THE DINNER-DANCE
"And I thought all along that Miss Phillips didn't care!"
Marjorie made the remark softly, almost as if she were talking to
herself instead of to Lily, as the girls sat together in their room
crocheting after supper. All the Scouts had pledged the hour of seven to
eight in the evening, unless something unusual was going on, to work for
the bazaar.
"Didn't care about what?" asked Lily. "Men?"
Marjorie laughed. "No, not that. I mean about Frieda's being lost."
"Yes, I thought it was funny, too, though, of course, I didn't expect
her to throw up her job and go on an aimless sort of journey to find
her. Miss Phillips has too much good sense for anything wild like that."
"She has done the wisest thing possible by using that private
detective," continued Marjorie; "but somehow, Lil, I don't think she'll
ever find her. I think it's sort of up to us."
"But how?"
"That I don't know, except to keep our eyes open."
"Oh, Marj!" exclaimed Lily, interrupting her, and changing the subject.
"Do you 'spose the mail's been sorted? It was late to-night, you know."
"What makes you so anxious?" teased Marjorie. "Hearing from Dick
Roberts?"
"Now Marj--don't be silly!"
"But you are expecting something?"
Lily toyed with her crochet needle, pulling out a long loop of the wool
and holding it over her finger. The baby's sweater that she was making
was almost finished.
"Guess I will run down to the office," she said, putting her work upon
the table; "I'll be right back."
By the time she returned Marjorie had forgotten all about the mail; her
thoughts were again with Frieda, imagining all sorts of horrors for the
ignorant, unresourceful girl, in some strange place.
"Three letters!" cried Lily, triumphantly. "I didn't open mine either; I
waited for you!"
Marjorie's eyes brightened; mail was always welcome.
"You have to guess the postmark, or who it's from!" teased Lily, holding
her hand over the letter.
"Princeton?" asked Marjorie, bending over her crochet to hide a blush.
"Nope!"
Lily tossed the missile into the other girl's lap, for she was too eager
to open her own two letters to cause any further delay. She and Marjorie
had each received square, khaki-colored envelopes, with the well-known
fleur-de-lis on the flap. They were from the Boy Scouts.
"A dance!" cried Marjorie, jumping up in glee, and dropping her crochet
upon the floor. "In honor of the hockey team!"
"Isn't it great, Marj? Who's inviting you?"
"David Conner! Who's your partner?"
"Dick!"
"Of course he is! I needn't have asked."
"John Hadley had better look out," remarked Lily; "or somebody else will
have his girl."
"I'm not anybody's girl!" protested Marjorie, indignantly. And then,
demurely--"Only father's!"
"A dinner-dance!" repeated Lily, reading her invitation for the third
time. "Marj, have you ever been to one?"
"Never!"
"How do you suppose they got Miss Allen's permission?"
"Oh, Miss Phillips saw to that! She can get anything she wants!"
returned Marjorie.
"I hope we beat Miss Martin's team, or we'll feel rather blue. And think
of so much in one day--a hockey game with them, and a dinner and a dance
with the Boy Scouts! And all the day before we go home for
Thanksgiving!"
"Who's your other letter from, Lil?" asked Marjorie, noticing the
envelope unopened on the table.
"Oh, I forgot! And I ought to be ashamed. It's from mama."
She read a few lines and her face lighted up happily. "Marj," she said,
looking up shyly, "mama and papa want you to spend the Thanksgiving
holidays with us. Can you? Oh, please----"
Marjorie threw her arms about Lily, squeezing her for joy.
"I'd love to! I've never been in New York. Oh, if father and mother will
only let me!"
"We'll go to the theater, and ride on the bus--and maybe invite John and
Dick there for dinner--and--and----!"
Marjorie let go of her room-mate, and went over to her desk. "I'm going
to write home this very minute," she announced, and seated herself to
begin the task.
The Boy Scouts had included thirteen girls of the hockey squad in their
invitation, and Miss Phillips, of course. Twelve of these girls were
Girl Scouts; Alice Endicott, who had not yet made up her chemistry
laboratory work, was still outside of Pansy troop.
The hockey game, the dinner-dance, and the holiday preparations made the
very air seem to tingle with excitement and anticipation. When the day
came, Marjorie made no attempt to reserve her energy for the later
events; she sang and danced about all morning with happiness. This year
she was well prepared to meet Miss Martin's team, not only individually,
for she was in good practice and excellent physical trim herself, but as
captain of her own team, she felt confident of her players.
The girls were out on the field early, practicing "passes," and warming
up for the game. Everyone on the team expected to play; but Helen
Stewart and Barbara Hill, besides one or two other moderately good
players, came in readiness to substitute should they be needed.
As the team from Miss Martin's approached the field, the critical
observer could mark the difference between these girls and those from
the home team. Long hikes, sensible clothing and food, and two weeks at
the Scout camp with exposure to all kinds of weather, had hardened Miss
Allen's girls and added something almost boyish to their bearing. And in
Marjorie they had an excellent captain, resourceful and confident of
success, whose calm assurance inspired them.
From the opening stroke when Marjorie, the center forward, sent the ball
at one bound across the field to her left forward, who dodged the
opposing half-back, the game seemed almost a walk-over for Miss Allen's
girls. Only once did Miss Martin's side make a goal, and then Lily
Andrews took all the blame for it upon herself.
"I thought it was too easy," she afterward explained to Marjorie, "and I
didn't work hard enough. It served me right, but I'm sorry for the
team."
At the end of the first half, with the score six to two in their favor,
Miss Phillips decided to give both the regular substitutes a chance. But
instead of making it easier for the opponents, it became more difficult,
for Helen Stewart had always been a good player, and Barbara Hill, who
had successful streaks, seemed to be particularly lucky. It was an easy
victory for Miss Allen's girls; the final score was fourteen to two.
