STANDING BY HER COLORS
When Marjorie took her seat in the study hall the next morning, Muriel's
greeting was as affable as it had been before the disagreement of the
previous afternoon. She even went so far as to whisper, "Don't take
Mignon too seriously. She is really dreadfully hurt over the unkind
things Miss Stevens has said of her."
Marjorie listened in polite silence to the Picture Girl's rather lame
apology in behalf of her friend. She could think of nothing to say.
Muriel had turned about in her seat, her eyes fixed expectantly upon the
other girl. But just then came an unexpected interruption.
"Miss Dean," shrilled Miss Merton's high, querulous voice, "who gave you
permission to leave school before the regular hour of dismissal
yesterday afternoon?"
"I did not----" began the astonished girl.
"Young woman, do you mean to contradict me?" thundered Miss Merton.
Marjorie had now risen to her feet. Her pretty face had turned very
white, her brown eyes gleamed like two angry flames. "I had no intention
of contradicting you, Miss Merton." Her low, steady tones were full of
repressed indignation. "What I had begun to say was that I did not know
I was expected to return to the study hall after my last class. In the
high school which I attended in B---- we went from our last class to our
locker rooms. It is, of course, my fault. I should have inquired about
it beforehand." The freshman quietly resumed her seat.
Every pair of eyes in the room was turned upon Marjorie.
Miss Merton, however, had no intention of letting her off so easily.
"The rules and regulations of another high school do not, in the least,
interest me, Miss Dean," she said, with biting sarcasm. "It is my
business to see that the rules of _Sanford_ High School are enforced,
and I propose to do it. You have been a pupil in this school for only
one day, yet I have been obliged to reprimand you on two different
occasions. If you annoy me further I shall consider myself fully
justified in sending you to Miss Archer."
The ringing of the first recitation bell put an end to the little scene.
Marjorie rose from her seat and marched from the study hall, her head
held high. If Miss Merton expected her to break down and cry she would
find herself sadly mistaken. Muriel overtook her in the corridor. "My,
but Miss Merton hates you!" she commented cheerfully, as though enjoying
her classmate's discomfiture.
Marjorie made no reply. Her proud spirit was too deeply crushed for
words. She went through her recitation in English that morning like one
in a dream. Several times during her French hour she gazed appealingly
at Constance, but the Mary girl kept her fair head turned resolutely
away. She did not appear at her locker either at noon or after school
was over, although Marjorie lingered, in the hope that she would come.
So successfully did she manage to steer clear of Marjorie, who was too
proud to make advances in the face of Constance's marked avoidance,
that, when Friday came and the afternoon session was over, Marjorie was
escorted to the gymnasium by the Picture Girl and her friends, who, even
to Mignon, believed that the newcomer had been wise and taken their
brusque advice.
At least half of the freshman class had elected to try for a place on
the team. Miss Randall, the instructor in gymnastics, and several
seniors had been chosen to pick the team, and when the six girls arrived
on the scene the testing had begun. Mignon La Salle was the first of
their group to play. Her almost marvelous agility, her quick, catlike
springs and her fleetness of foot called forth unstinted praise from
Marjorie. Muriel, too, played a skilful game; so did Susan Atwell. When
Marjorie was called upon to play left guard on a team composed of the
last lot of aspirants for basketball honors, she advanced to her
position rather nervously. Muriel, Mignon, Susan Atwell and two
freshmen, whom she did not know, were to oppose her. She wondered if she
could play fast enough to keep up with her clever opponents. Then, as
she caught the French girl's elfish eyes fixed upon her, mocking
incredulity in their depths, she rallied her doubting spirit and
resolved to outplay even Mignon.
Fifteen minutes later Marjorie Dean had been chosen to play left guard
on a team of which Mignon was center, Muriel, right guard, Susan Atwell,
right forward, and a freshman named Harriet Delaney, left forward.
Muriel had also been made captain, and several girls were chosen as
substitutes.
