*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64315 ***

THE GIRL SCOUTS’ CAPTAIN




Contents

 Chapter                        Page

      I.  CANDIDATES.              3
     II.  A PROPOSITION.          14
    III.  THE JAZZ PARTY.         24
     IV.  THE INVITATION.         34
      V.  THE FIRST MEETING.      45
     VI.  THE HIKE.               55
    VII.  DISCOURAGEMENT.         65
   VIII.  THE PROMISE.            76
     IX.  THE NEW PLAN.           85
      X.  MARJORIE’S ESCORT.      92
     XI.  TENDERFOOT SCOUTS.      98
    XII.  ETHEL’S ADVICE.        103
   XIII.  THE FIRST PRACTICE.    113
    XIV.  GOSSIP.                124
     XV.  THE SUPPER PARTY.      133
    XVI.  THE FIRST GAME.        143
   XVII.  LILY’S ENGAGEMENT.     155
  XVIII.  DOLLS.                 167
    XIX.  THE EXHIBITION.        178
     XX.  THE CHAMPIONSHIP.      186
    XXI.  THE PURSUIT.           199
   XXII.  QUEENIE’S CALLER.      209
  XXIII.  THE CRISIS.            217
   XXIV.  QUEENIE’S DAY OFF.     226
    XXV.  CONCLUSION.            234




[Illustration: Stella stepped forward and presented her with a huge
bunch of American Beauty Roses.

  (_Page 239_)  (_The Girl Scouts’ Captain._)]




  THE GIRL SCOUTS’
  CAPTAIN

  By EDITH LAVELL

  AUTHOR OF

  “The Girl Scouts at Miss Allen’s School,” “The Girl
  Scouts at Camp,” “The Girl Scouts’ Good Turn,”
  “The Girl Scouts’ Canoe Trip,” “The Girl Scouts’
  Rivals,” “The Girl Scouts on the Ranch,”
  “The Girl Scouts’ Vacation Adventures,”
  “The Girl Scouts’ Motor Trip.”

  [Illustration]

  A. L. BURT COMPANY
  Publishers New York
  Printed in U. S. A.




The Girl Scouts Series

  A SERIES OF STORIES FOR GIRL SCOUTS

  BY EDITH LAVELL

  THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL
  THE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMP
  THE GIRL SCOUTS’ GOOD TURN
  THE GIRL SCOUTS’ CANOE TRIP
  THE GIRL SCOUTS’ RIVALS
  THE GIRL SCOUTS ON THE RANCH
  THE GIRL SCOUTS’ VACATION ADVENTURES
  THE GIRL SCOUTS’ MOTOR TRIP
  THE GIRL SCOUTS’ CAPTAIN

  Copyright, 1925 By A. L. BURT COMPANY

  THE GIRL SCOUTS’ CAPTAIN

  Made in “U. S. A.”




THE GIRL SCOUTS’ CAPTAIN

CHAPTER I.

CANDIDATES.


Five spick-and-span roadsters, of the same model, of the same year,
were parked in a line to the side of the main entrance to Turner
College, awaiting their owners’ wishes. It was almost dark, and their
lights had not been turned on, but the illumination from the college
windows made them clearly visible. The days were growing so short that
soon the girls would be obliged to put the cars away before supper.

Out of the wide open doorway five figures suddenly appeared, and with
arms linked together slowly descended the steps. They wore light summer
dresses and gay sweaters; their heads were still bobbed; only one of
them displayed a “shingle.” It was the one time of the day that these
girls still saved for each other, “in memory,” as Alice Endicott put
it, “of the senior patrol of Pansy Troop of Girl Scouts.”

“Without any prejudice,” remarked Florence Evans, a junior at the
college, “wouldn’t you pick out my car for the one in the best
condition?”

“Not at all!” returned Lily Andrews, the senior who rejoiced in the
“shingle bob”; “mine’s had the best care of any of them—and it looks
it!”

“Don’t forget I spent all last Saturday with mine!” put in Florence
proudly.

“Then you must have been running it pretty hard, if it needed so much
attention!” returned Lily.

“Really, I think they’re all splendid!” cried Daisy Gravers, as she
fumbled for her key, and inserted it in the lock. “And there’s never a
day goes past, Alice, that I don’t feel grateful to your Aunt Emeline
for such marvellous presents.”

“Well, we earned ’em!” remarked Florence, who was never inclined to be
sentimental.

“Do you ever hear from Aunt Emeline?” inquired Daisy. “Or,” she added
laughingly, “the nephews?”

“Yes, Aunt Emeline’s disappointed that we’re not doing something to
continue our troop. She says she never saw such a plucky set of girls.”

“Well, we certainly had fun!” observed Marjorie Wilkinson
reminiscently. “I consider my Girl Scout experience the best part of my
life!”

“You mean, _so far_,” her roommate corrected her. “The poet says, ‘The
best is yet to be * * *’, and I believe it. Well, girls, everybody
ready to hit the trail?”

They fell into line in the road, passed through the college gate, and
descended the hill to the garage. It was not until after they had left
their cars that conversation was resumed.

“You all going to the dance in the gym tonight?” asked Daisy.

“I am,” replied Florence, without any hesitation; “and so is Alice. How
about you two reverend seniors?”

Marjorie shook her head.

“No, I’m too tired; I’m going to stay home. And I’m hoping that maybe
Lil is going to keep me company.”

Lily, however, looked doubtful.

“I really don’t approve, Marj; I think you ought to be mingling with
the girls as much as possible now—they expect it and they want to see
you. Don’t forget that you’re a candidate for senior presidency.”

“Bosh!” exclaimed Marjorie, lightly. “You know I won’t play politics,
Lil!”

“That isn’t playing politics, my dear. But naturally the girls want
a leader who is sociable. And really, you’re just the one for the
office.”

“It’s awfully nice of you to say that, Lil, but I guess you’re
prejudiced. And I honestly don’t care a lot about having it, so I’m not
going to work for it.” Her tone grew pleading, “Lil, be nice and stay
home with me!”

“She will, Marj, don’t worry!” remarked Alice. “She always does what
you want.”

“Yes, and Marj does what I want, too,” added Lily, squeezing her arm
affectionately. “So I’m not going to urge her if she’s tired.” Then,
with a sly glance at the others, “She’ll be elected, anyhow!”

When they were alone, they dropped comfortably into their favorite
seats, smiling across at each other in content. Both had been hiking
all afternoon, through the lovely autumn woods, and both appreciated
the chance to rest. There were so few such chances in a busy senior’s
life!

“Lil,” began Marjorie, dreamily, as she let her gaze wander about the
familiar sitting room which had been so dear to them both for three
years, “Lil, I would like to do something this year.”

“Do something!” repeated the other, in amazement, “why you have so much
to do now that you don’t know which way to turn! And then if you are
elected, as you probably will be——”

“No, no!” interrupted Marjorie. “I don’t mean that, Lil. Of course it’s
all very well to be class president, but after all I’m not the only
girl for that job. Anybody else could do that as well. What I mean is
to do something that is really worth while—something that nobody else
has time to do!”

“But why, Marjorie? You mustn’t try to do too much!”

Marjorie paused in search of words, to express the sense of
responsibility that had taken possession of her. “It must be because
I’m twenty-one years old,” she said, slowly, “for somehow I feel
different—as if my time for frivolity were over—as if I really ought
to do something to justify my existence now.”

“But you always have, Marj!”

“Yes, in a way, but more of a child’s way. Something different now—and
bigger!”

“For instance?”

Marjorie’s eyes lighted up with a brilliant smile; she was back to her
favorite subject.

“The Girl Scouts!” she announced, joyfully, for the mere mention of the
subject reminded her of so many past pleasures. “Something for the Girl
Scouts—to make other girls as happy as I’ve always been!”

