JUST OUT OF REACH
Ruth Kenway, however, realized that it was Tess who was the instrument
which was being used in arousing public interest in the Women's and
Children's Hospital--and likewise in Mrs. Eland, who had given five
years of faithful work to the institution.
She was particularly impressed on this very afternoon, when poor Agnes
was journeying toward Mr. Marks' office with her fellow-culprits of the
basket ball team, with Tess' preachment of the need of money for the
hospital. Ruth came home from school to find Mr. Howbridge waiting for
her in the sitting room with Tess, who had arrived some time before,
entertaining him.
As the door was open into the hall, Ruth heard the murmur of their
voices while she was still upstairs at her toilet-table; so when she
tripped lightly down the broad front stairs it was not eavesdropping if
she continued to listen to her very earnest little sister and the
lawyer.
"But just supposing Uncle Peter _had_ been 'approached,' as you say, for
money for that hospital--and s'pose he knew just how nice Mrs. Eland
was--don't you think he would have left them some in his will, Mr.
Howbridge?"
"Can't say I do, my dear--considering what I know about Mr. Peter
Stower," said the lawyer, drily.
"Well," sighed Tess, "I do wish he had met my Mrs. Eland! I am sure he
would have been int'rested in her."
"Do you think so?"
"Oh, yes! For she is the very nicest lady you ever saw, Mr. Howbridge.
And I _do_ think you might let us give some of the money to the hospital
that Uncle Peter forgot to give--if he had been reminded, of course."
"That child should enter my profession when she grows up," said Mr.
Howbridge to Ruth, when Tess had been excused. "She'll split hairs in
argument even now. What's started her off on this hospital business?"
Ruth told him. She told, too, what Tess did each month with her own pin
money, and the next allowance day Tess was surprised to find an extra
half dollar in her envelope.
"Oh--ee!" she cried. "Now I _can_ give something to the hospital fund,
can't I, Ruthie?"
Meanwhile, Agnes, with Eva Larry, Myra Stetson, and others of her
closest friends (Agnes had a number of bosom chums) waited solemnly in
Mr. Marks' office. More than the basket ball team was present in anxious
waiting for the principal's appearance.
"Where's Trix Severn?" demanded Eva in a whisper of the other girls.
"She ought to be in this."
"In what?" demanded another girl, trying to play the part of innocence.
"Ah-yah!" sneered Eva, very inelegantly. "As though you didn't know what
it is all about!"
"Well, I'm sure I don't," snapped this girl. "Mr. Marks sent for me. I
don't belong to your old basket ball team."
"No. But you were with us on that car last May," said Agnes, sharply,
"You know what we're all called here for."
"No, I don't."
"If you weren't told so publicly as we were to come here, you'll find
that he knows all about your being in it," said Eva.
"And that will amount to the same thing in the end, Mary Breeze,"
groaned Agnes.
"I don't know at all what you are talking about," cried Miss Breeze,
tossing her head, and trying to bolster up her own waning courage.
"If you don't know now, you'll never learn, Mary," laughed Myra Stetson.
"We are all in the same boat."
"You bet we are!" added the slangy Eva.
"Every girl here was on that car that day coming from Fleeting,"
announced Agnes, after a moment, having counted noses. "You were in the
crowd, Mary."
"What day coming from Fleeting?" snapped the girl, who tried to
"bluff," as Neale O'Neil would have termed it.
"The time the car broke down," cried another. "Oh, I remember!"
"Of course you do. So does Mary," Eva said. "We were all in it."
"And, oh, weren't those berries good!" whispered Myra, ecstatically.
"Well, I don't care!" said Mary Breeze, "you started it, Aggie Kenway."
"I know it," admitted Agnes, hopelessly.
"But nobody tied you hand and foot and dragged you into that farmer's
strawberry patch--so now, Mary!" cried Eva Larry. "You needn't try to
creep out of it."
"Say! Trix seems to be creeping out of it," drawled Myra. "Don't you
s'pose Mr. Marks has heard that she was in the party?"
"Sh!" said Agnes, suddenly. "Here he comes."
The principal came in, stepping in his usual quick, nervous way. He was
a small, plump man, with rosy cheeks, eyeglasses, and an ever present
smile which sometimes masked a series of very sharp and biting remarks.
On this occasion the smile covered but briefly the bitter words he had
to say.
"Young ladies! Your attention, please! My attention has been called to
the fact that, on the twenty-third of last May--a Saturday--when our
basket ball team played that of the Fleeting schools, you girls--all of
you--on the way back from the game, were guilty of entering Mr. Robert
Buckham's field at Ipswitch Curve, and appropriated to your own use, and
without permission, a quantity--whether it be small or large--of
strawberries growing in that field. The farmer himself furnishes me with
the list of your names. I have not seen him personally as yet; but as
Mr. Buckham has taken the pains to trace the culprits after all this
time has elapsed he must consider the matter serious.
"What particular punishment shall be meted out to you, I have not
decided. As a general and lasting rebuke, however, I had thought of
forfeiting all the games the team has already won in the county series,
and refuse permission to you to play again this year. But by doing that
the schools of Milton would be punished in total, for the athletic
standing of all would be lowered.
