"Marjorie, have you seen Lucy Warner?" Jerry Macy stepped inside the
candy booth, her plump face alive with concern. "It's half past eight
and she's not here. The girls in her booth are wondering what has
happened to her."
"Why, no, I haven't." Marjorie's features mirrored Jerry's anxious look.
"I know she had some work to do for Miss Archer this afternoon. She told
me so. She said, too, it was her turn at the nursery."
"That's so." Jerry looked thoughtful. "I was to go there, too, but I was
so busy I asked Irma to appoint a substitute. I don't know who went in
my place. I'd better see Irma and find out. Whichever Lookout took my
turn may know what's keeping Lucy away." Bustling off in search of Irma,
Jerry accosted her with: "Who subbed for me to-day at the nursery?"
"Mignon La Salle," returned Irma placidly.
"What!" ejaculated Jerry. As the revue was in progress she cautiously
lowered her tone as she continued: "For goodness sake, Irma, why in the
world did you send Mignon? No wonder Lucy hasn't put in an appearance!"
"What are you talking about, Jeremiah, and why should I not have sent
Mignon? Lucy is too sensible a girl to allow Mignon's airs to annoy her,
if that's what you are thinking of. Besides, Mignon was really nice
about saying she'd go," defended Irma in a mildly injured tone.
"I don't doubt it," was Jerry's satirical retort. "Don't mind me, Irma.
I'm not blaming you for it. It's just one of those beautiful
'vicissitudes' that are always bound to jump up and hit a person in the
face. Just like that!" Jerry made a comic gesture of despair and beat a
hasty course toward the candy booth.
"Well, I found out," she groaned. "It was our dear Mignon. You can guess
the rest. Irma certainly did things up properly, that time. She didn't
know what you and I know, or she wouldn't have done it."
"Mignon!" Marjorie's brown eyes held a startled light. "Jerry, do you
suppose after all the warnings I've given Lucy that----"
"It looks suspicious," interrupted Jerry. "I should think, though, that
a bright girl like Lucy Warner could easily see through Mignon. I guess
I'll wait until the revue is over and then interview her ladyship. I may
find out a few things."
"I wish you would," A worried note had crept into Marjorie's voice. "I
hope Mignon hasn't hurt Lucy's feelings again. Poor Lucy! She has been
so happy these last three days. Perhaps nothing like that has happened.
Maybe she was too tired to come here to-night. She has had a busy day."
"Let's hope that's the reason." Jerry's reply did not convey a marked
degree of hopefulness. She was more than half convinced that Mignon was
responsible for Lucy's non-appearance at the Campfire.
The military maneuvers at last concluded, Jerry kept a lynx eye on the
lemonade stand until she saw Mignon take up her position there. Marching
boldly over to it, the stout girl addressed her with an abrupt: "Thank
you for substituting for me at the nursery this afternoon. I understand
Lucy Warner was with you. Did she say anything to you about not being
able to come here to-night?" She stared hard at Mignon as she made this
inquiry.
"Not a word." Mignon shook her head, the picture of wide-eyed innocence.
She was well aware of Lucy's absence. In fact she had confidently
expected it. True, Lucy had not _said_ that she would remain away from
the Campfire. Still, Mignon had every reason to believe that she would.
She also realized the necessity for concealing that which she knew. Lucy
would never betray her. She had no inclination to betray herself.
"That's queer." Jerry stared harder than ever at Mignon. "What time did
she leave the nursery?"
"Six o'clock," came the ready information, "We left the nursery
together. She walked part way home with me. I can't recall that she even
mentioned the Campfire. She is such a peculiar girl. She does more
scowling than talking. I find it very hard to talk to her. We have so
little in common." Mignon looked politely regretful as she delivered
these glib remarks.
"I guess that's so." Jerry's dry agreement brought an ominous flash to
Mignon's black eyes. She wondered what was going on behind her
inquisitor's stolid features.
"Then you don't know why Lucy isn't here tonight?" Jerry drove home her
pertinent question with an energy that caused the angry red to mount to
Mignon's cheeks.
"Why do you persist in asking me again what I have already answered?"
she evaded pettishly. "I am not Lucy Warner's keeper. I have enough to
do to attend strictly to my own affairs without bothering myself about
her."
"I am glad to hear you say so. I quite agree with you." Turning on her
heel Jerry set off toward the candy booth, her heavy brows drawn
together in a ferocious scowl.
Before she reached it, Hal intercepted her with: "Miss Browning's going
to stay for the dance. Last night Dan and Laurie and I made her promise
that she would stay this evening. She's still in the girls' dressing
room. Go and get her, Jerry. I'll see that she has plenty of partners.
