It still lacked half an hour until school opened on Monday morning when
an anxious-eyed little girl ran up the long stone steps to the building
and steered a straight course for Miss Archer's office. Marjorie felt
that she could not settle her mind on her studies until she had held an
interview with Lucy Warner and ascertained the cause of her strange
behavior. She, too, had a disheartening conviction that Mignon was
responsible for it. She believed, however, that she could soon disabuse
Lucy of whatever false impressions she now held.
"Good morning, Lucy," she called out cheerily as she entered the
pleasant living room office. She had spied the secretary at the
typewriter desk, her head bent low over her work.
Lucy made no response to the salutation, neither did she raise her head.
A slow color stole into her pale cheeks, but she stubbornly riveted her
eyes on the letter she was typing.
Her own color rising, Marjorie boldly approached the belligerent
secretary, halting a little to one side of her. With quiet directness
she said: "Lucy, what has happened? Why are you angry with me?"
Slowly raising her head, Lucy eyed Marjorie with patent scorn. "Will you
kindly go away and leave me alone?" she requested icily.
"No, I will not." Marjorie stood her ground. "I asked you a fair
question; I deserve a fair answer."
"I have nothing to say." Lucy presented the uncommunicative appearance
of a blank wall. Marjorie could not possibly know how much effort it
cost Lucy to maintain this attitude. Secretly she was longing to pour
forth all that Mignon had told her. Too late, she bitterly regretted her
rash promise. Marjorie's grieved look seemed too real to doubt. Away
from her, Lucy could believe her guilty of treachery. Face to face, it
was another matter.
Yet Mignon had given her undeniable proof of Marjorie's duplicity. She
could not overlook that. This dark recollection put her brief impulse
toward softening to flight. Her own wrongs looming large before her, the
many benefits she had received at Marjorie's hands were forgotten.
Overridden by blind suspicion she allowed the ignoble side of her nature
to spring into play. With deliberate cruelty she now said: "Miss Dean,
you are seriously interfering with my work. I have no more time to spend
in useless argument." Gathering up a sheaf of papers from her desk, she
rose and stalked toward the inner office, a stiff little figure of
hostility.
With a sigh, Marjorie turned and walked dejectedly off in an opposite
direction. Strangely enough she felt more sorry for Lucy than for
herself. Her conscience entirely clear of wrong doing, she knew that
poor Lucy was in the clutch of some dire misapprehension regarding
herself which Mignon La Salle had instilled into her suspicious mind.
What to do next the perplexed lieutenant did not know. It was useless to
go to Mignon. She would undoubtedly profess absolute ignorance of the
cause of Lucy's grievance. Jerry was still to be reckoned with. It now
looked as though her captain's prophecy regarding Mignon was about to be
fulfilled. Perhaps, after all, it would be best to allow Jerry to carry
out her threat of holding a special meeting of the Lookouts to decide
Mignon's fitness for further membership.
Marjorie intensely disliked the thought. Despite Mignon's love of
intrigue, she made a good treasurer. The club accounts were perfectly
kept by her. She had served faithfully at the Campfire. Her father had
contributed generously to the club and to the Campfire. Mignon's forced
resignation from the Lookouts would hurt him. Then, too, Lucy Warner had
been warned against Mignon. Marjorie felt that Lucy herself was
partially at fault. She had shown herself over-credulous and ungrateful.
Mentally weighing the pros and cons of the affair, the baffled
peace-seeker grew momentarily more perplexed. She had prayed earnestly
on the day before to be shown the right. Now she yearned for a sign that
would plainly point out to her her duty.
"Did you see her?" was Jerry's first low-voiced question when at noon
the two girls met in the senior locker room.
"Yes; but I can't tell you about it now," returned Marjorie soberly.
"After school is over to-day I wish you and Connie to come to my house.
We will talk it over then. I don't care to have anyone else know about
it besides Connie."
"All right. That will suit me." Jerry appeared satisfied with Marjorie's
decision. On the way home she steered prudently clear of all mention of
either Mignon or Lucy, although Muriel Harding brought up the subject of
the latter's absence from the Campfire on Saturday evening. As neither
she, Irma, Susan or Harriet were able to offer any information, while
Marjorie and Jerry refused to commit themselves, the topic soon died a
natural death.
"Take a little run up to your house, Lieutenant," greeted Mrs. Dean, as
Marjorie entered the living room. "It will pay you to do so."
