"And we can have the party in her room? Oh, fine! You're awfully dear,
Mrs. Dean. We'll be there at two this afternoon. Good-bye." Jerry Macy
hung up the telephone receiver and did an energetic dance about the
hall.
"Training for the Russian Ballet?" asked Hal, as, emerging from the
breakfast room, he beheld Jerry in the midst of her weird dance.
"No, you goose. I'm doing a dance of rejoicing. Marjorie's well enough
to see us. We are going to have a party for her this afternoon."
"You are a lovely girl, Jerry, and you dance beautifully." Hal became
suddenly ingratiating. "Am I invited to the party?"
"Certainly not. It's an exclusive affair; no boys allowed. You may send
Marjorie some flowers, though. You've only sent them twice this week."
"I'll do it. What time is the party?"
"Two o'clock. Get them at Braley's. That's the nicest place." Jerry was
obliged to shout this last after Hal, as, seizing his cap and coat, he
raced out the front door.
Over two weeks had elapsed since the Thursday morning which had marked
the downfall of basket ball. During that time, Marjorie had lain in her
dainty pink-and-white bed, impatiently wondering if she were ever going
to get well. But one thing had helped to make her trying illness
endurable. Never before had she realized that she had so many friends.
Her pretty "house" looked like a florist's shop and her willow table was
piled with offerings of fruit and confectionery sent her by her devoted
followers. Every day the mail brought her relays of cheery letters, the
burden of which was invariably, "You must hurry and get well."
And now the day of convalescence had dawned. She was able not only to
sit up, but to take brief strolls about her room. Her faithful Captain
had just brought her word that Jerry and the girls would be with her
that afternoon. What a lot they would have to talk about! Marjorie lay
luxuriously back among her pillows and smilingly patted a fat letter
from Mary Raymond. "How I wish you could be here, too, Lieutenant," she
murmured. "We need you to help us with our good time. Connie's coming
over early to help Captain dress me in my wonderful new pink negligee.
It has ruffles and ruffles. I wish you could see it, Mary."
"_You_ are only playing invalid," laughingly accused Constance Stevens.
It was a little after one o'clock. She and Mrs. Dean had just finished
arraying Marjorie in the half-fitted pink silk negligee that had been
one of Captain's cheer-up gifts to her. "I never before saw you look so
pretty, Marjorie," she declared, as she stepped back to view the effect.
"You ought always to wear your hair down your back in long curls."
"Just imagine how I'd look. And I so nearly a senior, too. Connie, do
you suppose Mignon will come to my party?" Marjorie asked with sudden
irrelevance.
"When I invited her to it she said she'd come," returned Constance. "You
can't tell much about her, though. The day before Miss Archer forbade
basket ball I saw Rowena stop her and walk into school with her. I
thought it rather queer. She had said so much against Rowena after that
night at Riverview."
"She is a strange girl," mused Marjorie. "I am not very sorry that
Rowena Farnham has left high school. Judging from what you just said, it
wouldn't have been long until they grew chummy again. Rowena would have
found a way to win Mignon over to her."
In making this prediction Marjorie had spoken more accurately than she
knew. Emboldened by her success in once more attracting Mignon's
attention to herself, Rowena had planned to follow that move with others
equally strategic. But before she had found opportunity for a second
interview, basket ball had been doomed and she had ceased to be a pupil
of Sanford High.
Being among the first to get wind of Miss Archer's decree and Rowena's
exodus from school, Mignon secretly rejoiced in the thought that she had
not been implicated in the affair. She had fully made up her mind to
accept the invitation to play on the junior team, were it extended to
her. When she discovered the true state of matters, she made haste to
declare openly that had she been asked, nothing would have induced her
to accept the offer. As for Rowena, she should have known better. After
the shabby treatment she had received from Rowena, it was ridiculous in
her to dream that she, Mignon, would lend herself to anything so
contemptible. A few such guileful speeches to the more credulous girls
caused Mignon's stock to rise considerably higher. Others who knew her
too well looked wise and held their peace. Mignon alone knew just how
narrowly she had missed falling into a pit of Rowena's digging.
Quiet Constance entertained her own view of the incident. It coincided
completely with Marjorie's thoughtful opinion. "It's hard to part a pair
of girls like those two," she said. "They have too much in common.
Between you and me, I don't imagine Mignon will stick to us very long.
She's not interested in us."
"No, I suppose she thinks us rather too stiff-necked. Oh, well, we can
only do our best and let the future take care of itself. There's the
doorbell, Connie. That must be Jerry. She told Captain she'd come over
early. Will you go down and escort her in state to my house?"
Constance vanished to return almost immediately, but without Jerry. She
had not come back empty-handed, however. A large, white pasteboard box
bearing the name "Braley's" revealed the fact that Hal had outstripped
his sister.
"Oh, the gorgeous things!" gurgled Marjorie, as she lifted a great sheaf
of long-stemmed pink rosebuds from the box. Her pale cheeks took color
from the roses as she spied Hal's card with a cheering message written
underneath in his flowing, boyish hand. "He's been such a comfort! Just
as soon as I get well I'm going to have a little dance and invite all
the boys." Marjorie touched the fragrant token with a friendly hand.
