Marjorie Dean, High School Junior

CHAPTER X – A CRUSHING PENALTY

As Jerry had guessed, Constance Stevens’ absence from school was due to the fact that her foster-father had descended upon Gray Gables for a brief visit. He was delighted to see both Marjorie and Jerry. Constance insisted that they should remain to dinner, whereupon the tireless telephone was put into use and the two remained at Gray Gables, there to spend a most agreeable evening. At about eleven o’clock Hal Macy appeared to take them home in the Macy’s smart limousine. Thus, in the pleasure of being with her friends, Marjorie quite forgot the disagreeable incident that had earlier befallen herself and Jerry. Strange to say, Cæsar’s Commentaries, also, faded from recollection, and it was not until they were driving home that the estimable Roman was tardily remembered along with previous good intentions. “It’s unprepared for ours,” was Jerry’s doleful cry, thereby proving that the will to abolish slang was better than the deed.

Due to placing pleasure before duty, Marjorie felt it incumbent upon her to make an early entrance into school the next morning for the purpose of taking a hasty peep at her neglected text books. She was lucky, she told herself, in that the last hour in the morning would give her an opportunity to go over her Cæsar lesson. She, therefore, confined her attention to her English literature, deciding that she could somehow manage to slide through her French without absolute failure. Civil government would also have to take its chance for one recitation.

When at fifteen minutes past eleven she came into the study hall from French class and settled herself to begin the business of Latin, she was for once glad to lay hold on the fat, green volume devoted to the doings of the invincible Cæsar. Opening it, a faint cluck of surprise fell from her lips as she took from it a square, white envelope addressed to herself. It was unsealed and as she drew forth the folded paper which it held she wondered mightily how it had come to be there. She was very sure she had not placed it in the book. Her bewilderment deepened as she read:

“Miss Dean:

“After what occurred the other day in the principal’s office it is surprising that you were not expelled from Sanford High School. It proves you to be a special pet of Miss Archer. Such unfairness is contemptible in a principal. It should be exposed, along with your dishonesty. Sooner or later even that will be found out and you will receive your just deserts. It is a long lane that has no turning.

“The Observer.”

Marjorie emitted a faint sigh of pure amazement as she finished reading this sinister prediction of her ultimate downfall. It was a piece of rank absurdity, evidently penned by someone who had no intimate knowledge of inside facts. Still it filled her with a curious sense of horror. She loathed the very idea of an anonymous letter. Once before since she had first set foot in Sanford High the experience of receiving one of these mysterious communications had been hers. It had pertained to basket ball, however. She had easily guessed its origin and it had troubled her little. This letter was of an entirely different character. It proved that among the girls with whom she daily met and associated there was one, at least, who did not wish her well.

As she reread the spiteful message, her thoughts leaped to Rowena Farnham as the person most open to suspicion. Yet Rowena had made a direct attack upon her. Again there was Mignon. She was wholly capable of such a deed. Strangely enough, Marjorie was seized with the belief that neither girl was responsible for it. She did not know why she believed this to be true. She simply accepted it as such, and cudgelled her brain for another more plausible solution of the mystery.

As she studied it the more she became convinced that the writing was the same as that of the similarly signed letter Miss Archer had received. The stationery, too, was the same. The words, “The Observer,” were the crowning proof which entirely exonerated Rowena. She had certainly not written the first note. Therefore, she had not written the second. Marjorie was in a quandary as to whether or not she should go frankly to the principal and exhibit the letter. She felt that Miss Archer would wish to see it, and at once take the matter up. She could hardly charge Rowena with it, thereby lessening her chances of entering the school. This second note made no mention of Rowena. Its spitefulness was directed entirely toward Marjorie herself. As it pertained wholly to her, she believed that it might be better to keep the affair locked within her own breast. After all, it might amount to nothing. No doubt, Rowena had related her own version of the algebra problem to Mignon. Mignon was noted for her malicious powers of gossip. A garbled account on her part of the matter might have aroused some one of her few allies to this cowardly method of attack. Still this explanation would not cover the writing of the first letter.

