ONE FRIEND LESS
In a moment the rest of the Halsted girls had reached the beach and were
gathered about Bessie and Dolly. There was a lot of laughter and
excitement, but it was plain that the girls who had once so utterly
despised the members of the Camp Fire were now heartily and
enthusiastically glad to see them. And suddenly Eleanor gave a glad cry.
"Why, Mary Turner!" she said. "Whatever are you doing here? I thought
you were going to Europe!"
"I was, until this cousin of mine"--she playfully tapped Marcia on the
shoulder--"made me change my plans. I'll have you to understand that
you're not the only girl who can be a Camp Fire Guardian, Eleanor
Mercer!"
"Well," gasped Eleanor, "of all things! Do you mean that you've
organized a new Camp Fire?"
"We certainly have--the Halsted Camp Fire, if you please! We're not
really all in yet, but we've got permission now from the National
Council, and the girls are to get their rings to-night at our first
ceremonial camp fire. Won't you girls come over and help us?"
"I should say we would!" said Eleanor. "Why, this is fine, Mary! Tell me
how it happened, won't you?"
"It's all your fault--you must know that. The girls have told me all
about the horrid way they acted at Lake Dean, but really, you can't
blame them so much, can you, Nell? It's the way they're brought up--and,
well, you went to the school, too, just as I did!"
"I know what you mean," said Eleanor. "It's a fine school, but--"
"That's it exactly--that _but_. The school has got into bad ways,
and these girls were in a fair way to be snobs. Well, Marcia and some of
the others got to thinking things over, and they decided that if the
Camp Fire had done so much for Dolly Ransom and a lot of your girls, it
would be a good thing for them, too."
"They're perfectly right, Mary. Oh, I'm ever so glad!"
"So they came to me, and asked me if I wouldn't be their Guardian. I
didn't want to at first--and then I was afraid I wouldn't be any good.
But I promised to talk to Mrs. Chester, and get her to suggest someone
who would do, and--"
"You needn't tell me the rest," laughed Eleanor. "I know just what
happened. Mrs. Chester just talked to you in that sweet, gentle way of
hers, and the first thing you knew you felt about as small as a pint of
peanuts, and as if refusing to do the work would be about as mean as
stealing sheep. Now, didn't you?"
Mary laughed a little ruefully.
"You're just right! That's exactly how it happened," she said. "She told
me that no one would be able to do as much with these girls as I could,
and then, when she had me feeling properly ashamed of myself, she turned
right around and began to make me see how much fun I would have out of
it myself. So I talked to Miss Halsted, and made her go to see Mrs.
Chester--and here we are!"
Suddenly Eleanor collapsed weakly against one of the empty packing boxes
that littered the place, and began to laugh.
"Oh, my dear," she exclaimed, "if you only knew the awful things we were
thinking about you before we knew who you were!"
"Why? Do you mean to say that you're snobbish, too, and didn't want
neighbors you didn't know? Like my girls at Lake Dean?"
"No, but we thought you might be kidnappers, or murderers, or fire-bugs,
like our last neighbors!"
"Eleanor! Are you crazy--and if you're not, what on earth are you
talking about?"
"I'm not as crazy as I seem to be, Mary. It's only fair to tell you now
that this beach may be a pretty troubled spot while we're here. We seem
to attract trouble just as a magnet attracts iron."
"I think you _are_ crazy, Nell. If you're not, won't you explain
what you mean?"
"Look at our camp over there, Mary. It's pretty solid and complete,
isn't it?"
"I only hope ours looks half as well."
"Well, this morning at sunrise there were just two tents standing.
Everything else had been burnt. And I was doing my best to get the
police or someone from Bay City to rescue two of my girls who were
prisoners on a yacht out there in the cove!"
Mary Turner appealed whimsically to Charlie Jamieson.
"Does she mean it, Charlie?" she begged. "Or is she just trying to
string me?"
"I'm afraid she means it, and I happen to know it's all true, Mary,"
said Charlie, enjoying her bewilderment. "But it's a long story. Perhaps
you'd better let it keep until you have put things to rights."
