"Where were you yesterday afternoon?" demanded Jerry Macy, as Marjorie
walked into the locker room at the close of the morning session.
Marjorie considered for a moment. Should she tell Jerry or should she
not? She decided in the negative. "I was at home a part of the
afternoon."
Jerry measured her with a calculating eye. "You don't want to tell me,
do you?" was her blunt question. "All right. Forget it. Anyway, we
missed you. You're a mysterious person. One day you march off on a dark,
secret errand after making lavish promises to treat on the next. When
that day rolls around you don't appear at all. Never mind. I saved your
face by treating for you." Jerry delivered her opinion of her friend's
peculiar behavior good-humoredly enough. Underneath, however, she was a
tiny bit peeved. She was very fond of Marjorie and prided herself that
she was entirely in the latter's confidence.
"You're not cross with me, are you, Jerry?" Marjorie regarded the stout
girl rather anxiously. She could not conceive of being on the outs with
funny, bluff Geraldine Macy.
"No; I'm not a silly like Mignon," mumbled Jerry gruffly. "You ought to
know that by this time without asking me."
"Jerry Macy, I believe you are angry with me," declared Marjorie,
looking still more troubled.
"No, I'm not," came the quick retort. "I'm not blind, either, and my
head isn't made of wood."
"What do you mean?" It was Marjorie's turn to speak quickly.
"Just what I say," asserted Jerry. "You've had some sort of trouble over
that Farnham girl. Rowena--humph! It ought to be Row-ena with a special
accent on the _Row_. I knew by the way you looked and spoke of her day
before yesterday that something had gone wrong. I'll bet I know where
you went on that errand, too. You went to her house. Now didn't you?"
Marjorie gave a short laugh. It held a note of vexation. "Really, Jerry,
you ought to be a detective. How did you know where I went yesterday
after I left you?"
"Oh, I just guessed it. It's like you to do that sort of thing. I'm
dying to hear what it's all about. Are you going to tell me _now_?" She
accented the "now" quite triumphantly.
"I hadn't intended to mention it to anyone, but I might as well tell
_you_. You seem to know quite a little bit about it already. I can't say
anything more now. Here come Susan and Muriel. We'll talk of it after we
leave them at their street. By the way, where is Constance? She wasn't
in school this morning."
"Don't know. I wondered about her, too. She didn't say yesterday that
she wasn't coming to school to-day. Maybe her father marched into Gray
Gables without notice."
"Perhaps. I'll ask the girls if they know."
Neither Susan, Muriel nor Irma, the latter joining the quartette
immediately after, knew the reason for Constance Stevens' absence. The
five girls trooped out of the building together, chatting gaily as they
started home for luncheon. Marjorie gave a little shiver as it occurred
to her how near she had come to losing her right to be a pupil of
Sanford High. She felt that nothing save the loss of her dear ones would
have hurt her more than to have been dismissed from school under a
cloud.
"Now tell me everything," began Jerry, the moment they had parted from
the three girls to continue on up the pleasant, tree-lined avenue.
"I think that was simply _awful_," burst forth the now irate Jerry, as
Marjorie concluded her narration. "Talk about Mignon--she's an angel with
beautiful feathery wings, when you come to compare her with Row-ena. I
hope the Board says she can't set foot in school again. That's what I
hope. I'll tell my father to vote against letting her try any more
examinations. That's what I'll do."
"You mustn't do that." Marjorie spoke with unusual severity. "What I've
said to you is in confidence. Besides, it wouldn't be fair. For her
father's and mother's sake I think she ought to have another chance. It
might be the very best thing for her to go to high school. She will be
far better off at home than away at boarding school. If she could go
away to a college it would be different. Colleges are more strict and
dignified. A girl just has to live up to their traditions. General says
that even in the most select boarding schools the girls have too much
liberty. So you see it wouldn't be a good place for this girl."
"I see you're a goose," was Jerry's unflattering comment. "You're a dear
goose, though. You certainly have the reform habit. I can tell you,
though, that you are all wrong about this Farnham girl. You remember how
beautifully we reformed Mignon, and how grateful she was. Mignon's a
mere infant beside gentle, little Row-ena. You notice I still say _Row_.
It's a very good name for her. Of course, we could change off
occasionally and call her Fightena, or Quarrelena, or Scrapena." Jerry
giggled at her own witticism.
Marjorie could not forbear joining her. Jerry's disapproval of things
was usually tinged with comedy. "You're a heartless person, Jeremiah,"
she reproved lightly. "I'm not going to try to reform Miss Farnham. I
can't imagine her as taking kindly to it. I'm only saying that she ought
to have another chance."
"Well, if you can stand it I can," Jerry sighed, then chuckled as her
vivid imagination pictured to her the high-handed Rowena struggling in
the clutches of reform. "Miss Archer ought to have thought twice and
spoken once," she added grimly. "That's what she's always preaching to
us to do." Jerry was no respecter of personages.