Quite at sea regarding its source, Marjorie gave the distasteful missive an impatient little flip that sent it fluttering off her desk to the floor. Reaching down she lifted it, holding it away from her as though it were a noisome weed. She burned to tear it into bits, but an inner prompting stayed her destroying hands. Replacing it in the envelope, she tucked it inside her silk blouse, determining to file it away at home in case she needed it for future reference. She hoped, however, that it would never be needed. Whoever had slipped it into her Cæsar must have done so after she had left her desk on the previous afternoon, following the close of the session. She wished she knew those who had lingered in the study hall after half-past three. This she was not likely to learn. Her own intimate friends had all passed out of the study hall at the ringing of the closing bell. She resolved that she would make casual inquiries elsewhere in the hope of finding a clue.

During the rest of the week she pursued this course with tactful assiduousness, but she could discover nothing worth while. What she did learn, however, was that due to a strenuous appeal to the Board of Education on the part of Mr. Farnham, his daughter had been allowed, on strict promise of future good behavior, to try an entirely new set of examinations. Fortune must have attended her, for on the next Monday she appeared in the study hall as radiantly triumphant as though she had received a great honor, rather than a reluctant admission into the sophomore fold.

“Well, she got there!” hailed Jerry Macy in high disgust, happening to meet Marjorie in the corridor between classes on the morning of Rowena’s retarded arrival. “My father said they had quite a time about it. She got into school by just one vote. He wouldn’t tell me which way he voted, but he said he was glad she wasn’t his daughter.”

“I’m honestly glad for hers and her parents’ sake that she was allowed another trial.” Marjorie spoke with sincere earnestness. “She’s had a severe lesson. She may profit by it and get along without any more trouble.”

“Profit by nothing,” grumbled Jerry. “She can’t change her disposition any more than a cat can grow feathers or an ostrich whiskers. Row-ena, Scrapena, Fightena, Quarrelena she is and will be forever and forever. Let’s not talk about her. She makes me – I mean I feel somewhat languid whenever her name is mentioned.” Jerry delivered her polite emendation with irresistible drollery. “Did you know that there’s to be a junior basket ball try-out next Tuesday after school?”

“No.” Marjorie’s interest was aroused. “Who told you? It certainly hasn’t been announced.”

“Ellen Seymour told me. She’s going to help Miss Davis manage the team this year in Marcia Arnold’s place. I imagine she’ll do most of the managing. I guess Miss Davis had enough of basket ball last year. She told Ellen that it took up too much of her time. She knew, I guess, that the upper class girls wouldn’t relish her interference. Ellen says you must be sure to be at the try-out. She hopes you – ” Jerry left off speaking and looked sheepish.

“Well, why don’t you finish? What does Ellen wish me to do?”

“You’ll find out at the try-out. Now don’t ask me any more questions about it.” Jerry’s cheerful grin belied her brusque words.

“You’re a very tantalizing person,” smiled Marjorie. “There goes the second bell. I’ll see you later.” She scudded away, wondering what it was that Jerry had stoutly refused to reveal. Evidently, it must be something of pleasant import, else Jerry would have frowned rather than smiled.

The next day, directly after opening exercises, Miss Merton dryly read out the official call to the try-out. It was received by the junior section with an audible joy which she sternly quenched. Miss Merton was in even less sympathy with “that rough-and-tumble game” than she was with the girls who elected to play it. It was directly due to her that Miss Davis had lost interest in it.

To those intimately interested in making the junior team, the Tuesday afternoon session seemed interminable. Eager eyes frequently consulted the moon-faced study-hall clock, as its hands traveled imperturbably toward the hour of reprieve. Would half-past three never come? At ten minutes past three Muriel Harding’s impatience vented itself in the writing of a heart-felt complaint to Marjorie. She wrote:

“This afternoon is one hundred years long. Darling Miss Merton wishes it was two hundred. The very idea that we are going to the try-out gives her pain. She hates herself, but she hates basket ball worse. If I should invite her to the try-out she would gobble me up. So I shall not risk my precious self. You may do the inviting.”

This uncomplimentary tribute to Miss Merton was whisked successfully down the section and into Marjorie’s hands. As note-passing was obnoxious to the crabbed teacher, Muriel had neither addressed nor signed it. She had craftily whispered her instructions to the girl ahead of her, who had obligingly repeated them to the next and so on down the row. Unfortunately, Miss Merton’s eyes had spied it on its journey. She instantly left her desk to pounce upon it at the moment it was delivered into Marjorie’s keeping.

