TAVIA TAKES A HAND
It was a few days later that the _War Cry_ arrived in the mail, for
Dorothy. The young girl knew that the paper was widely circulated,
and likewise that it was circulated among people who might know Tom
Moran. Men of his trade, traveling about the country, often drop into
Salvation Army meetings for very loneliness, if nothing more.
“Oh, I just hope he’ll see it, and learn about how Celia wants him.”
said Dorothy, clasping her hands. “The poor little thing----”
“What do you s’pose Miss Olaine would say if she saw this notice?”
interposed Tavia, after reading the blue-penciled paragraph.
“Miss Olaine?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t imagine why you say that,” observed Dorothy, puzzled.
“Didn’t I tell you how startled she was when she read Tom Moran’s name
on that postal card?”
“But nonsense, Tavia!” cried Dorothy. “That was because she was
reminded of the awful fire in which she came so near to losing her
life.”
“How do you know?” snapped Tavia.
“But--my dear----”
“I tell you I believe she knows Tom Moran. Of course she would remember
him, when he played the hero in that fire.”
“It’s ridiculous for you to talk that way, Tavia,” declared Dorothy.
“You always do go flying off on a tangent----”
“Then I get a free ride. Don’t worry. I am welcome to my own ‘idee’; am
I not, Doro?”
“I suppose you are.”
“Then I stick to it,” said Tavia, with a toss of her head. “Olaine was
startled because you were making inquiries about Tom Moran. Haven’t I
been watching her--‘hout of me heagle heye,’ as the Cockney villain
says in the play----”
“You and your plays!” sniffed Dorothy. “Your romantic nature is working
overtime again. I _do_ wish you would make it behave.”
But Tavia secretly held to her own belief. She, and not Dorothy, had
observed Miss Olaine’s emotion when she came across the postal card
in the mail. Pooh! merely the remainder of that Rector Street School
fire would not make the teacher look like _that_. You couldn’t fool
Tavia--at least, so she said in her heart.
She secured the copy of the Salvation Army paper when Dorothy was not
near, and carried it into the recitation room in her blouse. Miss
Olaine was more than usually severe that morning, and perhaps Tavia was
thus encouraged to “spring” her little surprise, as she called it.
She made an excuse to go to the teacher’s desk. She was not the only
one who went there while Miss Olaine was at the blackboard, so the
plotter did not think she would be suspected more than any of several
other members of the class.
She laid the paper, with the page uppermost on which was printed the
paragraph asking for news of Tom Moran, among the teacher’s books. And
surely Miss Olaine could not miss noticing that paragraph with the
broad, blue pencil marks about it!
Tavia could not attend to the problem under discussion, her mind being
centered upon what was going to happen when Miss Olaine got back to her
desk. Therefore when the teacher shot a query at Tavia suddenly she
made a woeful exhibition of herself.
“Inattention, Miss Travers. I will speak to you of that later,” snapped
Miss Olaine, striding back to her desk.
“Now she’ll see it!” whispered Tavia to herself, scarcely minding the
threatened black mark.
But Miss Olaine went on with her instructions to the class, and did
not see the paper. She sat there, looking out over the class, and
Tavia began to wonder if ever she _would_ drop her gaze and see that
blue-penciled paragraph in the _War Cry_ staring up at her.
Tavia really became so nervous that she could not follow the trend of
the lesson at all. Once more Miss Olaine asked her a question, and the
girl floundered most desperately and could not answer.
She could only think just then of Dorothy. Suppose Miss Olaine should
accuse Dorothy of putting the paper there? Dorothy’s name was on the
label pasted upon the margin of the paper.
“You evidently have no interest in this recitation, Miss,” said the
teacher, sneeringly, when Tavia had made another lamentable exhibition
of incompetence.
“Oh, yes, I have, ma’am,” gasped Tavia.
“You may come to me after school this afternoon and explain, then, why
you show so little interest now,” declared the teacher.
Then her gaze dropped to the desk. She saw the paper, and Tavia saw
that her attention was almost immediately fixed by the marked paragraph.