“Marj, you’re wonderful!” cried her roommate, with genuine regard in
her tone, regard which had never ceased to increase with the friendship
of so many years. “But please don’t try to do anything till you see
whether you’re elected president,” she cautioned. “That’s an honor you
could remember all your life!”

The other girl was silent, thoughtful for a few moments as if she were
weighing both possibilities.

“I don’t believe an honor means so much to me as a responsibility,” she
answered slowly. “Honors are things it is better for one to forget.
Don’t you honestly think so, Lil?”

Again Lily looked at her chum in admiration; she was invariably
impervious to flattery.

“But what do you mean to do, Marj?” she inquired. “Go on with our
little troop in the village?”

Marjorie shook her head again.

“No, that isn’t enough. One of the juniors—Daisy, or Florence, or
Alice—can take charge of that without any trouble. I want to give
something more of myself to the Girl Scouts.”

“But how? Do you mean re-organize our old patrol, as Aunt Emeline
suggested? It would be awfully hard to get the girls together, with
Ethel teaching, and Doris and Mae both married——”

“No, no, Lil, not that! I agree with you that it would be out of
the question, no matter how much fun it would be. Everybody’s too
busy—we’ll have to wait till we’re all grandmothers, and then we can
have regular reunions. But what I am thinking of is a troop with an
entirely new set of girls—girls that have nothing in their lives.
Perhaps I might find such a group in the city.”

“You’d wear yourself out going back and forth.”

“Don’t forget I have my little car! Now, Lil, don’t jump on me, but I
have another idea: I want you to help me!”

But Lily did not continue to object as Marjorie had expected. Instead,
she began to show interest in the plan and they fell to discussing its
possibilities until a knock at the door interrupted them. The visitor
was Jeannette Killough, a rival candidate for the class presidency.

“Do sit down, Jennie,” invited Marjorie, cordially for she was always
glad to see the other girl, of whom she was a sincere admirer. “It’s so
nice to see you.”

“Thank you,” replied Jeannette, accepting the invitation. Then, “I am
lucky to find you both at home, though you really ought not to be,
Marj!”

Marjorie shrugged her shoulders.

“Why, Jeannette?”

“Because you ought to be over at the dance, courting popularity. The
election comes off tomorrow night!”

Marjorie dismissed the remark with a smile.

“I’m trying to get all my friends to vote for you, Jennie,” she
informed her.

“Don’t do that, Marj!” cried the other girl, in concern. “In
fact—I’ve decided to withdraw my name from the list.”

“What?” gasped Lily, in amazement. Such a stupendous honor as senior
presidency was hardly to be turned down lightly.

“Yes, because I want Marj to get it, and I don’t want our vote to be
divided. We have about the same friends, while Delia has an entirely
different following. And you know that I don’t think Delia would make a
good president.”

Marjorie considered the matter thoughtfully from this angle; it was
certainly a fact that Delia Humphreys, conceited, over-bearing, almost
bold in her manner, would not lead the class to its highest advantage.
Yet she had certain supporters—perhaps enough to elect her if the vote
were divided.

“I agree with you, Jeannette,” she decided, finally; “but your solution
doesn’t meet with my approval. Let me withdraw, for I honestly want to.
I mean to devote myself to the Girl Scouts this year.”

“What Girl Scouts?”

“I don’t know,” replied Marjorie, blushingly.

“That’s only an excuse!” cried Jeannette, jumping up impulsively. “I
thought of it first—and I’m going to be the one to do it!”

“No, no! I am!”

“If you do, I will too!” announced Jeanette, defiantly.

“And then if you do, I will too!” repeated Marjorie, with a challenge.

“Stop fighting, children!” put in Lily, laughingly. “Don’t both
withdraw—you’d only ruin your own object.”

“Then what shall we do?” asked Marjorie, humbly.

“It was my idea——,” began Jeannette.

“Wait!” interposed Lily. “Don’t begin all over again. I’ll settle
it—by simply tossing a penny!”

Both girls agreed to Lily’s terms, and promised to abide by the result.

“If it’s heads,” she said, “Marj withdraws; tails—Jeannette.”

“Play fair!” cautioned the latter suspiciously.

“As if I didn’t always!” returned Lily. “A Girl Scout’s honor——”

She selected a penny from her purse, and heightened the suspense by
looking it over carefully, noting its date. Then she tossed it high
up in the air; so high that it hit the ceiling and bounded off to the
side. An instant later it fell like a shot to the window-sill.

“Oh, catch it, quick!” cried Marjorie, rushing across the room towards
the open window. “Suppose it goes out——”

But she was too late. Already the penny had rolled over the edge, down
into the soft grass beneath.

The girls regarded each other in consternation.

“Shall we toss another?” asked Jeannette.

“Or go hunt for that one?” suggested Marjorie.

“In the dark?” demanded Lily, scornfully. “We’d hardly find it—and
tomorrow would be too late for either of you to resign. And as for
tossing another, that wouldn’t be playing fair, and I won’t do it! This
is as good as any other sign that neither one of you is to withdraw!”

“Besides,” remarked Marjorie, thoughtfully, “they’d probably only put
another candidate in our place. Doesn’t the constitution say there must
be three?”

“I never thought of that,” admitted Jeannette.

“Well, I guess Lil’s right; we better be good sports and both run,
Jennie.”

“All right, I will. But I hope you’re elected. And if I thought that I
had spoiled your chances——”

“You won’t spoil each other’s chances!” declared Lily. “One of you is
bound to be elected. Delia isn’t popular, and she hasn’t any executive
ability. Everybody knows it, even her own little crowd. And either one
of you will be good. And, as you said before, you didn’t want to use
any politics——”

“Of course you’re right, Lil—you always are,” Marjorie conceded
loyally. “And I’m game, unless a real opportunity for scout work comes
up and makes the office out of the question for me. I’m a Girl Scout
first, and a college senior second.”

“But is that loyal?” asked Jeannette.

“Yes!” cried Lily. “Girl Scouts came first to Marjorie; it’s only right
that they should remain first.”

“And I had to fight to get in—and keep on,” murmured the girl
reminiscently.

Jeannette rose to go; there was nothing left to be said. She opened the
door and saw the girls returning to their rooms from the gym dance. In
the thickest of the crowd, vivacious, talkative, elated, walked the
rival candidate, Delia Humpheys!




CHAPTER II.

A PROPOSITION.


A college election of any kind is always supremely interesting to the
students; for the time being studies, social affairs, even athletics
are forgotten in the suspense that surrounds the outcome. The
candidates are discussed from every angle, their respective eligibility
decided upon over and over again by every group that gathers in the
dining room, in the reception parlors, in the dormitory, until the
girls in question fairly ache to have the thing settled one way or the
other.

With the exception of student-government president, no office brings
to its recipient the honor and prestige of the senior presidency. From
the time that the freshmen enter the college until the fall of their
last year, the question retains its importance. Who, of all their
number, will be best qualified to lead the class, socially, politically
and finally, during that greatest week of a senior’s life—at the
commencement time?

Marjorie Wilkinson’s three years at Turner College had already been
filled with positions of honor and responsibility; she had held
class offices, the athletic association presidency, and, during the
latter part of her junior year, had found herself at the head of
the student-government. From the point of view of experience and
popularity, she was the only girl for the class to choose.

So sure were Marjorie’s friends in the outcome of the election that,
when the actual day came, they found the excitement dying. Lily Andrews
seemed to be the only girl who was really concerned.

“Marj isn’t interested enough in the election,” she complained to Alice
Endicott, after lunch on the eventful day. “I think in her heart she
really hopes that she won’t get it, and she is still trying to induce
the girls to vote for Jeannette. I wish she could be made to see its
real importance.”