"Laurie sent me some violets yesterday. Those on the chiffonier."
"He sent me some, too," admitted Constance rather shyly.
"How strange!" dimpled Marjorie. "Oh, there's the bell again! That
surely must be Jerry!"
Before Constance was half way downstairs, Jerry was half way up, her
broad face beaming, her arms laden with a large, round object, strangely
resembling a cake.
"Oh, take it!" she gasped. "My arms are breaking."
Constance coming to her rescue, the two girls soon made haven with
Marjorie and a lively chattering began. Frequent alarms at the front
door denoted steadily arriving guests and a little past two found
Marjorie's strictly informal reception in full swing, with girls tucked
into every convenient corner of her room. Her own particular chums,
including Ellen Seymour and Esther Lind, were all there. Even Susan and
Muriel, who had been busy getting well while she lay ill, were able to
be present. Lucy Warner was also among the happy throng, a trifle shy,
but with a new look of gentleness in her green eyes and a glad little
smile on her somber face.
Mignon appeared, but did not stay to the merry-making. She was full of
polite sympathy and apparently bent on doing the agreeable. But in her
black eyes lay a curious, furtive expression, which Marjorie mentally
decided made her look more than ever like the Evil Genius. After a
sojourn of perhaps twenty minutes, during which she walked about
restlessly from girl to girl, exchanging commonplaces, she pleaded an
engagement and took her leave.
Her presence somewhat of a strain, her departure was not mourned. Now
wholly congenial, the party dropped all reserve and became exceedingly
hilarious. Despite Mrs. Dean's protests, they had insisted on bringing
their own refreshments, and later on Marjorie's pink-and-white house was
turned into a veritable picnic ground. Jerry's weighty contribution
turned out to be an immense many-layered cake, thickly iced and
decorated. "A regular whale of a cake," she styled it, and no one
contradicted her. After the luncheon had been eaten to the ceaseless
buzz of girlish voices, each trying to out-talk the other, the company
proceeded further to amuse the lovely convalescent with various funny
little stunts at their command.
"Girls," at last reminded thoughtful Irma, "it is after four o'clock. We
mustn't tire Marjorie out. I move we go downstairs to the living room
and lift up our voices for her benefit in a good, old-fashioned song.
Then we'll come back, say good-bye and run home."
The wisdom of Irma's proposal conceded, the singers trooped downstairs.
Presently, through the open door, the sound of their clear, young voices
came up to her as she lay back listening, a bright smile irradiating her
delicate features. It was so beautiful to know that others cared so much
about making her happy. She had so many things to be thankful for.
Afterward when all except Jerry and Constance had kissed her good-bye
and departed with bubbling good wishes, she said soberly: "Girls,
doesn't it make you positively shiver when you think that next year will
be our last in Sanford High? After that we'll be scattered. Most of us
are going away to college. That means we'll only see each other during
vacations. I can't bear to think of it."
"Some of us will still be together," declared Jerry stoutly. "Susan,
Muriel and I are going to Hamilton College if you do. You see, you can't
lose us."
"I don't wish to lose you." Marjorie patted Jerry's hand. Her brown eyes
rested a trifle wistfully on Constance. Marjorie knew, as did Jerry,
that Connie intended to go to New York to study grand opera as soon as
her high school life was over.
"You are thinking of Connie." Jerry's eyes had followed Marjorie's
glance. "She won't be lost to us. Hamilton isn't so very far from New
York. But what's the use in worrying when we've some of this year left
yet and another year before us? One thing at a time is my motto."
"You are a philosopher, Jeremiah." Marjorie brightened. "'One thing at a
time,'" she repeated. "That's the right idea. When I go back to school
again, I'm going to try my hardest to make the rest of my junior year a
success. I can't say much about my senior year. It's still an
undiscovered territory. I'm just going to remember that it's a soldier's
first duty to go where he's ordered and ask no questions. When I'm
ordered to my senior year, all I can do is salute the colors and forward
march!"
"Lead on and we'll follow," asserted Jerry Macy gallantly. "I guess we
can hike along and leave a few landmarks on that precious senior
territory. When I come into senior estate I shall use nothing but the
most elegant English. As I am still a junior I can still say,
'Geraldine, Jerry, Jeremiah, you've got to beat it. It's almost five
o'clock.'"
Left together, after Jerry had made extravagantly ridiculous farewells,
Constance seated herself beside Marjorie's bed. "Are you tired,
Lieutenant?" was her solicitous question.
"Not a bit. I'm going to make Captain let me go downstairs to-morrow.
It's time I was up and doing again. I am away behind in my lessons."
"You'll catch up," comforted Constance. Inwardly she was reflecting that
she doubted whether there were any situation with which Marjorie Dean
could not catch up. Her feet were set in ways of light that wandered
upward to the stars. Though to those who courted darkness it might
appear that she sometimes faltered, Constance knew that those same
steady feet would carry her unfalteringly through her senior year to the
wider life to come.
How Marjorie explored her new senior territory and what landmarks she
left behind in passing will be told in "Marjorie Dean, High School
Senior."
THE END