Jerry had a great deal to say. She was so justly wrathful she very
nearly cried. "It's the worst thing I ever heard of," she sputtered. "I
wish we'd never revived that old operetta. Then Mignon wouldn't have
sung in it and got left at the switch, and you wouldn't be asking us to
make martyrs of ourselves. After all you've said about being through
with Mignon, too! It's a shame!"
"But just suppose her father had come to you and asked you to help her,
what would you have done?" pleaded Marjorie.
"Told him Mignon's history and advised him to lock her up," snapped
Jerry. "I hope---- Oh, I don't know what I hope. I can't think of anything
horrible enough to hope."
"Poor Jeremiah. It's too bad." Marjorie's little hand slipped itself
into the plump girl's fingers. "You know you'd have done just as I did.
I had quite a long talk with Mignon last night. After dinner her father
left us to ourselves. It wasn't exactly pleasant. She would say mean
things about Rowena. Still, she said she'd like to try again and wished
that we would all help her. So I said for all of us that we would. You
won't back out, will you, Jerry?"
"I don't know. Wait a week or two and see what she does, then I can tell
better. You've got to show me. I mean, I must be convinced." Jerry
wrinkled her nose at Marjorie and giggled. Her ruffled good humor was
smoothing itself down.
"That means, you _will_ help her," was Marjorie's fond translation.
"Constance is willing, too. I am sure of Irma and Harriet, but Susan and
Muriel are doubtful. Still, I think I can win them over if I tell them
that you are with me in our plan."
"There's just this much about it, Marjorie." Jerry spoke with unusual
seriousness. "Mignon will have to play fair or I'll drop her with a
bang. Just like that. The first time I find her trying any of her
deceitful tricks will be the last with me. Remember, I mean what I say.
If anything like that happens, don't ask me to overlook it, for I won't.
Not even to please you, and I'd rather please _you_ than anybody else I
know."
"I'll remember," laughed Marjorie. She was not greatly impressed by
Jerry's declaration. The stout girl was apt to take a contrary stand,
merely for the sake of variety. She had expected that Jerry would scold
roundly, then give in with a final threatening grumble.
Susan and Muriel she found even harder to convince of Mignon's
repentance than Jerry. Muriel was especially obstinate. "I'll speak to
Mignon," she stipulated, "but I won't ask her to my house or go any
place with her. Now that we've made over five hundred dollars out of the
operetta for the library, you know we've been talking about getting up a
club. Of course, she'll want to be in it. But she sha'n't."
"Then there's no use in trying to help her," said Marjorie calmly, "if
we don't include her in our work and our good times."
"That's precisely what you said last year," retorted Muriel. "You
invited her to your party and she nearly broke it up. After that I
wonder that you can even dream of trusting her. I've known her longer
than you, Marjorie. When we all went to grammar school together she was
always the disturber. She used to fight with us and then come sliding
around to make up. She'd promise to be good, but she never kept her word
for long.
"Once she behaved pretty well for three months and we began to like her
a little. Then one day some of us went to the woods on a picnic. We took
our luncheon and spread a tablecloth on the grass. When we had all the
eats spread out on the tablecloth and sat down around it, Mignon got mad
because Susan said something to me that made me laugh. We happened to
look at her, but we weren't talking about her. She thought so, though.
She began sputtering at us like a firecracker. The more we all tried to
calm her the madder she got. Before we could stop her she caught the
tablecloth in both hands and gave it a hard jerk. You can imagine what
happened! All our nice eats were jumbled together into the grass. The
ants got into them and we had to throw nearly everything away. She
didn't stop to help pick up things. She rushed off home and none of us
spoke to her for the rest of the year. That's why I can't believe in her
repentance. Sooner or later she's bound to upset things again, just as
she did that time."
Marjorie could not resist laughing a little at Muriel's tragic tale of a
woodland disaster. "I can't blame you for feeling as you do," she said,
"but I must keep my word to her father. It means so much to him. Being
in the operetta has given her a little start. Perhaps she's begun to see
that it pays to do well. She knows now how it feels to be treated badly.
It must remind her of some of the mean things she's done. If she's ever
going to change, the time has come. But if no one believes in her, then
she'll get discouraged and be worse than ever. Connie is willing to
help. I'd be ashamed to refuse after that. Even Jerry says she'll
consider it."
"Connie is a perfect angel, and Jerry is a goose," declared Muriel,
flushing rather guiltily. It was difficult to continue to combat
Marjorie's plan in the face of Constance's nobility of spirit. Constance
had been the chief sufferer at Mignon's hands. Reminded of this, Muriel
weakened. "I suppose I ought to get in line with Connie," she admitted.
"I'd feel pretty small if I didn't. I can't afford to let Jerry beat me,
either."
Muriel's objections thus overruled, Susan proved less hard to convince.
