A SIGNIFICANT DISCOVERY
“No, Beauty, I haven’t gone back on my word. How can you harbor such
suspicions against a fine old Irish gentleman like myself? Such a regard
as I have for you, yet you will doubt me.” Leila Harper rolled
reproachfully sentimental eyes at Marjorie. “Since it is a Beauty
contest you demand, your Celtic friend will rise to the occasion.”
“I wish you’d rise soon then.” Marjorie met Leila’s effusive promise
with a coaxing smile.
“Name the day and the hour.” Leila gave vent to a resigned groan, quite
at variance with her fulsome mood of the moment before.
“There you go. One minute you blow hot; the next cold.” Marjorie shook
an arraigning finger before Leila’s face. “I’m going to take you at your
word and name the day and hour. The day will be next Friday. The hour,
eight P.M. The place, the gym, the promoters of the contest—” Marjorie
paused with a dubious, questioning look toward Leila.
“Aye, Beauty; there’s the rub!” Leila exclaimed. “The contest ought to
be pulled off by either the sophs or freshies. We P. G.’s are beyond
such trifling vanities. So some would be pleased to say we should be.
Now we come to the reason why of things. I’m wisely in favor of letting
the sophs perpetrate the beauty walk.”
“My own opinion,” Marjorie concurred. “How would you turn it over to
them and still manage it, Leila. I mean the details. Only _you_ know how
to manage a Beauty contest like the one you got up long ago.”
“I’m going to be the power behind the throne and manage the contest
through the Bertram girls,” Leila made shrewd declaration. “They are
popular sophs. Besides they will do as I tell them. They’ll not spoil my
fine arrangements.” Leila favored Marjorie with a whimsical grin. “Let
me warn you, beforehand, Beauty. It will be dangerous for you to attend
the contest.”
“Your warning is wasted. I shall sit in the gallery and watch the Beauty
parade. Not because I imagine for a minute that I—that I—” Marjorie
stammered, growing suddenly rosy with confusion.
“That you would certainly win it if you appeared on the gym floor,”
Leila finished with mischievous affability. “No fair decorating the
gallery, Beauty. It’s a most important part you must play on the floor.”
“No, designing villain. You dragged me into one Beauty contest; but
never again.” She wagged a decisive head at Leila who merely continued
to beam on her.
“This time I have a fine plan for you,” Leila continued, unabashed. “You
are to be one of the judges. I’ll paint lines of age on your lovely
face; give you a snow-white frizzy wig and a shapeless brown bag of a
gown to wear. Even your captain could not pick you out as a Dean. Now
tell me, am I not your devoted Irish friend?” she demanded
ingratiatingly.
“You’re a jewel, Leila Greatheart.” Marjorie’s face grew radiant. “The
very thing I’ll like best. I’d forgotten all about the judges. Their
were three of them at the other contest. It seems ages since that night,
doesn’t it?”
Leila nodded. “Happy ages,” she said, a soft light shining from her
bright blue eyes. “And you were not pleased with me that night, Beauty,
for putting you in your rightful place on the campus.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Marjorie replied with smiling candor. “I recall that I
was almost angry with you. I thought you did it merely to nettle the
Sans. I thought you were very clever, but I wasn’t sure whether or not I
truly liked you.”
“Ah, but I have won dozens of golden opinions from you, Beauty, since
then. I will tell you something quite remarkable about myself. I am
never disliked by a person who likes me.” Leila made the statement with
due impressiveness.
“I’ll tell you something else. You’re an affable old fake, and I’ve been
here just one-half hour longer than I intended to be.” Marjorie rose
from the chair she had been occupying in Leila’s and Vera’s room. “I
needed that half hour for a bout with a terrific bit of old French
poetry. Now it’s gone—the hour, I mean. I wish the poetry was nil, too!
And I’ve not opened my book! It’s almost dinner time, and after dinner
we’re due at Silverton Hall to help Robin rehearse that house play. You
hadn’t forgotten about it, had you?”
