As Ellen Seymour had predicted, basket ball did not receive its quietus.
But no one ever knew what passed between Miss Archer and Miss Davis. The
principal also held a long session with Ellen, who emerged from her
office with a pleased smile. To Marjorie and her faithful support Ellen
said confidentially: "It's all settled. No one will ever try to shove
Marjorie off the team while Miss Archer is here. But basket ball is
doomed, if anything else like that ever comes up. Miss Archer says so."
Strangely enough the six girls were not required to apologize to Miss
Davis. Possibly Miss Archer was not anxious to reopen the subject by
thus courting fresh rebellion. After all, basket ball was not down on
the high school curriculum. She was quite willing her girls should be at
liberty to manage it as they chose, provided they managed it wisely and
without friction. Privately, she was disgusted with Miss Davis's part in
the recent disagreement. She strongly advised the former to give up all
claim to the management of the teams. But this advice Miss Davis refused
to take. She still insisted on keeping up a modified show of authority,
but resolved within herself to be more careful. She had learned
considerable about girls.
The three plotters accepted their defeat with bad grace. Afraid that the
tale would come to light, Mignon and Charlotte privately shoved the
blame on Rowena's shoulders. Nothing leaked out, however, and they were
too wise to censure Rowena to her face. Mignon soon discovered that the
obliging sophomore's efforts in her behalf had cost her dear. Rowena
tyrannized over her more than ever. After the second game between the
junior and sophomore teams, which occurred two weeks after Marjorie's
narrow escape from dismissal from the team, Mignon came into the belief
that her lot was, indeed, hard. The sophomores had been ingloriously
beaten, the score standing 22-12 in favor of the juniors. In consequence
Rowena was furious, forcing Mignon to listen to her long tirades against
the juniors, and rating her unmercifully when she failed to register
proper sympathy.
Owing to the nearness of the Christmas holidays and the brief stretch
that lay between them and the mid-year examinations, the other two games
were put off until February and March, respectively. No one except
Rowena was sorry. She longed for a speedy opportunity to wipe the defeat
off her slate. She had little of the love of holiday giving in her
heart, and was heard loudly to declare that Christmas was a nuisance.
Marjorie and her little coterie of intimates regarded it very
differently. They found the days before Yule-tide altogether too short
in which to carry out their Christmas plans. With the nearness of the
blessed anniversary of the world's King, Marjorie grew daily happier.
Since the straightening of the basket ball tangle, for her, things in
school had progressed with surprising smoothness. Then, too, the hateful
Observer had evidently forgotten her. Since the letter advising her to
"prepare to meet the inevitable," the Observer had apparently laid down
her pen. Marjorie soberly confided to her captain that she hoped
Christmas might make the Observer see things differently.
Obeying the familiar mandate, which peered at her from newspaper, store
or street car, "Do Your Christmas Shopping Early," she lovingly stored
away the numerous be-ribboned bundles designed for intimate friends at
least a week before Christmas. That last week she left open in order to
go about the business of making a merry Christmas for the needy. As on
the previous year Jerry Macy and Constance were her right-hand men.
Susan, Irma, Muriel and Harriet also caught the fever of giving and the
six girls worked zealously, inspired by the highest motives, to bring
happiness to the poverty-stricken.
Christmas morning brought Marjorie an unusual windfall of gifts. It
seemed as though everyone she liked had remembered her. Looking back on
the previous Christmas, she remembered rather sadly the Flag of Truce
and all that it had signified. This year Mary and she were again one at
heart. She dropped a few tears of sheer happiness over Mary's long
Christmas letter and the beautiful embroidered Mexican scarf that had
come with it. She had sent Mary a wonderful silver desk set engraved
with M. to M., which she hoped wistfully that Mary would like as much as
she cherished her exquisite scarf.
The Christmas vacation was, as usual, a perpetual round of gaiety. Jerry
and Hal gave their usual dance. Constance gave a New Year's hop. Harriet
and Muriel entertained their friends at luncheons, while Marjorie
herself sent out invitations for an old-fashioned sleigh-ride party,
with an informal supper and dance at her home on the return. These
social events, with some few others of equal pleasure, sent Father Time
spinning along giddily.
"Aren't you sorry it's all over?" sighed Constance, as she and Marjorie
lingered at the Macys' gate at the close of their first day at school
after the holidays.
"Sorry's no name for it," declared Jerry. "We certainly had one
beautiful time, I mean a beautiful time. Honestly, I liked the getting
things ready for other folks best of all, though. I like to keep busy. I
wish we had something to do or somebody to help all the time. I'm going
to poke around and see what I can stir up. I try to do the sisterly,
helpful act toward Hal; picking up the stuff he strews all over the
house and locating lost junk, I mean articles, but he's about as
appreciative as a Feejee Islander. You know how grateful they are."
