"Marjorie Dean, you are true blue!" exclaimed Muriel. "Whatever
possessed me to write that awful note? If Miss Merton had read it--well,
you can guess what would have happened. I shook in my shoes when I heard
her ask you for it."
"I'm glad I didn't give it to her." An angry sparkle leaped into
Marjorie's soft eyes. "She only made a fuss about it because it was I
who had it. I think Miss Archer understood that. I love her for it. She
treats us always as though we were young women; not as naughty children.
But we mustn't stand here. It's four o'clock now. I am afraid we won't
have a chance to play. Only about fifteen or twenty juniors are going to
try for the team. It may be made already." Marjorie picked up the bag
which contained her basket ball suit and tennis shoes.
"Let us hustle along then," urged Muriel. Seizing her friend by one
hand, her luggage in the other, the two raced for the gymnasium, hoping
against hope.
"It's all over." Muriel cried out in disappointment as they entered the
great room.
"I am afraid so," faltered Marjorie, as she noted the group of
bloomer-clad girls standing idle at one end of the gymnasium. Here and
there about the floor were others in uniform. Altogether she counted
eighteen. Ellen Seymour and two other seniors were seated on the
platform, their chairs drawn together, their attention apparently fixed
on a pad on Ellen's knee. Spectators had been firmly but politely denied
admission. Ellen had pronounced them a detriment to the try-out and
elected that they should remain away.
"Hello, Marjorie Dean," joyfully called out Harriet Delaney. As she
hailed Marjorie she ran toward the two girls. "We thought you were lost
to us forever. Where were you, Muriel? You surely didn't have to stay."
"Did you make the team?" was Muriel's excited query.
"Not yet." Harriet's eyes twinkled. "The try-out hasn't begun yet."
"Hasn't begun!" echoed two voices.
"No. Ellen was awfully cross about the way Miss Merton acted, so she
said we'd wait for Marjorie. Then, when Muriel didn't appear, she said,
that if neither of you materialized, she would have the try-out put off
until to-morrow. Miss Davis is so busy with that new system of
gymnastics she's going to adopt this year that she's left basket ball to
Ellen. I don't see how she could help herself, though. Last year the
juniors and seniors ran their own teams."
"Ellen's a dear," exulted Muriel. "We are lucky to have her for manager.
Marjorie and I will be her grateful slaves for the rest of the year. I
wrote that note; so, naturally, I had to stay and face the music."
"You did!" It was Harriet who now registered surprise. "What was in it?"
Muriel giggled. She could now afford to laugh. "Oh, a lot of sweet
things about Miss Merton. You can guess just how sweet they were."
"Goodness!" breathed Harriet. "No wonder Marjorie wouldn't give it up.
She--why, she's gone!"
Marjorie had stopped only to greet Harriet. While Muriel was explaining
matters, she slipped away to the platform where Ellen Seymour sat. "It
was splendid in you, Ellen!" she burst forth, as she reached the
senior's side. "Thank you, ever so much."
"Hurrah! Here's Marjorie." Ellen sprang up, her pleasant face breaking
into a smile. "I'm so glad you came at last, and so sorry for what
happened. You must tell me how you came out. But not now. We shall have
to hustle to make up for lost time. I suppose you know Miss Elbert and
Miss Horner. No?" Ellen promptly performed introductions.
"Pleased to meet you," nodded both young women. Neither looked specially
delighted. Miss Elbert, a small, plump girl with near-sighted, gray
eyes, bowed in reserved fashion. Miss Horner, a rather pretty brunette,
acknowledged the introduction with languid grace. Marjorie had long
known both by sight. On two different occasions she had been introduced
to Miss Horner. Afterward, on meeting her in the street, the latter had
made no sign of recognition.
"I suppose you are satisfied now, Ellen," drawled Miss Horner sweetly.
"You are lucky, Miss Dean, to have Ellen for a champion. She insisted
that we must wait for you."
"I am very grateful to her," Marjorie made courteous reply. Had there
lurked a touch of sarcasm in the other's polite comment?
"Miss Merton is altogether too fussy," remarked Miss Elbert. Her blunt
tone quite belied her reserved nod. "She tried that with me last year.
It didn't work, though." Her air of constraint vanished in a bright
glance, which indicated friendliness.
"You must remember that she has a great deal to try her," reminded Miss
Horner softly.
Again Marjorie thought she sensed hostility. She laid it to the
supposition that Miss Horner was, perhaps, a trifle peevish at being
delayed. Yet she could not resist the quiet comment, "Miss Merton is
also very trying."
"Of course she is," agreed Ellen warmly. "You know it as well as we do,
Charlotte Horner. _You_ have no cause to love her. Just remember how
cranky she was to you during your freshman year."
"That was a long time ago," shrugged the senior. "I understand her much
better now than then." The placid answer held a suspicion of
condescending approval of Miss Merton.
"I'm glad someone does," flung back Ellen with careless good humor.
"Hurry along, Marjorie, and get into your basket ball suit. I shouldn't
have kept you talking." Drawing her aside, she whispered: "I'd rather
see you play center on the team than any girl I know."
"It seems to me, Ellen," drawled Charlotte Horner, as her indolent gaze
followed Marjorie across the floor to the dressing room, "that you are
babying that Miss Dean entirely too much. Someone told me the other day
that she has a bad attack of swelled head. I must say, I think her
self-opinionated. She answered me very pertly."
"If you mean her remark about Miss Merton, she only spoke the truth,"
defended Ellen hotly, completely astonished by this unexpected attack on
Marjorie. "She is not in the least self-opinionated nor vain. It's
remarkable that she isn't. She is very pretty and awfully popular."