All the high school fellows will feel honored to dance with her. She's
the biggest feature of the Campfire."
Obediently betaking herself to the dressing room, Jerry discovered
Veronica in the act of changing her butterfly costume for a demure but
very smart pleated frock of dark blue Georgette crêpe.
"Are you surprised to know that Cinderella is going to stay for the
ball?" saluted Veronica merrily. "Sorry I haven't an evening gown on
hand. This will have to do." She fingered a fold of her blue gown.
"Really, I ought to go home, but I couldn't resist accepting the
invitation to stay for a few dances."
"I'm awfully glad you are going to stay." Jerry reached out and caught
Veronica's hand. "I came after you to conduct you to the ball. Your gown
is a perfect dear. It's very smart. It reminds me of a French gown I saw
at the beach last summer."
"Poor servant girls can't afford such luxuries as imported gowns,"
laughed Veronica. Out of the corners of her gray eyes she cast a
peculiar glance at Jerry.
Covert though it was, Jerry had not missed it. It was on her tongue to
say boldly, "But are _you_ really a poor servant girl?" However, she
held her peace. She and Marjorie had agreed never to ask Veronica any
personal questions. She decided that the gown had perhaps been given
Veronica by Miss Archer. The latter seemed very fond of her protégé.
More than once Jerry had seen the two together, apparently on the most
intimate terms.
"I'm almost ready," announced Veronica. "Wait just a minute until I
bundle my dancing regalia into this suitcase. I'll have to carry my
wings home. They won't go into the suitcase."
Jerry watched her fixedly as she deftly disposed of her dancing effects
and triumphantly snapped the suitcase shut. The cloak of mystery which
enveloped this charming girl piqued Jerry. She longed to be the one to
tear it away and glimpse what it so effectually covered. There seemed
little chance that she would ever do so. She did not agree with Marjorie
that there was probably nothing behind it. She believed that for some
personal reason Veronica was merely playing a part.
"Let's go and visit Marjorie first," she proposed as they left the
dressing room. "She will be anxious to see you. By ten o'clock the last
of the stuff in the booths will be gone. The Lookouts won't be sorry. It
will give us all a chance to dance. We've been casting wistful glances
at that nice smooth floor for three nights. Now and then we managed to
steal away from the booths for a single dance."
"This _is_ joyful news," beamed Marjorie, when five minutes later the
two girls presented themselves in her booth. "We'll see that you have a
good time, Ronny. The candy is all gone except a few boxes. The
hard-working slaves of the Campfire will soon have a chance to enjoy
themselves on the dancing floor for an hour or so."
Marjorie's merry prediction was fulfilled within the next hour. One by
one the girls' booths were dismantled of their few remaining wares. The
proceeds counted and safely disposed, the Lookouts and their senior
classmates who had served with them were indeed free to visit the
amusement booths, dance or enjoy themselves as fancy dictated.
Far from being neglected, Veronica Browning's popularity grew apace. The
boys of Weston High School flocked eagerly to her standard. Strangely
enough she seemed familiar with the various dances of the day, and many
admiring eyes followed her graceful figure as she glided over the
polished floor with one or another of her willing partners. Her radiant
face gave signal proof that she was enjoying herself immensely, a fact
that made the sextette of girls who were closest to her, infinitely
happy, too.
Mignon La Salle, however, was furiously jealous of her. Veronica's
popularity was as a thorn to her flesh. Despite the knowledge that the
elaborate white and gold evening frock she wore was the most expensive
gown she had ever owned, Mignon was obliged to sit out several dances.
Hal, Laurie and Danny Seabrooke, on strict orders from Marjorie, had
dutifully asked the French girl to dance. The majority of the Weston
High boys were not so chivalrous. They did not like Mignon and steered
prudently clear of her. Utterly disgruntled she left the Armory at
eleven o'clock in a most unamiable frame of mind that spelled trouble
for someone.
Just before midnight the Campfire ended with an old-fashioned Home Sweet
Home waltz, followed by a bedlam of high school yells. The edge of youth
is not easily dulled by work, particularly if that work be of a pleasant
nature. The little frolic with which the Campfire ended was a most
enthusiastic affair. The consensus of opinion was, that the Campfire
ought to be a yearly event, and eager plans cropped up wholesale
regarding what should be done at the next one. Roughly estimated, it was
believed that the profits would exceed one thousand dollars. Divided
equally between the Guards and the Lookouts it would go far toward
solving their financial problems.