Once more the reform party banded itself together to the performance of
good works. Smarting from the effects of Rowena's cowardly spite, Mignon
was quite willing to be taken up again by so important a set of girls as
that to which Marjorie belonged. It pleased her not a little to know
that she had gained a foothold that Rowena could never hope to win.
Then, too, her father had taken a hand in her affairs. He had sternly
informed her that she must about-face and do better. Relief at being
plucked from a disagreeable situation, rather than gratitude toward her
preservers, had predominated her feelings on the eventful night at
Riverview. Fear of her father's threat to send her away to a convent
school if she did not show rapid signs of improvement made her pause.
Returning from his business trip, Mr. La Salle had interviewed first
William, the chauffeur, then Mignon. From an indulgent parent he became
suddenly transformed into a stern inquisitor, before whose wrath Mignon
broke down and haltingly confessed the truth. As a result he had
forbidden her further acquaintance with Rowena. Reminded afresh of his
parental duty, he had pondered long, then through the kindly offices of
Mr. Dean, arranged the meeting with Marjorie. Thus Mignon's affairs had
been readjusted and she had been forced to agree to follow the line of
good conduct he had stretched for her.
It was a distinct relief, however, to Marjorie and her friends to find
that Mignon was content to be merely on equitable terms. She did not try
to force herself upon them, though she received whatever advances they
made with an amiability quite unusual to her. They were immensely
amused, however, at her frigid ignoring of Rowena Farnham. Her revenge
consummated, Rowena decided to re-assume her sway over her unwilling
follower. Mignon fiercely declined to be reinstated and the two held a
battle royal in which words became sharpest arrows. Later, Rowena was
plunged into fresh rage by the news that Mignon had been taken up by the
very girls she had over and over again disparaged.
Determined not to be beaten, she continued to waylay Mignon as she went
to and from school. Changing her bullying tactics, she next tried
coaxing. But Mignon maintained her air of virtuous frigidity and took an
especial delight in snubbing the girl she had once feared. It also gave
her infinite pleasure to paint Rowena in exceedingly dark colors to
whomever would listen to her grievances. Much of this came in
round-about fashion to the reformers. They disapproved of it intensely,
but held their peace rather than undo the little good they hoped they
had already accomplished.
Among her schoolmates the account of Mignon's near misfortune was
received with varying degrees of interest. A few were sympathetically
disposed; others merely laughed. Rowena, however, lost caste. Neither
her costly clothes, her caustic wit nor her impudently fascinating
personality could cover the fact that she had done a treacherous and
contemptible deed. The fact that she had left a young girl stranded at
midnight in a strange town did not add to her doubtful popularity. Quick
to discover this state of affairs, she realized that she had gone a step
too far. There was only one way in which she might redeem herself and
that lay in the direction of basket ball.
February was speedily living out his short, changeable life. The third
of the four games between the sophomore-junior teams was to be played on
the last Saturday afternoon of the month, which fell on the
twenty-seventh. Thus far each side had won a game. Rowena decreed that
the two games yet to be played should go to the sophomores. She would
play as she had never played before. Nothing should stand in her way.
She would lead the sophomores on to glory and the acclamation of her
class would cleanse her blurred escutcheon. Once she had re-established
her power she would make Mignon sorry.
Fortunately for her plans, the members of her team had showed no great
amount of prejudice against her since the affair of the operetta. They
treated her cordially enough during practice and applauded her clever
playing. Shrewd to a degree, she divined instantly that they cherished
no special regard for her. They were simply using her as a means to the
end. Knowing her value as a player, they were egging her on to do well
because of their hope of victory in the next two games. She did not
doubt that when the season was over there would be a general falling-off
in their cordiality unless she so greatly distinguished herself as to
win their ungrudging admiration.
Alas for her dream of power, when the third game came off between the
two teams, it was the juniors who carried off the palm with a score of
26-14 in their favor. What galled her most was the remarkably brilliant
playing of Marjorie Dean. If there lingered a doubt in the mind of Miss
Davis regarding Marjorie's ability to play basket ball, her work on the
floor that Saturday afternoon must have completely discounted that
doubt. What Miss Davis thought when, from the gallery, she watched the
clever playing of the girl she had endeavored to dismiss from the team,
was something which was recorded only on her own brain. It was noted by
several pairs of watchful eyes that she did not applaud the victors. She
had not forgiven them for the difficulties into which they had plunged
her on that fateful afternoon.
Losing the game to the enemy made matters distinctly mortifying for
Rowena. Among themselves, her team-mates gloomily conceded that they had
over-rated her as a player. Though they made some effort to conceal
their resentment, their cordiality became less apparent. This second
defeat precluded all hope of doing more than tieing the score in the one
game still to be played. They needed Rowena's help to bring about that
result. Therefore, they dared not express themselves openly. It may be
recorded here that the ideals of the four sophomore players were no
higher than those of Rowena. Their attitude toward her was glaringly
selfish and they were possessed of little loyalty.
