The news that fourteen seniors of Sanford High School had formed
themselves into an organization called the Lookout Club soon spread
itself like wildfire throughout the big school. But even that
information paled into insignificance beside the fact that Mignon La
Salle was not only a member of it but an officer as well. The pupils who
as sophomores, juniors and seniors had come to know the tricky French
girl during her freshman year for precisely what she was, had been
graduated and gone on to other fields. Many of the later lower class
girls had, however, seen enough of her methods in the past two years to
cherish no illusions concerning her. From her own lips they had heard
the most scathing criticism of Marjorie Dean and her friends. Now it
became a nine days' wonder that they should have been so foolish as to
admit faithless Mignon into their club.
"I'm positively sick and tired of being quizzed about how we happened to
ask Mignon to join the Lookouts," declared Muriel Harding to Jerry one
afternoon as the two girls were leaving the study hall for the day. Two
weeks had passed since the meeting at Marjorie Dean's home and during
that time Mignon had lost no opportunity to expatiate at length upon the
importance of her position in the club.
"I've been asked that a few dozen times, too," was Jerry's disgruntled
response. "Of course, it's nobody's business, but then you can't blame
the girls much. Ever since she joined the Lookouts, Mignon's been
strutting around like a peacock. I suppose she has told everybody in
Sanford about it that would listen to her. There's at least one thing to
be thankful for. It's better for her to talk about herself than about
somebody else."
"Wait until the newness of being treasurer wears off, or until something
happens in the club that doesn't suit her. Then, look out," predicted
Muriel. "I am really sorry her father insisted on sending the Lookouts
that check for one hundred dollars," she added confidentially. "It puts
us under obligations to her. Everyone in school knows about that, too.
Connie's aunt gave the same amount, but Mignon has never said a word
concerning it."
"I know it. Yet we couldn't very well accept the money that others have
sent us, and refuse Mr. La Salle's check," was Jerry's gloomy reminder.
"None of us had any idea when we started the club that our parents and
friends would insist on helping us in that way. Why, we've nearly five
hundred dollars in our treasury already."
That their elders should have shown such immediate and generous interest
in the Lookout Club had, indeed, been a matter of unparalleled surprise
to its members. Jerry Macy's father and mother had been the first to
come forward with a check for fifty dollars. Mr. and Mrs. Dean had
contributed twenty-five. Constance Stevens' aunt had presented them with
one hundred dollars in gold, while the parents of the other girls had
contributed sums of from five to fifteen dollars. Even Lucy Warner had
come to Marjorie, amazement mirrored in her green eyes, as she handed
the latter an envelope containing a crisp ten-dollar note. It had been
mailed to her, she explained, together with a sheet of paper on which
was typed: "Please ask your mother to offer this little contribution to
the Lookout Club in her name. A friend."
This anonymous communication, folded about the ten-dollar note, was as
much of a mystery to Lucy as the Observer letters had once been to
Marjorie. At first she had rather resentfully suspected that it might
have come from Marjorie, Jerry or Constance Stevens, out of pity for her
poverty. She said as much to Marjorie, who denied all knowledge of it.
After making tactful inquiry of Jerry and Constance, she had assured
sensitive Lucy that neither girl was responsible for the gift. She
advised Lucy to follow the giver's direction implicitly. "You can't
return it, because you don't know who sent it," she had argued, "and, of
course, you don't wish to keep it. So you can only do as the giver
requests."
It had been a matter of private satisfaction to Lucy when the money had
duly been mailed to Mignon with an accompanying line from her mother
which merely repeated the giver's direction. "To the Lookout Club in the
name of Mrs. Margaret E. Warner."
Marjorie had also experienced a degree of quiet happiness in the thought
that someone had been so supremely thoughtful of Lucy Warner. Privately
she suspected that someone might be Miss Archer. The latter was already
very fond of Lucy and also deeply interested in the progress of the
club. She had given ample proof of this by sending for Marjorie one
afternoon shortly after it had been organized to question her in kindly
fashion concerning it. During this heart-to-heart talk with her
principal, Marjorie had felt constrained to explain to her concerning
why Veronica Browning had refused to become a member of the Lookouts.
Miss Archer had merely smiled and said: "Veronica has already explained
matters to me. I think her decision a wise one. I fully understand your
peculiar position in regard to Mignon, Marjorie. I can only commend you
and your friends for your earnest endeavor to help her." The next day
she had mailed a check for ten dollars to Mignon as her good will
offering to the young enthusiasts.