Following the excitement of the past three days, the peace of Sunday
descended like a welcome mantle on the tireless promoters, who were
forced to the conclusion that they were a trifle tired after all. It may
be said to their credit that they did not fail to attend Sunday morning
services in their respective churches, and more than one silent prayer
of thankfulness ascended to the God they devoutly worshipped. Marjorie
in particular was moved to offer up reverent thanks, adding a humble
little petition that she might be guided always to seek the right and
cling to it.
On Sunday afternoon Jerry Macy appeared at the Deans shortly after
dinner, proposing that she and Marjorie pay Lucy Warner a call.
"We'd better go and see Lucy ourselves," she counseled, "and not waste
any more time wondering why she was among the missing last night."
"All right. I am willing. Captain won't care. She and General have gone
for a ride. I'll leave word on the official bulletin board to let them
know where I am bound for and when to expect me home."
Writing a hasty note, Marjorie tucked it into a small bulletin board,
hung in the hall.
It was a rather long walk to the Warrens' unpretentious little home. As
they traversed the stretch of field leading directly up to it, Marjorie
was forcibly reminded of a winter day when she had floundered across
that very field through the snow on the errand of mercy which had ended
in Lucy Warner's unexpected revelation. To-day the open space of ground
lay brown and frozen. It looked even more desolate than when covered
with snow.
"I'm thankful I don't have to live in that house!" Jerry's exclamation
broke up her reverie. "It's a cheerless-looking place, isn't it?"
"That is what I thought the first time I came here," nodded Marjorie. "I
was just thinking of that day last winter when I waded through the snow
to get to it. That was the day I came down with tonsillitis."
"I remember. You were all in when you left us to come here. You never
told me anything about that call."
Marjorie smiled whimsically. She had never given anyone the details
relating to that particular call. She now replied to Jerry's remark
merely with: "Oh, I took Lucy a basket of fruit, went upstairs to her
room and talked with her quite a while. When I went to her house I felt
rather ill. My feet were wet from plowing through the snow. While I was
there I forgot about it. When I started away from her house I had to
wade through the snow again and then I went home and had tonsillitis."
"Humph!" ejaculated Jerry. "You certainly took a lot of trouble for her.
She must have realized it, too, for she's been your fervent worshipper
ever since. I hope Mignon hasn't told her a lot of things that will undo
all the good you've done. Lucy has been a changed girl since you and she
became friends."
"I am very fond of her. She is the brightest girl I have ever known."
Marjorie spoke with admiring sincerity. The two friends had left the
field behind them and were now proceeding up the straggling path that
led up to the house. "I do hope she is at home."
"Umm!" was Jerry's sole comment. Her sharp eyes were intently scanning
the front windows of the house as though seeking to discover whether its
tenants were within. Arrived at the door, she peered about in search of
a bell. Finding none she doubled a plump fist and rapped energetically
on a weather-stained panel of the door. An instant's silence ensued.
Listening acutely neither girl heard the sound of approaching footsteps
from within. Failing to elicit a response, Jerry beat a loud tattoo upon
the panel.
"There's no one at home," sighed Marjorie disappointedly.
"Come on. We might as well go." The command held a touch of
aggressiveness. "I could wear my hand out thumping it on the door for
all the good it would do."
Sensing the aggressive note in Jerry's voice, Marjorie attributed it to
the stout girl's natural impatience of delay.
"It's a shame; a burning shame!" They were half way down the walk when
Jerry thus delivered herself.
"Why, Jeremiah, what is it?" It had dawned upon Marjorie that something
stronger than impatience had seized upon her friend.
"Marjorie, Lucy Warner _is_ at home," stated Jerry deliberately. "As we
went up the path I saw her through a window. She flashed across the end
of the room farthest away from the window and disappeared."
"At home!" gasped Marjorie. "Then she must have seen us coming and----"
"Beat it," supplemented Jerry with inelegant force. "What's the answer?
Mignon, of course. We don't need to ask Lucy about it. We know now that
what we suspect is a fact. If it weren't, Lucy would have answered my
knock. What are you going to do about it?"
"I intend to see Lucy to-morrow morning and find out what the trouble
is," came Marjorie's steady answer. "If she is angry with us, I shall
know it the instant she speaks. We have no right simply to take it for
granted that she is angry. We mustn't even blame Mignon until we know
positively that she actually made mischief."
"Mignon is at the bottom of Lucy's grouch. Take my word for it,"
sputtered Jerry. "She has been trying to set Lucy against you ever since
school began. It looks as though she'd succeeded at last. There's just
this much about it, you have stood too much from that girl. I'm going to
take a hand in this affair and put Mignon where she belongs. Do you know
where that is? I do. It's outside the club."