
without alarming the others.
The bus labored up a long grade, breasted the top of the hill, and then
started down. It would be in the valley that trouble would come, for the
snow would be heavily drifted.
The big machine rocked down the slope, jolting its occupants around and
bruising one or two of them. Janet heard Miss Bruder cry out sharply and
turned around, but the teacher motioned that she was all right.
Then the speed of the bus slackened, the wheels spun futilely, and their
forward motion ceased. Almost instantly they were in reverse, but the bus
slipped to one side and in spite of the full power of the motor, the
wheels churned through the dry snow.
The driver eased up on the throttle, looked significantly at Jim and Ed,
and with them at his heels plunged into the storm again. Fortunately, he
had tied several shovels to the bus before leaving Youde's and they were
not without implements to dig themselves out.
Janet could hear them working, first at the front and then at the rear
and Helen, now thoroughly wide awake, looked at her in alarm.
"It's getting colder in here," she said.
"The engine's barely turning over; there isn't much heat coming out."
"I know, but I mean the temperature outside must be dropping rapidly, and
listen to the wind."
But Janet preferred not to listen to the wind; it was too mournful, too
nerve-wracking. What it whispered alarmed her for they were still some
miles from the main road and there were few if any farms near.
The bus driver returned and motioned to the other boys.
"Give us a hand. We don't want to stay here a minute longer than
necessary."
The rest of the boys piled out of the bus, leaving the girls and Miss
Bruder alone.
"I'm nearly frozen," complained Margie Blake. "At least we might have
obtained a good bus driver."
"I don't think it's the driver's fault," interposed Janet. "We stayed too
long at Youde's."
"Then he should have told us the storm was getting worse. My folks will
be worried half to death if we are hung up here all night."
Janet admitted to herself that they would all have cause to worry if they
had to stay in the bus all night, for she doubted if the supply of fuel
would be sufficient to keep the engine going to operate the heater for
that length of time and she dreaded to think of how cold it might get if
the heater was off.
Between the gusts of wind that swept around the bus they could hear the
steady swing of the shovels biting into the snow. It was eleven o'clock
when the driver came inside. His face was almost white from the cold and
he beat his hands together as he took the wheel and eased in the clutch.
With the motor roaring heavily Janet felt the power being applied to the
wheels ever so gradually to keep them from slipping. The bus seemed
cemented into the snow, but motion finally became evident. The wheels
churned and they moved backward.
Someone outside was shouting, but the words were unintelligible to all
except the driver. He stopped while one of the boys scraped the frost off
the window outside for the windshield wiper had frozen.
Then, barely creeping ahead and with the bus in low gear, they moved
through the snow, shouted commands keeping the driver in the right path.
At last they were through the drift and the boys piled back into the bus,
pounding each other on the back and clapping their hands to bring back
the circulation.
Miss Bruder called Jim Barron back.
"Just how serious is this, Jim?" she asked.
"Pretty bad. We're three miles from the main road and there isn't a farm
within two miles. Only thing we can do is to keep going ahead and try to
shovel through."
"How about Little Deer valley?"
"That's what we're worrying about. The wind gets a clean sweep there and
I'm afraid we may not get through."
"Can we turn back and stay at Youde's?"
"Some of the road behind us would be as badly drifted as Little Deer
valley," replied Jim. "I guess the only thing is to grind ahead and trust
that the gas holds out."
For a time they made steady progress, the bus rumbling along smoothly and
the heater throwing out a steady blast of warm, dank air. Then they
rolled down a gentle slope and onto the flat of Little Deer valley, which
was more than half a mile wide.
The driver stopped and went out to wade through the drifts. He came back
to report that they might make it although in places the drifts were
nearly up to the tops of the fence posts.
"It's going to mean plenty of shoveling," he warned them.
"We've got to go on," said Miss Bruder. "If we get stuck at least we're
that much closer to the road. Perhaps we could walk to the main highway."
Janet saw Jim glance sharply at Miss Bruder. Perhaps she didn't realize
the seriousness of their situation, or perhaps she was masking her
thoughts with those words.
The gears ground again, the motor took up its burden, and they lurched
ahead, churning through the deepening snow.
The air was colder now. There was no warmth from the heater. Something
had gone wrong with the motor or a pipe had frozen. No matter then.
Getting through the drifts was uppermost in their minds.
Gradually the straining progress of the bus slowed, finally stopped, the
gears clashed, and they lurched backward several hundred feet. Then they
plunged ahead again, burrowing deeper into the snow.
"Everybody out to shovel," said the driver, snapping off the engine to
save fuel.
The boys hurried out into the cold and the girls huddled closer to each
other. Margie and Cora, thinly clad for such a night, beat their arms
almost steadily and stamped their feet in rhythmic cadence.
Janet and Helen, heavily clothed, were still warm although the cold crept
through their gloves to some extent.
"I wonder how cold it is?" asked Helen.
"I haven't any idea, but it feels like it was almost zero. Let's not
think about it."
"Try not to think about it," retorted Helen, and Janet admitted that her
companion was right. There was nothing to think about except the cold and
the snow. Of course there was the class play, but marooned in the middle
of Little Deer valley with a howling blizzard raging was no time to think
of class plays.