“I never forget anything I happen to remember,” was the re-assuring
response.
“Then keep on remembering the Beauty contest,” begged Marjorie laughing.
“This is Monday. I wish you _could_ arrange it for Friday night. I’m so
anxious for Miss Monroe to win it. It will strengthen her position on
the campus.” Her lovely face grew suddenly serious. “You know so well
the way I feel about her, Leila. I’d love to have her free herself from
Leslie Cairns’ influence; to help her raise up a pride in herself that
will place her above doing the contemptible things the Sans used to do.”
As she talked Marjorie’s voice took on a wistful earnestness which Leila
found irresistible. She did not share Marjorie’s views concerning Doris
Monroe. Nevertheless, Marjorie’s appeal to Leila for help in the
difficult conquest of the more difficult sophomore was in itself
sufficient cause for co-operation on Leila’s part.
“Watch the bulletin board tomorrow, and have no fears,” was Leila’s
parting advice as Marjorie reached the door. “We shall meet again,” she
added portentously.
“In about ten minutes; at dinner. And in my room, after dinner; and
after that, on the campus; and still after that, at Silverton Hall,”
flung back Marjorie over a shoulder as she went out the door. She ran
lightly down the hall to her room, inspirited by Leila’s promise. She
swung open the door with a gay little fling and entered to find Jerry
deep in the perusal of a letter.
“I’m going to be one of the judges at the Beauty contest,” she breezily
informed Jerry. “I forgot to ask Leila who she’d picked for the other
two judges.”
“It’s a good thing for the Ice Queen that you are going to wear a
disguise; efface your face from the college map for the time being,”
Jerry commented, eyes still on her letter. “No judge rig-out for
Jeremiah, I shall appear in all my fatal beauty. But I don’t expect to
get a fair deal,” Jerry sighed loudly. “When is the momentous Beauty
gathering to grace the gym?”
“Friday evening at eight.” Marjorie went on to recount hers and Leila’s
recent conversation.
“You old politician. You’ve everything fixed for your candidate,” Jerry
humorously accused. “What _has_ become of the traditions of Hamilton?
Shocking!”
“They’re _right in the foreground_, AS ALWAYS,” retorted Marjorie. “I’m
neither old, nor a politician. _Nothing_ has been fixed for my
candidate. Yes; I’ll admit I have one,” she declared in answer to
Jerry’s comically questioning glance. “Just the same, she can only
succeed on her own merits. Giving her a chance to do that isn’t pulling
strings for her.”
“I get you, Bean. I humbly apologize for any dark suspicions I may have
entertained against you. You are a Bean of rare pulchritude, enterprise
and integrity. You are not the only enterprising person on the campus,
though. I hate to speak of myself, but—er-her-r, ahem!” Jerry loudly
cleared her throat. “I’m a credit to the noble profession of the
sleuth.” Her tone of raillery held an undernote of triumph. Her round
face wore a victorious expression which Marjorie did not miss.
“What is it, Jeremiah? You’re brim full of something interesting. I know
you’re aching to tell me. Do go ahead.”
“It’s about those two letters,” Jerry began abruptly. “I mean the two
that were sent to you in the fall when the sophs were warring among
themselves, and Gentleman Gus drew the class presidency.”
“I haven’t forgotten them,” Marjorie said dryly. “You said you’d find
out all about them. Have you?” She gazed interestedly at Jerry. “Now I
begin to understand why you were praising yourself,” she tacked on, with
a teasing smile. “You’ll have just time to tell me before the dinner
gong sounds. Go to it.” She dropped easily down upon her couch bed, eyes
still intent on Jerry.
“You know, and so do I, that the sports committee letter was a fake. We
decided that first thing. Well, I’ve not discovered who wrote it. I’m
still suspicious of three different sets of girls on the campus. But I
haven’t a shred of proof against any of them. Being an honorable sleuth
I don’t prowl ignobly about the campus after my quarry. I set legitimate
traps for ’em. I deduce in a scientific and marvelous manner. My methods
are above reproach, but they take time.”
