Part 19 (1/2)
Hal, Laurie and Danny Seabrooke, on strict orders from Marjorie, had dutifully asked the French girl to dance. The majority of the Weston High boys were not so chivalrous. They did not like Mignon and steered prudently clear of her. Utterly disgruntled she left the Armory at eleven o'clock in a most unamiable frame of mind that spelled trouble for someone.
Just before midnight the Campfire ended with an old-fas.h.i.+oned Home Sweet Home waltz, followed by a bedlam of high school yells. The edge of youth is not easily dulled by work, particularly if that work be of a pleasant nature. The little frolic with which the Campfire ended was a most enthusiastic affair. The consensus of opinion was, that the Campfire ought to be a yearly event, and eager plans cropped up wholesale regarding what should be done at the next one. Roughly estimated, it was believed that the profits would exceed one thousand dollars. Divided equally between the Guards and the Lookouts it would go far toward solving their financial problems.
Following the excitement of the past three days, the peace of Sunday descended like a welcome mantle on the tireless promoters, who were forced to the conclusion that they were a trifle tired after all. It may be said to their credit that they did not fail to attend Sunday morning services in their respective churches, and more than one silent prayer of thankfulness ascended to the G.o.d they devoutly wors.h.i.+pped. Marjorie in particular was moved to offer up reverent thanks, adding a humble little pet.i.tion that she might be guided always to seek the right and cling to it.
On Sunday afternoon Jerry Macy appeared at the Deans shortly after dinner, proposing that she and Marjorie pay Lucy Warner a call.
”We'd better go and see Lucy ourselves,” she counseled, ”and not waste any more time wondering why she was among the missing last night.”
”All right. I am willing. Captain won't care. She and General have gone for a ride. I'll leave word on the official bulletin board to let them know where I am bound for and when to expect me home.”
Writing a hasty note, Marjorie tucked it into a small bulletin board, hung in the hall.
It was a rather long walk to the Warrens' unpretentious little home. As they traversed the stretch of field leading directly up to it, Marjorie was forcibly reminded of a winter day when she had floundered across that very field through the snow on the errand of mercy which had ended in Lucy Warner's unexpected revelation. To-day the open s.p.a.ce of ground lay brown and frozen. It looked even more desolate than when covered with snow.
”I'm thankful I don't have to live in that house!” Jerry's exclamation broke up her reverie. ”It's a cheerless-looking place, isn't it?”
”That is what I thought the first time I came here,” nodded Marjorie. ”I was just thinking of that day last winter when I waded through the snow to get to it. That was the day I came down with tonsillitis.”
”I remember. You were all in when you left us to come here. You never told me anything about that call.”
Marjorie smiled whimsically. She had never given anyone the details relating to that particular call. She now replied to Jerry's remark merely with: ”Oh, I took Lucy a basket of fruit, went upstairs to her room and talked with her quite a while. When I went to her house I felt rather ill. My feet were wet from plowing through the snow. While I was there I forgot about it. When I started away from her house I had to wade through the snow again and then I went home and had tonsillitis.”
”Humph!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jerry. ”You certainly took a lot of trouble for her.
She must have realized it, too, for she's been your fervent wors.h.i.+pper ever since. I hope Mignon hasn't told her a lot of things that will undo all the good you've done. Lucy has been a changed girl since you and she became friends.”
”I am very fond of her. She is the brightest girl I have ever known.”
Marjorie spoke with admiring sincerity. The two friends had left the field behind them and were now proceeding up the straggling path that led up to the house. ”I do hope she is at home.”
”Umm!” was Jerry's sole comment. Her sharp eyes were intently scanning the front windows of the house as though seeking to discover whether its tenants were within. Arrived at the door, she peered about in search of a bell. Finding none she doubled a plump fist and rapped energetically on a weather-stained panel of the door. An instant's silence ensued.
Listening acutely neither girl heard the sound of approaching footsteps from within. Failing to elicit a response, Jerry beat a loud tattoo upon the panel.
”There's no one at home,” sighed Marjorie disappointedly.
”Come on. We might as well go.” The command held a touch of aggressiveness. ”I could wear my hand out thumping it on the door for all the good it would do.”
Sensing the aggressive note in Jerry's voice, Marjorie attributed it to the stout girl's natural impatience of delay.
”It's a shame; a burning shame!” They were half way down the walk when Jerry thus delivered herself.
”Why, Jeremiah, what is it?” It had dawned upon Marjorie that something stronger than impatience had seized upon her friend.
”Marjorie, Lucy Warner _is_ at home,” stated Jerry deliberately. ”As we went up the path I saw her through a window. She flashed across the end of the room farthest away from the window and disappeared.”
”At home!” gasped Marjorie. ”Then she must have seen us coming and--”
”Beat it,” supplemented Jerry with inelegant force. ”What's the answer?
Mignon, of course. We don't need to ask Lucy about it. We know now that what we suspect is a fact. If it weren't, Lucy would have answered my knock. What are you going to do about it?”
”I intend to see Lucy to-morrow morning and find out what the trouble is,” came Marjorie's steady answer. ”If she is angry with us, I shall know it the instant she speaks. We have no right simply to take it for granted that she is angry. We mustn't even blame Mignon until we know positively that she actually made mischief.”