The military maneuvers by the Sanford Guards over, the well-pleased
spectators made an orderly rush for the big drill floor, there to take
more active part in the Campfire. Opening as it did on a national
holiday, everyone was in high good humor and willing to spend money. The
space reserved for the dancing had been roped in, leaving a good-sized
aisle all the way around the Armory between the ropes and the booths.
There was no room on the lower floor for chairs, but the gallery offered
a vantage point to those who preferred to become onlookers of the
dancing rather than take part in it.
That it had been a highly profitable evening became evident to the
Lookouts, when just before midnight they happily viewed their depleted
booths and fell to counting their gains. Everything had progressed with
unrivaled smoothness. Even Mignon's black eyes glistened as she counted
the wealth of nickels and small silver which had accrued from the
despised lemonade bowl. She had taken in almost thirty dollars and
plumed herself accordingly. Jerry had been right in her calculation as
to the best place for the lemonade. Far from admitting it, Mignon merely
felt increasing bitterness toward Jerry.
Busy Jerry was quite unaware of Mignon's dark sentiments toward herself.
Had she known of them, they would have caused her small anxiety. She was
too blissfully elated over the success of the Campfire to do anything
but rejoice loudly as she moved from booth to booth, a good-sized cash
box in hand, to collect the evening's profits.
"It's a howling success," she caroled joyously, as she entered the candy
booth. Seated on a high stool Marjorie was too much absorbed in the
counting of little piles of money, from notes to pennies, to do more
than nod emphatically to this triumphant salutation.
"I believe almost everyone who was here to-night bought a box of candy,"
she said solemnly as she finished with a heap of nickels and marked down
the amount they made on a slip of paper. "We've taken in----" She
hurriedly calculated the joint receipts. "Would you believe it? I have
one hundred and two dollars here. If we keep on like this we won't have
enough candy to last us over to-morrow night."
"It's pretty much the same in all the booths. You folks are quite a
little ahead of the others, though. You're the original candy kid,
Marjorie. That's not slang. It's a compliment."
"It sounds like both," laughed Marjorie. "Wasn't the revue fine, Jerry?
Did you ever before see anyone dance like Ronny. She's a marvel. Not
that I liked her dancing a bit better than Connie's singing," she added
loyally, "but it was so entirely different from anything we've ever had
at a show. She told me to-night that she made up both those dances
herself."
"She gets curiouser and curiouser," commented Jerry. "One who didn't
know could never be made to believe that such a gorgeous person was
working her way through high school. What puzzles me most is where---- I
guess I won't say it. I'm a Lookout."
"I know what you mean. I thought of it, too. It's her own affair. We
mustn't discuss it, or her, either." Marjorie was equally bent on
loyalty.
"There's something I've just got to say, though," declared Jerry.
"Mignon behaved a lot better about the lemonade bowl than I thought. She
asked me to change the location of it. Of course I said 'no.' She looked
pretty stormy for a minute, then she said, 'Have it your own way,' and
walked off, shrugging her shoulders. I expected she'd make a fuss, and
for once she gave me a pleasant surprise. I hope she behaves like a
reasonable human being during the other two nights of the Campfire."
It was on Marjorie's tongue to relate to Jerry what Mignon had said in
the dressing room. Considering it in the light of gossip she refrained
from repeating it. She hastened to agree with Jerry that she also hoped
for the best regarding Mignon and let the subject drop.
Friday saw the Lookouts and the Guards early at the Armory, hard at work
preparing for the rush they trusted that evening would bring. There was
much to be done and they spent the day in indefatigable toil, going home
only long enough to snatch a hasty luncheon before returning to their
tasks. The program of the revue was to remain the same save for a change
of songs on the part of the vocalists. There were to be no addresses,
however, as on the opening night.
Their painstaking preparations were again rewarded by a crowd of
pleasure seekers almost as large as that of the previous evening. Again
everything slid gaily along as though on invisible wheels. Midnight
again ushered in the counting of large gains. Saturday proved an equally
busy day. The youthful promoters of the Campfire were troubled only by
the alarming possibility that their wares were sure to give out long
before the evening was over. They decided wisely to sell out every last
article of which the merchant booths boasted and let the dancing and
amusement booths do the rest.
Despite the work of the Campfire, the day nursery received its afternoon
quota of two Lookouts. It was an obligation which had to be met,
Campfire or no Campfire. Even Mignon La Salle, when asked if she would
do duty Saturday afternoon, acquiesced without a murmur, taking care to
inquire of Irma Linton, however, before committing herself, as to who
would be her partner in the enterprise. Her thoughts centered on the
Campfire, Irma had consulted her book and replied absently, "Lucy
Warner." Nor did she note the peculiar gleam in the French girl's eyes
as she answered suavely, "Very well, you may count on me to go with
her."
