Grace Harlowe's Sophomore Year at High School Part 8

Grace was about to reply when Mrs. Harlowe appeared in the door with a tray of tempting food.

Anne rose and began donning her wraps.

"Won't you stay, Anne, and have supper with my invalid girl?" said Mrs.

Harlowe.

"Please do, Anne," coaxed Grace. "I hate eating alone, and having you here takes my mind off my pain."

Anne stayed, and the two girls had a merry time over their meal. Grace, knowing Anne's distress over the lost signals, refused to talk of the subject. Jessica and Nora, David, Hippy and Reddy dropped in, one after the other, to inquire for Grace.

"There is nothing like accidents to bring one's friends together,"

declared Grace, as the young people gathered around her.

"I told you to look out for squalls, Grace," said David. "But you didn't weather the gale very well."

"Those juniors must have been eavesdropping when you made your signal code. They understood every play you made. By George, I wonder if that were the meaning of that pow-wow the other day. Some one must have put Julia Crosby wise, and that's why she called a meeting at the Omnibus House. It's an out-of-the-way place, and she thought there was no danger of being disturbed.

"Who could have been mean enough to betray us?" cried Nora. "I am sure none of the team did, unless----" Nora stopped short.

She had been on the point of using Miriam's name, but remembered just in time that Miriam's brother was present.

"If we knew the girl who did it, we'd certainly cut her acquaintance,"

said Reddy Brooks.

"Never again should she bask in the light of our society," said Hippy dramatically.

"None of our friends would do such a thing," said David soberly. Then, turning to Anne, "What's your opinion on the subject, Queen Anne?"

But Anne could find no answer. She simply shook her head.

Grace, knowing Anne's feelings over the affair, came to the rescue.

"Anne's opinion and mine are the same. We feel sure that they knew our signals, but we believe they accidentally hit upon the knowledge. There is no use in crying over spilt milk. We shall have to change all our signals and take care that it doesn't happen again. And now let's talk of something more agreeable, for basketball is a sore subject with me in more than one sense." The talk drifted into other channels much to Anne's relief.

"I have an idea!" exclaimed Hippy.

"Impossible," said Reddy. "No one would ever accuse you of such a thing."

"Be silent, fellow," commanded Hippy. "I will not brook such idle babbling." He strutted up and down the room, his chest inflated and one hand over his heart, presenting such a ridiculous figure that he raised a general laugh.

"Speak on, fat one. I promise not to make any more remarks," said Reddy.

"I propose," said Hippy, pausing in his march, "that we give an impromptu vaudeville show for the benefit of Miss Grace Harlowe, once an active member of this happy band, but now laid on the shelf--couch, I mean--for repairs."

"Done," was the unanimous reply.

"Now," continued Hippy, "get cozy, and the show will begin. Miss Nora O'Malley will open the show by singing 'Peggy Brady,' as only an Irish colleen of her pretensions can."

Nora rose, looked toward Jessica, who went at once to the piano to accompany her, and sang the song demanded with a fascinating brogue that always brought forth the applause of her friends. She responded to an encore. Then Anne's turn came, and she recited "Lasca." Hippy next favored the company with a comic song, which caused them to shout with laughter.

Jessica did her Greek dance for which she was famous. The performance ended with an up-to-date version of "Antony and Cleopatra," enacted by David, Reddy and Hippy, with dialogue and stage business of which Shakespeare never dreamed.

It was a product of Hippy's fertile brain, and the boys had been rehearsing it with great glee, in view of appearing in it, on some fitting occasion, before the girls.

David, gracefully draped in the piano cover, represented Egypt's queen, and languished upon Marc Antony's shoulder in the most approved manner.

Reddy, as the Roman conqueror left nothing to be desired. The star actor of the piece, however, was Hippy, who played the deadly asp. He writhed and wriggled in a manner that would have filled a respectable serpent with envy, and in the closing scene bit the unfortunate Cleopatra so venomously that she howled for mercy, and instead of dying gracefully, arose and engaged in battle with his snakes.h.i.+p.

Grace forgot her sprained ankle and laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"You funny, funny boys," she gasped, "how did you ever think of anything so ridiculous!"

"Hippy perpetrated the outrage," said David "and we agreed to help him produce it. We have been practising it for two weeks, only we don't generally end up with a scuffle. I hope you will pardon us, Grace, but the desire to shake that husky Egyptian reptile was irresistible."

"There is nothing to pardon," replied Grace, "and we have only thanks to offer for the fun you have given us."

"It was indeed a notable performance," agreed Nora.

"Girls and boys," said Anne, "it is almost ten o'clock and Grace ought to be in bed. I move that we adjourn."

"Second the motion," said David. "We have been very selfish in keeping poor Grace up when she is ill."

"Poor Grace is glad you came, and isn't a bit tired," replied Grace, looking fondly at her friends. "You must all come to see me as often as you can while I am laid up. I shall be pretty lonely for a few days."

The young folks departed, singing "Good Night, Ladies" as they trooped down the walk.

"What a pleasure it is to have such dear, good friends," thought Grace as she lay back on her couch after they had gone. "They are well worth all the loyalty I can give them."

She went to sleep that night unconscious of how soon her loyalty to one of them would be put to the test.

CHAPTER VII

GATHERING CLOUDS

"A sprained ankle is not so serious," declared Grace from her nest among the sofa cus.h.i.+ons. It was the Monday after the game. Her various sympathetic cla.s.smates were seated about the Harlowe's comfortable living room. A wood fire crackled cheerfully in the big, open fireplace, while a large plate of chocolate fudge circulated from one lap to another.

"Jessica, will you pour the chocolate?" continued Grace to her friend, who rose at once to comply with her request. "Anne, will you help serve, please?"

Anne accordingly drew about the room a little table on wheels, containing on its several shelves plates containing sandwiches, cookies and cakes.

"Trust to the Harlowe's to have lots of good things to eat," exclaimed Marian Barber. "It must be fun to be laid up, Grace, if you can give a party every afternoon."

"I must entertain my friends when they are kind enough to come and see me," answered Grace. "But some people think sandwiches poor provender unless they are the fancy kind, with olives and nuts in them. Miriam, for instance would never serve such plain fare to her company as cream cheese sandwiches."

"Here comes Miriam up the walk now," cried Jessica. "She looks as though she had something on her mind."

Presently the door opened and Miriam was ushered in. Grace wondered a little at her call, considering the unfriendly spirit Miriam had recently exhibited toward her. She greeted Miriam cordially. The laws of hospitality were sacred in the Harlowe family, and not for worlds would Grace have shown anything but the kindest feeling toward a guest under her own roof.