"I saw one in a circus once," laughed Constance reminiscently. "I wasn't
impressed with his sense of gratitude. Someone threw him a peanut and he
flung it back and hit an old gentleman in the eye."
A general giggle arose at the erring Feejee's strange conception of
gratitude.
"That will be nice to tell Hal when he shows the same delicate sort of
thankfulness," grinned Jerry. "I'm not going to waste my precious
talents on him all winter. I'm going to dig up something better. If you
girls hear of anything, run all the way to our house, any hour of the
day or night, and tell your friend Jerry Geraldine Jeremiah. All three
are one, as Rudyard Kipling says in something or other he wrote."
"I love Kipling's books," said Constance. "One of the first things I did
when I wasn't poor any longer was to buy a whole set. That first year at
Sanford High I tried to get them in the school library. But there were
only two or three of them."
"That library is terribly run down," asserted Jerry. "They haven't half
the books there they ought to have. I was talking to my father about it
the other night. He promised to put it before the Board. I hope he does.
Then maybe we'll get some more books. I don't care so much for myself. I
can get all the books I want. But there are a lot of girls that can't,
who need special ones for reading courses."
Jerry's resolve to "poke around and stir up something" did not meet with
any special success. The more needy of the Christmas poor were already
being looked after by Mrs. Dean, Mrs. Macy and other charitably disposed
persons who devoted themselves to the cause of benevolence the year
around. Generous-hearted Jerry continued to help in the good work, but
her active nature was still on the alert for some special object.
"I've dug it up," she announced in triumph, several evenings later. The
three girls were conducting a prudent review at Jerry's home,
preparatory to the rapidly approaching mid-year test.
"What did you say, Jerry?" Marjorie tore her eyes from her French
grammar, over which she had been poring. "I was so busy trying to fix
the conjugation of these miserable, irregular verbs in my mind that I
didn't hear you."
"I've dug up the great idea; the how-to-be-helpful stunt. It's right in
our school, too, that our labors are needed."
"That's interesting; ever so much more so than this." Constance Stevens
closed the book she held with a snap. "I'm not a bit fond of German,"
she added. "I have to study it, though, on account of the Wagner operas.
This '_Höher als die Kirche_' is a pretty story, but it's terribly hard
to translate. We'll have several pages of it to do in examination.
Excuse me, Jerry, for getting off the subject. What is it that you've
dug up?"
"It's about the library. You know I told you that my father was going to
speak of it at the Board meeting. Well, he did, but it wasn't any use.
There have been such a lot of appropriations made for other things that
the library will have to wait. That's what the high and mighty Board
say. This is what _I_ say. Why not get busy among ourselves and dig up
some money for new books?"
"You mean by subscription?" asked Marjorie.
"No, siree. I mean by earning it ourselves," proposed Jerry.
"Subscription would mean that a lot of girls would feel that they ought
to give something which they couldn't afford to give. Then there'd be
those who couldn't give a cent. That would be hard on them. What we
ought to do is to get up some kind of a show that the whole school would
be interested in."
"That's a fine idea. It's public-spirited," approved Marjorie. "What
sort of entertainment do you think we might give? We couldn't give it
until after examinations, though."
"I know the kind I'd like to give, but I can't unless a certain person
promises to help me," was Jerry's mystifying reply.
"Miss Archer?" guessed Constance.
"Nope; Connie Stevens." Jerry grinned widely at Constance's patent
amazement.
"I?" she questioned. "What have I to do with it?"
"Everything. You could coax Laurie Armitage to help us and then, too,
you'd be leading lady. Do you know now what I'm driving at? I see you
don't. Well, I'd like to give the 'Rebellious Princess' again, one night
in Sanford and the next in Riverview. That is only twenty-five miles
from here. A whole lot of the Sanfordites were disappointed last year
because they couldn't get into the theatre to see the operetta. Another
performance would pack the theatre, just as full as last Spring. I know
the Riverview folks would turn out to it. There are two high schools in
Riverview, you know. Besides, we have the costumes and everything ready.
Two or three rehearsals would be all we'd need. If we tried to give an
entertainment or a play, it would take so long to practise for it. Have
I a head on my shoulders or have I not?"
"You certainly have," chorused her listeners.
"I am willing to do all I can," agreed Constance. "I'll see Laurie about
it to-morrow."
"Oh, you needn't wait until then. He's downstairs now with Hal and Danny
Seabrooke. I told Hal to ask the boys over here this evening. We can't
study all the time, you know. I suppose they are ready to tear up the
furniture because we are still up here. Danny Seabrooke is such a sweet,
patient, little boy. Put away your books and we'll go down to the
library. Since this is a library proposition, let's be consistent."