“You may give me that note, Miss Dean,” she thundered, extending a thin, rigid hand.

“Pardon me, Miss Merton, but this note is for me.” Her fingers closing about it, Marjorie lifted resolute, brown eyes to the disagreeable face above her.

“Give it to me instantly. You are an impertinent young woman.” Miss Merton glared down as though quite ready to take Marjorie by the shoulders and shake her.

Back in her own seat, Muriel Harding was divided between admiration for Marjorie and fear that she would yield to Miss Merton’s demand. Despite lack of signature, the latter would have little trouble in identifying the writer were she given a chance to read the note. Muriel saw trouble looming darkly on her horizon.

“I am sorry you think me impertinent. I do not mean to be.” The soft voice rang with quiet decision. “But I cannot give you this note.” Marjorie calmly put the note in her blouse, and, folding her hands, awaited the storm.

“You will stay here to-night until you give it to me,” decreed Miss Merton grimly. Beaten for the time, she stalked back to her desk, quite aware that she could hardly have imposed a more crushing penalty. True, her effort to obtain the note had been fruitless, but one thing was patent: Marjorie Dean would not be present at the junior basket ball try-out.

CHAPTER XI – AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR

Left to herself for a brief respite, Marjorie drew out the note and read it. An expression of amused consternation flashed into her eyes as she took in its spirit. Knowing the writing to be Muriel’s she was now glad she had stood her ground. Note writing was not forbidden in Sanford High and never had been. Miss Merton alone, of all the teachers, strenuously opposed it. To be sure, it was not regarded by them with special favor. Nevertheless, in the class-rooms no one was ever taken to task for it unless it seriously interfered with the recitation. Marjorie did not know Miss Archer’s views on the subject, but she believed her principal too great-minded to cavil at such trifles.

The instant she had finished reading the note, she reduced it to unreadable bits, leaving them in plain sight on her desk. Not by so much as a backward glance did she betray the writer. Knowing Miss Merton to be on the alert, she took no chances. Should the latter send her to Miss Archer, she would very quickly express herself on the subject. As a junior she believed that the time for treating her as a member of the primary grade had long since passed.

It was not until she had effectually blocked all possibility of the note falling into Miss Merton’s possession that she remembered the try-out. Her heart sank as she recalled what a lengthy, lonely stay in the study hall meant. The try-out would go on without her. She would lose all chance of obtaining a place on the junior team. Her changeful face paled a trifle as she sadly accepted this dire disaster to her hopes. If only Muriel had not written that note.

The first closing bell sent a tremor of despair to her heavy heart. She wondered how long Miss Merton would detain her. She had said, “You will stay here to-night until you give it to me.” Even in the midst of misfortune the edict took a humorous turn. She had a vision of herself and Miss Merton keeping a lonely, all-night vigil in the study hall.

At the second bell the long lines of girls began a decorous filing down the aisles to the great doors. Marjorie watched them go, vainly pondering on why, thus far, her junior year had been so filled with mishaps. A bad beginning sometimes made a good ending was her only comforting reflection. She hoped that in her case it would prove true.

“Why are you staying, Miss Harding?” rasped forth Miss Merton when the big room had at last emptied itself.

Marjorie faced about with a start. She had not reckoned on this. She made a desperate sign to Muriel to go. Muriel merely shook an obstinate head. Then she announced bravely, “I wrote that note to Miss Dean.”

“Then you may remain in your seat,” snapped the frowning teacher. “Miss Dean, do you intend to give me that note?”

“I have destroyed it,” came the calm reply.

“You are determined to defy me, I see. Very well, you may tell me the contents of it. I saw you read it after I had returned to my desk.”

“I have nothing to say,” Marjorie replied with terse obstinacy.

“Miss Harding, you may tell me what you wrote.” Miss Merton suddenly swung her attack from Marjorie to Muriel.

“I will not.” Muriel spoke with hot decision. “Neither Miss Dean nor I are grammar school children. I see no reason why we should be treated as such. I think it very ridiculous, and I will not submit to it. You may send me to Miss Archer if you like. I am quite ready to say to her what I have just said to you.”