“There’s no use trying to influence Marj,” returned Alice. “She usually
has her mind made up—and her reasons are always so good that nobody
can argue with her. Remember the time we all tried to keep her from
spending the night at the tea room? Now she’s probably interested in
something else.”

“She is,” the other admitted. “It’s the same old story—Girl Scouts.
Just because she’s twenty-one, she feels that she must rush into a
captaincy.”

“But anybody can be a Girl Scout captain—I mean anybody with ordinary
intelligence; but it takes an unusual girl to be senior president.”

“Marjorie has no idea of being an ordinary captain—she’ll work until
she’s an extraordinary one, just as she does everything else. Still, I
think if we get her really elected, she’ll have so much to do that she
won’t have time to think about anything else. Girl Scouts will have to
be forgotten, until next year.”

Had Lily been with her roommate at that moment, however, she might not
have spoken so optimistically. Marjorie was stretched on the couch in
her sitting room, in the act of reading the Girl Scouts’ magazine from
cover to cover. She was searching eagerly for any notices of troops in
need of captains, in the hope of finding a place where her services
could be used to real advantage. In her mind’s eye she pictured a very
poor troop, whose members could hardly assemble the necessary money to
pay their dues, to whom uniforms were out of the question; girls who
knew nothing of parties or camping trips; girls who had never had a
chance to get away from the ugly slum district and learn the rapture of
the woods. How thrilling it would be to open their eyes to beauty, to
fill their starved minds with knowledge, to imbue their spirits with
the great scout ideal! In comparison with the glory of such leadership,
the honor of class presidency seemed insignificant.

Unfortunately, however, she found no such troop mentioned in the pages
of the magazine. There was a call for leaders in one of the country
districts, and an opportunity offered for camp councillors, but the
cities evidently were well provided. Or perhaps, as she feared, no one
had taken the trouble to look up any such groups of girls.

When Daisy Gravers dropped in a few minutes later, she was still deep
in her problem.

“You’re welcome, Dais’,” she said, rising and offering her visitor a
chair, “if you are not here to talk about the election. I’m bored to
death with it.”

Daisy laughed good-naturedly; it was the same old, modest Marjorie, who
had been sort of an idol to her ever since she had succeeded in finding
her sister Olive and reuniting her with her husband, and later when she
had sympathized with Daisy’s plea for the little slum-baby and its sick
mother. Other people might prove disappointing, but Marjorie Wilkinson
had never failed her.

“I’ll talk about anything you like, or keep absolutely quiet,” she
replied amiably.

“You’re a dear!” exclaimed her hostess, with sincerity. “Well, then—I
want to talk about the Girl Scouts.”

“All right; what Girl Scouts?”

Marjorie outlined something of her plan to the other girl, explained
that she wanted Daisy or either of the other juniors to take charge of
the little troop in the village, so that she might devote her time to a
more difficult group. Her voice grew animated as she spoke of her hopes
and her dreams for the troop that was to be hers.

“But I don’t know how to find such a troop,” she concluded,
pathetically. “You can’t exactly go into the streets in the poor
districts and gather the children up. They might question your motive.”

“Naturally,” agreed Daisy.

“Can’t you think of any way, Dais’?” she persisted.

“I’m afraid I can’t—unless you’d take a job I have off my hands. I’m
supposed to go to the Community House tonight, and supervise a dance.
I don’t know what the girls are like, but they might be interested in
starting a troop.”

Marjorie brightened at the idea.

“Do you suppose they’re poor?”

“Well, I’m afraid not so very poor, or they wouldn’t have dance dresses
and be able to pay for a party. But I’m quite sure they’re not rich.”

“How do you happen to be doing this?” Marjorie inquired.

“You’ve heard me speak of Miss Winthrop—that friend of Mother’s, who
is head of the Community Settlement in Philadelphia? Well, it seems
that she had promised these girls, who meet there one evening a week
as a little club, that they might have a dance. Then she was suddenly
called to a conference in New York, so she asked me to bring another
girl and chaperone them, in her place.”

“But college girls aren’t usually accepted as official chaperones,”
objected Marjorie.

“Oh, there’s a Mrs. Morgan—the matron of the settlement—who will
be there to keep up appearances. But Miss Winthrop says she’s an
easy-going sort of woman, who never sees anything wrong with anybody
or anything, and who would never be able to give her any sort of report
of the party. Naturally, Miss Winthrop’s very keen to know just how the
girls do behave.”

“Yes, of course. But Daisy, there’s no use of my going to a party like
that. I can just picture those girls—regular flappers, of the younger
set. They’d never make Girl Scouts in the world.”

Daisy made no effort to hide her disappointment.

“They might have younger sisters, Marjorie, who would be interested in
scouting,” she offered feebly.

Marjorie shook her head.

“Can you imagine girls of that age and that type caring much about
their younger sisters’ pastimes? I’m afraid not, Daisy, and besides,
what real chance would we get to talk to them—at a dance? They’ll be
much more interested in their partners.”

Daisy sighed; there was no doubt that Marjorie was correct in her
surmise.

“Then you won’t go?”

“I don’t see that it would be of much use.”

“I really oughtn’t to have asked you—when this is your big night,”
said Daisy, contritely. “I honestly forgot all about the class
election.”

“Oh, the class election!” There was contempt in Marjorie’s tone,
mingled with indifference. “You know that it isn’t that, Daisy! And I
don’t want you to think that scouting is the only thing in the world
I’m interested in. If I really thought I could be of use to you, I’d
go.”

Daisy jumped up in delight.

“You honestly mean it, Marj? Oh, I am sure you can do a whole lot! You
know you’re a born leader, and the girls will just naturally have to
do the right thing, because you’re there. They’d never notice me—I’m
always so shy—but you——”

“Now, Daisy, that’s quite enough——” she began tipping her over on
the couch to enforce order, when she was abruptly interrupted by the
arrival of Alice and Lily.

The latter looked immensely pleased with herself, as if she had just
arranged some matter entirely to her satisfaction.

“Marj, the victory’s a sure thing!” she flung out. “Get out the
pennants! Before this time tomorrow, you’ll be our class president!”

“Yes,” cried Alice; “nobody doubts it for a minute! All glory to the
old senior patrol of Pansy troop!”

Marjorie and Daisy exchanged amused glances, but neither said anything.

“Jeannette and I have been planning the grandest celebration for
tonight,” Lily continued. “We’re going to have a regular parade—music
and all! We have permission from the dean to march down to the
tea-room, and make a regular lion out of our heroine!”

“Suppose I’m not elected?” the potential heroine suggested.

“Then we’ll do it for Jeannette, of course. But there’s no doubt that
you will be.”

“Well,” remarked Marjorie casually, “suppose I’m not here?”

Her roommate looked alarmed.

“Marj, you wouldn’t do a trick like that on us, would you?”

“You know I don’t like so much publicity, Lil. But I really wouldn’t
be mean enough to stay away purposely, just to spoil your pleasure.
However, it just happens that I have a very pressing engagement.”

“An engagement!” repeated the astonished girl. “On senior election
night?”

“It’s the truth!”

“But what? Has John Hadley——? I’ll never forgive him if——”

Daisy spoke up.

“Don’t blame poor John, Lily. It’s all my fault. I needed Marj’s help
tonight at the Community Settlement, and she volunteered to go.”

“A new scout troop?” asked Alice.

“No, just a party, that the head worker wanted me to supervise, in her
absence. But I don’t want to be selfish—if you need her more, Lily,
I’ll resign my claims.”

“No, indeed, Daisy, I’m not willing!” cried Marjorie. “I’m very much
interested in the dance now, and I want to see the girls. Besides, you
can’t possibly go alone, and you’ve given your word to Miss Winthrop.”
Then, turning to her roommate, “Lily, I’d love very much to have you go
with me.”

