THE ANONYMOUS LETTER
After the parts had been given out, rehearsals for the play went merrily
on. There were many hitches at first, but finally things settled down to
smooth running order, and as the time for its presentation approached
Miss Tebbs had good reason to feel jubilant. Each girl seemed bent on
distinguishing herself, and that teacher was heard laughingly to declare
that she had an "all star cast."
In spite of rehearsals, Grace Harlowe's team found time for a few
basketball games, and whipped the senior team twice in succession, much
to the disgust of Captain Julia Crosby, who threatened to go into deep
mourning over what she called "her dead and gone team." She even
composed a mournful ditty, which she sang in their ears in a wailing
minor key whenever she passed any of them, and practically tormented
them, until they actually did win one hard-fought victory over the
juniors, "just to keep Julia from perpetrating her eternal chant," as
one of them remarked.
Eleanor had outwardly settled down to the routine of school work in a
way that surprised even her aunt. But inwardly she was seething with
rebellion toward Miss Thompson and hatred of the Phi Sigma Tau. She had
fully determined that Anne Pierson should never play Rosalind, and had
hit upon a plan by which she hoped to accomplish her ends. The Phi Sigma
Tau were completely carried away with Anne's impersonation of
Shakespeare's heroine, and any blow struck at Anne would be equally felt
by the others. Anne had been absent from one rehearsal and thus Eleanor
had had an opportunity to show her ability. She had done very well and
Miss Tebbs had praised her work, though in her secret heart Eleanor knew
that Anne's work was finer than her own. But the means of gratifying her
own personal vanity blinded her to everything except the fact that she
wanted to play Rosalind regardless of Anne's superior ability.
To settle Miss Thompson was not so easy a matter, and though Eleanor
racked her brain for some telling method of vengeance, no inspiration
came until one afternoon in early March. Professor La Roche, irritated
to the point of frenzy, ordered her from his class, with instructions to
report herself to Miss Thompson. As she entered the open door of the
principal's office she noticed that the room was empty of occupants. She
stopped, hesitated, then went softly in, a half-formed idea in her mind
that did not at first assume definite shape.
"If Miss Thompson comes in, I suppose I shall have to report myself,"
thought Eleanor. "While I'm here, I'll just look about and see if
I can't find some way to even up that public apology she made me make."
Gliding over to the open desk, she ran her eye hastily over the various
papers spread out upon it. At first she found nothing of importance, but
suddenly she began to laugh softly, her face lighted with malicious
glee.
"Here's the wonderful paper that Miss Tabby Cat Thompson is going to read
before the 'Arts and Crafts Club' to-morrow," she murmured. "I heard her
telling Miss Chester about it yesterday. She said it took her six weeks
to prepare it on account of the time she spent in looking up her facts.
It will take me less than six minutes to dispose of it."
Seizing the essay with both hands, she tore it across, and then tore it
again and again, until it was literally reduced to shreds. These she
gathered into a heap and left in the middle of the desk. Glancing about
to see that no one was near, she was about to step into the corridor
when she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Quick as a flash she
flung open the door of the little lavatory just outside the office and
concealed herself just as a girl turned from the main corridor into the
short passage leading to the principal's office. Eleanor, holding the
door slightly ajar, peered stealthily out at the new-comer, who was none
other than Grace Harlowe.
Having no recitation that hour, Grace had run up to the office to obtain
Miss Thompson's permission to use the gymnasium that afternoon for
basketball practice. A hasty glance inside the office revealed to Grace
that the principal was not there. She hesitated a moment, walked toward
the desk, then turned and went out again.
The moment she turned the corner, Eleanor darted out of the lavatory and
fled down the corridor, just as the bell rang for the end of the period.
In a moment the main corridor was filled with girls from the various
classrooms, and, joining them, Eleanor entered the study hall without
reporting her dismissal from French class.
She was somewhat nervous and trembled a little at the thought of her
near discovery, but felt not the slightest qualm of conscience at her
ruthless destruction of another's property. On the contrary, she
experienced a wicked satisfaction, and smiled to herself as she pictured
Miss Thompson's consternation when the latter should discover her loss.
Best of all, the principal would never find out who did it, for Eleanor
vowed never to admit her guilt.
She decided to go at once to Professor La Roche and apologize, so that
he would not report her to Miss Thompson. Without a doubt an effort
would be made to find the culprit, and if it were proven that she did
not return to the study hall as soon as dismissed from French, she might
be asked to account for it, and thus call down suspicion upon herself.