"'To obey is a soldier's first duty,'" quoted Marjorie merrily, coming
to attention and saluting. She was off like a flash, her swift feet
making short work of the ascent to her house. "Oh!" she breathed as she
caught sight of a long florist's box on her center table. Three times
she repeated the exclamation as she glimpsed its contents. Lifting a
sheaf of long-stemmed, half-opened American Beauty roses from the box,
she buried her face in their spicy fragrance. As she raised them a
square white envelope dropped to the floor bearing the words: "To Miss
Marjorie Dean."
Not recognizing the heavy, masculine script, she eagerly explored the
envelope to ascertain who the giver might be. A faint cry of
consternation escaped her as she hastily glanced at the signature before
reading the note. Bundling the roses on the table, she sought the window
seat and read:
"Dear Miss Marjorie:
"Will you allow me to try in some measure to express my appreciation
for your kindness to my daughter, Mignon? You have more than fulfilled
the request I made of you on a certain afternoon of last Spring. It is
of a truth a great gratification to me to see my Mignon thus
surrounded by such estimable young women as yourself and your friends.
It is most pleasurable to me that you have honored her with an office
in your club. I rejoice also to observe the important part she took in
the Campfire. I feel that you will never regret the consideration you
have so graciously shown her. If at any time you desire my services,
you have but to command me. With extreme gratitude and the good wishes
for your constant success,
"Most sincerely yours,
"Victor La Salle."
Marjorie stared at the note, divided between appreciation and dismay. It
was a delightful note, but it was also most inopportune. In the face of
it, she could not now advocate Jerry's plan. Sudden remembrance of her
petition for a sign rushed over her. It had been granted. This, then,
was the sign. It had served to remind her where her duty lay. All she
could do was to accept it. It would not be easy. Jerry was up in arms.
It would be difficult to win her over, especially after she had been
informed of Lucy's unreasonable stand. Now it remained to Marjorie to do
one of two things. She could go to Mr. La Salle and shatter his faith in
her, or she could insist that Mignon must be allowed to escape
punishment for her offenses against the Golden Rule. She painfully
decided that for her father's sake, Mignon should be allowed to remain
in the club. Having come to this decision she soberly gathered up her
roses and carried them and the letter downstairs to show both to her
captain. To the latter she confided nothing of her latest problem. She
had reserved the story to tell at some more fitting moment.
School over for the afternoon, the three Lookouts, who were presently to
hold a private session at the Deans, strolled down the street with their
chums, keeping a discreet silence regarding their intention. Muriel and
Irma soon left them to take their turn at the nursery. Susan, Harriet
and Veronica Browning eventually reached their parting of the ways,
leaving the trio together.
"Now, Marjorie, tell us everything," was Jerry's instant command as they
swung three abreast down the street.
Obediently Marjorie gave a faithful account of her interview with Lucy
Warner. "I haven't the least idea why Lucy is angry," she confessed. "I
don't know whether she is cross with me, or with the Lookouts."
"I can set you right about that," declared Jerry grimly. "Mignon told
Esther Lind this morning that Lucy told her that she intended to have
nothing more to do with you. That eliminates the rest of us. You're it,
Marjorie. Now you see what sort of girl Mignon is. When I asked her why
Lucy wasn't at the Campfire on Saturday night she pretended to be very
innocent. It seems that she can't keep her troubles to herself. She has
to tell someone. After she told she asked Esther to promise that she
wouldn't mention it to anyone. Esther wouldn't promise. She came
straight to me with it. She thinks, as I do, that we ought to ask Mignon
to resign from the club."
"Haven't you the least idea why Lucy is down on you, Marjorie?" was
Constance's thoughtful question.
"No." Marjorie shook a despondent head. "I've never said or done
anything to hurt her feelings."
"The club meets on Thursday night at my house," announced Jerry briskly.
"What I propose to do is to call an informal meeting there to-morrow
night, minus Mignon. We can state our grievances and have Irma set them
down on paper. Then she can read them out. If everyone approves of them,
we'll have Irma copy them and write a letter to Mignon asking for her
resignation. We'll sign the letter, enclose the list of grievances and
mail it to her. That's really the best way to do. It will save a lot of
fuss."
"I think that would be most cruel and unkind, Jerry," Marjorie burst
forth in shocked criticism.
"I fail to see it in that light." For the first time since the beginning
of their friendship Jerry was distinctly out of sorts with her beloved
friend. "Don't be so babyish, Marjorie. There's a limit to all things."