“Me!” exclaimed Lily. “Why you know I want to be on the spot to vote
for you!”

“Even when you know I don’t want to be elected?”

“Just the same I want you to be. I want you to do great things this
year, Marj.”

“And I want to do greater things. This is my beginning, Lily, and it
may prove my opportunity. Please come with me!”

Lily hedged; she remembered how deeply in earnest her roommate had been
during their talk on the previous evening, and she could not bear to
desert her. Already she saw her own little plan vanishing.

“How would we get home?”

“We could have John and Dick come for us at the settlement, and go to
Mrs. Hadley’s to spend the night.”

“Three of us?” persisted Lily. “Wouldn’t that be too many, on such
short notice?”

“I wouldn’t have to go, Lily, if you went,” put in Daisy. “Marjorie
could make a much better report to Miss Winthrop, and besides, it’s
much easier for seniors to get permission to be away from college than
for juniors. And both of you would be infinitely better than I would.”

“You just want to get out of it, Daisy!” teased Lily.

“Maybe I do,” the younger girl admitted. “Anyway, Marj, you go call up
Mrs. Hadley now.”

Marjorie flashed a triumphant smile.

“I will,” she agreed; “and while I’m doing that, you, Lil, go call
Dick.”

Lily made a face, but started towards the door.

“I guess I better go tell Jeannette first,” she said.




CHAPTER III.

THE JAZZ PARTY.


“What _do_ you think we ought to wear, Marj?” inquired Lily, as she
began to dress for the evening. “Dance frocks?”

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Marjorie thoughtfully. “We want to
look like chaperones, so we ought to appear matronly. Let’s wear dark
dresses, and put nets over our hair.”

“You’ll be suggesting that we borrow horn-rimmed spectacles next,”
joked the other.

“Anyway, I believe that I’ll put on my dark blue velvet. It has chiffon
sleeves, you know, so it would pass for an evening dress. We’re going
to drive, aren’t we?”

“Certainly. Which car?”

“Oh, use mine; you don’t care, do you, Lil?”

“It’s immaterial to me; mine’s put away, anyhow.”

They had plenty of time after supper, so they drove leisurely into the
city, arriving at the settlement at exactly half past eight. Harsh
sounds from a jazz orchestra greeted them from the basement windows as
they stopped at the curb. Evidently the dance had begun.

“Better lock your car securely,” Lily warned her companion. “The
neighborhood doesn’t seem to be any too good.”

“No, it isn’t,” agreed Marjorie, glancing around at the disreputable
looking houses on either side of the street. “John was furious when I
told him where we were coming.”

“So was Dick. He said they’d be along before eleven o’clock, as I
suggested, because he’d be worried all evening. Aren’t men silly?”

“Sometimes,” Marjorie admitted.

They opened the heavy door of the settlement, and passed down the hall,
glancing to right and left at the empty rooms and offices. Concluding
that every one must be at the party in the basement, they descended the
stairway which led to the gymnasium.

Never, in all their boarding school or college days, had they seen a
hall so elaborately, so profusely decorated. Great sheaves of wheat
were banked all around the room; enormous branches of trees covered the
apparatus; paper streamers in every color of the rainbow hung from the
lights, and confetti was scattered around the floor near the chairs,
and upon the seats. The room appeared small, although in reality it was
the standard size for a gymnasium.

“It looks crowded,” remarked Marjorie; “and yet when you count them
there really aren’t many couples dancing.”

Keeping close to the wall and carefully steering their way between the
dancers, the girls reached some seats in the corner.

“Such elaborate dresses!” Lily exclaimed, after a hasty glance from one
girl to another. “Marj, I don’t believe that one of them has sleeves in
her gown!”

“The girls certainly aren’t poor,” returned Marjorie, thinking in
amusement of the conversation she had had with Daisy that afternoon.
“And they seem to know all the latest tricks in dancing.”

“They need spanking!” denounced her companion irritably. “Look at the
way that girl is resting her head—right on her partner’s shoulder!
Dare me to stop her and advise her that if she’s tired she better go to
bed?”

“Oh, Lil, do be careful!” warned Marjorie, fearful lest she might
antagonize the girls at the very beginning. “Of course, they haven’t
had any home-training, and you can’t expect them to have our standards.”

“Well, they couldn’t possibly hear me above all this awful noise,”
returned Lily. “Did you ever hear such an apology for music in your
life?”

Marjorie, however, was not interested in the orchestra; she was there
to chaperone the girls, and if she failed in doing that, at least to
turn in a reliable report upon the evening’s entertainment. She did
not mean to waste a minute; if possible she intended to size up the
character of every girl present.

With a loud clang the jazz piece abruptly came to an end, the dancers
stopped impatiently and began to applaud uproariously. During the brief
pause before the encore, Mrs. Morgan, a stout, motherly sort of woman,
edged her way towards the visitors.

“How do you do, Ladies!” she said breezily. “Miss Winthrop’s friends,
aren’t you?”

“Yes,” replied Marjorie, rising. “Miss Gravers asked us to come to help
you chaperone the dance.”

“Well, we’re only too glad to have you,” beamed Mrs. Morgan, “and I
hope you’ll have a good time, for I can’t see as these girls need much
chaperoning. They’re pretty well behaved, as girls go, and I like to
see everybody enjoying themselves.”

“I’m sure we will,” murmured Marjorie graciously deciding, however,
that Mrs. Morgan was as near-sighted mentally as her glasses proved her
to be physically.

“Come into the office and take off your things,” she urged. “Then you
can go back and dance a bit yourselves.”

“Oh, we really don’t care to dance,” answered Lily, a trifle
scornfully. “We’re here to observe. But it will be nice to get our
things off. It’s rather warm in there.”

Marjorie hoped that Mrs. Morgan would return to the hall with them
and introduce them to the girls; such a formality would have rendered
the situation less awkward. But she conducted them only as far as the
doorway, excusing herself on the plea of duties in the kitchen.

As Marjorie and Lily re-entered the room, they felt every eye turned
piercingly towards them. The first intermission was on, and the hall
seemed strangely quiet after so much noise. The couples arranged
singly, or in groups of twos and threes about the walls, abruptly
stopped talking, and blandly stared at the newcomers. Marjorie felt as
if she had never been so embarrassed in all her life. In her confusion
she turned to Lily.

“Let’s go over to that group and try to get acquainted,” she whispered.

“All right,” agreed Lily indifferently.

As they crossed the floor they heard, to their relief, the buzz of
conversation begin again, and Marjorie made a valiant effort to get
herself in hand. To her chagrin, however, as she approached the group
in question, a coarse laugh broke out among the young men.

“Here come the Janes for some dances!” muttered an eighteen-year-old
“sport” of the neighborhood, in an audible undertone. “Look out, Aggie,
you’re goin’ a lose your little Charlie!”

Instead of admonishing the youth for his rudeness, as Marjorie hoped
she would, the young lady only giggled.

“Classmate of your grandmother’s, Charlie!” tittered another boy,
breaking into hilarious laughter at his own exquisite wit.

Covered with confusion, Marjorie slipped her arm through Lily’s and
staggered to a seat at the side. It was not until the music had
started again that she regained courage to look about her.

“Don’t take it so hard, Marj!” pleaded Lily. “They don’t faze me—only
fill me with disgust.”

“Poor Daisy—it certainly is a lucky thing she didn’t come; she’s so
sensitive that she would be in tears by now! But Lil, please don’t say
‘I told you so!’” begged Marjorie penitently. “You were right—I admit
it now—a class election is infinitely preferable to this!”

Her roommate smiled indulgently; Marjorie was always so willing to
admit it when she was wrong.