The driver came back and stepped on the starter. The motor was slow in
turning over. It must be bitterly cold, thought Janet. Finally the engine
started and they plowed ahead a few feet, then finally churned to a stop.
Outside the shovels clanged against the steel sides of the bus as the
boys dug into the snow again. It was chilling, numbing work out there and
Jim Barron tumbled through the door to stand up in front and beat his
arms steadily. When he went out, Ed Rickey came in and the boys
alternated.
Margie whimpered in the cold and Janet felt sorry for her.
"My coat's large. I'll come up and sit with you and Cora can come back
here with Helen," said Janet.
The other girls, thoroughly chilled, welcomed the change and Janet
unbuttoned the voluminous coonskin and shared it with Margie, Helen doing
likewise for Cora. Janet could feel Margie trembling as she pressed close
to her.
After a time the driver returned and started the motor again. They moved
forward slowly, creeping along the trail the boys had opened with the
shovels. Finally they rocked to a stop and the driver turned toward Miss
Bruder.
"It's no use. The drifts are three feet high and getting worse every
minute."
_Chapter V_
THE WHITE MENACE
Miss Bruder looked at the girls, huddled together on the seats,
desperately trying to keep warm. Outside the boys were bravely attempting
to clear a path, but it was hopeless.
"Perhaps we'd better get out and try to reach the main road on foot," she
said.
"I wouldn't advise that," replied the driver. "Some of the girls couldn't
make it through the drifts. It must be well below zero now and the snow's
still coming down bad."
Just then Jim and Ed led the boys back into the bus, closing the door
carefully after them. They were covered with fine snow and frost from
their own breath.
"I'm going to try and break through to the road," said Jim. "The rest of
you stay here and try to keep warm. Whatever you do, don't leave the
bus."
"If anyone is going to try to make it to the paved highway, I'm going,"
spoke up the driver. "I've been over this road a number of times. I'll
follow the fence line and get to a farm somehow."
In spite of the protests of the boys, the driver remained firm, insisting
that he, and he alone, could make the trip.
"Keep the door shut and don't run the motor. The heater's out of order
now and if you run the motor, carbon monoxide fumes may creep in. They're
deadly."
But that was an unnecessary warning for all of the boys knew the danger
of the motor fumes in a closed compartment.
Bundling himself up well, the driver plunged into the storm and Miss
Bruder and her honors English class were left alone in the middle of
Little Deer valley with the worst storm of the winter raging around their
marooned bus.
Jim turned off the headlights, leaving only the red and green warning
lights atop the bus on. He snapped the switches for the interior lights
until only one was left aglow for there was no use to waste the precious
supply of electricity in the storage battery.
If anything the whine of the wind was louder and it was exceedingly
lonely out there despite the presence of the others. There was something
about it that made Janet feel as though she were a hundred miles from
civilization. She had not dreamed it would be possible to have such a
sense of loneliness and yet be in a group of schoolmates.
Jim Barron and Ed Rickey kept on the move, talking with some of the boys
or attempting to cheer up the girls.
"Better get up every few minutes and swing your arms and stamp your
feet," advised Ed. "That'll keep the circulation going; otherwise you may
suffer frostbite."
Helen squinted her eyes and looked at her watch in the dim light shed by
the single bulb. It was just after midnight.
"Wonder if we'll be home by morning," she asked, turning back to Janet.
"Let's hope so, though I'm not in the least bit hungry after the big meal
we had at Youde's."
"That seems ages away," replied Helen. "I'd almost forgotten the skating
party."
Margie, who had taken shelter under Janet's coat, spoke up.
"It's all the bus driver's fault. We never should have left Youde's."
"But none of us wanted to spend the night there," said Janet. "Of course
we didn't dream the snow would have drifted this much."
"The driver should have known," insisted Margie, and Janet thought her
more than a little unreasonable, but then Margie was probably thoroughly
chilled and likely to disagree with everything and everyone.
The minutes passed slowly, dragging as Janet had never known they could.
The cold increased in intensity and some of the other girls, not as
warmly dressed as Janet and Helen, began to complain.
"My feet are getting numb," said Bernice Grogan, a slip of a little
black-haired Irish girl.
"Better keep them moving," said Ed Rickey. "Here, I'll move them for you
until the circulation starts back."
Ed knelt down on the floor and took Bernice's boots in his hands,
massaging her feet vigorously.
Soon Bernice began to cry.
"It's the pain. They hurt terribly."
"Just the circulation coming back," said Ed, but Janet knew from the
lines on his forehead that Ed was worried.
"If any of the rest of you feel numb, just call out. We've got to keep
moving or some of us may suffer some frozen parts before morning," he
warned.
Bernice, in spite of her efforts, couldn't keep the tears back, but they
froze on her cheeks, so bitter was the cold.
Jim Barron opened the door, and a rush of cutting air swept in. Then he
was gone into the night and Janet could hear him wielding the shovel
outside.
It was five or six minutes before Jim returned and he looked utterly
exhausted.
"I've never seen such a night," he mumbled. "I'm afraid the bus driver
didn't get very far."
"Then we'd better start out after him," said Ed, getting to his feet.
But Jim's broad shoulders barred the door.