"Hurrah for the new team!" cried Muriel Harding. "Let's call ourselves
the Invincibles. You certainly can play basketball, Miss Dean. How lucky
in you to come to Sanford just when we need you. By the way, 'Miss Dean'
is too formal. Please let us call you Marjorie. You can call us by our
first names. What's the use of so much formality among team-mates?"
Being merely a very human young girl, Marjorie could not help feeling a
little bit pleased with herself. She was glad she had played so well.
She felt that she had really begun to like her new associates very much.
Even Mignon must have her good points; and how wonderfully well she
played basketball! Perhaps Constance Stevens had been just a little bit
at fault. Certainly she had acted very queerly after that first day when
they had pledged their friendship. Had she, Marjorie, been wise to avow
unswerving loyalty to a stranger, and all because she looked like Mary
Raymond? Marjorie's disquieting reflections were interrupted by
something the French girl was saying.
"It was too funny for anything, wasn't it, Muriel?" Mignon laughed with
gleeful malice.
"Yes," nodded Muriel. "We gave the sophomores a bad scare."
"What did you do?" asked Irma Linton, curiously.
Seeing that she had the attention of her audience, the French girl
began.
"You remember the practice game we played against the sophomores last
week? According to my way of thinking, the sophomores played a very
rough game. I complained to Miss Seymour, their captain. She laughed at
me," Mignon scowled at the remembrance, "so I decided to teach her a
lesson."
"I told Muriel about it, and between us we made up a dialogue. It was
all about the sophomores' unfair playing, and how surprised they would
be when they found themselves forbidden to play basketball. Then we
managed to walk out of school behind two girls that always tell
everything they know, and recited our dialogue. The next morning Muriel
saw one of the girls talking to Miss Seymour for all she was worth, so
we know that she faithfully repeated everything she heard. Miss Seymour
wouldn't dare go to Miss Archer with it for fear Miss Archer would ask
too many questions. You know Miss Archer said last year when Inez
Chester made such a fuss about her sprained wrist that if ever again one
team reported another for rough playing she would disband the accused
team and have Miss Randall select a new one. So I imagine we gave our
friends the sophs something to think about."
"But who told you the sophomores would be forbidden to play?" demanded
candid Jerry.
"No one told us, silly," retorted Muriel, her color rising. "We simply
said they would be surprised when they found themselves forbidden to
play. 'When' may mean next week or next month, or next year or century,
or any other time. We were only talking for their general edification."
"Then nobody actually said a word about it?" persisted Jerry. "You just
made up all that stuff?"
"It didn't do any hurt," began Muriel. "We thought----"
"Don't be such a prig, Jerry," put in Mignon, impatiently. "It isn't
half so wicked to play a joke on those stupid sophomores as it is to ask
one's mother for money for a fountain pen, and then use the money for
candy and ice cream."
There was a chorus of giggles from the girls, in which Jerry did not
join. She was eyeing Mignon steadily. "See here, Mignon," she said with
offended dignity. "I just want you to know that I told my mother about
that money that very same night. I may have my faults, but I certainly
don't tell things that aren't true." Jerry punctuated this pertinent
speech with emphatic nods of her head, and, having said her say, walked
on a little ahead of her friends, the picture of belligerence.
"Now, you've made Jerry angry, Mignon," laughed Susan Atwell.
Mignon merely lifted her thin shoulders. "I can't please every one. If I
did, I should never please myself."
"I don't know what ails Jerry all of a sudden," commented Muriel to
Marjorie. "She isn't usually so--so funny."
Again Marjorie kept her own counsel. She, alone, knew that the object of
the rumor which Muriel and Mignon had started had failed. Ellen Seymour
had gone frankly to headquarters with it, and Miss Archer had asked no
questions. Marjorie wondered what these girls would say if they knew
the truth. She did not like to criticize them, but were they truly
honorable? For a moment she wished she had refused to play on the team
with them. Muriel and Mignon, in particular, seemed so careless of other
people's feelings.
Her sympathies were with Jerry, and quickening her pace she slipped her
arm through that of the fat girl, saying, "Don't you think to-morrow's
algebra lesson is hard?"