"This decides me!" exclaimed Miss Martin, after she had congratulated
Miss Phillips and her team. "Now I am convinced of the value of a Girl
Scout troop."
"If you'd see our reports, you'd be still more convinced," remarked Miss
Allen, coming up behind her, and overhearing the remark.
"When can you come over and demonstrate?" pursued the visitor, turning
again to the gym teacher.
"Better wait till after Christmas, hadn't we?" suggested Miss Phillips.
"Does that suit you?"
"Perfectly," replied the other.
Marjorie and Lily lingered only long enough to avoid being rude to
their guests, and then hurried off to their room to prepare for the
party.
"Isn't it fun to be able to wear something besides the Scout uniform?"
remarked Lily, as she removed the muslin with which her pink
canton-crêpe was covered. "I don't believe the Boy Scouts have ever seen
me in anything else! And I'm going to curl my hair."
Marjorie smiled; Lily certainly did look better in pretty dresses, for
she was not the type of girl who could wear a uniform to advantage.
They dressed leisurely, and by half-past five were ready to go over to
the gymnasium, where they were to meet the other girls. They arrived
early, but Ruth and Mae and several others were already there.
"It doesn't seem like an athletic event," remarked Ruth, glancing at the
dainty dresses of the girls. "It seems more like a musical comedy."
"And that reminds me," said Miss Phillips, who had just come in,
charming in a gray georgette with a lavender girdle, and wearing a
bouquet of violets, "that reminds me that I would like the Scouts to
give a sort of musical comedy in the spring."
"Great!" cried Ruth. She had a passably good voice, and she knew
it--also, she knew that Marjorie could scarcely carry a tune.
By this time everyone had arrived, and they all started for the tea-room
in the village which the boys had obtained for the occasion. Marjorie
was curious to know who gave Miss Phillips her violets, but not daring
to tease her, she tried to content herself by whispering about it to
Lily.
If the girls, in their pretty party dresses, made a sensation with the
boys, the latter, in their turn, appeared very different in their neat,
dark suits to the girls, who were so accustomed to seeing them in their
official uniforms. There were only thirteen boys present, who had been
chosen according to their standing, and Mr. Remington, the Scoutmaster.
The girls descended the stairs, after leaving their wraps in the
dressing room, and each boy sought his own particular partner to escort
her to the dining-room. Two long tables, each seating fourteen persons,
were beautifully decorated with yellow crêpe-paper, favors, and large
bunches of chrysanthemums in the center. The lights, too, were covered
with yellow paper.
"It's lovely!" cried Marjorie with delight. "And hockey season's over,
so we can just eat and eat!"
It was a typical Thanksgiving dinner, with turkey and brown gravy, and
cranberry sauce. There was only a simple salad but everybody was
expected to eat both mince pie and ice-cream, and to finish with nuts,
raisins and candy.
"I'll never be able to dance a step," sighed Lily at the conclusion of
the feast, as she languidly stirred her coffee.
"We're not going to, for a while," answered David. "For we have other
entertainment."
"What?" asked Ruth, overhearing the conversation, and always eager for
novelty.
"A fortune teller!" he replied. "She is going to tell all the girls'
fortunes!"
Marjorie clapped her hands. "What fun! Nothing could possibly be nicer,"
she said, happily.
"And will she answer questions?" asked Lily.
"One question for each girl!" said Dick.
"I know what mine will be!" declared Marjorie, without the least
hesitation.
"'Does Princeton miss me?'" teased Ruth.
"Wrong again, Ruth," said Marjorie, shaking her head.
The fortune teller, a real gypsy, arrived in a few moments, and the
party adjourned to the dance room to listen. Sitting down upon the floor
near the fireplace, she produced a soiled pack of cards; then,
addressing the girls one by one, she painted glorious futures for them,
with ocean trips, "dark" or "blond" men, letters, and inheritances. It
was all good fun, and most of the girls did not take her seriously.
Their favorite question was, of course, "Will I get married?" to which
the woman invariably answered "Yes"--or, sometimes, "Twice!"
But Marjorie's question was a little different.
"Where is Frieda Hammer?" She asked it seriously, trembling in spite of
herself.
The fortune teller half closed her eyes, and there was intense silence
for a moment. Then she replied slowly,
"New York!"
"Oh, thank you!" cried Marjorie, believing in spite of her better
judgment. "And we'll find her, Lil!" she added, glancing significantly
at her room-mate.
Around nine o'clock the dancing began, David Conner had naturally
arranged Marjorie's program to give himself the first dance.
"Did you know Jack invited me home with him for Thanksgiving?" he asked,
watching her closely, hoping to see an expression of pleasure cross her
face.
But her eyes did not change.
"That's nice," she replied. "I'm sorry I won't be there--I've accepted
an invitation to go home with my room-mate."
David looked disappointed. Did Marjorie still care for John Hadley, to
the exclusion of all other boys? He could not help wondering about it,
and, somehow, felt vaguely jealous.
The hour and a half of dancing passed all too quickly, and the girls
were summoned by Miss Phillips to get their wraps. As the boys joined
them to accompany them back to school, David sought Marjorie, hoping to
have her to himself. But he did not find her conversation very
satisfactory, for her mind seemed far away, and he was relieved to have
Lily and Dick join them.
Marjorie had enjoyed her evening, but now she was eager to be alone with
Lily, to discuss, in private, what the fortune teller had said about
Frieda's whereabouts.
"And I really can't help attaching some importance to what she said,"
she remarked, when the girls were finally alone. "Oh, Lil," she added,
"just suppose we should find her! This very week, perhaps!"
"But New York's a big place, Marj!" observed Lily, rubbing her eyes,
sleepily. "So don't get your hopes too high!"