"THIS is a nice state of affairs," scolded Jerry Macy. "What do you
suppose has happened, Marjorie?" Overtaking her friend in the corridor
on the way from recitation, Jerry's loud question cut the air like a
verbal bomb-shell. Without waiting for a reply she continued in a
slightly lower key. "Harriet has tonsilitis. Isn't that the worst you
ever heard? And only three days before the operetta, too. We can't give
it until she gets well, unless somebody in the chorus can sing her rôle.
I'm going to telephone Laurie after my next class is over and tell him
about it. The chorus is our only hope. Some one of the girls may know
the part fairly well. They all ought to after so much rehearsing last
Spring. Most of them can't do solo work, though. Do you think you could
sing it?" Jerry had drawn Marjorie to one side of the corridor as she
rapidly related her bad news.
"Mercy, no!" Marjorie registered dismay at the mere suggestion. "I
wouldn't dream of attempting it. Isn't it too bad that Harriet hasn't an
understudy? I'm ever so sorry she's sick. How dreadfully disappointed
she must be."
"Not any more so than half of Sanford will be when they hear the
operetta's been postponed. Every reserved seat ticket's been sold. Who'd
have thought that Harriet would go and get tonsilitis?" mourned Jerry.
"There's a regular epidemic of it in Sanford. You know Nellie Simmons
had it when the sophs wanted that basket ball game postponed. Quite a
number of Sanford High girls have had it, too. Be careful you don't get
it."
Marjorie laughed. "Oh, _I_ won't. Don't worry. I'm never sick. We'll
have to go, Jerry. There's the last bell."
"You had better touch wood." Jerry hurled this warning advice over one
plump shoulder as she moved off.
It brought a smile to Marjorie's lips. She was not in the least
superstitious. She grew grave with the thought that the operetta would
have to be postponed. At the first performance of the "Rebellious
Princess," Harriet had sung her part at a moment's notice. Until then
she had been Mignon La Salle's understudy. Struck by a sudden thought
Marjorie stopped short. Jerry had evidently forgotten that Mignon knew
the rôle. Still, it would do no good to remind her of it, or Laurie
either. She believed that Jerry, at least, would infinitely prefer that
the operetta should never be given rather than allow Mignon to sing in
it. The mere mention of it was likely to make her cross. Marjorie
decided to keep her own counsel. She had no reason to wish to see Mignon
thus honored, particularly after her treacherous attempt to do Constance
out of her part. Then, too, there was the new grievance of the Observer
against her.
By the time school was over for the day, Constance had already been
acquainted with the dire news. Apart from her two chums, Jerry had told
no one else except Hal and Laurie. When the three girls emerged from the
school building, accompanied by Susan, Muriel and Irma, they saw the two
young men waiting for them across the street. The latter three faithful
satellites immediately took themselves off with much giggling advice to
Jerry that four was a company, but five a crowd. Jerry merely grinned
amiably and refused to join them. She knew her own business.
"This is too bad, Jerry," were Laurie's first words. "What are we to
do?"
"That's for you to say," shrugged Jerry. "All I can think of to do is
have a try-out of the chorus. If none of them can sing Harriet's part,
we'll have to call it off. I mean postpone it." Jerry cast a sly glance
at Hal to see if he had noticed her polite amendment.
"What have you to say, Constance and Marjorie?" queried Laurie. "But the
street is not the place for a consultation. Suppose we go down to
Sargent's to talk it over. I spoke to Professor Harmon this afternoon,
but he said he'd rather leave it to me. He's busy just now with that new
boy choir at the Episcopal Church. He wants me to direct the operetta."
Voicing approval of this last, the three girls allowed their willing
cavaliers to steer them toward Sargent's hospitable doors. Hal, Marjorie
and Jerry took the lead, leaving Constance and Laurie to follow. Nothing
further relating to the problem that had risen was said until the five
were seated at a rear table in the confectioner's smart little shop.
Then Laurie abruptly took it up. "We are ready for suggestions," he
invited.
"I have one." There was a peculiar note of uncertainty in Constance's
voice as she spoke. "You are not going to be pleased with it, but it
seems to me the only thing to do." More boldly she added: "Let Mignon La
Salle sing the part."
"Never!" burst from Laurie and Jerry simultaneously.
The appearance of a white-coated youth to take their order halted the
discussion for a moment. As he hurried away Marjorie's soft voice was
heard: "I thought of that, too, this morning. I had made up my mind not
to speak of it. Connie makes me ashamed of myself. Connie is willing for
Mignon to sing the part that she cheated herself of. I think we ought to
be."
In silence Laurie stared at her across the table, his brows knitted in a
deep frown. Then his gaze rested on Constance. "You girls are queer," he
said slowly. "I don't understand you at all."