"We'll help in doing that," said Eleanor. "Dolly, run over and get the
other girls, won't you? Then we'll all turn in and lend a hand, and it
will all be done in no time at all."
"Indeed you won't!" said Marcia. "We're going to do everything
ourselves, just to show that we can."
"There isn't much to do," said Mary Turner, with a laugh. "So you
needn't act as if that were something to be proud of, Marcia. You see, I
thought it was better to take things easily at the start, Eleanor. They
wanted to come here with all the tents and things and set up the camp by
themselves, but I decided it was better to have the harder work done by
men who knew their business."
"You were quite right, too," agreed Eleanor. "That's the way I arranged
things for our own camp the day we came. To-day we did do the work
ourselves, but there was a reason for the girls were so excited and
nervous about the fire that I thought it was better to give them a
chance to work off their excitement that way."
"I'm dying to hear all about the fire and what has happened here," said
Mary. "But I suppose we'd better get everything put to rights first."
And, though the girls of the new Camp Fire insisted on doing all the
actual work themselves, they were glad enough to take the advice of the
Manasquan girls in innumerable small matters. Comfort, and even safety
from illness, in camp life, depends upon the observance of many
seemingly trifling rules.
Gladys Cooper, who, more than any of her companions at Camp Halsted, had
tried to make things unpleasant for the Manasquan girls at Lake Dean,
had not been with the first section of the new Camp Fire to reach the
beach. Dolly had inquired about her rather anxiously, for Gladys had not
taken part in the general reconciliation between the two parties of
girls.
"Gladys?" Marcia said. "Oh, yes, she's coming. She's back in the wagon
that's bringing our suit cases. We appointed her a sort of rear guard.
It wouldn't do to lose those things, you know."
"I was afraid--I sort of thought she might not want to come here if she
knew we were here, Marcia. You know--"
"Yes, I _do_ know, Dolly. She behaved worse than any of us, and she
wasn't ready to admit it when you girls left Lake Dean. But she's come
to her senses since then, I'm sure. The rest of us made her do that."
Bessie King looked a little dubious.
"I hope you didn't bother her about it, Marcia," she said. "You know we
haven't anything against her. We were sorry she didn't like us, and
understand that we only wanted to be friends, but we certainly didn't
feel angry."
"If she was bothered, as you call it, Bessie, it served her good and
right," said Marcia, crisply. "We've had about enough of Gladys and her
superior ways. She isn't any better or cleverer or prettier than anyone
else, and it's time she stopped giving herself airs."
"You don't understand," said Bessie, with a smile. "She's one of you,
and if you don't like the way she acts, you've got a perfect right to
let her know it, and make her just as uncomfortable as you like."
"We did," said Marcia. "I guess she's had a lesson that will teach her
it doesn't pay to be a snob."
"Yes, but don't you think that's something a person has to learn for
herself, without anyone to teach her, Marcia? I mean, there's only one
reason why she could be nice to us, and that's because she likes us. And
you can't make her like us by punishing her for not liking us. You'll
only make her hate us more than ever."
"She'll behave herself, anyhow, Bessie. And that's more than she did
before."
"That's true enough. But really, it would be better, if she didn't like
us, for her to show it frankly than to go around with a grudge against
us she's afraid to show. Don't you see that she'll blame us for making
trouble between you girls and her? She'll think that we've set her own
friends against her. Really, Marcia, I think all the trouble would be
ended sooner, in the long run, if you just let her alone until she
changed her mind. She'll do it, sooner or later."
"I guess Bessie's right, Marcia," said Dolly, thoughtfully. "I don't see
why Gladys acts this way, but I do think that the only thing that will
make her act differently will be for her to feel differently, and
nothing you can do will do that."
"Well, it's too late now, anyhow," said Marcia. "I see what you mean,
and I suppose you really are right. But it's done. You'll be nice to
her, won't you? She's promised to be pleasant when she sees you--to talk
to you, and all that. I don't know how well she'll manage, but I guess
she'll do her best."
"There's no reason why we shouldn't be nice to her," said Bessie. "She
isn't hurting us. I only hope that something will happen so that we can
be good friends."
"She really is a nice girl," said Marcia, "and I'm awfully fond of her
when she isn't in one of her tantrums. But she is certainly hard to get
along with when everything isn't going just to suit her little whims."