“But what are we going to do—all evening?” she inquired. “It’s silly
to sit here uselessly, and evidently these young flappers have no
intention of speaking to us.”

Marjorie resolutely assumed a look of defiance.

“I’m going to stay here until I have watched every single girl through
a whole dance. During each intermission I’m going out to make my notes.”

Lily sighed; the prospect was not alluring.

“Miss Winthrop surely will get a thorough report,” she remarked. “Which
girl are you going to begin with?”

“The one they called Aggie. I’m trying to think of a word to describe
her. ‘Mushy’ doesn’t seem soft enough!”

“You’re cruel, Marj! How old do you think she is?”

“About sixteen. I don’t think any girl on the floor is more than
seventeen.”

She was quiet for a few minutes, and Lily watched her shift her
attention to another dancer. Evidently she felt that she had succeeded
in summing up Aggie’s character to perfection.

Their entrances and exits were not especially noticed after that,
and Marjorie began to feel at the end of the sixth dance that their
presence had been entirely forgotten, when a conversation floated
towards her ears which changed her opinion. She and Lily were seated
on one side of a great sheaf of wheat; evidently directly behind it,
two girls were consulting each other in regard to the identity of their
visitors.

“Who are those dames, anyway?” demanded one voice, in a hoarse whisper.
“They’ve got their noive—pullin’ the high spy act on us!”

“I’ll bet they’re here to tattle to Miss Winthrop, if they find any
dirt,” returned the other. “Queenie, you’re the boss, why don’t you put
’em out?”

“How can I? It ain’t our room.”

“It’s ours fer t’night.”

“Aw, my opinion is, they’re only two birds from the country, who
dropped in to see the city, and took this fer a dance hall.”

“That’s a laugh. Let’s see if we can razz ’em a bit!”

“How, Clara?”

“Pretend we’ve got flasks in our pockets, and cigarettes.”

“No,” replied Queenie, authoritatively; “then we’d be out of luck for
a place to meet the rest of the year. Miss Winthrop’d never stand for
that.”

“If we told her it was only a joke——”

“All wrong, Clara. You’ve got a head, but it’s only good to keep your
hat on. Fire something else——”

“Can’t think of nuthin’——”

But Marjorie and Lily had listened to enough; they rose and crossed the
gymnasium to the door-way.

“I really have hopes of Queenie,” remarked Marjorie, “she seemed to
show a glimmer of intelligence.”

“Pretty faint,” corrected Lily scornfully. Then, catching a glimpse of
two young men at the top of the staircase, her eyes lighted up, and she
exclaimed joyfully, “They’re here, Marj! The boys, I mean. Oh, I was
never so glad to see anybody in my life!”

John Hadley and Dick Roberts, two old friends of the girls, smiled
back at them, and hurried down the steps. Never had they seemed so
fine looking, so admirable, so strong to Lily and Marjorie, as at that
moment, after their weary evening of watching the insipid, smirking,
conceited faces of the young men at the dance, and listening to their
inane chatter and coarse laughter. Marjorie breathed an audible sigh of
relief.

“Don’t tell them how awful it has been, Lil,” she cautioned. “They’d
only rave—and it’s all over now.”

“We can’t keep it from them, you know we can’t,” replied her companion.

The boys were beside them now.

“How’s the party going?” John inquired pleasantly.

“Fine,” answered Marjorie, “but I guess it will be all right for us to
leave.”

“Not till I get a look at the flappers!” Dick declared. “I want to see
what kind of a job you and Lily made of it.”

The girls exchanged glances.

“What’s the matter?” demanded John.

So Marjorie told them the story, thinking that she could make it sound
a little better than Lily might.

“We’re going in to see for ourselves!” announced Dick, at the
conclusion of the recital, “and Lily, I want you to promise me that
you’ll never come here again!”

“I’ll be only too glad to promise that,” replied the girl, with
emotion. “I’ve never gone through such an evening in my life.”

“You’d better make Marj promise the same thing, John,” Dick suggested.

“He knows better,” laughed Marjorie. “But I don’t think there’s much
danger of my ever wanting to.”

Fortified by the presence of their escorts, Marjorie and Lily
assumed a nonchalant air as they re-entered the gymnasium, and seated
themselves again upon the chairs by the wall. Instinctively they felt
the atmosphere change; it was almost as if the dancers regarded their
visitors with a real respect. The girls themselves had to conceal their
amusement.

But if the dancers were hoping that their visitors would join in the
party, they were disappointed, for, as soon as the music ceased, John
suggested that they go home.

“Mother will be waiting for us,” he said. “She said to come home early.”

He took the wheel of Marjorie’s car, while Lily climbed into Dick’s.
Side by side, they made their way to the suburbs.

It was Lily, however, who wondered whether Marjorie had been elected to
the class presidency.




CHAPTER IV.

THE INVITATION.


Dick’s exuberant sense of humor in making light of the whole situation,
and John’s genuine pleasure in seeing Marjorie again, acted as a
veritable tonic to the girl’s drooping spirits; by the time the cars
had stopped in front of Mrs. Hadley’s door, she was able to laugh and
joke with the others. By common consent the young people decided to
dismiss the matter from their minds, for the time being, at least.

“Come right in!” greeted their hostess, flinging the door wide open in
welcome. “I have hot chocolate all ready for you!”

“With whipped cream, I’ll wager!” cried Lily. “Mrs. Hadley, don’t you
care how fat I get?”

“My dear, you’re not fat——”

“Yes, I know what you’re going to say! Everybody politely says the same
thing! But I used to be awfully fat, didn’t I, Marj? And if I don’t
count my calories——”

“Nonsense!” contradicted Mrs. Hadley. “She’s just right, isn’t she,
Dick?”

“I’ll say so!” agreed the young man, without the least hesitation.

“Anyway, Mrs. Hadley, I’ll do justice to the chocolate!” put in
Marjorie. “I’m just about starved!”

The girls removed their wraps, while John busied himself with the
tea-wagon. Sandwiches were piled invitingly on the plates, the cocoa
steamed in its pot, and a cozy fire burned in the hearth; everything
seemed in harmony to make Marjorie forget her unpleasant experience.
These informal parties were among the happiest occasions of Mrs.
Hadley’s peaceful life, and her guests always found them equally
charming.

“How was the dance?” she inquired, after the girls had been served.

“So—so,” replied Lily indifferently. “The big interest of tonight,
Mrs. Hadley, is not the dance, but our senior class election. Marj is
up for president!”

“She’s elected by now!” prophesied Dick jovially. Then, getting up and
extending his hand, “Allow me to be the first to congratulate you,
Madame President!”

“No, no!” protested Lily, almost overturning her cup in her eagerness
to brush Dick aside. “I’m her roommate! It’s my right!” And she pressed
a resounding kiss upon Marjorie’s cheek.

“You’re both silly gooses,” exclaimed the heroine, herself, laughing
heartily. “Of course, it isn’t true! And just think, if I’m not
elected——” Her voice assumed a tragic tone, “just think how much
greater you are making my disappointment!”

“You old hypocrite!” denounced Lily. “She doesn’t care a snap of her
fingers for the highest honor a girl can get in college! Just think
of it, Mrs. Hadley, she’s done nothing but try to get out of it, ever
since she was nominated!”

“Couldn’t we call Daisy, or somebody, and learn the outcome?” suggested
John, consulting his watch. “It’s only quarter of eleven.”

“Fine!” cried Lily, delightedly. “You’re willing, aren’t you, Mrs.
Hadley?”

“Certainly—I am as much interested as any of you. I almost feel as if
I couldn’t go to sleep tonight, if I didn’t know the returns.”

“Of course, there really isn’t any doubt,” Lily repeated. “But
still——”

“Well, if you think so, why not let me have one more good night’s
sleep?” interrupted Marjorie. “Mrs. Hadley, may I have another
sandwich?”