"I do," declared Jerry, far from pleased. "I can't say I agree with
them, though. If we ask Mignon to sing the part (I don't know who's
going to ask her), she will parade around like a peacock. She may say
'no' just for spite. She doesn't speak to any of us." Then she added in
a milder tone, "I suppose her father would dance a hornpipe if we let
her sing it. I heard he felt terribly about the way she performed last
Spring. You know he put off a business trip just to go to hear her sing,
and then she didn't. She had nobody but herself to blame, though."
Unwittingly, Jerry had struck a responsive chord in Hal. Leaning
forward, he said impulsively, "Then I think I'd ask her, Laurie. Mr. La
Salle is a fine man. His office is next to Dad's. I often go in there
and talk to him. He is mighty interesting. He has traveled all over the
world and knows how to tell about what he's seen. He's all wrapped up in
Mignon. You can see that. I wish you'd ask her just on his account. It
would pay up for last Spring."
"Three against two," grumbled Jerry, "and one of them my own brother. Do
we stand our ground, Laurie, or do we not?"
Laurie did not answer immediately. He had not forgiven the French girl
her transgression against Constance. The battery of earnest blue and
brown eyes bent upon him proved fatal to his animosity. "Our ground
seems to be shaky," he answered. "The majority generally rules."
"Then you _will_ ask her?" Constance flashed him a radiant smile that
quite repaid him for his hinted decision in Mignon's favor. "It will
have to be you. She wouldn't do it for us."
Laurie showed lively consternation. "Oh, see here----" Innate chivalry
toward girlhood overtook him. "All right," he answered. "I'll ask her."
In the midst of countless woes, arising from her unwilling allegiance to
Rowena Farnham, Mignon next day received the glorious invitation from a
most studiedly polite young man. If anyone other than Lawrence Armitage
had come to her with the request she would, in all probability, refused
pointblank to countenance the idea. Mignon still cherished her
school-girl preference for the handsome young musician. She, therefore,
assented to the proposal with only the merest show of reluctance. Laurie
made it very plain, however, that Constance Stevens desired it.
Inwardly, Mignon writhed with anger; outwardly, she was a smiling image
of amiability.
Afterward she experienced the deepest satisfaction in boasting to Rowena
of the honor which had come to her.
"I think I'll be in that operetta, too," had been Rowena's calm
decision. "I'll go to that Lawrence Armitage and tell him I shall sing
in the chorus." Straightway, she went on this laudable errand, only to
be politely but firmly informed that there were no chorus vacancies.
Over this she raged to Mignon, then consoled herself and dismayed the
French girl by calmly announcing, "I'm going to the theatre with you
just the same and watch the silly operetta from behind the scenes. Let
me know when you have your rehearsals, for I intend to go to them, too."
Resorting to craft, Mignon managed to attend the first rehearsal without
Rowena. The latter discovered this and pounced upon her on her way home
with a torrent of ungentle remarks. Bullied to tears, Mignon was obliged
to allow Rowena to accompany her to the second and third rehearsals, the
third being the last before the public performance.
Though the cast secretly objected to this, they made no open
manifestation of their disgust. It was now fairly well known how matters
stood between Rowena and Mignon. The latter had no reason to complain of
the universally civil treatment she received. It was merely civil,
however, and contained no friendliness of spirit. By the entire cast the
French girl was regarded as an evil necessity. For that reason they also
reluctantly endured Rowena's presence. But Rowena derived no pleasure
from her intrusion, except the fact that she was a source of covert
annoyance to all parties. Her jealous soul was filled with torment at
being left out of the production. Shrewd intuition alone warned her not
to create even the slightest disturbance. She had determined to go with
the cast to Riverview. Consequently, she did not propose cutting off her
nose to spite her face.
The knowledge that the proceeds from the operetta were to be devoted to
school use, rallied the Sanfordites to the cause. The Sanford
performances went off without a hitch before a huge and delighted
assemblage. It may be set down to her credit that Mignon La Salle sang
the part of the proud step-sister even better than Harriet Delaney had
rendered it. Her dramatic ability was considerable and her voice and
temperament were eminently suited to her rôle. On this one occasion her
long-suffering parent was not disappointed in his daughter. Natural
perspicacity caused him to wonder not a little how it had all come
about, and he made a mental note to inquire into it at the first
opportunity. Strongly disapproving of the intimacy between Mignon and
Rowena Farnham, he was hopeful that this honor done his daughter would
throw her again among the finer type of the Sanford girls. From his
young friend Hal Macy he had received glowing descriptions of Marjorie
and her close friends, and he longed to see Mignon take kindly to them.
Could he have peeped into Mignon's subtle brain, his dreams would have
vanished in thin air. Ever the ingrate, she was thankful to none for the
unexpected chance to glitter. At heart she was the same tigerish young
person, ready to claw at a moment's notice. Within her lurked two
permanent desires. One of them was to win the interest of Lawrence
Armitage; the other to be free of Rowena.