The Girls of Central High on Track and Field Part 9

"Just in time!" cried Bobby, attempting to open the inner door.

"Oh! I can't go in there," stammered the strange girl.

"Nor I guess I can't, either," said Bobby, half laughing, half breathless. "It's locked--and the wind is blowing the rain right into this vestibule. Come on! Let's shut this outside door."

The half of the two-leaved door of the vestibule which had been open was heavy; but Bobby's companion proved to be a strong and rugged girl, and together they managed to close it. Then, with the rain and wind shut out, although the roar of the elements was still loud in their ears, the two girls were able to examine each other.

And instantly Bobby Hargrew forgot all about the thunder, and lightning, and rain. She stared at the girl cowering in the corner, who winced every time the lightning played across the sky, and closed her eyes with her palms to the reverberation of the thunder.

The girl was perhaps a couple of years older Bobby herself. She was dark and had a tangle of black hair which was dressed indifferently. A woolen cap was drawn down almost to her ears. She was rather scrubbily dressed, and nothing that she wore looked very clean or very new. The waist she had on was cut low at the neck--so low that the girl had tied loosely around her throat a soft, yellow m.u.f.fler.

Although the old brown cloak she wore hid her green skirt, Bobby knew that the girl before her was the one she and her friends had seen escaping from the Gypsy camp nearly a fortnight before. The girl who had been unafraid of pursuit by the bloodhound, and had run upon stone fences and waded in an ice-cold mountain brook to hide her trail, now cowered in the vestibule of the schoolhouse, in a nervous tremor because of the thunderstorm.

"My! but you _are_ scared of lightning, aren't you?" exclaimed Bobby, after a minute, and when the noise of the elements had somewhat ceased.

"I--I always am," gasped the girl.

"The lightning won't hurt you--at least, the lightning you _see_ will never hurt you, my father says," added Bobby. "The danger is all past by the time you see the flash of it."

"But I can't help being frightened," replied the girl.

"No. I suppose not. And I guess you are brave enough about other things to make up, eh?"

The girl looked up at her, but was evidently puzzled. She glanced through the gla.s.s doors of the building into the corridor.

"Is this the school building?" she asked, quickly.

"Yes. But this is the boys' entrance, so I don't want to ring. I'd get scolded for coming here," said Bobby.

"Oh, don't ring!" exclaimed the girl, putting a timid hand upon Bobby's arm. "This is the big school, isn't it?"

"It's the biggest in town. It's Central High," said Bobby, proudly.

"You go here to school, of course?" asked the girl, somewhat wistfully.

"Yes. I'm a junior."

The other shook her head. The grading of the school was evidently not understood by the Gypsy girl.

"Say! do you have many teachers in this school?" she asked.

"Yes. There's enough of them," replied Bobby, grumblingly.

"Women, too?"

"Yes. Some women."

"Who are they?" asked the girl, quickly. "What's their names?"

The thunder was rolling away now, but the rain was still beating down in such volume that the girls could not venture forth. Bobby would have gotten wet in running around to the girls' entrance.

"Why," she said, studying the Gypsy's face in a puzzled way. "There's Miss Gould."

"Gould? That's not her whole name, is it?" asked this curious girl.

"Miss Marjorie Gould."

"Say it slow--say the letters," commanded the Gypsy girl.

Bobby, much amazed, began:

"M-a-r-j-o-r-i-e G-o-u-l-d."

The strange girl shook her head. Bobby saw that she had been counting the letters of Miss Gould's name on her fingers, and she asked:

"Don't you read English?"

"No. I'm Austrian. I know some German. A woman taught me. But I never went to school--never to a school like this," said the Gypsy girl, with a sigh.

"Who are you?" asked Bobby, deeply interested.

"You--you can call me Margit--Margit Salgo, from Austria."

Now, this puzzled Bobby Hargrew more than ever, for she knew that the Gypsies the girl had been with were English. Yet she was afraid of frightening the girl by telling her what she already knew about her. And immediately the Gypsy girl asked her another question:

"Spell me some of their other names, will you?"

"Whose other names?"

"The lady teachers," replied Margit, her black eyes flas.h.i.+ng eagerly.

"Why--why, there's Mrs. Case," stammered Bobby.

"How do you spell the letters?"

"R-o-s-e C-a-s-e," said Bobby, slowly.

"No! no!" exclaimed Margit. "Not enough. Too short."

"But don't you know the name of the woman you are looking for?"

"I didn't say I was looking for anybody," said Margit, with suspicion.

"I am just curious."

"And you can't repeat the name?"

"I never heard it repeated. I only know how many letters there are. I saw it on a card. I counted the letters," said the girl, with a shrewd light in her eyes. "Now! haven't you any more lady teachers here?"

"There's Gee Gee!" exclaimed Bobby, with half a chuckle, amused at the thought of Miss Carrington being mixed up in any manner with this half-wild Gypsy girl.