The opportunity to hold a heart-to-heart talk with Lucy was something
for which Mignon had been vainly watching ever since the Hallowe'en
party. Due to Marjorie Dean's discreet counsel, Lucy had not given the
French girl the slightest conversational opening. She had surrounded
herself with a wall of icy reserve which Mignon had found impregnable.
She was, therefore, secretly jubilant over the unexpected manner in
which Fortune had favored her. It was late Friday evening when Irma had
informed her of it and Lucy had already gone home. Irma had explained to
Mignon that it was really Jerry's turn to go to the nursery, but owing
to her many duties at the Campfire she had asked for a substitute.
This accorded even better with Mignon's plans. There was every
possibility that Lucy would know nothing of the substitution until it
would be too late to protest against it. Jerry, herself, was yet to be
reckoned with, however. Irma would undoubtedly inform Jerry that she,
Mignon, was to take her place. If Jerry took the trouble to inquire who
was to accompany Mignon she would promptly veto Lucy's going. Yet there
was a fighting chance that busy Jerry might forget to ask this question.
Mignon hoped that she would. She also decided, that she would not put in
an appearance at the Armory on Saturday before going to the nursery. She
would telephone Irma in the morning that she could not go there before
night, but would be on hand at the nursery for her detail.
There are times when Fortune apparently leans kindly toward the
unworthy. In the long run, however, she generally deserts these
wrong-doers, leaving them to flounder miserably in the meshes of the
nets they have heartlessly set for others. For the time being, at least,
she had chosen to favor Mignon. Owing to a number of important letters
Lucy Warner had promised to write for Miss Archer, she had also arranged
to be away from the Armory until Saturday evening. She had planned to go
directly from the office to the day nursery, where she confidently
expected Jerry to meet her.
As for Jerry, she had thankfully received Irma's promise to supply a
substitute and inquired no further into the matter. Had Marjorie or
Constance known of the arrangement Irma had innocently made, it would
have been changed. Caught up in the whirl of the Campfire, neither of
them remembered to question Irma regarding who was to do duty at the
nursery on Saturday. Thus for Mignon the field was miraculously cleared
of impediments.
When, at four o'clock, Lucy entered the playroom of the nursery, her
amazement can be better imagined than described. Instead of seeing
good-natured Jerry Macy, her displeased eyes rested on Mignon La Salle.
Bored indifference written on her sharp features, the French girl
lounged in a chair in a corner of the playroom, apparently with no
intent toward making herself useful. Strangely enough she was now the
only person in the room.
"Hello, Lucy," she drawled. "You don't seem pleased to see me."
"I'm not," snapped Lucy. "Where is Jerry Macy? _She_ is to be on duty
with me this afternoon."
Mignon merely shrugged her shoulders by way of an answer.
"Where is she?" repeated Lucy, her brows knitting in their ready scowl.
"She won't be here. Irma asked me to take her place. Any objections?"
"I am willing to abide by Irma's decision." It cost Lucy severe effort
to make this reply. "As you are to take Jerry's place, suppose we start
at once to amuse the children. By the way, where _are_ they?"
"Out in the back yard. I sent them there and told that stupid maid to
look after them. They made too much noise. I couldn't stand it."
"It's too cold for them to be out." With a swift, reproachful glance
toward indolent Mignon, Lucy hurried to the back yard to attend to her
charges. Five minutes later she had hustled them into the playroom, a
shivering little band, and started a romping, childish game, calculated
to undo any bad effects which might otherwise result from Mignon's
neglect.
Realizing that she could expect no help from the French girl, Lucy
ignored her and entered energetically into her work. A lover of
children, it was a pleasure to make them happy. One baby game followed
another until the twilight shadows began to thicken. Finally marshaling
them to their chairs at the table, she took her place among them and
told them fairy tales in a simple, lively fashion that quite enthralled
them.
Through it all, Mignon made no move to assist her. She simply sat still,
a smile of mocking amusement on her thin lips. Lucy Warner had found her
own level, was her uncharitable thought. As a mere nobody, she was quite
at home with these grubby, slum waifs. Undoubtedly Lucy was furious with
her for not helping entertain these beggars. Nevertheless, she was quite
sure that angry or not Lucy would listen to what she intended,
presently, to say. Six o'clock would mark the end of the detestable
session. Then--Mignon's smile grew more malevolent as she noted that the
wall clock pointed to five minutes before six.
As it rang out the hour, the matron entered the kitchen. "You'd better
go now, Miss Lucy," she said kindly. "I know you have to be at the
Armory by half past seven. The mothers of these babies will soon be
coming for them. I'll look after them till then."
"Thank you, Mrs. Taggart." Lucy rose amid a chorus of hearty protest
from her charges. "Dood-bye," and "Tum aden soon, nice lady," greeted
her from all sides.
"I will," she promised, nodding gaily toward her small worshippers.