She gave herself up to the enjoyment of the refreshments while the
others waited in suspense as John dialed his number. At last they were
relieved by his, “Hello, Daisy, that you?”

“This is John Hadley. Can you give me the election returns?”

Lily could sit still no longer; she rushed up to the instrument.

“Marj is elected!” he repeated. “Of course! ‘Overwhelming majority,’
you say? We knew it! Thanks. Hurrah! Good-bye! What did you say?
Oh, yes, the dance? All right, I guess—Marj will tell you about it
tomorrow. Good-bye!”

The mention of the unfortunate circumstance of the evening at the
settlement, directed Marjorie’s thoughts back to unpleasant channels,
so that amid the congratulations and rejoicing that followed, she
was almost an outsider. She had not thought before of Daisy’s
disappointment because of their failure, she had pictured only Miss
Winthrop’s. Yet the tender-hearted girls would probably be more deeply
affected than the other.

Noticing Marjorie’s evident fatigue, Mrs. Hadley suggested that the
party break up in order that the girls might go to bed.

The morning, however, failed to bring Marjorie a fresh point of view.
All the way out she brooded over her experience, seeking, if possible,
to consider it from the girls’ angle. She felt sure that it was not
personal insult to her companion and herself that troubled her, but
the effect of such conduct upon the offenders themselves. What kind
of homes could they come from, in which such blatant rudeness would
be overlooked or tolerated? Did their parents know what they did with
their spare time, had they met their associates and friends? How
would it be possible ever to hope to touch them, to influence them to
something better?

Then her thoughts strayed to other girls of their type, and she fell
to wondering how they too passed their time. Perhaps this little
group was on a slightly higher plane, protected as they were by the
settlement, and supervised by Miss Winthrop.

She had intended to go straight to Daisy with her story, but she
found all her plans interrupted by her class-mates. They crowded her
rooms, anxious to congratulate her and to express their good-will, and
insisted upon giving her at least part of the celebration which Lily
and Jeannette had arranged in her honor. It was evening before she
found herself alone; then she sat down to write her report for Miss
Winthrop.

She presented her facts as strongly as she knew how, denouncing the
girls’ conduct with all the ardor she felt, and yet keeping the
personal element out of it. She sketched every girl’s behavior with
a definiteness and a truthfulness that bore the impressive stamp of
thoroughness. Then, before she had a chance to lose her courage, she
posted the letter herself.

She was planning a visit to Daisy on Monday afternoon when a summons
to the reception room interrupted her project. To her surprise she
found both Lily and Daisy already there, talking with a middle-aged,
efficient-looking woman whom she immediately judged to be Miss Winthrop.

“This is Miss Wilkinson, Miss Winthrop,” said Daisy, as Marjorie
advanced towards the little group. “She thinks your report was
splendid, Marjorie.”

Miss Winthrop’s keen gray eyes seemed to be taking the girl in from
head to foot, and, not only that, but to be piercing into her mind as
well. Marjorie shifted nervously.

“I want to talk it all over, Miss Wilkinson,” declared the older woman.
“Your report was most illuminating, most thorough. In fact, it read
more like one from a trained worker than from an inexperienced college
girl.”

This statement aroused Lily’s ire.

“Marj isn’t inexperienced!” she cried, resentfully. “She’s been all
over the country, and always been a leader, no matter where she went,
or what she was doing!”

“Only inexperienced among girls of that type,” explained Miss Winthrop,
with a smile. She was secretly pleased by the girl’s loyalty.

“Yes,” murmured Marjorie, “I know what you mean. Miss Andrews and I
both felt so dreadfully inexperienced. It seems as if somebody else
would have been able to do something. All we did was sit back and
listen and watch in amazement.”

“Didn’t any one speak to you?” inquired Miss Winthrop.

Marjorie flushed; she had not meant to mention the personal insults.

“Not to us—but _at us_!” supplied Lily.

“Of course, Mrs. Morgan did,” Marjorie hastened to add.

Miss Winthrop eyed Marjorie searchingly.

“Do you think that the girls are worth doing anything for?” she asked.

Marjorie remained silent for a moment; as yet she had not been able to
settle that question to her own satisfaction.

“Yes, I think—maybe,” she replied slowly, “for the very reason that
they are so young. Their characters surely aren’t fully developed yet,
so I should judge somebody might do something with them. But I can’t
imagine who the somebody might be.”

“It would have to be somebody whom they liked and admired,” mused Lily.

Miss Winthrop’s grey eyes flashed. “Yes, that’s just it, Miss Andrews.
You have hit the nail on the head. That is the very reason I came out
here to college this afternoon. The girls took a fancy to you and Miss
Wilkinson!”

“What?” gasped Marjorie incredulously. “Surely you are mistaken, Miss
Winthrop! If you could have been there, and have seen and heard for
yourself——”

“I know—I know what you mean,” she interrupted to explain. “But that
is only their way. Don’t you know that ignorant people always ridicule
what they can’t understand? But, I repeat it, the girls liked you. They
told me so last night!”

“Really?” cried the girl, still in doubt as to the possibility of such
a fact. “Please tell me about it, Miss Winthrop. What did they say?”

“Well,” began Miss Winthrop, “it all happened last night, when I
returned from New York. I went immediately to my office and began to
open my mail, when Mrs. Morgan interrupted me by bringing in her report
of the work during my absence.”

“What did she say about the party?” asked Lily with interest.

“Merely that it went nicely and that every one had a good time,”
replied the settlement worker in amusement.

“I thought she would say as much,” remarked Marjorie. “I wish I could
have been so easily satisfied!”

“No, no, Miss Wilkinson—that very attitude is what makes you so
valuable. Mrs. Morgan is a splendid matron, and a very agreeable
person, but she will never make a social worker.”

“To continue: when Mrs. Morgan had left, two of the girls from that
group entered my office. Remember, I had not yet received your report,
and had no reason to believe anything had been other than it should
have. But these girls looked a little bit ashamed of themselves.

“‘Have you heard anything about our jazz party, Miss Winthrop?’ Queenie
Brazier—who by the way seems to be the leader of the group—asked.

“‘Yes, Mrs. Morgan just told me it went off beautifully,’ I answered,
without any hesitation.

“‘But what did the’—let me see, what did they call you?—‘the two
swell Janes,’ I believe—‘have to say about us?’ she asked almost
fearfully.

“For a minute I could not think what she meant. Then I recalled the
fact that Daisy had promised to try to get another girl from college to
help me out, and I presumed she referred to them.

“‘Nothing,’ I replied. ‘I haven’t seen or heard from them since.’

“Both girls breathed a sigh of relief. Then Queenie began, somewhat
apologetically, to tell me that they hadn’t given you a square deal,
that, as she put it, ‘We shot a lot of how do you get that way stuff
at ’em,’ and you never made any move to retaliate. Then, when your
two friends, whom the girls evidently admired immensely, for she
called them, ‘two swell fellers,’ came in and took you home, they grew
remorseful.

“‘What do you want to do about it?’ I inquired, with curiosity.

“‘Just get the word to them we ain’t as bad as we look. And if they’ll
condescend to come again, we’ll give ’em a serenade.’”

“Of all things!” cried Marjorie in astonishment, her eyes lighting up
with pleasure. “So it was really John and Dick who made the hit!”

“Well,” returned Miss Winthrop, “it wakened them up to the fact that
you aren’t old maids—like myself. And they couldn’t help admiring your
dignity, though they did not realize it.”

“Was that all they said?” asked Lily, who by now was immensely amused
at the whole affair.

“Not quite. I began to tell them something of your record in
scouting—I knew it from Daisy—and I could see that they were
impressed. It was Queenie who actually proposed that they turn their
club into a scout troop and elect Miss Wilkinson captain and Miss
Andrews lieutenant.”

