THE BOWLING-ALLEY
At ten minutes to seven that evening two girls might have been seen
strolling leisurely in the direction of the bowling-alley. The fog had
lifted, and the clouds had rolled by. The evenings were getting long
now, and there was still plenty of daylight.
The girls entered the bowling-alley and paced up and down. Their arms
were entwined; they were talking eagerly. One girl was Susan Marsh, and
the other her special friend Maud Thompson.
"Well," said Maud, "what do you mean to do? Star is quite certain not
to give up the bill. Will you confess to her? Will you throw yourself
on her mercy?"
"Never!" said Susan. "I am not that sort."
Maud's eyes narrowed. She looked frightened.
"It is a very awkward thing," she said after a pause, "and it makes me
downright uncomfortable. Just at present, too, when the Easter holidays
are coming; and then all the prizes which we are to compete for at the
grand break-up in summer. It's horrid to be in hot water, and we are
certain to be if it is known that you sent Christian to Dawson's to buy
those things."
"She won't tell," said Susan. "Don't fret yourself; it's all right, I
assure you."
"You are a wonderful girl, Susan, but you can't make wrong right. As
Star has the bill and nothing will induce her to give it up, I don't
see where we are. It seems to me it would be better to tell her than
for the whole school to know. She could not be too spiteful or too much
of a traitor to her own cause."
"She's a horrid girl and I hate her," said Susan. "She's just the sort
that makes more mischief than anybody else. She's neither bad nor good;
she's lukewarm. And you know what the Bible says about lukewarm people.
I hate her, and I'm not ashamed to say so."
"Of course, I must be guided by you, Susan; but I do trust you not to
get me into a scrape."
"I will do what I can; you have no cause to be the least alarmed," said
Susan. "Ah! here comes Janet. She hasn't half nor quarter your spunk,
Maud, as a rule, but really she looks more calm and collected to-night."
Janet ran up quickly. "The others are coming," she said. "I wonder what
is going to happen. I can't help feeling awfully troubled."
"I think the whole thing most horrible," said Maud.
Susan pinched her arm. Just then Star and Christian appeared. Star was
holding Christian by the arm. The girls walked slowly forward.
"There is no hurry," said Star; "it will soon be over."
"I wish I was dead," said Christian in a moaning voice.
"Oh, don't be silly!" said Star. "You will soon see for yourself what a
jolly time we shall have together. Now then, here they are."
Star walked up to Susan.
"Well, Susan," she said, "the time is up; what do you mean to do?"
Susan gave a slow smile. Her smiles were some of the most aggravating
things about her. She always smiled when others stormed.
"Be quick," said Star; "I am in a hurry. I have got to see Miss Peacock
before eight o'clock."
"But suppose you don't want to see her at all?" suddenly said Maud.
"I hope I may not have to see her, Maud; I would much rather not. Now,
Christian, my dear, good, frightened child, just stand near me, and
don't shake so terribly from head to foot. I can't get the mystery out
of Christian, Susan, so I have come to you. You know her secret. Most
likely it is all nonsense; but anyhow she has confided it to you."
"I did not," suddenly interrupted Christian.
"Then how did you get hold of it, Susan?"
Again Susan smiled, and again she was absolutely silent.
"Oh, bother!" said Star; "we needn't inquire now into the why and
wherefore of your knowledge. All we have got to discover--and to
discover pretty quickly, too--is what your power over Christian
consists of. Why is she afraid of you? Why has she, who is naturally
amiable and good and honorable, deliberately turned round and become
dishonorable and treacherous? I must say it, Christian, for it is the
truth. She is afraid, and I want to get to the bottom of it. You force
her to disobey the rules of the school. Why, a girl could be expelled
for what you made Christian do. You made her break one of the strictest
rules when you ordered her to go out and buy those things for the feast
that ought never to be held."
"I like that!" cried Susan. "It doesn't sound well for you to talk, you
who have enjoyed those tarts and cheese-cakes and jolly things in our
attic."
