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BOOKS BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK
THE RANCH GIRLS SERIES
The Ranch Girls at Rainbow Lodge
The Ranch Girls' Pot of Gold
The Ranch Girls at Boarding School
The Ranch Girls in Europe
The Ranch Girls at Home Again
The Ranch Girls and their Great Adventure
THE RED CROSS GIRLS SERIES
The Red Cross Girls in the British Trenches
The Red Cross Girls on the French Firing Line
The Red Cross Girls in Belgium
The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army
The Red Cross Girls with the Italian Army
The Red Cross Girls Under the Stars and Stripes
STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS
The Camp Fire Girls at Sunrise Hill
The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows
The Camp Fire Girls in the Outside World
The Camp Fire Girls Across the Sea
The Camp Fire Girls' Careers
The Camp Fire Girls in After Years
The Camp Fire Girls in the Desert
The Camp Fire Girls at the End of the Trail
[Illustration: "I Am Sorry," Billy Replied]
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS' CAREERS
BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK
Author of "The Ranch Girls Series," etc.
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1915, by
The John C. Winston Company
STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS
Six Volumes
The Camp Fire Girls at Sunrise Hill
The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows
The Camp Fire Girls in the Outside World
The Camp Fire Girls Across the Sea
The Camp Fire Girls' Careers
The Camp Fire Girls in After Years
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Success or Failure? 7
II. "Belinda" 17
III. Friends and Enemies 33
IV. Farewell! 43
V. Other Girls 55
VI. The Fire-Maker's Desire 82
VII. "The Flames in the Wind" 74
VIII. Afternoon Tea and a Mystery 83
IX. Preparations 94
X. More Puzzles 105
XI. A Christmas Song and Recognition 119
XII. After Her Fashion Polly Explains 133
XIII. A Place of Memories 149
XIV. A Sudden Summons 163
XV. "Little Old New York" 174
XVI. "Moira" 185
XVII. A Reunion 195
XVIII. Home Again 209
XIX. Illusions Swept Away 218
XX. Two Engagements 233
XXI. At the Turn of the Road 243
ILLUSTRATIONS
"I Am Sorry," Billy Replied Frontispiece
Polly Stopped Shaking to Glance at Her Companion 13
She Came Out Carrying Red Roses, Holly and Cedar 63
"Why Did You Think I Had Ever Heard of Your Friend?" 151
The Camp Fire Girls' Careers
CHAPTER I--Success or Failure
The entire theater was in darkness but for a single light burning at one
corner of the bare stage, where stood a man and girl.
"Now once more, Miss Polly, please," the man said encouragingly. "That
last try had a bit more life in it. Only do remember that you are
supposed to be amusing, and don't wear such a tragic expression."
Then a stiff figure, very young, very thin, and with a tense white face,
moved backward half a dozen steps, only to stumble awkwardly forward the
next instant with both hands pressed tight together.
"I can't--I can't find it," she began uncertainly, "I have searched----"
Lifting her eyes at this moment to her companion's, Polly O'Neill burst
into tears.
"I am a hopeless, abject failure, Mr. Hunt, and I shall never, never
learn to act in a thousand years. There is no use in your trying to
teach me, for if we remain at the theater for the rest of the day I
shall make exactly the same mistakes tonight. Oh, how can I possibly
play a funny character when my teeth are positively chattering with
fright even at a rehearsal? It is sheer madness, my daring to appear
with you and Margaret Adams before a first-night New York audience and
in a new play. Even if I have only a tiny part, I can manage to make
just as great a mess of it. Why, why did I ever dream I wished to have a
career, I wonder. I only want to go back home this minute to Woodford
and never stir a step away from that blessed village as long as I live."
"Heigho, says Mistress Polly," quoted her companion and then waited
without smiling while the girl dried her tears.
"But you felt very differently from this several years ago when you
acted with me in The Castle of Life," he argued in a reassuring tone.
"Besides, you were then very young and had not had two years of dramatic
training. I was amazed at your self-confidence, and now I don't
understand why you should feel so much more nervous."
Polly squared her slender shoulders. "Yes you do, Mr. Hunt," she
insisted, bluntly. "However, if you really don't understand, I think I
can make you see in a moment. Four years ago when I behaved like a
naughty child and without letting my friends or family know acted the
part of the fairy of the woods in the Christmas pantomime, I had not the
faintest idea of what a serious thing I was attempting. I did not even
dream of how many mistakes I could make. Besides, that was only a
school-girl prank and I never thought that any one in the audience might
know me. But now, why at this moment I can hear dozens of people
whispering: 'See that girl on the stage there taking the character of
the maid, Belinda; she is Polly O'Neill. You may remember that she is
one of the old Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls and for years has been
worrying her family to let her become an actress. I don't believe she
will ever make a success. Really, she is the worst stick I ever saw on
the stage!'"
And so real had her imaginary critic become that Polly shuddered and
then clasped her hands together in a tragic fashion.