On her way to rhetoric recitation, she stopped at Professor La Roche's
door, greatly astonishing him by a prettily worded apology, which he
readily accepted and beamed upon her with forgiving good-nature. Feeling
that she had bridged that difficulty, Eleanor entered the classroom to
find Miss Thompson talking in low, guarded tones to Miss Chester, who
looked both, shocked and surprised. She caught the words "entirely
destroyed," "serious offence" and "investigate at once," Then the
principal left the room and Miss Chester turned to the class and began
the recitation.
To Eleanor's surprise, nothing was said of the matter that day. School
was dismissed as usual, and the girls went out without dreaming that on
the morrow they would all be placed under suspicion until the person
guilty of the outrage was found.
The following morning, after opening exercises, Miss Thompson stated
briefly the destruction of her paper.
"I was out of my office barely ten minutes," she said, "yet when I
returned some one had ruthlessly torn the essay to bits and left the
pieces piled in the middle of my desk. As I had spent considerable time
and research in getting the subject matter together, the destruction of
the paper is particularly annoying. Whoever was contemptible enough to
engage in such mischief must have known this. It looks like a deliberate
attempt to insult me. It is hard to believe one of my girls guilty, yet
it is not probable that any one outside could be responsible. A girl who
would wilfully do such a thing is a menace to the school and should be
removed from it. I am not going to any extreme measures to find the
miscreant. Were I to question each girl in turn I fear the offender
might perjure herself rather than admit her guilt. But I am confident
that sooner or later I shall know the truth of the matter."
As Miss Thompson concluded, she looked over the roomful of girls who sat
watching her with serious faces. Which one of them was guilty? Time
alone would tell.
At recess that morning the subject of the play was for once forgotten in
the excitement occasioned by the principal's recent disclosure. Groups
of girls indignantly denied even the thought of such mischief.
"I don't believe Miss Thompson would ever suspect us of any such thing,"
remarked Jessica to her friends.
"Of course not, goose," replied Grace. "She knows us too well for that."
But it was with a peculiar apprehension of something unpleasant that
Grace answered a summons to the principal's office just before school
closed for the day.
"Grace," she said, as the young girl entered the office, "were you in my
office yesterday afternoon between half past one and a quarter of two?"
"Why, yes, Miss Thompson. I came to ask permission to use the gymnasium,
but you were out, so I came back and asked you just before school
closed."
"Yes, I remember that you did," replied the principal. "However, I want
you to read this."
Grace took the paper, looking rather perplexed, and read:
"Ask Miss Harlowe what she was doing in your
office between half past one and a quarter of two
yesterday."
"A PASSERBY."
"Why--why----" stammered Grace, her eyes growing large with wonder.
"I don't understand. I came here at that time, for I looked at the
clock as I came in, but I was only here for a second."
Then the truth dawned upon her. "Why, Miss Thompson," she cried, "you
surely don't think I tore up your essay?"
"No, Grace, I don't," replied the principal. "But I believe that the one
who wrote this note is the one who did do it, and evidently wishes to
fasten the guilt upon you. It looks to me as though we had a common
enemy. Do you recognize either the paper or the writing?"
"No," replied Grace slowly, shaking her head. "Vertical writing all
looks alike. The paper is peculiar. It is note paper, but different from
any I ever saw before. It looks like----"
She stopped suddenly, a shocked look creeping into her eyes.
"What is it, Grace?" said Miss Thompson, who had been closely watching
her.
"I--just--had a queer idea," faltered Grace.
"If you suspect any one, Grace, it is your duty to tell me," said the
principal. "I cannot pass lightly over such a piece of wanton
destruction. To clear up this mystery, should be a matter of vital
interest to you, too, as this letter is really an insinuation against
you."
Grace was silent.
"I am waiting for you, Grace," said the principal. "Will you do as
I wish?"
The tears rushed to Grace's eyes. "Forgive me, Miss Thompson," she said
tremulously, "but I can tell you nothing."
"You are doing wrong, Grace, in withholding your knowledge," said the
older woman rather sternly, "and I am greatly displeased at your
stubbornness. Ordinarily I would not ask you to betray any of your
schoolmates, but in this instance I am justified, and you are making a
serious mistake in sacrificing your duty upon the altar of school-girl
honor."
"I am sorry, Miss Thompson," said Grace, striving to steady her voice.
"I value your good opinion above everything, but I can tell you nothing
you wish to know. Please, please don't ask me."
"Very well," responded the principal in a tone of cold dismissal,
turning to her desk.
With a half-stifled sob, Grace hurried from the room. For the first
time, since entering High School, she had incurred the displeasure of
her beloved principal, and all for the sake of a girl who was unworthy
of the sacrifice. For Grace had recognized the paper. It was precisely
the same style of paper on which Eleanor Savell had declined her
Thanksgiving invitation.