Miss Archer's encouraging words had gone far toward imbuing Marjorie
with renewed will to tackle the problem of reforming Mignon. For several
days previous to it she had been daily annoyed, not only by the
question, "Why have you girls taken Mignon La Salle into your club?" but
by the vainglorious boasts of Mignon herself. Miss Archer's approval had
given her fresh energy to live down these annoyances. She had resolutely
dismissed them as mere exhibitions of foolish vanity on the part of the
French girl. She believed that, later, Mignon would weary of her
bragging and subside. But the end of the second week after the club
election of officers marked no change in the French girl's tactics. On
the very afternoon that Jerry and Muriel halted in the locker room to
continue the exchange of confidences they had begun in the corridor,
Marjorie entered it not long afterward, her thoughts on the precise
subject they were freely discussing.
"Oh, here's Marjorie at last," called Muriel, as the former entered the
nearly-empty coat-room. "What kept you and where's Connie? The rest of
the girls couldn't wait. They all have dates or errands that sent them
hustling along."
"Connie had to see Professor Fontaine," returned Marjorie. "She will be
along soon. Lucy Warner asked me to stop at the office." The answer
contained a trace of annoyance that her hearers instantly caught.
"What did she want with you?" demanded Jerry sharply. "Oh, I beg your
pardon, Marjorie. I didn't mean to ask you that."
"Granted." Marjorie smiled faintly. "I intended to tell you, anyway.
Lucy is very much hurt over something Mignon said to her. Yesterday
morning Mignon walked part of the way to school with her. Lucy said that
she was surprised, as Mignon had never even spoken to her until she
joined the Lookouts. Almost the first thing she said to Lucy was that
she was so glad she had helped her to get the position of secretary to
Miss Archer. She went on to say that without it she guessed Lucy
wouldn't have been able to pay her dues in the club, nor could her
mother have given the ten dollars to it. You can imagine how Lucy felt.
She didn't say much, only that she was surprised to know that Mignon had
helped her to get the secretaryship. Then Mignon said she was surprised
to think I had taken all the credit for it, especially as she had gone
with me to Miss Archer to see about the position."
"Well, of all things!" exploded Jerry Macy. "That's what I call pure,
unadulterated nerve! I hope you stood up for yourself, Marjorie Dean. It
would be just like you to let Mignon take the credit for something she
had nothing to do with. This how to be helpful stunt has gone to her
brain, I guess. Next thing we know, she'll be marching around Sanford
High saying that she put the u in universe." Jerry sniffed her contempt
of the too-efficient Mignon.
"I think that's simply ridiculous!" exclaimed Muriel hotly. "What did
you say to Lucy, Marjorie?"
"I had to tell her the truth." Marjorie's lips tightened. "Even then
Lucy didn't quite like it because Mignon happened to be with me that day
I called on Miss Archer. She's such a queer girl, and so easily---- I
won't say offended. I'll just say hurt. I managed to straighten things
with her, though, but she's terribly peeved with Mignon. She said she
wouldn't say anything to her about it, unless Mignon starts the subject
again. If she does---- Well, they will surely quarrel."
"It's easy enough to see through Mignon," was Muriel's displeased
comment. "She has picked Lucy as the only one in the club she can
patronize. If I were you, Marjorie, I'd tell Lucy to pay no attention to
her whatever beyond being merely civil."
"I told her that," nodded Marjorie. "Perhaps I shouldn't have done so,
but I knew she would have to be warned. It came to me in a flash that if
Mignon tried to start trouble in the club she'd start it through Lucy."
"I guess we'll have to put a label on Mignon," decided Jerry.
"'Dynamite, handle gently,' or something like that."
The three girls giggled in unison at the mental vision Jerry's proposal
conjured. The bare idea of haughty Mignon parading about with such an
ominous legend attached to her person was a joy to contemplate.
"We'll all have to pretend it's there and treat her accordingly,"
chuckled Muriel. "Really and truly, girls, about all we've done since
the club started is to worry about Mignon's failings. It's time we let
her take care of herself and turn our minds to something important. So
far the Lookouts haven't looked out for a single chance to spend their
money."
"We've all been looking-out, but we haven't located anyone or anything
yet that seems to need it," stated Jerry with some energy. "That man who
was hurt is in a hospital now, and my mother and Mrs. Dean and some
others are taking care of his family."
"I saw something the other day that made me wonder---- Oh, here's Connie!"
The arrival of Constance Stevens cut Marjorie's sentence short. "Now we
had better vacate this sacred spot. We aren't supposed to linger in the
locker room after dismissal."
"There's a new confectioner's shop just opened down on Bellevedere
Street," suggested Jerry hopefully. "'Dexter's,' I think the sign says."
"Let's try it for variety's sake," laughed Marjorie. "When we get there,
I'll tell you about my new idea for the Lookouts."
"I've thought of one, too," remarked Constance, "but I'll save it until
later."