"We're going to stay right here. You can't even find the fences now. It
would be suicide to start in the dark. The only thing we can do is keep
as warm as possible inside the bus. I started throwing snow up around the
windows. Some of you fellows give me a hand. We'll bank the bus in snow
clear to the top and that will keep out some of this bitter wind."
"But if you cover the bus with snow, they'll never find us when they come
hunting us," protested Cora.
"Just never mind about that," retorted Jim. "The only thing I'm worrying
about now is keeping us from freezing to death."
Jim's words shocked the girls into silence.
_Chapter VI_
DESPERATE HOURS
Freezing to death! The phrase was terrible in its import, yet the danger
was very near and very deadly, for there was slight chance that the bus
driver had gotten through to give a warning of their predicament. Even if
he had Janet wondered if any searching party could brave the rigors of
the night.
Outside the boys worked steadily, coming inside in shifts, and then going
back. They could hear the snow thud against the side of the bus as it was
piled higher and higher and the sound of the wind gradually faded as the
wall of snow protecting them from it thickened.
The light from the single bulb was ghostly now. The battery seemed to be
weakening. Helen looked at her watch. It was just one o'clock when the
boys came in, beating their hands and knocking the frost from their
breath off their coats.
Jim was the last one in and he closed the door carefully after him.
Bernice was crying again and Ed, though half frozen himself, bent down
and massaged her feet. Miss Bruder was white and shaken for it was more
than she could cope with and she turned to Ed and Jim to pull them
through the emergency.
While Ed worked with Bernice's feet, Jim spoke to the group.
"We might as well face this thing frankly," he said. "We're in an awful
jam. It must be fifteen or twenty below right now. The snow has stopped,
but the wind is increasing in strength and the snow is drifting badly. It
may be hours, perhaps a day, before we're discovered."
He paused and watched the conflicting emotions on their faces, then
plunged on.
"We've banked the bus with snow to keep out the worst of the wind, but
it's going to be terribly cold just the same. We've got to keep moving,
keep up our spirits. If we don't----"
But Jim didn't finish his sentence. There was no need for they all knew
what would happen once they became groggy and sleepy.
"I'm going to start with a count and I want all of you to beat your feet
in time with me. That'll jar your whole body and warm you up a little."
Jim started counting and soon the whole group was stamping their feet
methodically.
Even Janet had not realized how cold she was. Her feet had felt a little
numb, but under the steady pounding against the floor they started to
tingle, then burn with an intensity that brought tears to her eyes where
they froze on her lashes.
"I'm nearly frozen," chattered Margie, huddling closer to Janet. "If it
wasn't for your coat I'd be like an icicle by this time."
They kept up the motion with their feet for at least five minutes, and
Jim called a halt then.
"Everyone feel a little warmer?" he asked.
"My hands are still cold," said one of the girls, but Janet was too stiff
to turn around and see who was speaking.
"Then here's an arm drill for everyone," said Jim, starting to swing his
arms in cadence.
When that exercise was completed, most of them could feel their bodies
aglow as the blood raced through their veins.
Ed started to tell funny stories and though he did his best, their own
situation was so tragic that nothing appeared humorous. But he kept them
interested, which was the main thing.
Helen was the first to break the now monotonous flow of Ed's words.
"Stop, Ed," she said, her voice low and tense. "Shake Miss Bruder,
quick!"
Ed turned suddenly to the teacher, who had been sitting back of him. Her
head had fallen forward on her chest and her arms hung limp.
The husky senior picked her up and brought her back under the light, the
rest crowding around him.
Then Janet took charge. Miss Bruder's eyes were closed, but she was
breathing slowly.
"I believe she's half frozen. She was sitting where a constant knife of
air was coming in around the door," whispered Jim. "Get busy and massage
her."
Janet, with Helen helping her, stripped off Miss Bruder's thin gloves.
Her hands were pitifully white.
Ed scooped up a handful of snow where it had sifted in around the door
and used it to rub Miss Bruder's hands while Janet and Helen massaged the
upper part of her body and her face.
It was five minutes before the teacher responded to their frantic
efforts. Then her eyes opened and she tried to smile.
"I must have dozed for a moment," she whispered.
"Don't talk," said Helen. "Rest now."
"Is everyone all right?" insisted the teacher.
"Everybody's here," replied Jim, who was keeping a close eye on Bernice,
who seemed the most susceptible to the cold.
Ed pulled Janet to the rear of the bus.
"This thing is getting serious," he whispered. "Some of the girls won't
be able to stand it until morning unless we're able to keep them warmer.
Jim and I have sheepskins. We'll put them down on the floor and you girls
get down and lie on them. Huddle together and cover up with your own
coats. Your body heat should keep you warm and we'll be moving around and
talking to you so none of you will get too drowsy from the cold."
"But you can't do that. You and Jim will freeze," protested Janet.
"Freeze? I guess not. We're too tough for that. Besides, I've got all
kinds of clothes on under this sheepskin."
Janet finally agreed to the plan and Ed explained it briefly. Miss Bruder
hesitated, but the others overruled her.
Jim and Ed placed their heavy canvas, sheep-lined coats on the floor and
the girls laid down on them like ten pins, huddling together and putting
their own coats over them.