"Now I have considered a more equitable way of making you young ladies
pay the penalty of that very unladylike and dishonest proceeding. If the
Board of Education sanctions a production of _The Carnation Countess_ by
the pupils of the Milton schools, all you young ladies will be debarred
from taking any part whatever in the play.
"I see very well," pursued Mr. Marks, "that you who were guilty of
robbing Mr. Buckham are girls who would be quite sure of securing
prominent parts in the play. You are debarred. That, at present, is all
I shall say on this subject. If the farmer claims damages, that will be
another matter."
With his rosy face smiling and his eyeglasses sparkling, the principal
dismissed the woeful party. They filed out of the office, very glum
indeed. And Mary Breeze was more than a little inclined to blame Agnes.
"I don't care! I took only a few berries myself," she complained. "And
we none of us would have thought of going over that fence and raiding
the strawberry patch if it hadn't been for Agnes."
"Ah-yah!" repeated Eva, with scorn. "What's the use of saying that?
Aggie may have been the first one over the fence; but we were all right
after her. She may have a little the quickest mind in this crowd, but
her limbs are no quicker."
"And how about Trix?" murmured Myra Stetson. "How is it she has escaped
the deluge?"
That is what Neale O'Neil asked when he met Agnes just before she
reached the old Corner House.
"Oh, Aggie, how did you come out?" he asked soberly. "Was Mr. Marks just
as hard on you as he could be?"
"I think so," Agnes replied gravely. "We don't just know yet what he
means to do. Only in part. But that part is just _awful_!"
"Was the row about Buckham's berries?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. What's he going to do to you? Make you forfeit all the
games?"
"No. Maybe something worse than that."
"Worse? What is it?" asked Neale, in wonder.
"He says we none of us can act in that play he told about this morning."
"Huh!" muttered the boy, eyeing Agnes' flushed face and tearful eyes in
surprise. "Do you care?"
"Oh, Neale! I _know_ I can act. I love it. I've always been crazy for
it. And now, when there's maybe a chance, I am not--going--to--be--let!"
"Goodness! do you really feel so bad about it, Aggie?"
"I--I---- Why, my heart will be just _broken_ if I can't act in _The
Carnation Countess_," sobbed the Corner House girl.
"Oh, cricky! Don't turn on the sprinkler again, Aggie," begged Neale, in
a panic.
"I--I just can't help it! To think of there being a play acted in this
town, and I might be in it!" wailed Agnes. "And now it's just out of my
reach! It's too mean for anything, that's what it is!"
She threatened to burst into another flood, and Neale tried to head the
tears off by saying:
"Don't cry again, Aggie. Oh, don't! If you won't cry I'll try to find
some way of getting you out of the scrape."
"You--you can't, Neale O'Neil!"
"We--ell, I can try."
"And I wouldn't want to get out of it myself unless the other girls
escaped punishment, too."
"You're a good little sport, Aggie. I always said so," Neale declared,
admiringly. "Say, that reminds me!" he added, suddenly. "Were all the
girls up before Mr. Marks?"
"All who went over to Fleeting that day, do you mean?"
"Yes. All that were in that car that broke down."
"Why--yes--I think so."
"Huh!" grunted Neale, thoughtfully.
"All but one anyway."
"Hullo! Who was that?"
"The girl who wasn't in Mr. Marks' office?"
"Yes. Who was missing of that bunch of berry raiders?" and Neale
grinned.
"Why--Trix," said Agnes, slowly.
"Ah-ha! I smell a mouse!"
"What do you mean by that, Neale O'Neil?" cried the girl.
"Nothing significant in the fact that our festive Beatrice was not
there?"
"No. Why should there be?" demanded Agnes.
"And who do you suppose furnished Mr. Marks with his information and the
list of you girls' names?"
"Oh, the farmer!"
"Old Buckham?" cried Neale, startled.
"Yes," said Agnes. "Mr. Marks said so."
Neale looked both surprised and doubtful. "Then why didn't Buckham give
in Trix's name, too?"
"Oh, I don't know, Neale. No use in blaming her just because she was
lucky enough to escape."
"Oh, that's all right. I'll go to my Lady Beatrice, get down on my
shin-bones, and beg her pardon, if I wrongfully suspect her," laughed
Neale. "But, I say, Aggie! did Mr. Buckham come to see Mr. Marks about
it? Did he say?"
"No. I think Mr. Marks said the farmer wrote."
"_Wrote?_" cried the boy. "Why, I don't believe Bob Buckham _can_ write.
He's a smart enough old fellow, but he never had any schooling. He told
me so. He's not a bad sort, either. He must have been awfully mad about
those strawberries to hold a grudge so long as this. I worked for him a
while, you know, Aggie."
"Oh, so you did, Neale."
"Yes. I don't believe he is the sort who would make so much trouble for
a bunch of girls. Somebody must have egged him on," said Neale,
gloomily.
"There you go again, Neale," groaned Agnes. "Hinting at Beatrice
Severn."
"Well," grinned Neale, "you want me to help you out of your scrape,
don't you?"
"At nobody else's expense," said Agnes.
"Don't know what to make of it," grumbled Neale. "It looks fishy to me.
Mr. Buckham writing Mr. Marks! I'm going to find out about _that_. Keep
up your pluck, Aggie. I'll see what can be done," and Neale, with his
cap on the back of his flaxen head and his hands in his pockets, went
off whistling.