"I can't blame her much," Marjorie shook her head. "It's dreadful to
think that someone you've trusted is dishonorable. It hurts a good deal
worse than if it were someone you had expected would fail you. I
_know_."
"I suppose you do." Jerry understood the significant "I know." Rather
more gently she continued: "Perhaps you're right about Fightena, I mean
Row-ena. You generally are right, only you've got into some tangled webs
trying to prove it. Anyway, she won't be a junior if she does manage to
get into school. She'll be a sophomore. I hope she stays where she
belongs. You'd better look out for her, though. If she really thinks you
wrote that anonymous letter--I don't believe she does--she'll try to get
even. With Mignon La Salle to help, she might bother you a good deal. I
hope they have a falling out."
"You are always hoping some terrible thing," laughed Marjorie. "You have
the hoping habit, and your hopes about other people are really
horrifying."
"Never mind, they never amount to much," consoled Jerry with a chuckle.
"I've been hoping awful things about people I don't like for years and
that's all the good it's ever done."
"I think I'll run over to Gray Gables after school," Marjorie changed
the subject with sudden abruptness. "Want to go with me?"
"I'll go," assented Jerry. "I owe Charlie a box of candy. I promised it
to him the night of Mary's farewell party. Mary wrote me a dandy letter.
Did I tell you about it?"
"No. I've had one from her, too; eighteen pages."
"Some letter. Mine was only ten."
The introduction of Mary's name into the conversation kept the two girls
busy talking until they were about to part company.
"Don't forget you are going with me to see Constance," reminded Marjorie
as Jerry left her at the Macys' gate.
"Do you believe that I could possibly forget?" Jerry laid a fat hand
over her heart in ridiculous imitation of a certain sentimental high
school youth whom Marjorie continually endeavored to dodge.
"See that you don't," was her laughing retort. "Shall we ask Muriel,
Susan and Irma to go with us?"
"None of them can go. Muriel has to take a piano lesson. Susan has a
date with her dressmaker, and Irma's going shopping with her mother. You
see I know everything about everybody," asserted Jerry, unconsciously
repeating Constance Stevens' very words.
"You surely do," Marjorie agreed. "Good-bye, then. I'll meet you in the
locker room after school to-night."
"My name is Johnny-on-the-spot," returned the irrepressible Jerry over
her shoulder.
"Oh, dear!" Marjorie exclaimed in impatience, as she walked into the
locker room at the end of the afternoon session to find Jerry already
there ahead of her. "I've left my Cæsar in my desk. I'll have to go back
after it. That lesson for to-morrow is dreadfully long. Somehow I
couldn't keep my attention on study that last hour, so I just bundled
all my books together and thought I'd put in a busy evening. I don't see
how I missed my Commentaries. It shows that my mind was wandering."
"Come on over to my house this evening. You can use my Cæsar. We'll put
one over on the busy little bee and have some fun afterward. Besides,
Hal will be grateful to me for a week. I'll make good use of his
gratitude, too," grinned wily Jerry.
Marjorie's cheeks grew delightfully pink. In her frank, girlish fashion
she was very fond of Jerry's handsome brother. Although her liking for
him was not one of foolish sentimentality, she could not help being a
trifle pleased at this direct insinuation of his preference for her.
"All right. I'm sure Captain will say 'yes,'" she made reply. "I won't
bother to go back after my book. If I did Miss Merton might snap at me.
I try to keep out of her way as much as I can. Where are the girls? Have
they gone?"
"Yes, they beat it in a hurry. Come on. Let's be on our way." Though
deplorably addicted to slang, Jerry was at least forcefully succinct.
It was a fairly long walk to Gray Gables, but their way led through one
of the prettiest parts of Sanford. Situated almost on the outskirts of
the town, the picturesque dwelling was in itself one of the beauty spots
of the thriving little city.
"There's the Jail." Jerry indexed a plump finger toward the inhospitable
stone house which Marjorie had so lately visited. The two girls had
reached the point where a turn in the wide, elm-shaded avenue brought
them within sight of the La Salle and Farnham properties. "It would be a
good place for Row-ena, if she had to stay locked up there. She could
think over her sins and reform without help. I hope----"
"There you go again," laughed Marjorie. "Don't do it. Suppose some day
all these things you have hoped about other people were to come back to
you."
"I won't worry about it until they do," Jerry made optimistic answer.
"If I----" She checked herself to stare at a runabout that shot past them,
driven at a reckless rate of speed by an elfish-faced girl. "There they
go!" she exclaimed. "Did you see who was in that machine? Oh, look!
They're slowing up! Now they've stopped! I hope they've had a
break-down."