"Get just as close as you can so you'll keep each other warm," counseled
Jim, who, minus his heavy coat, was busy swinging his arms and legs.
In less than five minutes the girls were ready to admit that the plan was
an excellent one, for they were quite comfortable under the mound of
coats and Janet made them keep up a constant flow of conversation,
calling to each girl every few minutes. Up in the front of the bus they
could hear the boys moving steadily and stamping their feet.
How long they had been under the pile of coats Janet couldn't guess, but
suddenly there was a wild pounding on the door of the bus. She managed to
get her head out from under the coats in time to see Jim open the door.
"Everyone safe?" cried someone outside.
"We're all right," replied Jim and then Janet saw her father looking down
at the huddled group of girls on the floor of the bus. His face was
covered with frost, but he brushed past the boys and knelt beside her.
"All right, honey?" he asked.
"A little cold," Janet managed to smile. "How did you get here?"
"Never mind that. The first thing is to get out of here and where you'll
be safe and warm."
Other men poured into the bus. Janet recognized some of them. Ed's father
was there. So was Jim's, Cora's and Margie's. Someone had a big bottle of
hot coffee and cardboard cups. The steaming hot liquid, bitter without
sugar or cream, was passed around.
Janet drank her cup eagerly and the hot beverage warmed her chilled body.
Extra coats and mufflers had been brought by the rescue party.
"Get as warm as you can. It's going to be a cold ride to the paved road,"
advised her father.
They were soon ready and once more the door of the bus was opened.
Outside a powerful searchlight glowed and as they neared it Janet saw a
large caterpillar tractor. Behind this was a hayrack, mounted on runners
and well filled with hay.
"Everybody into the rack. Burrow down deep so you'll keep warm."
Janet's father counted them as they got into the rack, yelled to the
operator of the tractor to start, and then piled into the rack himself.
With a series of sharp reports from its exhaust, the lumbering tractor
got into motion, jerking the rack and its precious load behind it.
_Chapter VII_
SANCTUARY AT HOME
It was nearly an hour later when the tractor breasted the last grade and
rolled down to the paved road where a dozen cars, all of them warmly
heated and well lighted, were strung along the road. Anxious fathers and
mothers were on hand, including Janet's mother and Mrs. Thorne and they
welcomed their thoroughly chilled daughters to their bosoms.
Janet's father shepherded them into their own sedan where despite the
sub-zero cold the heater had kept the car comfortable. Then they started
the final lap of their eventful trip from Youde's home.
Helen and Janet sank back on the cushions of the capacious rear seat,
thoroughly worn out by their trying experience.
Janet's father, one of the most prominent attorneys in Clarion, slipped
in behind the wheel, slamming the car door and shutting out the biting
blast of air.
There were other cars ahead of them and they made no attempt at high
speed as they rolled back into the city.
"How did you ever find us, Dad?" asked Janet.
"You can thank the bus driver for that. Somehow he got through to a
farmhouse. He was almost frozen, but he managed to tell them the story
and they phoned word in to us."
"Who thought of the tractor and hayrack?" asked Helen, warm once more.
"It was Hugh Grogan, Bernice's father. He sells the caterpillars. Good
thing he did or we'd never have gotten through."
"It was a good thing for Bernice, too. She was about all in," said Janet.
When they reached the Hardy home, Janet's mother insisted that Helen and
Mrs. Thorne come in and have a hot lunch before going to their own home.
While the girls took off their coats and Mr. Hardy put the car into the
garage, Mrs. Hardy bustled out into the kitchen where she had left a
kettle of water simmering on the stove.
Lunch was ready in short order, tea, peanut butter sandwiches, cookies
and a large bowl of fruit.
Janet and Helen had ravenous appetites and the sandwiches disappeared as
though by magic.
"How cold is it, Dad?" asked Janet.
"Twenty-two below."
"The wind was awful," said Helen, between bites at a sandwich.
"I know. It was pretty fierce going across country in the hayrack. The
boys must have used their heads for someone banked the bus with snow."
"That was Jim Barron's idea. He and Ed Rickey kept us moving and talking
most of the time, but we forgot Miss Bruder. She was in a draft and
almost froze to death without saying a word to anyone."
"That scared us half to death," put in Helen, "but the boys massaged her
hands with snow and Janet and I massaged the upper part of her body until
we could get the circulation going again. I think she'll be all right,
but probably pretty sensitive to cold for the rest of the winter."
"But the winter's almost over. Here it's late March. Who'd ever have
thought we'd have a storm like this," said Janet.
"If I had, I can assure you that you'd never have made the trip to
Youde's tonight," promised her father. "It was one of those freak storms
that sometimes sweep down from the Arctic circle and fool even the
weather men. By tomorrow the temperature will shoot up and the snow will
melt so fast we'll probably have a flood."
The girls finished every sandwich on the plate and drank two cups of tea
apiece.
It was five o'clock when they left the table.
Mrs. Thorne and Helen started to put on their coats, but Janet's mother
objected.
"Your house will be cold and our guest room upstairs is all made up.
Janet and I will lend you whatever you need. We'll all get to bed now."
