Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School Part 23

"Yes, and I overheard a maid ask Viola Green to go to the office after tea."

"Viola?" echoed Dorothy abstractedly.

"Of course you know it is she who made all this fuss, and I'm right glad she has been called to give an explanation at last."

"I have not been able to get the least hint of what it was all about,"

mused Dorothy. "I had a letter from Tavia to-day, and I'm afraid she cannot come back this term. My last lingering hope went out when I read that. Tavia would be sure to dig it out someway."

Rose-Mary thought how foolish had been the talk she had "dug out," and smiled when she imagined Tavia at work at such nonsense. But she would not pain Dorothy with the thought of that talk--too silly and too unkind to bother her with,--decided Rose, so that then, as well as on other occasions when the opportunity came to her to mention the arrest story, she let it pa.s.s.

"Let's go see d.i.c.k," suggested Rose, "we'll find Ned there and perhaps we may manage some fun. I'm positively getting musty."

"You go," said Dorothy, just as Rose had expected, "I'll do my exercises--I'm pages behind."

"Not without you," argued the other, "I have lots I ought to do, but I'm going to cut it for this night. Come along," and she took Dorothy's arm. "I'm dying to hear Ned sing a c.o.o.n song."

But they found number twenty-three vacant. Edna was out, so was Molly, in fact everybody seemed to be out, for knots of girls talked in every corner of the halls and always stopped speaking when Dorothy and Rose came up to them.

"It's the investigation!" whispered Rose. "They are waiting for Viola; did you ever see such a crowd of magpies."

"I'm going in," said Dorothy, nervously. "I can't bear the way they look at me."

"All right," a.s.sented Rose, "I'll see you home since I dragged you out.

And I'll promise to make known to you the words of the very first bulletin. Sorry to be so cruel, but I cannot find any sympathy in my heart for Viola Green."

"Oh, indeed I can," spoke up the kind-hearted Dorothy. "She has so much worry about her mother. And perhaps she inherits some peculiar trait--"

"Bottle Green, I suppose. Well, you can pity her if you like, but I will save mine until I know why."

So Rose-Mary kissed Dorothy good-night--she had done so regularly of late, and the two friends parted. For some time the hum of voices could be heard in the corridor outside Dorothy's door, then the lights were turned out and everything seemed as usual.

But in room twelve Viola Green was struggling--struggling with a weighty problem. What Mrs. Pangborn had said to her that evening in the office meant for Viola dismissal from school, unless--unless--

Viola was thinking of a plan. Surely she could make Dorothy agree to it, Dorothy was so easy to manage, so easy to influence.

In room nineteen Dorothy had not yet gone to her bed. She felt nervous and restless. Then too, she had fully decided to leave Glenwood and she had to think over what that meant for her, for her father and for Aunt Winnie.

What explanation could she make? She had never been a coward, why could she not face this thing and show everybody that she deserved no blame?

Surely Major Dale's Little Captain should display better courage than to let a crowd of foolish schoolgirls drive her from Glenwood!

Dorothy was thinking over the whole miserable affair when a timid knock came to her door.

It was too late for any of the girls--perhaps it was Mrs. Pangborn!

Dorothy opened the door promptly.

Viola Green stood before her--in a nightrobe, with her thick black hair falling about her like a pall.

"Viola!" whispered Dorothy, as kindly and quietly as if that girl had not stood between her and happiness.

"Oh, let me come in," begged the black-eyed girl in a wretched voice.

"Quick! Some one may see me!"

"What is it?" asked Dorothy, making a chair ready and then turning up the light.

"Oh, please don't turn that up," begged the visitor. "I can't stand it! Dorothy, I feel as if I should die!"

Dorothy had felt that way herself a moment ago, but now there was someone else to look after; now she must not think of herself. How different it was with Viola! The ability to act is often a wonderful advantage. Viola made excellent use of her talent now.

"Dorothy," she began, "I have come to ask a great favor of you. And I do not know how to begin." She buried her face in her hands and left the other to draw out the interview as she might choose to. It was gaining time to lose it in that way.

"Is it about your mother?" asked the unsuspecting Dorothy.

"Yes, it is," wailed Viola. "It is really about her, although I am in it too."

"Is she worse?"

"Dreadfully bad"--and in this Viola did not deceive--. "I had a letter to-day--But Oh! Dorothy, promise you will help me!"

"I certainly will if I can!" declared Dorothy, warmly, quite anxious about Viola's grief.

"Oh, you can--and you are the only one who can! But how will I ask you?" and again Viola buried her white face in her equally white hands.

"Tell me what it is," said Dorothy, gently.

"Oh, you know that foolish story about the Dalton police wagon--"

"What about it?" asked Dorothy, perplexed.

"Oh, that nonsense about you and Tavia riding in it," and Viola tried to pa.s.s off the "nonsense" without allowing Dorothy time to realize just what she had to say.

"Well, what of that?" asked Dorothy again.

Would she ever grasp it? Viola was almost impatient, but of course she dare not show such a sentiment.

"Why, you know I told it to a couple of girls just for fun one day, and they took it up in earnest. The silly things!--and then to make all this trouble over it!"

"What trouble could that have possibly made?" and Dorothy seemed as much in the dark as ever.

Could it be that Dorothy had lived it all down and did not now consider it trouble? Viola's heart gave a jump for joy at the thought. It might after all be easier than she expected.

"I am so glad they have not said anything to you about it. I have been dreadfully worried over it," went on Viola with a sigh.

"I am sorry, I hope you haven't been worrying on my account."

"Well, I was. You did seem so sad--but I should have known you had better sense."

"I have been and am still very sad at Glenwood. In fact, I have almost made up my mind to leave."