Marjorie's eyes were already riveted on the runabout which they were now
approaching. A tall figure whom she at once recognized as belonging to
Rowena Farnham was in the act of emerging from the machine. Hatless, her
auburn head gleaming in the sun, her black eyes flaming challenge, she
stood at one side of the runabout, drawn up for battle.
"She's waiting for us!" gasped Jerry. "Let's turn around and walk the
other way, just to fool her. No; let's not. I guess we can hold our
own."
"I shall have nothing to say to her," decided Marjorie, a youthful
picture of cold disdain. "Don't you say a word, either, Jerry. We'll
walk on about our own business, just as though we didn't even see her."
Jerry had no time to reply. Almost immediately they caught up with the
belligerent Rowena. Realizing that her quarry was about to elude her,
she sprang squarely in front of them with, "Wait a minute. I've
something to say to _you_." The "you" was directed at Marjorie.
Marjorie was about to circle the lively impediment and move on, when
Mignon La Salle called from the runabout, "I told you she was a coward,
Rowena." A scornful laugh accompanied the insult.
That settled it. Marjorie's recent resolution flew to the winds. "I will
hear whatever you have to say," she declared quietly, stopping short.
"I don't very well see how you can do anything else," sneered Rowena. "I
suppose you think that you gained a great deal by your tale-bearing
yesterday, don't you? Let me tell you, you've made a mistake. I'm going
to be a sophomore in Sanford High School just the same. You'll see. You
are a sneaking little prig, and I'm going to make it my business to let
every girl in school know it. You can't----"
"_You_ can't talk like that to Marjorie Dean." Before Marjorie could
reply, Jerry Macy leaped into a hot defense. "I won't have it! She is my
friend."
"Shh! Jerry, please don't," Marjorie protested.
"I will. Don't stop me. You," she glared at Rowena, "make me sick. I
could tell you in about one minute where you get off at, but it isn't
worth the waste of breath. Marjorie Dean has more friends in a minute in
Sanford High than you'll ever have. You think you and Mignon La Salle
can do a whole lot. Better not try it, you'll wish you hadn't. Now get
busy and beat it. You're blocking the highway."
"What a delightful person you are," jeered Rowena. "Just the sort of
friend I'd imagine Miss Dean might have. As I have had the pleasure of
telling her what I think of her, you may as well hear my opinion of
yourself. You are the rudest girl I ever met, and the slangiest. My
father and mother would never forgive me if they knew I even spoke to
such a girl." Having delivered herself of this Parthian shot, Rowena
wheeled and stepped into the runabout with, "Go ahead, Mignon. I don't
care to be seen talking with such persons."
As the runabout started away with a defiant chug, Jerry and Marjorie
stared at each other in silence.
"I hope----" began Jerry, then stopped. "Say," she went on the next
instant, "that was what Hal would call a hot shot, wasn't it?"
"It was," Marjorie admitted. In spite of her vexation at the unexpected
attack, she could hardly repress a smile. Quite unknowingly Rowena had
attacked Jerry's pet failing. Her constant use of popular slang was a
severe cross to both her father and mother. Over and over she had been
lectured by them on this very subject, only to maintain that if Hal used
slang she saw no reason why she shouldn't. To please them she made
spasmodic efforts toward polite English, but when excited or angry she
was certain to drop back into this forceful but inelegant vernacular.
"I suppose I do use a whole lot of slang." Jerry made the admission
rather ruefully. "Mother says I'm the limit. There I go again. I mean
mother says I'm--what am I?" she asked with a giggle.
"You are a very good friend, Jerry." Marjorie looked her affection for
the crestfallen champion of her rights. "I wouldn't worry about what
she--Miss Farnham says. If you think you ought not to use slang, then
just try not to use it." Marjorie was too greatly touched by Jerry's
loyalty to peck at this minor failing. "What a strange combination those
two girls make!" she mused. "I can't imagine them being friends for very
long. They are both too fond of having their own way. I must say I
wasn't scared by all those threats. It isn't what others say about one
that counts, it's what one really is that makes a difference."
"That's just what I think," agreed Jerry. "We all know Mignon so well
now that we can pretty nearly beat her at her own game. As for this
Rowena, she'd better wait until she gets back into Sanford High before
she plans to do much. All that sort of thing is so silly and useless,
now isn't it? It reminds me of these blood-and-thunder movies like 'The
Curse of a Red Hot Hate,' or 'The Double-dyed Villain's Horrible
Revenge,' or 'The Iron Hand of Hatred's Death-Dealing Wallop.'" Jerry
saw fit to chuckle at this last creation of fancifully appropriate
title. "You're right about those two, though. Don't you remember I said
the same thing when I first told you of this Farnham girl? Mignon has
met her match, at last. She'll find it out, too, before she's many weeks
older, or my name's not Jerry Macy."