Janet got warm pajamas for Helen and then went to her own room. Warm and
inviting in the soft rays of the rose-shaded lamp over her dressing
table, it was a sanctuary after the exciting events of the night.
A wave of drowsiness assailed Janet, and it was with difficulty that she
unlaced and pulled off her boots. Somehow she managed to crawl into her
pajamas and roll into bed, but she was asleep before she could remember
to turn off the light.
Her mother, looking in a few minutes later, pulled the blankets up around
Janet's shoulders, opened the window just a crack to let in a whiff of
fresh air, and turned off the light.
Janet slept a heavy and dreamless sleep. When she awakened the sun was
streaming in the windows and from the angle she could tell that it was
late.
But in spite of the knowledge that she would probably be extremely late
in getting to school, Janet was too deliciously comfortable to move
rapidly.
After stretching leisurely, she got out of bed and closed the window. The
radiator in her room was bubbling gently and she slipped into bed to wait
until the room warmed up.
Vivid thoughts of what had happened during the night rotated in her mind,
the cold, the wind, the snow--the terror of waiting in Little Deer valley
for the rescue, hoping but not knowing for sure that they would be
reached in time to save them from the relentless cold.
Someone opened Janet's door and peered in. It was Helen, who, on seeing
that her friend was awake, bounced into the room.
"You look pretty live and wide awake after last night," smiled Janet.
"I'm not only that, I'm ravenously hungry," said Helen, "and if you had
been out in the hall and caught a whiff of the breakfast your mother is
preparing you would be too."
"What time is it?"
"Well, you can call it breakfast or lunch, depending on whether you've
had breakfast. For me it's breakfast even though the clock says it's just
a little after eleven."
"You're seeing things," retorted Janet, throwing off the covers and
hurrying toward her wardrobe.
"I wouldn't be surprised if I am, but your mother says it is after eleven
and I'll take her word for it. I'll run down and tell her you'll be along
within the hour."
"That isn't fair. You know it won't be more than five minutes. I always
dress faster than you do."
_Chapter VIII_
POSTPONED TRYOUTS
Helen went down stairs and Janet hastened to the bathroom where she made
a hasty toilet. Back in her room she fairly jumped into her clothes, gave
her hair one final and hurried caress with the brush, and then went down
stairs.
Mrs. Thorne, who had breakfasted earlier with Janet's father and mother,
had gone home, so Helen and Janet sat down to the breakfast Mrs. Hardy
had prepared.
There was grapefruit to start with, then oatmeal with dates in it, hot,
well-buttered toast, strips of crisp bacon and large glasses of milk.
"Feel all right this morning, Janet?" her mother asked, looking a little
anxiously at her vibrant and energetic daughter.
"Fine, mother. I slept very soundly. Last night seems almost like a
nightmare."
"It was a nightmare," said her mother, sitting down and picking up a
piece of toast to munch while the girls ate their breakfast. "I've never
seen your father so worried. He was almost frantic until Hugh Grogan
suggested they try to get through with one of his big tractors. They held
a council of war right here in the front room and I've never seen as many
nervous and excited men in my life. Talk about women getting upset, why
they were worse than we ever think of being." She smiled a little. She
could now, but last night it had all been a very grim and very near
tragedy.
"You'll have to write an excuse for me," said Janet between munches on a
crisp slice of bacon.
"Not this time. I phoned the superintendent and he said that everyone in
honors English was excused from school today."
"Wonder if we'll have the tryouts for the class play this afternoon?"
said Helen, who until that moment had been devoting her full energies to
the large bowl of oatmeal.
"There's one way of finding out," replied Janet. "I'll phone the
principal's office and see if it has been taken off the bulletin board."
Janet went to the phone in the hall and called the schoolhouse. When she
returned her face was aglow.
"No school, no tryouts--what a day and what to do?"
"You're sure about the tryouts?" Helen was insistent, for winning the
leading part meant so much to her.
"Sure as sure can be. They've been postponed until Saturday morning at
9:30 o'clock when they will be held in the assembly."
"Then that will give me plenty of time to study my part thoroughly," said
Helen.
"But you know it now. Why you had it memorized, every word and phrase,
yesterday afternoon," protested Janet.
"I know I did yesterday, but last night scared it completely out of me. I
can't even remember the opening lines."
"Maybe it's a good thing. We'll both start over and this afternoon we can
rehearse upstairs in my room."
"Grand. I've got to go home and help mother for a while, but I'll be back
by 2:30 o'clock and we'll start in."
Breakfast over, Janet went to the door with Helen. The day was bright and
almost unbelievably clear. The temperature was rising rapidly, the wind
had gone down, and their experience of the night before seemed very far
away. Rivulets of water were starting to run down the streets and before
nightfall the gutters would be full of the melting snow and slush.
Janet found a multitude of little things to do around home to help her
mother and the first interruption came with the ringing of the telephone.
Her mother answered, but then summoned Janet.
"It's the Times," said Mrs. Hardy.
Janet took the instrument and recognized the voice of the city editor of
the local paper.
"I need a good first person story of what took place inside the bus,
Janet," said Pete Benda. "Can you come down to the office and write a
yarn? You've had enough experience with your high school page to do the
trick and do it well."
"But it all seems so far away and kind of vague now," protested Janet.