"Glad you told me," murmured the other, lazily unbelieving. "I know
several girls with whom she is not particularly popular."
To this Ellen made no response. With vexation at her own stupidity, she
now remembered too late that Charlotte Horner had always been rather
friendly with Mignon La Salle. Remembering only Charlotte's undeniable
prowess as a basket ball player, she had asked her to act with herself
and Leila Elbert as one of the three judges at the try-out. This
explained why Charlotte had not been in favor of postponing the try-out
in case Marjorie were detained indefinitely. Ellen found herself hoping
that personal prejudice would not influence Charlotte to decry
Marjorie's work on the floor.
"I think Miss Dean is very nice." It was Leila Elbert who made this
announcement. Her reserved manner had arisen merely from shyness. She
was a quiet, diffident girl, who, beyond an enthusiasm for basket ball,
had mixed little with the social side of high school. She was an expert
player who had been on the same team with Ellen during her freshman,
sophomore and junior years. Accordingly, she was eminently fitted to
judge the merits of the respective contestants.
"That's sweet in you." Ellen flashed her a grateful look. It would be
two against one in Marjorie's favor.
Within ten minutes after seeking the dressing room Marjorie issued from
it ready for the fray, wearing her sophomore basket ball uniform.
Running up to Ellen she announced: "I am ready. So is Muriel." In a
lower tone she added: "It was dear in you to wish me well." Then she
trotted over and joined the contestants, who had gradually collected in
one spot.
"All right." Ellen left the platform and approached the fruitful
material for junior honors. "Girls," she began, with an elaborate bow,
"behold your stern manager."
She was interrupted by giggling applause. Cheerful Ellen Seymour was
beloved throughout Sanford High School.
"Much obliged," she nodded gaily. "As I was saying when interrupted by
your heart-felt appreciation, _I_ am your manager. This year there will
be no senior team. The seniors have soared to heights beyond mere basket
ball. I had to soar with them, though I wasn't in a soaring mood. Since
I can't play the good old game alone, I've decided to bury my
disappointment in managership. Of course, you know that you can't all
play. So if you're not chosen, don't be disappointed. It's going to be
an absolutely fair try-out. If you're chosen, it is because you are a
better player than the girl who isn't. Now please line up until I count
you over."
It was a nondescript line that whipped itself promptly into position.
There were the five gray-clad girls who had made up Mignon La Salle's
famous team. There were also the five black-garbed players who had
comprised Marjorie's squad. Besides these were ten new applicants in
blue gymnasium suits who had not been fortunate enough to make either of
the two teams that had striven against each other in the sophomore year.
These girls had decided to try again, hoping that better luck would be
theirs.
Marjorie thrilled with excitement as she cast a quick glance up and down
the line. Every face was set in determined fashion. It was going to be
much harder than ever before to make the team.
Ellen Seymour walked up and down the row of girls with the air of a
general. She was shrewdly calculating the best plan of action. It would
hardly be fair to try out the black and scarlet girls against the grays,
leaving the other ten of lesser experience to play against each other.
Among the new girls there was, undoubtedly, some excellent material
which contact with the regular players was sure to bring out. She,
therefore, chose five blues to play against two grays and three black
and scarlet girls. Mignon and Daisy Griggs represented the grays,
Marjorie, Susan and Harriet Delaney the black and scarlet.
Clearing the floor of the others, Ellen signaled the two teams to their
places and soon had the ball in play. It seemed very strange to Marjorie
to find herself once more on the same team with Mignon La Salle. She was
too busy attending to her own affairs, however, to give it more than a
passing thought. Centering her whole mind on her work she played with
her usual snap and brilliancy.
After twenty minutes' energetic work, the warning whistle sounded
retreat. Then the other ten girls remaining were ordered to the floor to
show what they could do. When, after the same allowance of time, they
had been called off, the three judges went into consultation with the
result that ten names were struck from the list Ellen held. These names
Ellen read out, expressing a regret for the failure of their owners to
make good that was in a measure quite consoling. They left the floor to
their more fortunate sisters apparently with the best possible grace,
considering the disappointment that was theirs.
There were still left Susan, Muriel, Marjorie, Mignon, Daisy Griggs and
Anne Easton of the seasoned teams. The other were four of the blue-clad
girls who had done surprisingly well. These ten were again divided into
opposing fives and went at it with a will.
T-r-ill! Ellen's whistle at last called an end to the spirited fray. The
girls pattered off the playing floor. Grouped together they breathlessly
awaited the verdict.
This time it was longer in coming. Up on the judge's stand, Ellen
Seymour found herself participating in the wrangle with Charlotte
Horner, which she had anticipated. But Marjorie was not alone subject of
it. It was Mignon's basket ball future, too, that now tottered. Four
names had been struck off the list of ten. It lay between Mignon and
Marjorie Dean as to whom the fifth should be.
"Mignon is a better player than this Dean girl," sharply argued
Charlotte Horner. "But poor Mignon simply wasn't up to her usual form
to-day."
"But it's to-day that counts, else why have a try-out?" protested Ellen.
"Marjorie has completely outplayed her in this last test. I consider
Marjorie the better player at any time. She is reliable. Mignon isn't. I
insist that Marjorie shall have the position. I think she's the best
player of the whole team."
"And _I_ insist that Mignon must have it." In her anger Charlotte forgot
her usual languid drawl.
"It rests with Leila." Ellen shrugged her shoulders. "What is your
opinion, Leila?"
"Miss Dean is the better player," declared Leila stolidly. "Anyone can
see that."
"Two against one. The ayes have it." Ellen drew a firm pencil through
Mignon's name.
And thus Marjorie Dean won a victory over Mignon La Salle, which was
destined to bring her a great deal of unhappiness.