Marjorie and Lily received this piece of information with bursts of
laughter.

“Imagine those girls being Girl Scouts!” the former exclaimed. “The
idea is absolutely ridiculous! They couldn’t have meant it!”

“But they did!” Miss Winthrop assured them.

“Have they any idea what the organization stands for?”

“Not much, but they have seen pictures in the papers. They know that
Mrs. Hoover is president, and that the first lady of the land is
honorary president.”

“I am afraid I couldn’t do anything with them, much as I want a troop
of my own,” sighed Marjorie. “It would require somebody older——”

“No! No!” protested Miss Winthrop. “Somebody older wouldn’t have half
the hold on them that you would—will you do it?”

Again Marjorie hesitated and Lily shook her head decidedly.

“Miss Wilkinson is our new class president, Miss Winthrop, and she’ll
be terribly busy this year.”

“And that’s too great an honor to resign,” put in Daisy.

“No, it isn’t,” said Marjorie, “not, at least, for something worth
while. But I don’t feel as if I could do much with these girls.”

“Try!” urged Miss Winthrop. “Meet with them next Saturday night—and
decide then!”

“All right,” agreed Marjorie, “as you say.”

But Marjorie Wilkinson never did things by halves; in spite of Lily’s
vigorous protests, she handed in her resignation that night as
president of the senior class.




CHAPTER V.

THE FIRST MEETING.


After Marjorie had made her decision to meet the girls again, she spent
the spare time of her entire week trying to persuade Lily to adopt her
view of the matter. But Lily positively refused to be persuaded. She
was not going down to that place again to be ridiculed—her time was
too valuable. If Marjorie chose to do such foolish things, she must do
them alone.

Her roommate’s opposition made it a little hard for Marjorie, but did
not deter her from keeping her promise to Miss Winthrop. Lily was
always cautious, not nearly so prone to run into new undertakings as
her chum; but she was usually willing to follow later on. In reality
Marjorie had no doubt of Lily; if she won the girls, she would
certainly win her.

Yet she was still dubious in her own heart as to the wisdom of the
venture. She could not picture those girls as ever becoming interested
in a subject so serious as scouting. Nevertheless, it would not be her
fault if she failed, for she resolved to present it in all its dramatic
highlights, to try to get the thrill of the open life into their blood.

She selected her costume with great care for her first meeting with
the girls. Good clothing appealed to them; style was an essential in
their life. She decided upon her new brown suit, tailored in the latest
fashion, emphasizing its beauty by a fawn-colored overblouse, with
stockings of the same hue. Her hat, a chic little velvet toque, carried
out the same motif and completed the charming effect she desired.

It would be interesting, she thought, as she drove into the city, to
meet these girls under such circumstances; to go to them at their
invitation; to talk to them without interference from members of the
opposite sex, whose opinions were so worthless, and yet so weighty with
the girls; to observe them under the more normal condition of every-day
affairs. Perhaps she had been harsh, after all, in her judgment of
them; it really was not fair to watch them at a single social function
and to pass upon their characters with so little knowledge of the
conditions under which they lived and worked. She had known several
college girls whose heads had been turned by popularity and flattery,
yet, in comparison with them, these girls were mere children. It
was, therefore, with a very forgiving spirit that she drew up to the
settlement at eight o’clock and parked her car before its entrance.

Queenie Brazier threw open the door and rushed down the steps as
Marjorie drew her key from the lock.

“Hello, Miss Wilkinson!” she cried. “Right on the dot of eight!”

Marjorie smilingly extended her hand, realizing now that Miss Winthrop
had not exaggerated her story.

“Your car’s awful cute,” commented the girl, slipping her arm through
Marjorie’s and conducting her up the steps. “Wouldn’t mind if I was
rich myself!”

“Oh, but I didn’t buy that!” Marjorie hastened to inform her. “I earned
it—as a reward which was offered to our Girl Scout troop.”

“Gee, do they give things like that in the Scouts!” exclaimed Queenie.
“Me for the scouts, every time!”

“There are all sorts of honors and rewards for the girl who works,”
Marjorie replied cautiously. “But they do not always take such material
form as this one happened to.” She was anxious to dispel Queenie’s
false hope that scouting was an easy path to quick riches.

“Tell me how you won it!” pleaded the other, as she directed Marjorie
into the room where the rest of the girls were gathered.

“All right—later on,” agreed Marjorie. “But now I want to meet the
others.”

The club room was a small one, furnished in the usual plain but cozy
style adapted by most of the up-to-date settlement houses. Miss
Winthrop occupied a chair beside a substantial mission-table, and two
of the girls were perched on top of it, talking in animated tones with
the leader. Two or three of the others were apparently listening to the
conversation, while over on the window sill, an exceedingly stout young
lady was giggling and whispering with a tall slender one. Marjorie
took them all in at a glance, and with some difficulty identified them
with the elaborately dressed maidens of the dance. They all looked
different, she decided, but undoubtedly better.

“Well, Miss Wilkinson, we’re all here—and all glad to see you,”
said Miss Winthrop cordially. “I think Queenie had better do the
introducing, however, for she is more sure of the names than I am.”

“Oh, she can’t remember them all, anyhow,” protested Queenie, rather
embarrassed by the formality of an introduction. “So I won’t have to
repeat them—girls—meet Miss Wilkinson!”

“I’m awfully glad to meet you,” said Marjorie graciously. “But Miss
Brazier is wrong about my not remembering the names; I want to know
them, and I don’t mean to forget them.”

“All right, then—just as you wish, Miss Wilkinson. You know that I’m
Queenie Brazier, and—this here girl is Aggie Smithers, this beet-top
is Clara Abrams, the tall skinny one at the window is Annie Marshall,
this is Stella Cox on the table, with our little mascot beside
her—Dottie Williams. And, oh yes, I forgot Fattie Reed—her real
name’s Gertie. Now you got ’em all.”

“Yes, I believe I have,” replied Marjorie, trying to hide a smile at
the method of introduction. “And I don’t intend to forget them, either.”

“I suppose you will want to get started at once,” put in Miss Winthrop.
“Miss Wilkinson is a very busy lady, so I know she can’t stay long.”

“We ain’t goin’ to treat her rough this time,” muttered Aggie Smithers,
but the remark was lost to Miss Winthrop. Nevertheless Marjorie heard
it, and took it as a good sign.

The leader withdrew, and Queenie escorted Marjorie to the seat at the
table. The other girls brought chairs from the corners of the room and
arranged them in front of her.

“I’d just like to talk tonight,” began Marjorie nervously. “If we——”

“Oh, it’s a lecture, is it?” giggled Gertie Reed. “If it’s goin’ to be
like prayer-meetin’——”

“Shut up, Fattie!” interrupted Queenie, noting Marjorie’s confusion.

“I didn’t mean that I was going to do the talking,” the latter hastened
to explain. “I meant we’d all talk things over, instead of trying to
organize. Queenie, will you tell me what made you think that you would
like to form a Girl Scout troop?”

“Miss Winthrop, I guess,” replied the youthful leader. “She said if we
wanted a club here any more, we’d have to have a leader, and we all
liked your looks, so we asked for you. And then she told us how you
were a Girl Scout, and we thought we’d like to try that.”

“But some of us,” put in Annie Marshall, the tallest and oldest girl
in the group, “thought we was too old—that it was only something fer
kids. I’m goin’ on seventeen myself.”

“Gracious!” laughed Marjorie, “we had lots of active scouts in our
troop who were eighteen, and we older ones do scout work yet, as a
senior patrol. There are plenty of things in it for older girls.”