"Listen, Janet, I've got to have that story." Pete was cajoling now.
"Haven't we done a lot of favors for your high school page?"
"Yes, but--."
"Then come down and write the story. I'll save a good spot on page one
for it."
Janet hung up the telephone, feeling a little weak and limp. Pete Benda
was insistent and she would have to go through with it.
"The Times wants me to come down and write a first person story of what
happened last night," she explained to her mother. "I didn't want to, but
Pete Benda, the city editor, just insisted. He's been so good about
helping us out on the school page when we've been in jams that I couldn't
say no."
"Of course not, and you'll do a good piece of writing. No don't worry
about it. Run along. I'll have a little lunch ready when you get back."
Janet put on her coat, but paused at the door and called to her mother.
"If Helen comes before I get back, tell her I'll be along soon."
Janet enjoyed the walk to the Times office for the air was invigorating.
The Times was housed in a narrow two-story building with its press in the
basement. The news department was on the second floor with the city
editor's desk in front of a large window where he could look the full
length of the main business street of Clarion.
Pete Benda, thin and too white-faced for his own good health, saw Janet
come in.
"Here's a desk and typewriter you can use," he said. "I'm counting on
having that story in less than an hour. You'll have to come through,
young lady."
Janet flushed at Pete's appellation, for the city editor of the Times was
only a little older than she. Oh well, perhaps Pete was twenty-two, but
she could remember when he had been in high school, playing football, and
one of the best ends in the state.
Janet rolled some copy paper into the typewriter and looked rather
blankly at the sheet. It was hard now to concentrate on the events which
had been so tragically real the night before. If she could only get the
first sentence to click the rest would come easily. She tried one phrase.
That wouldn't do; not enough action in it. Ripping the sheet of paper
from the typewriter, she inserted another and tried again. This was
better. Perhaps it would do; at least she had started, and the words came
now in a smooth flow for Janet could type rapidly, thanks to a commercial
course in her junior year.
Pete Benda, on his way to the composing room, looked over her shoulder
and read the first paragraph but Janet, now engrossed in the story,
hardly noticed him. Pursing his lips in a low whistle, a trick that he
did when pleased, Pete went on about his work.
Janet finished one page and then another. Even a third materialized under
the steady tapping of her fingers on the keyboard. Then she was through.
Three pages of copy, three pages of short, sharp sentences, of adjectives
that caught and held the imagination, that gave a picture of the cold and
the apprehension of those in the bus, of the relief, almost hysterical,
when rescue came.
Janet didn't read it over. It was the best she could do. If Pete wanted
to change it that was all right with her. She put the three sheets of
copy paper together and placed them on his desk. Then she slipped into
her coat and went down stairs. She had finished the story well within the
limit set by the city editor and she turned toward home and the rehearsal
she and Helen had planned for the afternoon.
_Chapter IX_
BIG NEWS
Janet had gone less than half a block when she heard someone calling to
her. Looking back she saw Pete Benda leaning from an upper window of the
Times office. He was waving Janet's story in his hand.
"Great story, Janet," he shouted. "I'll send you a box of candy. Thanks a
lot."
Janet smiled and waved at Pete. It was just like the impetuous city
editor to lean out his window and shout his thoughts at the top of his
voice to someone down the street. But she was glad to know that the story
met Pete's approval. But as for the candy. Well Pete was always making
promises like that. If he had kept them all he would have needed a
private candy factory.
Helen was waiting when Janet reached home and she waved a letter at her
friend.
"It's from Dad," she cried. "He says he's about through on the picture
he's making at present and will be home without fail for my graduation.
Wants me to send him the dates of the play, of the banquet and of
everything. Also wants your Dad to make sure the fishing will be good and
to line up a good plot where he can find plenty of worms."
"That's splendid news. I'm so happy," said Janet, who knew how much Helen
missed her father's companionship at times, for when he was in Clarion
they were almost inseparable. But Janet realized that Mr. Thorne was
exceedingly smart in keeping Helen in Clarion rather than taking her west
with him to the movie city where she would be subject to all of the
tensions and nervous activity there. Here in Clarion she was growing up
in entirely normal surroundings where she would have a sane and sensible
outlook on life and its values.
"I phoned your Dad, and he says he'll have to start hunting good creeks
just as soon as the snow's off."
"That kind of puts Dad on the spot, for he's got to deliver on the worms
and the fishing," smiled Janet.
"Oh, well, Dad doesn't care so much about getting any fish. He just likes
to get out and loaf on a sunny creek bank and either talk with your Dad
or doze. He calls that a real holiday."
Janet went upstairs and got the mimeographed sheets with the synopsis of
the play and the part she was to try out for. After the drama of last
night, that of "The Chinese Image" seemed shallow and forced.
The rôle of Abbie Naughton, who was more than a little light-headed and
fun loving until a crisis came along, was comparatively easy for it
called for little actual acting ability and Janet was frank enough to
admit that she was no actress.
Helen, trying for the straight lead, carried by Gale Naughton, had always
liked to think that she had real dramatic talent and Janet was willing to
admit that her companion had more than average ability. At least Helen
was pretty enough to carry the rôle off whether she had any dramatic
ability or not.