As Muriel’s challenge of defiance cut the storm-laden atmosphere, a most unexpected thing happened. Almost as if the mere mention of her name had served to bring her to the scene, Miss Archer walked into the study hall. She had come in time to catch Muriel’s last sentence, and her quick faculties had leaped to conclusion.

“What is it that you are quite ready to say to me, Miss Harding?” was her grave interrogation.

Miss Merton’s sallow cheeks took on a lively tinge of red. She was not specially anxious to bring Miss Archer into the discussion. Had the recipient of the note been other than Marjorie Dean, she would have allowed the incident to pass with a caustic rebuke. But her dislike for the winsome girl was deep-rooted. She could never resist the slightest opportunity to vent it publicly.

“I wrote a note to Miss Dean, Miss Archer,” burst forth Muriel. “Miss Merton asked Miss Dean for it and she wouldn’t give it to her. So Miss Merton said she must stay here until she did. Miss Dean tore the note up. I stayed because I wrote it. Miss Merton says we must tell her what was in that note. I won’t do it. Neither will Marjorie. I just said that I did not think we ought to be treated like grammar school children. I said, too, that I would be willing to say so to you, and I have.”

Miss Archer’s quizzical gaze traveled from Muriel’s flushed face to Marjorie’s composed features. Here was, indeed, a problem in that unknown quantity, girl nature. Miss Archer was too thoroughly acquainted with the ways of girls not to comprehend what lay beneath this out and out defiance of Miss Merton’s commands. She understood, if Miss Merton did not, or would not, the rather overdrawn sense of school-girl honor which prompted the rebellion. She knew that except in extreme cases, there was little to be obtained by using force. It was all too likely to defeat its own object.

“The attitude of these two young women toward me is insufferable.” Miss Merton now took up a harsh stand. She did not intend the principal should allow the matter to be passed over lightly. “Miss Dean, in particular, has been most disrespectful. In fact, ever since she became a pupil of this school she has derived an especial delight from annoying me.”

Miss Archer’s face wore an inscrutable expression as she listened. Years of association with Miss Merton had taught her to read between the lines. Yet she knew she must now proceed with the utmost diplomacy. As a teacher Miss Merton was entitled to the respect of her pupils. She had an inner conviction, however, that the irate woman was piling injustice upon Marjorie’s shoulders. She herself was beginning to understand the girl’s motives could never be classed as unworthy. Young in years, she possessed already a breadth of mind which Miss Merton could never hope to attain.

“You are entitled to the utmost respect on the part of your pupils, Miss Merton,” she levelly acknowledged. “I am sorry to hear bad reports of any of my pupils. I am sure that Miss Harding and Miss Dean will rectify the matter with an apology. As for the note, perhaps it might be wiser to allow the matter to drop.”

“Girls,” she now addressed the belligerents, “it seems to me that, as long as note-writing has proved a source of trouble to you, you might better give up the practice. Let me ask you a question. Was there any grave and important reason for writing that note?”

Muriel Harding hung her head. “No, Miss Archer,” came her low answer.

Marjorie’s pale face took on a faint glow of pink. “It was not necessary,” she admitted.

“Very well. You have both agreed that it was unnecessary. My advice to you is to discontinue the practice. I must insist that both of you make apology to Miss Merton for the annoyance you have caused.”

“Miss Merton, I regret that you should have been annoyed by me.” Marjorie made an immediate and dignified apology, which was perfectly sincere on her part. For more reasons than one she deplored the annoyance.

Muriel, however, hesitated a second or two before committing herself. Suddenly it dawned upon her that Miss Archer’s demand for apology had a deeper significance. She thereupon made haste to repeat Marjorie’s exact words.

Miss Merton received both apologetic speeches in black silence. She was inwardly furious with the principal, not only for her unexpected intrusion, but for the lax manner in which she had administered discipline. At least, Miss Merton considered it distinctly lax. Still, she knew that it would be in bad taste to try to overrule the principal’s decision. “You are dismissed,” she said stiffly. “See to it that you conduct yourselves properly hereafter.” She could not resist this one touch of authority.

The ex-culprits lost no time in leaving the study hall behind them. Not a word passed between them until the door of the junior locker room had closed upon them. Their eyes meeting, they burst into laughter, discreetly subdued, but most expressive of their feelings. Each mind held the same thought. What would Miss Merton have said had she read the note?