"It's quite true. I have enjoyed them; but I always made up my mind
that if Miss Peacock spoke to me about it I would tell her frankly. I
know Miss Peacock has an inkling that we enjoy ourselves occasionally
in that fashion. I know also that Jessie is aware of it. But I have
never done anything really underhand. I have never bought tarts and
cheese-cakes outside. When I gave a feast the things were sent to me
from home. Miss Peacock doesn't object to my having hampers from home
twice every term; and as the cakes and sweetmeats are always sent in
tin boxes, they last a long time. But that is not the point. The point
is this: why is Christian Mitford afraid of you--so much afraid of you
that she does wrong because you tell her to? It isn't her wish to do
wrong. It is contrary--altogether contrary--to her nature. Why, too,
should she spend her money? Hitherto, when we gave feasts in our attic,
we subscribed, each of us according to our means. Why should Christian
spend her money on food for the rest of you?"
"You can ask her," said Susan. "She can tell you exactly what she
likes. Speak, Christian; we are all ready to listen. Tell all about
that night--that wonderful night; tell all about Rosy; tell about----"
"Don't!" said Christian in a voice of agony.
"You see for yourself she doesn't want you to know, Star. She would
infinitely prefer your being left in ignorance. Much as you think of
her, honorable as you esteem her, compared to your humble servant, she
has done something which Maud and Janet and I would scorn to do. I
have not told Maud, and I have not told Janet. I have been singularly
merciful to Christian, and she knows it. Now, I wanted a little money
for this special feast, and she was kind enough to offer to lend it to
me. And as to the thing you accuse her of--namely, having got the cakes
and things from Dawson's in the High Street--I ask you what proof you
have?"
"Proof!" cried Star. "How extraordinary you are! I can show it; and I
will, too. This kind of thing must not go on. I won't be a party to
it."
"Very well," replied Susan; "you must please yourself. The bill is the
thing that condemns, is it not?"
"Yes; it proves the truth of my words."
"Where is it? I should like to see it."
"In my purse; you know that. You saw me put it there last night. I have
not touched it since."
"Very well," said Susan; "I think that is all. Now, I have a statement
to make. I refuse to betray poor Christian. She did some very wrong
and shameful things, but I am not going to tell. I am a good friend,
although some people don't think so. Cheer up, Chris. Do your worst,
Star; do your very worst."
There was a mocking tone in Susan's voice, and a look of defiance all
over her. She held herself very erect; her large face was flushed, and
her eyes looked calm as well as daring.
"I wish you luck, Star; I wish you luck," she said.
Star put her hand into her pocket and took out her purse.
"I said I would do it, and I will," she said. "It is horrible beyond
words, but I must do what I said. I shall take it with me and go. I
said I'd go. It is all hateful. I could cry about the whole thing; but
it is the only way to save Christian."
"A nice way of saving her!" said Susan. "You talk about saving her and
you get her into a most terrible row."
"I would rather do that than have her any longer in your power," said
Star.
As she spoke she bent her little head and looked into the purse. Her
curly hair fell forward over her eyes; she pushed it back impatiently.
"It is dark," she said, "but I ought to see it. I don't see it. Where
can it be?"
Susan had partly turned away.
"Where is what?" she asked, and she returned again to her post close to
Star's side.
"Why, the bill--the bill from Dawson's. I put it into this division
last night. Where is it?"
"How can I say?" replied Susan. "I don't keep your purse. I saw you put
it in and have neither seen it nor heard of it since."
Star's face turned very white. She looked full at Christian.
"Do you know, Christian?" she said.
"Certainly not," said Christian. "Alice gave me your purse when I was
sitting in the library by the fire. She threw it into my lap. I had
a headache and fell asleep. It lay in my lap when I slept. I did not
touch it until you came in. Then I gave it to you."
"Oh!" cried Susan, with a laugh, "I don't think that story will hold
water."
She laughed loudly. Then she clutched Maud by the shoulder.
"You see, Maud, we have nothing to fear. Chris, I congratulate you; you
acted with great promptitude and decision. You are one of us now. Oh,
Chris, Chris! to think you were really so knowing as all that."
Christian did not at first understand; but suddenly the knowledge
of Susan's cruel words burst upon her--the knowledge and what that
knowledge meant. A crimson tide mounted to her face.
She turned to say a word to Star, but Star had gone.