“So do your remarks,” Marjorie impolitely reminded. “The gong’s going to
ring very, very soon.”
“Oh, is it? So glad you told me. My, but you are rude at times. This is
one of ’em. Back to my subject. I never believed that Miss Walker wrote
the letter to you signed with her name. I made up my mind to find out
whether the handwriting was hers, but I failed to capture a specimen of
her penmanship. I tried a half a dozen nice, lady-like little schemes.
Not one worked. One day luck was with Jeremiah. I picked up a fine and
fussy handkerchief, monogrammed, L.M.W.”
With one eye on the clock Jerry hurriedly recounted the writing of the
note to Louise Walker and the subsequent mailing of it and the
handkerchief to the sophomore.
“Here’s the answer. Found it in the bulletin board this P. M. Look at
it. Next cast your eyes over this piece of bunk.” Jerry laid two
unfolded letters on the study table for Marjorie to examine.
Marjorie obediently left the couch where she had cosily disposed her
slim length. She reached Jerry’s side with one lithe bounce. Hastily she
picked up the letter Jerry indicated. Then she read:
“DEAR MISS MACY:
“How fortunate for me that you should have found my pet
handkerchief! I bought it in Europe last summer of one of those
wonderful Belgian lace makers. I prize it highly on account of
the beauty of the embroidery. Consequently I rarely carry it.
Broke my rule for once and lost it. I had no idea where. It is
my good luck, and quite remarkable, I think, that you should
have guessed the initials on it to be mine. Thank you for your
courtesy. Assuring you of my appreciation,
“Yours very sincerely,
“LOUISE MAY WALKER.”
As she finished reading Miss Walker’s impersonally friendly note of
thanks Marjorie s eyes immediately sought the other letter. It was the
hateful letter she had received directly after the sophomore election
from Miss Walker. She had read if enough times to know it by heart.
“Why, Jerry!” she cried, letting the two letters flutter from her hand
to the table. “She—Miss Walker—never wrote that miserably mean letter to
me! It’s not written in the same hand as the note she wrote you about
the handkerchief. We feel quite positive she wrote that note. So she
couldn’t have written the other.”
“Of course she didn’t write it,” Jerry asserted. “I’ve been keeping an
explorative P. G. eye on her since the basket ball season began. She has
some fine traits, Marjorie.” Jerry nodded her head in sober confirmation
of her opinion.
“I’m glad she didn’t write this.” Marjorie touched the condemnatory
letter with the tip of a finger. She picked up both letters again and
proceeded to a critical examination of the handwriting of each.
“I couldn’t be sure she had not until I had seen her handwriting. I
hadn’t the least excuse for writing her, and I didn’t care to ask the
girls to do it. I’d begun to harbor dark thoughts of waylaying her on
the campus in the misty twilight and appropriating her note-book. She
had a twice-a-week late trig period at Hamilton Hall. Then I found the
handkerchief in the main corridor. Maybe Jeremiah wasn’t pleased with
herself!” Jerry gave an elated little spin around on one heel. “I wrote
her and enclosed the hankey, and this is the reward of honesty plus
great forethought.” Jerry significantly tapped her forehead.
“I’m glad,” Marjorie said again; “glad you are a great detective,
Jeremiah.” She smiled indulgently at Jerry. “But gladder still that Miss
Walker never wrote that spiteful letter. I’m gladdest of all that it is
more despicable even than if it were anonymous. It’s a forgery. A person
so unprincipled as to commit such a forgery is too unprincipled to be
dangerous.”
“Pearls of truth and wisdom, Bean. I get you, and agree with you,” Jerry
returned the smile. “I hate to say it, but I know only one person who
could qualify under that head—Leslie Hob-goblin Cairns.”
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