Coaching each other, they gave their own interpretations of the parts
which they were trying for. An hour and then another slipped away. The
brightness faded from the afternoon and Janet turned on a reading light.
"I think we've done all we can for one day. If we keep on we'll go stale.
Let's forget the tryouts for a while."
"You can," retorted Helen, "but I've simply got to win that part. What
would Dad think of me if I didn't?"
"I don't believe he'd think any the less of you," smiled Janet, "but I'll
admit it would be nice for you to win the leading rôle and I'll do
everything I can to help you."
"Of course, I know you will. It was awfully small of me to say that."
The doorbell rang and Janet answered it. A boy handed her a package.
"It's for Miss Hardy. She live here?"
"I'm Janet Hardy."
"Okay. I just wanted to be sure this was the right place."
"This looks interesting," said Janet, returning to the living room with
the large box. Her mother, who had heard the doorbell, joined them.
Janet tore off the wrapping, opened the cardboard outer box, and pulled
out a two pound box of assorted chocolates. On top of the box was a
clipping torn from the front page of the Times.
Janet stared hard at the clipping, hardly believing her eyes. There was
her story with her name signed to it.
"Why Janet, your name is on this front page story!" exclaimed her mother.
"What's all the mystery?" demanded Helen, and Janet explained, rather
quickly, about her summons to the Times office.
"Pete Benda said he liked the story and was going to send me a box of
candy, but I thought he was joking. You know he's always telling people
he's going to send them candy."
"This is no joke," said Helen as Janet opened the box and offered candy
to her mother and to Helen. "In fact, I'd like a joke like this about
once a week."
"Yes, but I wouldn't like an experience like we had once a week,"
retorted Janet.
Helen's mother phoned that they were having an early supper and Helen
picked up the tryout sheets, put her coat over her shoulders, and started
for home.
"If I disappear, it's just that I've been swept away in the flood," she
called as she hurried out.
Janet looked after her. Helen wasn't far from wrong. With the rapidly
rising temperature, the afternoon sun had covered the sidewalks and
filled the street with rushing torrents of water. Another day and there
would be no sign of the storm of the night before.
Mrs. Hardy called and Janet went into the kitchen to help her mother with
the preparations for the evening meal.
"I heard you rehearsing this afternoon," said her mother, "and I wouldn't
set my heart too much on winning one of those parts."
"I won't," promised Janet. "Of course I'd like to be in the senior play,
but I won't be heart-broken if I don't win a part."
"Perhaps I was thinking more about Helen than you," confessed Mrs. Hardy.
"She's so much in earnest that failure would upset her greatly."
"I know it, but I can understand why Helen wants a part and I'm afraid
I'd be just as intent if my father were the ace director for a great
motion picture company. I suppose I'd think that I should have dramatic
ability to be a success in his eyes."
"That's just it," said Mrs. Hardy. "Helen doesn't need to get a part in
the play. When he comes home, he likes nothing better than being with his
wife and Helen. You know he never goes any place."
"Except fishing with Dad."
"Oh, pshaw. They don't fish. They dig a few worms and take their old
fishpoles along some creek that never did have any fish. It just gets
them outdoors and away from people who might want to bother Henry
Thorne."
"Well, no matter, Helen has set her heart on winning the leading rôle and
I'm going to do everything in my power to help her along."
_Chapter X_
VICTORY FOR HELEN
The rest of the week slipped away quickly. The harrowing experience in
Little Deer valley became a memory and the seniors concentrated upon
winning rôles in the class play.
By Saturday morning the snow had vanished, the temperature was above
freezing and the grass was starting to turn green--such are the miracles
of the early spring.
Janet and Helen rehearsed their tryout parts so many times that Janet
found herself mumbling her lines in her sleep.
Most of the seniors assembled promptly at 9:30 o'clock that morning for
the tryouts. A few of them, feeling that they had no chance, did not
come, but Janet noticed that Margie and Cora were well to the front of
the room where Miss Williams would be sure to see them.
"I want you to do your best this morning for on your work now depends
whether you will have a place in the play," she warned them, and Janet
felt a little twinge. School was near an end and the senior play was her
last chance. Of course it wasn't as important to her as it was to Helen,
but it would be nice to have the part of Abbie, for Abbie was such a
delightfully irresponsible character.
Miss Williams called for tryouts for minor rôles first and Helen sent an
anxious glance toward Janet and nodded toward the hall.
They slipped out of the assembly quietly and Helen voiced her fears.
"Perhaps I'd better try for one of these minor parts as well as for the
lead. Then if I don't get to play Gale Naughton, I may win another rôle."
"I wouldn't," counseled Janet. "Concentrate on the main part. I think
you'll make it all right."
"I wish I had your confidence."
"I'm not confident about winning a part myself, but I'm sure you will,"
replied Janet. "Let's go back and watch the tryouts."
"Perhaps I ought to go over my lines again?"
"Nonsense. You can even speak them backwards. If you work on them any
more you may do that, which would be fatal. Let's see the mistakes of the
others and then we'll know we aren't the world's worst actresses."
Miss Williams was conscientious. She wanted every boy and girl who felt
he had a chance to have the utmost opportunity and she worked with them
carefully. At noon she was fairly well down the cast, but the four major
rôles remained, two for the boys and two for the girls, including the
parts of Gale and Abbie Naughton which Helen and Janet sought.