"Come on, then." Jerry took Muriel by the arm and headed the procession
of four down the street. It was only a short walk to Jerry's find, and
four voices lifted themselves in approval of the pretty little shop,
done in pale blue and white, with its long marble soda fountain at one
side of the spacious room, and its dainty white tables and chairs.
Having gleefully ordered several delectable new concoctions of which
Sargent's could not boast, the quartette settled themselves to talk.
"You first, Connie," decreed Marjorie. "We know you've something nice to
tell us."
"I don't know what you may think of my idea, but here it is. You
remember the little gray house that I used to live in. Well, it's not
gray any more. It's been newly painted a pretty dark green with lighter
green trimmings. It has never been rented since we lived there. I
suppose the owner thought it never would be unless he had it repainted.
You know it is quite near to that large silk mill where so many women
work. The majority of them are married women and have to help support
their families. They live mostly in tumbledown shacks not far from the
mill.
"They have to go to work very early in the morning and don't get home
until after six o'clock in the evening. That means that their poor
little children who are too young to go to school have to take care of
themselves the best way they can. I've often walked through that
district and seen those poor tiny tots trying to play by themselves and
looking utterly neglected. When I think of how much Charlie now has it
makes me feel dreadfully for them. I've taken them fruit and toys
sometimes, but that doesn't help much. What they need is good care. For
the sake of my own little brother, I wish every child might be happy." A
wealth of pity shone in Constance's blue eyes as she said this.
"Go on, Connie," urged Jerry. "I begin to see now what you're driving
at."
Constance smiled, then continued: "What I thought we might do would be
to rent the little gray house and make a day nursery of it. Then these
poor women could leave their children at it when they go to work in the
morning and come after them at night. You remember how large the sitting
room is, Marjorie. It takes up almost all of the downstairs part, and
there's a small kitchen in the rear. We could rent the house for ten
dollars a month, and pay some good woman and a young girl to come and
look after these children until evening.
"From four until six o'clock each day we could take turns, two of us at
a time, going there to play with the children and tell them stories. I
have talked it over with my aunt and she agrees to pay for the hired
help if the Lookouts would like to do the rest. It wouldn't cost much to
give the children a nice luncheon every day. Of course they would have
their breakfasts and suppers at home. We couldn't afford to serve them
with the three meals. But the nursery itself and the luncheon would be
free. We wouldn't care to charge them a cent. As for the furniture, we
ought to buy two long tables and some kindergarten chairs. Then we ought
to furnish one upstairs room with about four little beds and the rest of
the things that go in a bed room. Then we would have a place for any of
the children that weren't feeling very well. There is a nice large yard
behind the house where they could play in summer or even in winter when
the weather wasn't too cold. I don't know how many children would come;
about twenty or perhaps twenty-five." Constance paused and eyed her
friends wistfully. Their silence made her wonder if they disapproved of
her plan.
"Connie Stevens, you are a perfect dear!" exclaimed Muriel. "That's the
nicest plan I ever heard. I love children, and I've often noticed those
poor little things that live near the silk mill. I'd be only too glad to
give one afternoon a week to them."
"So would I." Marjorie's face shone radiant good will. "You are a real
Lookout, Connie. It would make us very happy just to know that we were
making those poor children happy. At Christmas we could give them a
tree, too. I know Captain will want to help with them, too."
"You are O. K., Connie, and so is your aunt!" exclaimed Jerry. "Tell her
for me that she is a peach; I mean a glittering angel. It's a good thing
the club meets to-morrow night. I'd hate to have to go around all week
keeping this glorious stunt to myself."
Brimming with enthusiasm of this worthy project, the quartette fell into
an eager discussion of what they would need to put the house in
readiness for its juvenile guests, and the probable cost of their little
investment in human happiness. It was a protracted session which they
held at the round table and when it broke up shortly before six o'clock
they had finished a third supply of sundaes and were of the firm opinion
that dinner that evening was quite unnecessary to their welfare.
It was not until she had reached her own gate that Marjorie remembered
that she, too, had conceived of an idea which the club might see fit to
incorporate into their campaign of usefulness. It seemed rather
unimportant beside the greater project for the day nursery, yet she
believed it was not valueless. However, it would keep, she reflected.
She would reserve it until the other scheme was well on the way toward
fulfillment.
How wonderful it would be to bring sunshine into the lives of those poor
neglected children! She was sure that the other members of the club
would hail the plan with acclamation. What a dear, unselfish girl Connie
was! How unutterably sweet she had looked when she had said that she
wished every child might be happy for the sake of little Charlie.
Marjorie's rapt reflections ended in a sharp gasp of dismay.
Recollection of Charlie Stevens brought to her the vision of a
black-haired, elfish-eyed girl who had once cravenly left a small
runaway to shift for himself on a dark night. There was one member of
the club on whom the woes of these children would make no impression,
and that member was Mignon La Salle.