Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman Part 13

"Isn't that a shame?" burst out Jerry. "Ellen will have an awful time to prove herself innocent. She never touched Mignon. It was Mignon who pushed her away. I saw her with my own eyes, and so did you, Marjorie.

Say," she looked blankly at Marjorie, "do you suppose it's our duty to go to Miss Archer and tell her what we saw?"

"I--don't--know." The words came doubtfully. "Perhaps it will all blow over. I hate to carry tales. Suppose we wait until Monday and see?

Mignon may change her mind. Even if she doesn't, Miss Archer may not listen to her. But, if she should, then we'll have to do it, Jerry. It wouldn't be fair to Ellen to keep still about it; I heard Miss Archer tell mother Monday that she would not tolerate the least bit of roughness in the girls' games. She knew of several schools where girls had been tripped or knocked down and seriously hurt. She said that if any reports of rough playing were brought to her she would 'deal severely with the offender.' Those were her very words."

"All right; we'll wait," agreed Jerry. "I'm not crazy about reporting even Mignon. Ellen can take care of herself, I guess."

So the matter was apparently settled for the time, and the four girls strolled home discussing the various features of the game.

"How did you like the game, Captain?" she asked, saluting, as an hour later she entered the living-room, where her mother sat reading.

"Very well, indeed," replied her mother, laying down her magazine.

"Neither Miss Archer nor I understand all the fine points of the game, but we managed to keep track of most of the plays. By the way, Marjorie, when you go to school on Monday morning, I wish you to take this magazine to Miss Archer. It contains an article which I have marked for her. It is quite in line with a discussion we had this afternoon."

"I'll remember," promised Marjorie, and when Monday morning came she kept her word, starting for school with the magazine under her arm.

"I'll run up to Miss Archer's office with it after chapel," she decided.

When the morning service was over, Marjorie returned to the study hall, and obtained Miss Merton's grudging permission to execute her commission.

"I wish to see Miss Archer," she said shortly, as Marcia Arnold looked up from her writing just long enough to cast a half insolent glance of inquiry in her direction.

"You can't see her. She's busy."

The color flew to Marjorie's cheeks at the bold refusal. Her first impulse was to turn and walk away. She could see Miss Archer later. Then her natural independence a.s.serted itself, and she determined to stand her ground at least long enough to discover whether or not Miss Archer were really too busy to be seen.

"Then I'll wait here until she is at liberty."

Marcia frowned and seemed on the verge of further unpleasantness when the sound of a buzzer from the inner office sent her hurrying toward it.

As she opened the door, Marjorie caught a fleeting glimpse of two persons; one was Miss Archer, her face set and stern, the other Mignon La Salle, her black eyes blazing with satisfaction.

"Oh!" gasped Marjorie, remembering Mignon's threat, "she is reporting poor Ellen."

The door swung open again and the secretary glided past her and out into the corridor with the peculiar sliding gait that had caused Jerry to liken her to a "nice, wriggly snake."

"She is going to bring Ellen here," guessed Marjorie.

Sure enough, within five minutes Marcia returned, followed by Ellen Seymour, whose pale, defiant face meant battle. Again the door of the inner office closed with a portending click. Marcia Arnold did not return to the outer office.

Marjorie waited apprehensively, wondering if Ellen were holding her own. Then to her utter amazement, the secretary appeared with a sulky, "Miss Archer wants you," and returned to her desk.

"Good morning, Miss Dean," was the princ.i.p.al's grave salutation. "I did not know until I asked Miss Arnold to go for you that you were in the outer office."

"I have been waiting to give you the magazine that mother promised you.

She asked me to say to you that she had marked the article she wished you to read."

"Please thank your mother for me," returned Miss Archer, her face relaxing, "and thank you for bringing it. To return to why I sent for you, you understand the game of basketball, do you not?"

"Yes," answered Marjorie, simply.

"You have played on a team?" inquired the princ.i.p.al.

"Yes."

"Did I not see you at practice with the freshmen shortly before the game?"

Marjorie colored hotly. "I made the team, but afterward was asked to resign because I did not play well enough."

"Who asked you to resign?"

"The note was signed by the manager of the team."

"And is that the reason you stopped playing?" broke in Ellen Seymour, with impulsive disregard for her surroundings. "I might have known it."

Then she whirled upon Mignon in a burst of indignation as scathing as it was unexpected.

"How contemptible you are! I haven't the least doubt that you are to blame for Miss Dean's leaving the team. You knew her to be a skilful player and you were afraid she would outplay you. You know, too, that when we jumped for the ball Sat.u.r.day you purposely pushed me away from it, almost throwing me down. It didn't do you the least bit of good, and because you are spiteful you have set out to disgrace me and put a stain on the soph.o.m.ores' victory."

"How dare you? You are not telling the truth! Prove your charge against me, if you can," challenged Mignon, with blazing eyes.

"It will be easier to prove than yours against me," flung back Ellen.

"Girls, this is disgraceful! Not another word." Miss Archer's tone of stern command had an immediate effect on the belligerents.

"Please pardon me, Miss Archer." There was real contrition in Ellen's voice. "I didn't mean to be so rude. I lost control of my temper."

Mignon, however, made no apology. Her elfish eyes turned from Marjorie to Ellen with an expression of concentrated hate.

"Now, girls," began Miss Archer, firmly, "we are going to settle this difficulty here in my office before anyone of you goes back to her cla.s.ses. That is the reason I have sent for Miss Dean. When Miss La Salle entered her complaint against you, Miss Seymour, I decided that you should have a chance to speak in your own behalf. No sooner were you brought face to face than one accused the other of treachery. From the front row of the gallery, where I sat on the afternoon of the game, I could see every move of the players, but my eyes were not sufficiently trained to detect the roughness of which you accuse each other. Then I remembered that Miss Dean sat next to me and that she was a seasoned player. So I sent for her to ask her in your presence if she saw the alleged roughness on the part of either of you."

There was a half-smothered exclamation of dismay from Marjorie. Ellen was regarding her in mute appeal. Mignon's lips curled back in a sneer.

It was dreadful to remain under a cloud.

"I am waiting for you to speak, Miss Dean."

Marjorie drew a long breath. "Miss Seymour spoke the truth. I saw Miss La Salle purposely push Miss Seymour away from the ball. Someone else saw her, too--someone who sat on the other side of the gallery." Her tones carried unmistakable truth with them.

"It isn't true! It isn't true!" Mignon's voice rose to an enraged shriek. "She only says so because she wants to pay me for making her resign from the team."

"What did I tell you?" asked Ellen Seymour, triumphantly. "She admits that she was responsible for that resignation."

"That will do," commanded Miss Archer, raising her hand.

Ellen subsided meekly.

Realizing that she had said too much, Mignon quieted as suddenly as she had burst forth.

"Miss Dean, are you perfectly sure of what you say?" questioned Miss Archer.