"We've been at this long enough," announced Miss Williams as the noon
whistles sounded down town. "Everyone take a rest, have lunch, and be
back here at one o'clock. Then we'll go on until we finish. For those who
have been assigned parts, the first rehearsal will be Monday night at
7:15 o'clock. I'll expect you to have your first act lines memorized."
The group broke up, some of them going home to have lunch and others
stopping at the luncheonette of a nearby drug store. Janet and Helen were
among this group, which included Cora and Margie. The latter, seated with
two companions, appeared confident that they would win the leading rôles,
but Janet overheard a spiteful remark by Cora.
"Of course, I haven't the pull Helen has, for her father's a famous
director," she said, and Janet saw Helen's face flush.
"That's isn't fair," said Helen. "You know Dad wouldn't use any influence
to get a part for me."
"So does Cora. She's saying that just to be mean."
When they reassembled it was a small group, Jim Barron, Ed Rickey and two
other boys who were trying for the male leads, Cora, Margie, Helen, Janet
and Miss Williams.
The instructor worked with the boys first and it was evident that Jim and
Ed were to have the major parts. In less than half an hour they were
assigned, Ed getting the lead and Jim the second rôle. If Janet won the
part of Abbie, Jim would be playing opposite her. That would be fun, for
Jim was wholesome and pleasant.
After the boys had departed, Miss Williams turned to the girls.
"Now we're down to the two major parts, for the play hinges on the
characters of Gale and Abbie." She looked at the four hopeful, anxious
faces.
"I want Cora and Margie first. Take your places and give me an
interpretation of the action you think should go with the lines you have
memorized."
Cora, dark-eyed and confident, stepped to the platform. Margie, a wispy,
blonde girl, followed. Both girls used excellent diction, spoke clearly
and with feeling, but somehow Cora's work lacked a convincing touch.
Perhaps she was trying too hard and Janet felt her spirits rising.
Helen should walk away with the rôle unless she got scared when she
stepped on the platform. But Janet was more than a little concerned about
Margie. The blonde senior was doing an excellent job, putting just the
right amount of enthusiasm into the rôle. There was nothing forced. Every
word and gesture seemed spontaneous and lines that had sounded silly in
their own rehearsals were very logical and convincing when they came
tumbling from Margie's lips.
Janet smiled grimly. Of course she wanted the part, but even more, she
wanted Helen to win the rôle of Gale.
Cora and Margie finished the part Miss Williams had assigned, and looked
anxiously toward the dramatics teacher.
"That was very nicely done," said Miss Williams. "Janet and Helen next
and put plenty of feeling into your interpretations."
From the platform Janet could look down on Cora and Margie. There was a
thin sneer on Cora's lips and Janet felt Helen, standing close beside
her, tremble.
"Ready?" she asked. Helen nodded.
Janet's lines opened their brief tryout rôles. She spoke them clearly,
but somehow the spark needed to add vigor and brilliance was lacking. She
was thinking too much about Helen.
The lines and action snapped to Helen and she picked them up instantly.
Janet thrilled. Helen had forgotten Cora and Margie. She had forgotten
even Miss Williams. She was living her part. She was Gale Naughton, the
dark, lovely heroine of "The Chinese Image." The lines came smoothly and
without effort.
Then they were through, a little breathless, their hearts beating
rapidly. Janet was the first to turn toward Miss Williams and before the
instructor spoke, she knew Helen had made a deep impression with her
interpretation of Gale.
"Splendid. I liked that very much," said Miss Williams, who was not given
to compliments. "If you'll be good enough to wait a few minutes, I'll be
back."
"Will you announce the winners then?" asked Cora, her dark cheeks flushed
with excitement and her brown eyes glowing.
"Yes," promised Miss Williams, hurrying from the room.
"Why do you suppose she left to make her tabulations?" asked Helen, her
voice low.
"Probably didn't want us to know just how she rated us. She's got a
percentage system all her own she uses in casting parts. It won't be long
now," said Janet.
"The sooner the better. I'm all fluttery inside."
"Maybe you think Cora and Margie aren't. They can't even sit still."
Which was true. Cora and Margie were walking restlessly up and down the
far side of the assembly, looking anxiously toward the double doorway
through which Miss Williams would return.
Five minutes slipped away. Then another five and it stretched out into
fifteen minutes before the quick footsteps of the dramatics instructor
could be heard in the hallway. Involuntarily Cora and Margie joined Janet
and Helen at the front of the large assembly room.
Miss Williams came in briskly, a slip of paper in her right hand, and
Janet, who was nearest, saw two names written on the slip.
"Sorry I kept you so long, but I'm trying to be very fair in making the
final selections," explained Miss Williams.
"Go on, go on," burst out Cora. "Who won?"
Miss Williams frowned.
"Well, I'm sorry, Cora."
The dark-haired senior interrupted her sharply.
"You mean I didn't win?"
"I mean that Helen gave a more convincing interpretation of the part. She
gets the leading rôle."
Cora's eyes flashed.
"I might have known that. Too bad I don't have a father with some
influence."