"Here she comes now," said Dolly. "I'm going to meet her."
"Well, you certainly did give us a surprise, Gladys," cried Dolly. "You
sinner, why didn't you tell us what you were going to do?"
"Oh, hello, Dolly!" said Gladys, coolly. "I didn't see much of you at
Lake Dean, you know. You were too busy with your--new friends."
"Oh, come off, Gladys!" said Dolly, irritated despite her determination
to go more than half way in re-establishing friendly relations with
Gladys. "Why can't you be sensible? We've got more to forgive than you
have, and we're willing to be friends. Aren't you going to behave
decently?"
"I don't think I know just what you mean, Dolly," said Gladys, stiffly.
"As long as the other girls have decided to be friendly with
your--friends, I am not going to make myself unpleasant. But you can
hardly expect me to like people just because you do. I must say that I
get along better with girls of my own class."
"I ought to be mad at you, Gladys," said Dolly, with a peal of laughter.
"But you're too funny! What do you mean by girls of your own class?
Girls whose parents have as much money as yours? Mine haven't. So I
suppose I'm not in your class."
"Nonsense, Dolly!" said Gladys, angrily. "You know perfectly well I
don't mean anything of the sort. I--I can't explain just what I mean by
my own class--but you know it just as well as I do."
"I think I know it better, Gladys," said Dolly, gravely. "Now don't get
angry, because I'm not saying this to be mean. If you had to go about
with girls of your own class you couldn't stand them for a week! Because
they'd be snobbish and mean. They'd be thinking all the time about how
much nicer their clothes were than yours, or the other way around. They
wouldn't have a good word for anyone--they'd just be trying to think
about the mean things they could say!"
"Why, Dolly! What do you mean?"
"I mean that that's your class--the sort you are. Our girls, in the
Manasquan Camp Fire, and most of the Halsted girls, are in a class a
whole lot better than yours, Gladys. They spend their time trying to be
nice, and to make other people happy. There isn't any reason why you
shouldn't improve, and get into their class, but you're not in it now."
"I never heard of such a thing, Dolly! Do you mean to tell me that you
and I aren't in a better class socially than these girls you're camping
with?"
"I'm not talking about society--and you haven't any business to be. You
don't know anything about it. But if people are divided into real
classes, the two big classes are nice people and people who aren't nice.
And each of those classes is divided up again into a lot of other
classes. I hope I'm in as good a class as Bessie King and Margery
Burton, but I'm pretty sure I'm not. And I know you're not."
"There's no use talking to you, Dolly," said Gladys, furiously. "I
thought you'd had time to get over all that nonsense, but I see you're
worse than ever. I'm perfectly willing to be friends with you, and I've
forgiven you for throwing those mice at us at Lake Dean, but I certainly
don't see why I should be friendly with all those common girls in your
camp."
"They're not common--and don't you dare to say they are! And you
certainly can't be my friend if you're going to talk about them that
way."
"All right!" snapped Gladys. "I guess I can get along without your
friendship if you can get along without mine!"
"I didn't mean to," she said, disgustedly, to Bessie and Marcia, "but
I'm afraid I've simply made her madder than ever. And there's no telling
what she'll do now!"
"Oh, I guess there's nothing to worry about," said Marcia, cheerfully
enough. "We can keep her in order all right, and if she doesn't behave
herself decently I guess you'll find that Miss Turner will send her home
in a hurry."
"Oh, I hope not," said Bessie. "That wouldn't really do any good, would
it? We want to be friends with her--not to have any more trouble."
"I wish I'd kept out of it," said Dolly, dolefully. "I think I can keep
my temper, and then I go off and make things worse than ever! I ought to
know enough not to interfere. I'm like the elephant that killed a little
mother bird by accident, and he was so sorry that he sat on its nest to
hatch the eggs!"
"Maybe it's a good thing," said Marcia, laughing at the picture of the
elephant. "After all, isn't it a good deal as Bessie said? If there's
bad feeling, it's better to have it open and aboveboard. We all know
where we are now, anyhow. And I certainly hope that something will turn
up to change her mind."