Without glancing at Mignon she turned to the oak settle on which she had
laid her wraps and began to put them on. She was, indeed, deeply
incensed against Mignon. Should she or should she not inform Jerry Macy
of Mignon's lack of co-operation? She hardly knew what to do about it.
On one point she was quite determined. She would not walk home with the
French girl. She would bid her a cool "good night" and hurry from the
house.
Mignon was of a different opinion. Seeing Lucy engaged in donning her
wraps, she lazily rose. Pettishly brushing aside a youngster who had
toddled up to her and clutched a fold of her gown, she hastily slipped
on her fur coat--she had not removed her hat--and hurried after Lucy. The
latter had already delivered her curt farewell and was out on the
veranda before Mignon overtook her.
"Wait a minute," commanded Mignon. "I have something to tell you that
you _must_ listen to. You'll understand that I mean well, the moment you
hear it. It's a shame for you to be so deceived by Marjorie Dean. She----"
"I won't listen to you." Lucy's smoldering anger flashed into instant
flame. "You can't make me believe anything hateful of Marjorie. You are
only trying to make trouble." Discretion overcome by wrath she continued
heatedly, "Marjorie herself warned me not to take your gossip seriously.
She knew that----"
"I'd tell you certain things she has said about you to me," sneered
Mignon.
"Certain things? What do you mean?" Lucy's too-suspicious nature now
sprang to the fore. This was the second time that Mignon had insinuated
that Marjorie had gossiped about her.
"After all, what's the use of telling you?" Mignon craftily changed her
tactics with a view toward whetting Lucy's morbid curiosity. "You'll go
straight to Marjorie Dean with them. She will deny them, of course. Then
you will be down on me more than ever."
"If you can tell me anything that will actually prove to me that
Marjorie Dean is not my friend, I promise you faithfully never to go to
her with it." Lucy spoke with hurt intensity. "If she has been deceitful
with me, as you insist that she has, I will never willingly speak to her
again. But I am sure she is honorable and loyal. I can't believe
otherwise," she ended with a quick, sobbing breath.
"_That_ for her loyalty!" Mignon snapped her fingers. "What about the
Observer?"
Lucy shrank from Mignon as though the latter had dealt her a physical
blow. In the November twilight the paleness of her set face stood out
sharply. "Stop!" she gasped. Catching Mignon's arm in a tense hold, she
planted herself squarely before her tormentor. "What--do--you--know--about
the Observer?" she stammered, her green eyes gleaming like those of a
cat.
Mignon laughed unpleasantly. "Not as much, perhaps, as _you_ know, but
enough. You were an idiot to ask Marjorie Dean's forgiveness. She loves
to make persons believe they are in the wrong, so that she can have the
pleasure of forgiving them. She is really clever at that sort of thing.
She made poor Mary Raymond's life miserable during that winter Mary
lived at the Deans. Mary was a silly to make up with her. Why, the very
day that Marjorie and I went to Miss Archer's to see about getting you
the secretaryship, she mentioned the trouble you and she had last year.
She was quite cautious about it then and didn't tell me much. Later I
found out about the Observer, though."
Stunned by Mignon's revelations, Lucy silently fought back the burning
tears that threatened to overflow her eyes. But one thought obscured her
sorely troubled mind. Marjorie Dean had cruelly betrayed her to Mignon.
She had pledged her word of honor never to reveal Lucy's misdeed to
anyone, and she had broken her word. Utterly crushed, poor Lucy did not
stop to consider that Mignon was the least likely of all persons to whom
Marjorie would confide such a secret. She knew only that the mere
mention of the word "Observer" was clear proof of her false friend's
perfidy. Over-suspicious by nature, she was prone to believe all persons
villains until they had given signal manifestation of their honesty. Nor
had she been long enough associated with Marjorie and her friends to
easily retreat from that unjust viewpoint.
"Don't feel downhearted about it," was Mignon's sneering consolation.
"Now that your eyes have been opened to a few things, you can show
Marjorie Dean that you aren't as dense as she seems to think you. I
don't mind in the least about that Observer business. I dare say if you
told me your side of it I should find that it wasn't anything very
dreadful. As for Marjorie Dean's version, well----" Mignon made a
significant pause.
"I have nothing whatever to say on that subject," was Lucy's stiff
answer. She was vowing within herself that "Once bitten twice shy"
should hereafter be her motto. "I will say this much, though. You have
given me unmistakable proof that Marjorie Dean is not nor never was my
friend. I will keep my promise to you."
Before Mignon had time to make reply, a rush of light feet on the
pavement informed her that Lucy had left her. Through the dusk she could
just distinguish a little figure fleeing madly up the quiet street. She
laughed softly as it turned a corner and disappeared. She had already
done much toward avenging the wrongs she had received at the hands of
Marjorie Dean.