CHAPTER XII – A DOUBTFUL VICTORY

“Marjorie Dean, you are true blue!” exclaimed Muriel. “Whatever possessed me to write that awful note? If Miss Merton had read it – well, you can guess what would have happened. I shook in my shoes when I heard her ask you for it.”

“I’m glad I didn’t give it to her.” An angry sparkle leaped into Marjorie’s soft eyes. “She only made a fuss about it because it was I who had it. I think Miss Archer understood that. I love her for it. She treats us always as though we were young women; not as naughty children. But we mustn’t stand here. It’s four o’clock now. I am afraid we won’t have a chance to play. Only about fifteen or twenty juniors are going to try for the team. It may be made already.” Marjorie picked up the bag which contained her basket ball suit and tennis shoes.

“Let us hustle along then,” urged Muriel. Seizing her friend by one hand, her luggage in the other, the two raced for the gymnasium, hoping against hope.

“It’s all over.” Muriel cried out in disappointment as they entered the great room.

“I am afraid so,” faltered Marjorie, as she noted the group of bloomer-clad girls standing idle at one end of the gymnasium. Here and there about the floor were others in uniform. Altogether she counted eighteen. Ellen Seymour and two other seniors were seated on the platform, their chairs drawn together, their attention apparently fixed on a pad on Ellen’s knee. Spectators had been firmly but politely denied admission. Ellen had pronounced them a detriment to the try-out and elected that they should remain away.

“Hello, Marjorie Dean,” joyfully called out Harriet Delaney. As she hailed Marjorie she ran toward the two girls. “We thought you were lost to us forever. Where were you, Muriel? You surely didn’t have to stay.”

“Did you make the team?” was Muriel’s excited query.

“Not yet.” Harriet’s eyes twinkled. “The try-out hasn’t begun yet.”

“Hasn’t begun!” echoed two voices.

“No. Ellen was awfully cross about the way Miss Merton acted, so she said we’d wait for Marjorie. Then, when Muriel didn’t appear, she said, that if neither of you materialized, she would have the try-out put off until to-morrow. Miss Davis is so busy with that new system of gymnastics she’s going to adopt this year that she’s left basket ball to Ellen. I don’t see how she could help herself, though. Last year the juniors and seniors ran their own teams.”

“Ellen’s a dear,” exulted Muriel. “We are lucky to have her for manager. Marjorie and I will be her grateful slaves for the rest of the year. I wrote that note; so, naturally, I had to stay and face the music.”

“You did!” It was Harriet who now registered surprise. “What was in it?”

Muriel giggled. She could now afford to laugh. “Oh, a lot of sweet things about Miss Merton. You can guess just how sweet they were.”

“Goodness!” breathed Harriet. “No wonder Marjorie wouldn’t give it up. She – why, she’s gone!”

Marjorie had stopped only to greet Harriet. While Muriel was explaining matters, she slipped away to the platform where Ellen Seymour sat. “It was splendid in you, Ellen!” she burst forth, as she reached the senior’s side. “Thank you, ever so much.”

“Hurrah! Here’s Marjorie.” Ellen sprang up, her pleasant face breaking into a smile. “I’m so glad you came at last, and so sorry for what happened. You must tell me how you came out. But not now. We shall have to hustle to make up for lost time. I suppose you know Miss Elbert and Miss Horner. No?” Ellen promptly performed introductions.

“Pleased to meet you,” nodded both young women. Neither looked specially delighted. Miss Elbert, a small, plump girl with near-sighted, gray eyes, bowed in reserved fashion. Miss Horner, a rather pretty brunette, acknowledged the introduction with languid grace. Marjorie had long known both by sight. On two different occasions she had been introduced to Miss Horner. Afterward, on meeting her in the street, the latter had made no sign of recognition.

“I suppose you are satisfied now, Ellen,” drawled Miss Horner sweetly. “You are lucky, Miss Dean, to have Ellen for a champion. She insisted that we must wait for you.”

“I am very grateful to her,” Marjorie made courteous reply. Had there lurked a touch of sarcasm in the other’s polite comment?

“Miss Merton is altogether too fussy,” remarked Miss Elbert. Her blunt tone quite belied her reserved nod. “She tried that with me last year. It didn’t work, though.” Her air of constraint vanished in a bright glance, which indicated friendliness.