There was a sudden silence in the room. Of course, the other girls knew
nothing about the interest Tavia had in what the teacher was reading;
but to her it seemed as though everything came to a standstill while
Miss Olaine read and digested the paragraph.
She suddenly looked up and Tavia saw a deep flush come into her sallow
cheek. She fumbled the paper, too, with shaking fingers. Her lips
parted as though she were about to speak angrily.
Then the color left her face as though all the blood had been drained
from her arteries in an instant! She sank back in her seat, with the
back of her head against the chair.
“Oh! oh!” whispered Ned Ebony, who suddenly saw the teacher’s condition.
Molly Richards was nearest, and she jumped up and ran to the platform.
Tavia felt as though her own limbs were powerless. The girl realized
that the teacher had fainted.
“Oh, dear me! whatever shall we do?” gasped Dick, chafing the teacher’s
hands.
“Run get some water--or some smelling salts!” cried Edna Black; but she
never offered to go herself.
It was Dorothy who knew enough to act sensibly. When she looked up from
her book and saw Miss Olaine’s condition, she ran for the water at once
and brought it to the desk. With her handkerchief she began to bathe
the teacher’s eyes and temples.
The paper was pushed off the desk into the wastebasket. Nobody noticed
this save Tavia. And she could barely stand up by her seat, she felt so
weak.
The result of her experiment had shocked her quite as much as Miss
Olaine. She was hovering on the edge of the group of excited and
sympathetic girls when the teacher opened her eyes.
For a moment Miss Olaine stared about, confused and frightened. Then
she put out both hands and pushed those nearest her away. Her hand
clutched Dorothy’s wrist and she suddenly glared into the latter’s
sympathetic eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, thickly. “_Where is it?_”
She looked all around the desk. The color began to flood back into her
face again and there could be no doubt but that the teacher was angry.
She stared again at Dorothy.
“Go to your seat, Miss Dale. I--I shall look into--into this matter
later. Go to your seat, instantly!”
“But--but, Miss Olaine----”
Dorothy was certainly amazed. The teacher, however, waved her away.
“Immediately!” she gasped. “Or I shall report you to Mrs. Pangborn.”
The other girls moved away, staring and surprised. Of course Dorothy
took her seat; but her face showed that she was both hurt and puzzled.
Tavia slipped into her own place, the _War Cry_ hidden in her blouse.
She had taken it out of the teacher’s wastebasket when no one observed
her. She was really frightened, now, by what she had brought about.
Dorothy was suspected, it was evident. Miss Olaine believed that the
marked paper had been thrust under her eyes by the girl whose name and
address were upon the margin.
Now, what would Miss Olaine do? What _could_ she do, in fact? It really
was a personal matter. She could not punish Dorothy very well for
merely laying that paper on the desk.
So Tavia told herself. She had suddenly lost grip on her courage. Tavia
was not usually a cowardly girl--not even morally.
But she shrank from explaining to the teacher. Something was gravely
wrong with Miss Olaine, and it was connected with Tom Moran. It wasn’t
the mention of the Rector Street School fire that had “sent her off,”
as Tavia expressed it, on that former occasion, when Miss Olaine read
Dorothy’s postal card.
There was some reason for Miss Olaine to be disturbed by the mention of
Tom Moran’s name. Tavia had suspected it; but now she was sorry that
she had gone to work to prove her suspicion!
“I’ve got myself into an awful mess again!” groaned Tavia, in spirit.
“And I daren’t tell Dorothy--not yet. She’d be _mad_.
“Of course, if old Olaine tries to punish Doro for what I’ve done----
Oh, she won’t dare! I wonder what is the matter with her? And what she
knows about that Tom Moran?
“I--I wish I hadn’t ever put my finger in the pie,” sighed Tavia. “For
certain sure it is most awfully burned--and serves me right.”
She watched the teacher closely for the rest of the recitation hour.
Miss Olaine seemed to be peering all about her desk for the paper, and
she did not find it. Then she glared again at Dorothy.
“Oh, dear me!” groaned Tavia. “I’ve done a cruel and foolish thing, I
am afraid. And I--I don’t dare tell Doro about it!”