The final game was set for the thirteenth of March. Doggedly bent on
escaping a whitewashing, the sophomores devoted themselves to zealous
practice. So insistently frequent were their demands for the use of the
gymnasium that the junior team were obliged to make equally insistent
protest against their encroachment.
"I am really glad that this next game is to be the last," remarked
Marjorie to her teammates one afternoon as they were preparing to leave
the dressing room after practice. "Basket ball hasn't seemed the same
old game this year. Perhaps I'm outgrowing my liking for it, but really
we've had so much trouble about it that I long for victory and peace."
"It's not the game," contested Muriel. "It's those sophs with Rowena
Farnham leading them on. Why, even when Mignon was continually fussing
with us we never had any trouble about getting the gym for practice. Oh,
well, one week from to-morrow will tell the story. If we win it will be
a three to one victory. We can't lose now. All the sophs can do is to
tie the score."
"Where were our subs to-day?" demanded Daisy Griggs. "I didn't see
either of them."
"Harriet couldn't stay for practice. She was going to a tea with her
mother," informed Susan. "I don't know where Lucy Warner was. I didn't
see her in school, either."
"She must be sick. She hasn't been in school for almost a week,"
commented Muriel. "She is the queerest-acting girl. You'd think to look
at her that she hated herself and everybody. She makes me think of a
picture of an anarchist I once saw in a newspaper. When she does come to
practice she just sits with her chin in her hands and glowers. I can't
understand how she ever happened to come out of her grouch long enough
to make the team."
"She's awfully distant," agreed Marjorie dispiritedly. "I have tried to
be nice to her, but it's no use. My, how the wind howls! Listen." Going
to the window of the dressing room, she peered out. "It's a dreadful
day. The walks are solid sheets of ice. The wind blew so hard I could
scarcely keep on my feet this noon."
"I fell down twice," giggled Susan Atwell. "It didn't hurt me much. I
scraped one hand on a piece of sharp ice, but I'm still alive."
"Be careful going down the steps," warned Daisy Griggs, ever a youthful
calamity howler.
"Don't croak, Daisy. If you keep on someone will take a tumble just
because you mentioned it," laughed Muriel. "We can't afford that with
the game so near."
Dressed at last, their paraphernalia carefully stowed away, the team
trooped from the gymnasium and on to their locker room. "I wish I had
worn my fur coat," lamented Muriel. "I'll surely freeze in my tracks.
Are you ready, girls? Do hurry. I am anxious to face the wind and get it
over with. I think I'll take the car home."
"Ugh!" shuddered Susan. Issuing from the high school building a blast of
piercing air struck her full in the face. "We'll be blown away before we
get down the steps."
"Oh, come along, Susie," urged Muriel laughingly. "Don't mind a little
thing like that. Look at me. Here goes." Muriel valiantly essayed the
first icy step. A fresh gust of wind assailing her, the hand holding her
muff sought her face to protect it.
How it happened no one quite knew. A concerted scream went up from four
throats as Muriel suddenly left her feet to go bumping and sliding down
the long flight of ice-bound steps. She struck the walk in a heap and
lay still.
"Muriel!" Forgetting the peril of the steps, Marjorie took them
heedlessly, but safely. A faint moan issued from Muriel's lips as she
knelt beside her. Muriel moaned again, but tried to raise herself to a
sitting posture. She fell back with a fresh groan.
"Where are you hurt?" Marjorie slipped a supporting arm under her. By
this time the others had safely made the descent and were gathered about
the two.
"It's my right shoulder and arm. I'm afraid my arm is broken," gasped
Muriel, her face white with pain.
"Let me see." Marjorie tenderly felt of the injured member. "Do I hurt
you much?" she quavered solicitously.
"Not--much. I guess it's--not--broken. It's my shoulder that hurts most."
Several persons had now gathered to the scene. A man driving past in an
automobile halted his car. Leaping from the machine he ran to the scene.
"Someone hurt?" was his crisp question. "Can I be of service?"
"Oh, if you would." Marjorie's face brightened. "Miss Harding fell down
those steps. She's badly hurt."
"Where does she live? I'll take her home," offered the kindly motorist.
Lifting Muriel in his arms he carried her to the car and gently
deposited her in its tonneau. "Perhaps you'd better come with her," he
suggested.
"Thank you, I will. Good-bye, girls. Go on over to my house and wait for
me. I'll be there in a little while." Lifting her hand to the three
frightened girls, who had advanced upon the machine with sundry other
curious pedestrians, Marjorie gave Muriel's rescuer the Hardings'
address, climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.
"Poor Muriel," wailed Daisy Griggs, as the car rolled away. "I told her
to be careful. I hope she isn't hurt much. And the game next week!"
Three pairs of startled eyes met and conveyed the same dismaying
thought. What would the team do without Captain Muriel?