A hum of girl voices, accompanied by the patter of light feet on the
stairs, informed three impatient youths that they had not waited in
vain.
"At last!" exclaimed the irrepressible Daniel, better known as the
Gad-fly, his round, freckled face almost disappearing behind his
Cheshire grin. "Long have we sought thee, and now that we have found
thee----"
"Sought nothing," contradicted Jerry. "I'll bet you haven't set foot
outside this library. There's evidence of it." She pointed to Hal and
Laurie, who had just hastily deposited foils in a corner and were now
more hastily engaged in drawing on their coats. "You've been holding a
fencing match. Laurie came out best, of course. He always does. He's a
fencing master and a musician all in one."
"Jerry never gives me credit for anything," laughed Hal. "That is, in
public. Later, when Laurie's gone home, she'll tell me how much better I
can fence than Laurie."
"Don't you believe him. He's trying to tease me, but I know him too well
to pay any attention to what he says." Jerry's fond grin bespoke her
affection for the brother she invariably grumbled about. At heart she
was devoted to him. In public she derived peculiar pleasure from
sparring with him.
The trio of girls had advanced upon the library, there to hold a
business session. But the keynote of the next half hour was sociability.
It was Constance who first started the ball rolling. Ensconced beside
Laurie on the deep window seat, she told the young composer that Jerry
had a wonderful scheme to unfold.
"Then let's get together and listen to it," he said warmly. Three
minutes afterward he had marshalled the others to the window seat.
"Everybody sit down but Jerry. She has the floor. Go ahead, Jerry. Tell
us what you'd like us to do." He reseated himself by Constance. Laurie
never neglected an opportunity to be near to the girl of his boyish
heart.
Posting herself before her hearers with an exaggerated air of
importance, Jerry made a derisive mouth at Danny Seabrooke, who was
leaning forward with an appearance of profound interest, which
threatened to land him sprawling on the floor. "I'm not used to
addressing such a large audience," she chuckled. "Ahem! Wow!" Having
delivered herself of these enlightening remarks she straightened her
face and set forth her plan with her usual brusque energy. She ended
with: "You three boys have got to help. No backing out."
"Surely we'll help," promised Laurie at once. "It's a good idea, Jerry.
I can have things going inside of a week. That is, if my leading lady
doesn't develop a temperament. These opera singers are very
temperamental, you know." His blue eyes rested smilingly on Constance.
"I'm not an opera singer," she retorted. "I'm only a would-be one.
Would-be's are very humble persons. They know they must behave well. You
had better interview your tenor lead. Tenors are supposed to be terribly
irresponsible."
Amid an exchange of equally harmless badinage, the six willing workers
discussed the plan at length. So much excited discussion was provocative
of hunger. No one, except Hal, said so, yet when Jerry disappeared to
return trundling a tea wagon, filled with delectable provender, she was
hailed with acclamation.
"What splendid times we always have together," was Marjorie's
enthusiastic opinion, when seated beside Hal in his own pet car she was
being conveyed home. Snatches of mirthful conversation issuing from the
tonneau where the rest of the sextette, Jerry included, were enjoying
themselves hugely, seemed direct corroboration of her words. Invited to
"come along," Jerry had needed no second urging.
"That's your fault," Hal made gallant response. "You are the magnet that
draws us all together. Before you and Jerry were friends I never
realized what a fine sister I had. If you hadn't been so nice to
Constance, she and Laurie might never have come to know each other so
well. Then there's Dan. He always used to run away from girls. He got
over his first fright at that little party you gave the first year you
came to Sanford. You're a magician, Marjorie, and you're making a pretty
nice history for yourself among your friends. I hope always to be among
the best of them." Hal was very earnest in his boyish praise.
"I am sure we'll always be the best of friends, Hal," she said
seriously, though her color heightened at the sincere tribute to
herself. "I can't see that I've done anything specially wonderful,
though. It's easy to be nice to those one likes who like one in return.
It's being nice to those one doesn't like that's hard. It's harder still
not to be liked."
"Then you aren't apt to know that hardship," retorted Hal.
Marjorie smiled faintly. She had known that very hardship ever since she
had come to Sanford. She merely answered: "Everybody must meet a few, I
won't say enemies, I'll just say, people who don't like one."
That night as she sat before her dressing table brushing her thick,
brown curls, she pondered thoughtfully over Hal Macy's words. In saying
them she knew he had been sincere. It was sweet to hope that she _had_
been and was still a power for good. Yet it made her feel very humble.
She could only resolve to try always to live up to that difficult
standard.