"I think what you just proposed would certainly be the limit."
Unconsciously Marjorie answered in Jerry's own slangy vernacular. "Let
me tell you something." Rapidly she recounted the incident of the
receipt of the roses and note from Mr. La Salle. "I must admit," she
continued, "that I had intended to say to you to-night that you had
better call a special meeting. I didn't realize then how humiliating it
would be for Mignon. I saw those beautiful flowers and read that nice
note and I felt dreadfully ashamed. It was just as though I had already
failed to keep faith with Mr. La Salle. It is terrible to fail someone
who believes in one. I've often said that to you."
"Of course it is. That's why I am so disgusted with Mignon. She has
failed all of us," Jerry flashed back. "We can't have our club spoiled
just to please Mignon's father. He makes me weary. It would be a good
thing if he'd take a hand at reforming his daughter, instead of leaving
the job to us." Jerry was growing momentarily angrier with Marjorie.
"You ought to stand up for yourself, instead of being so foolish as to
allow Mignon to make a goose of you," she finished rudely.
"Why, Jerry Macy!" Marjorie's brown eyes registered sorrowful amazement.
"Don't Jerry Macy me." The stout girl jerked her hand roughly from
Marjorie's arm. "You make me tired, Marjorie Dean. If you can't fight
for yourself then someone else will."
"I can fight my own battles, thank you." Marjorie's clear retort was
freighted with injured dignity. Slow to anger, she was now thoroughly
nettled.
"Girls, girls, don't quarrel," intervened Constance, who had thus far
taken no part in the altercation. The trio had now passed inside the
Deans' gate and halted on the stone walk.
"I don't wish to quarrel with Jerry," asserted Marjorie coldly, "but I
cannot allow her to accuse me of being cowardly. You have said, Jerry,"
she eyed her explosive friend unflinchingly, "that Lucy Warner is angry
with me, and not with the other girls. Very well. It is therefore Lucy's
and my affair. We should be the ones to decide what shall be done with
Mignon. Personally, I prefer to drop the matter. You may go to Lucy, if
you choose, and ask her her views. I doubt, though, if she will give
them. As it now stands I think it would be better to bear with Mignon
for her father's sake. This is our last year in high school. Let us not
darken it by trying to retaliate against Mignon."
"I think Marjorie is right, Jerry," declared Constance.
"Very good. Have it your own way. There will be no special meeting.
Good-bye." Jerry whirled and darted through the half open gate, slamming
it behind her.
Her lips quivering ominously, Marjorie watched Jerry's plump figure down
the street. Slow tears began to roll down her rosy cheeks. Groping
blindly for her handkerchief, she buried her face in it with a grieved
little sob.
"Don't cry, dear," soothed Constance, slipping a gentle arm about the
sorrowful lieutenant. "By to-morrow Jerry will be all over being mad.
She is too fond of you to stay cross. Inside of half an hour she will
probably be telephoning you to say she is sorry. Let's go into the house
and wait for her message. She'll be ready to make up by the time she
reaches home."
"It's--as--much--my--fault as hers," quavered Marjorie. "I was cross, too.
If she doesn't 'phone me by six o'clock, I'll call her up. It is babyish
in me to cry, but I couldn't help it. Jerry and I have always been such
dear friends. I'm not going to cry any more, though. Captain will wonder
what the trouble is. I'm going to tell her everything, but not until
to-night after dinner. You'd better stay and help me, Connie. Perhaps
Jerry _will_ telephone before then."
"All right, I will, thank you. I'll telephone Aunt Susan and let her
know where I am."
On entering the house Delia met them with the information that Mrs. Dean
had gone shopping but would be home by half-past six o'clock. When
Constance had telephoned, they established themselves in the living
room, keeping up a soft murmur of conversation. Two pairs of ears were
sharply trained on the hall, however, to catch the jingling ring of the
telephone.
When six o'clock rolled around without the longed-for message from
Jerry, Marjorie could no longer endure the suspense. Springing from her
chair, she sought the 'phone and gave the operator the Macys' number.
"Hello," she called in the transmitter.
"Hello," sounded a familiar voice. It was Jerry herself who answered.
"Is that you, Jerry? This is Mar----"
The forbidding click of the receiver cut the last word in two. Constance
had not proved a successful prophet. Jerry Macy was still "cross."