"Then think of my poor mother and my sister, Mollie, and Betty Ashton
and a dozen or more of my old Camp Fire friends who have come to New
York to see me make my debut tonight! Can't you tell Miss Adams I am
ill; isn't there some one who can take my place? I really am ill, you
know, Mr. Hunt," Polly pleaded, the tears again starting to her eyes.
Since Polly's return from the summer in Europe, two years of eager
ambition and hard work had been spent in a difficult training. As a
result she looked older and more fragile. This morning her face was
characteristically pale and the two bright patches of color usually
burning on her cheek bones had vanished. Her chin had become so pointed
that it seemed almost elfish, and her head appeared too small for its
heavy crown of jet-black hair. Indeed, at this time in her life, in the
opinion of strangers, only the blueness of her eyes with the Irish
shadows underneath saved the girl from positive plainness. To her
friends, of course, she was always just Polly and so beyond criticism.
Having finally through years of persuasion and Margaret Adams' added
influence won her mother's consent to follow the stage for her
profession, Polly had come to New York, where she devoted every possible
hour of the day and night to her work. There had been hundreds of
lessons in physical culture, in learning to walk properly and to sit
down. Still more important had been the struggle with the pronunciation
of even the simplest words, besides the hundred and one minor lessons of
which the outsider never dreams. Polly had continued patient,
hard-working and determined. No longer did she give performances of
Juliet, draped in a red tablecloth, before audiences of admiring girls.
Never for a moment since their first meeting at the Camp Fire play in
Sunrise Hill cabin had Margaret Adams ceased to show a deep interest in
the wayward, ambitious and often unreliable Polly. She it was who had
recommended the school in New York City and the master under whom Polly
was to make her stage preparations. And here at the first possible
moment Margaret Adams had offered her the chance for a debut under the
most auspicious conditions.
The play was a clever farce called A Woman's Wit, and especially written
for the celebrated actress, who was to be supported by Richard Hunt,
Polly's former acquaintance, as leading man.
Of course the play had been in rehearsal for several weeks; but Polly
had been convinced that her own work had been growing poorer and poorer
as each day went by.
"Look here, Miss O'Neill," a voice said harshly, and Polly stopped
shaking to glance at her companion in surprise. During the last few
months she and Richard Hunt had renewed their acquaintance and in every
possible way Mr. Hunt had been kind and helpful. Yet now his manner had
suddenly grown stern and forbidding.
[Illustration: Polly Stopped Shaking to Glance at Her Companion]
"You are talking wildly and absurdly and like a foolish child instead of
a woman," he said coldly. "Surely you must know that you are having a
rare chance tonight because of Miss Adams' friendship and you must not
disappoint her. If you fail to succeed, that will be unfortunate, but if
you run away--" Suddenly Richard Hunt laughed. What a ridiculous
suggestion! Of course Polly had only been talking in a silly school-girl
fashion without any idea of being taken seriously.
"Good-by, Miss Polly, and cheer up," Richard Hunt finally said, holding
out his hand, his manner friendly once more; for after all she was only
a frightened child and he was at least ten years her senior. "Doubtless
you'll put us all to shame tonight and Belinda will be the success of
the evening." Then as he moved away toward the stage door he added, "It
was absurd of me to be so annoyed, but do you know, for a moment you
made me believe you really thought of running away. What about the Camp
Fire law of that famous club to which you once belonged? Did it not tell
you to be trustworthy and not to undertake an enterprise rashly, but,
having undertaken it, to complete it unflinchingly. Do go home now and
rest, child, things are sure to turn out splendidly." And with a smile
of sympathy the man walked away.
So in another moment Polly was standing alone on an otherwise empty
stage, torn with indecision and dread. Was Mr. Hunt right in believing
that she had uttered only an idle threat in saying that she meant to run
away? Yet would it not be wiser to disappear than to make an utter
failure of her part tonight and be unable either to move or speak when
the eyes of the audience were fixed expectantly upon her?
Slowly the girl walked toward the door, her face scarlet one moment,
then like chalk the next. She could hear the scene-shifters moving about
and realized that she would soon be in their way. But what should she
do? Polly realized that if she went to her boarding place her mother and
Mollie would be there waiting for her and then there could be no
possible chance of escape.
Always Polly O'Neill had permitted herself to yield to sudden, nearly
uncontrollable impulses. Should she do so now? In the last few years she
believed she had acquired more self-control, better judgment. Yet in
this panic of fear they had vanished once more. Of course Miss Adams
would never forgive her, and no one would have any respect for her
again. All this the girl realized and yet at the moment nothing appeared
so dreadful as walking out on the stage and repeating the dozen or more
sentences required of her. Rather would she have faced the guillotine.
"'Finvarra and their land of heart's desire,'" Polly quoted softly and
scornfully to herself. Well, she had been hoping that she was to reach
the land of her heart's desire tonight. Was this not to be the beginning
of the stage career for which she had worked and prayed and dreamed?
Out on the street Polly was now walking blindly ahead. She had at last
reached her decision, and yet how could she ever arrange to carry it
out?