Jerry viewed her companion's smiling face rather sulkily. Then
succumbing to the other's charm, she said in a mollified tone: "Of
course it's hard. They're all hard. I know I shall never pass in
algebra."
"Oh, yes, you will," was Marjorie's cheerful assurance. "It's my hardest
study, too; but I'm going to pass my final examination in it. I've
simply made up my mind that I must do it."
"Then I'll make up my mind to pass, too," announced Jerry, inspired by
Marjorie's determined tones. "And, say, it would be splendid if we could
do our lessons together sometimes. My mother likes me to bring my school
friends home."
"So does mine," returned Marjorie, cordially. "She says home is the
place for me to entertain my schoolmates. I hope you will come to see me
soon. It's your turn first, you know. Oh, please pardon me a moment, I
must speak to this girl!" The cause of this sudden exclamation was a
young woman in a well-worn blue suit who was coming across the street
directly ahead of them.
"Oh, Constance!" hailed Marjorie, "I have been looking for you. Stop a
minute!" Marjorie stood waiting for her friend with eager face and
outstretched hand. By this time the four other girls had come abreast of
the trio and had passed them, Irma Linton being the only one of them who
bowed to Constance. Jerry stood beside Marjorie for an instant, then
walked on and overtook her chums.
"Please don't stop," begged Constance, her face expressing the liveliest
worry. "Really, you mustn't try to be friends with me. I wish to take
back my part of our compact. You've been chosen to play on the team, and
those girls seem to like you. I can't stand in your way, and my
friendship won't be worth anything to you, so just let's forget all we
said the other day."
Marjorie stared hard at the other girl, the pathetic droop of whose lips
looked for all the world like Mary's when things went wrong. "You don't
mean that, and I won't give you up," she said with fine stubbornness. "I
haven't time to talk about it now. I must catch up with those girls.
Wait for me at our locker to-morrow noon, please, _please_."
With a hasty squeeze of Constance's hand, Marjorie raced on up the
street to overtake her companions. They were so busily engaged in
discussing her, however, that they did not hear her approach, and
consequently did not lower their voices.
"I will not speak to her; I will not play with her on the team!" she
heard Mignon La Salle sputter angrily.
"We certainly don't care to bother with her if she's going to take up
with all sorts of low people." This loftily from Muriel, who was afraid
to cross the French girl.
"My mother told me never to speak to any of those crazy Stevens
persons," added Susan Atwell, with a toss of her curly head. "I don't
care so very much for this Dean girl, either."
"Oh, you make me tired, the whole lot of you," cried Jerry, with angry
contempt. "Marjorie Dean is nicer than all of you put together, and if
she likes that little white-faced Stevens girl, then the girl is all
right, even if her family were ragpickers. I'm ashamed of myself for
being so silly as to listen to any of Mignon's complaints against her.
You can do as you like, but if it's a case of being your friend or
Marjorie's, then I guess I'd rather be hers."
"Thank you, Geraldine." Marjorie's quiet voice caused the party to turn,
then exchange sheepish glances. "I don't wish you to quarrel over me,"
she went on. "I should like to be friends with all of you, but none of
you can choose my friends for me any more than I can choose yours for
you."
"You can't chum with us and be the friend of that Miss Stevens,"
muttered Mignon. "She is my enemy. Do you understand?"
"I am sorry to hear that," returned Marjorie, keeping her temper with
difficulty, "but she is not mine. I like her. I shall stand up for her
and be her friend as long as we go to Sanford High School. I am sorry to
seem disagreeable, but I shouldn't feel the least bit true to myself if
I were afraid to say what I think. This is my street. Good-bye."
Marjorie walked proudly away from the group. An instant and she heard
the patter of running feet behind her.
"You can't get rid of us so easily," panted Geraldine Macy.
"I think you are right, Marjorie," said Irma Linton, quietly, putting
out her hand. "I should like to be your friend."
And the dividing of the sextette of girls was the dividing of the
freshman class of Sanford High School.