“We like the uniform,” continued Queenie, “and we’re crazy about goin’
camping sometime. And that’s about all there is to it, isn’t it? Except
of course meetin’ here once a week—and we could do as we please at our
own meetin’s.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marjorie, kindly, but firmly, “but you couldn’t. Once
you’re scouts, you have to follow the scout law, and do the scout work.
And it is work, too, though it’s mighty interesting work. If you want
to win the honors, the merit-badges and the medals, you have to go in
for it hard. So it must be all or nothing.”

“Sounds too strenuous to me!” yawned Gertie. “We ain’t ladies of
leisure, Mrs. Wilkinson. We all work.”

“Neither am I, for that matter,” said Marjorie.

“What do you do?” asked Stella Cox, in surprise.

“I go to college. I finish this year.”

“You still in school!” repeated Queenie in amazement. “You must ’ave
started awful late!”

Marjorie smiled at the bluntness of the remark.

“I started at six,” she explained. “But it’s eight years at grammar
school, four at high, and four at college.”

“Then you must be twenty-one!” calculated Queenie.

“Exactly!” replied Marjorie. “If I weren’t, I couldn’t be your captain.”

“Tell us more about what the scouts do, and how you earned your car,
Miss Wilkinson,” urged Queenie.

Marjorie noticed a revival of interest when this question was asked;
almost subconsciously she realized that pleasure in one form or another
was these girls’ idol. Yet how could she give them the kind they
wanted, and, if she could, would she be willing? Was it not rather her
duty to create a new ideal for them?

“Winning that car was only a side-line for us,” she told them finally.
“A wealthy old lady had read some accounts of our troop’s doings in the
newspapers, and wanted to prove our mettle. So she wrote to us that
if we would motor to California without accepting any assistance of
any kind from men along the road, and if we would make the trip in six
weeks’ time, and not spend more than a certain amount of money, she’d
give each girl a new roadster as a reward.”

“Phew!” whistled Queenie in admiration. “And you really did it?”

“Yes, we did, though lots of times we thought we had lost out. Once we
got stuck in the mud, and some men offered to pull us out, and two or
three times we were held up and robbed. One car was stolen from us,
too. It certainly was exciting. But girls, you mustn’t bank on things
like that happening. We had been scouts for five years then, and had
been working terribly hard. And perhaps ours is the only troop in the
country that had such an experience.”

“Then tell us about some of the good times you had your first year,”
suggested Stella Cox.

“Our first year was a good deal like any other troop’s first year. We
had hikes, worked to pass our tenderfoot, second-class, and first-class
tests, met some other troops, had contests, and finally went camping
the first summer. Of course that was the best of all.”

“How soon can we go camping?” asked Queenie.

“After you pass your second-class tests, and prove by your hikes that
you have some knowledge of the out-of-doors. We’ll have to arrange some
Saturday afternoon hikes to learn the essentials of camp life——”

“Now, girls, are you ready to vote on the question? Do you, or do you
not want to organize as a scout troop?”

Looking about the group, she saw hesitation written on several of
their countenances; only their youthful leader seemed to sustain the
enthusiasm. As usual, she was the spokesman.

“Shall we take a vote on it?” repeated Marjorie.

“Yea—all right,” assented Queenie. “Only first tell me: if we have
just an ordinary club, would you be our leader?”

“No—I’m very sorry. But I want to devote my spare time in the
interests of scouting.”

“Could we dance?” inquired Aggie, with a giggle.

“Certainly,” responded Marjorie—“that is, subject to supervision—Now,
if you’re ready, let’s vote. All in favor of forming a scout troop, say
‘Aye.’”

“Aye!” answered Queenie loudly with a faint echo from the others.

“Opposed, ‘No.’”

There was silence.

“But you must be sure of yourselves, girls,” Marjorie insisted. “There
have to be at least eight girls to form a troop—and there are only
eight here tonight—so if one dropped out, it would be impossible to
organize. Please don’t be afraid to speak out frankly: if there are any
who do not care to join, now is the time to say so!”

“Sure they all want to, Miss Wilkinson!” asserted Queenie, with
conviction. “Besides, if they didn’t they could drop out of our crowd,
and I’d soon bring somebody else in to fill their place. You can count
on me to have eight skirts here every Saturday night regular, if that’s
goin’ to be our time for the meeting.”

“It suits me,” approved Marjorie, smiling at the high-handed way in
which Queenie managed her followers. “Then I will give you these
hand-books tonight, and ask you to read them before next week. And two
things more: we need to choose a flower name and a patrol leader.”

Briefly she explained the functions of the non-commissioned officer;
hardly had she finished before the girls demanded Queenie.

“No use electin’—it’s unanimous!” declared Aggie.

“And the flower?” continued Marjorie.

The girls looked at Queenie.

“Sunflower!” she announced in a matter-of-fact tone, as if she had
previously settled the matter. “It’s so bright and noisy-like—just
like us!”

“Yea—Sunflower!” repeated the others, all at once.

“Sunflower it is,” concluded Marjorie, rising. “Have it blooming next
Saturday night—and I’ll see you then.”

Almost before they knew it, she was gone—delighted to find patient
John Hadley at the wheel in her little roadster.




CHAPTER VI.

THE HIKE.


Although Marjorie knew that her project was a success as far as it had
gone, she was nevertheless deeply worried about the future. How would
she ever be able to keep such girls amused? They would certainly be
bored by such activities as knot-tying and first-aid, yet they were
not equipped to enter the more exciting scout contests or prepared to
engage in camping trips. One dull meeting, she felt, would kill what
ambition they had.

Accordingly, she spent a great deal of time upon her preparations
for the second meeting, and hit upon a program that she was sure
would appeal to the girls. Her brother had a friend who had for many
years been interested in scouting, first as a member himself, then
as a scout-master, and now as District Manager. Not only was Walter
Richards an authority on the subject, but he possessed a splendid
personality, was a forceful speaker—and, what would appeal most to the
girls—he was unmarried. She resolved to write to ask him to give the
troop a fifteen minute talk on the meaning and the ideals of the twin
organizations.

As she had anticipated, she found that with the exception of Queenie
and one or two others, the girls had scarcely looked into their
handbooks. If, however, they expected to be scolded, they received a
surprise.

“I hoped you would,” she said, as she removed her hat, “but I didn’t
count on it. So I have invited a young man, who is a Boy Scout leader,
to come and tell you about it.”

The inevitable question followed. It was Aggie who voiced it.

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

“I think not.”

“Keep steady company?”

“I think that scouting is his ‘steady company.’ If you want to make a
hit with him, show yourselves in earnest about passing your tests.”

At this moment the door was opened, and Miss Winthrop preceded a
tall, splendid looking man in a khaki uniform into the room. A sense
of triumph came over Marjorie as she realized that here was the very
human embodiment of the great scout ideal; the sound mind and the sound
body. Although over six feet tall, he was as straight as an arrow;
his clothing showed all the neatness of an army officer’s; his blue
eyes looked fearlessly into the girls’, proclaiming his honesty, his
good-will, his kindliness. Marjorie felt indeed that she had made a
wise choice.

Nor was she the least disappointed; for the first time perhaps in their
lives the girls listened to a serious talk with rapt attention. Mr.
Richards seemed to know just when to joke and when to get back to his
theme, when to generalize, and when to go into detail; when to dip into
slang, and when to return to the purest English. He was wise enough,
too, to stop while they still wanted more.

“I am sorry that I must go, Miss Wilkinson,” he concluded. “But first
let me congratulate you all on your fine enthusiasm and interest. It
has been more than a pleasure to meet you.”

Queenie could not restrain a deep sigh; it literally pained her to see
him go.

“When will you come again?” she demanded eagerly.

“When Miss Wilkinson tells me that you are all ready for your
tenderfoot test. Then, if it is agreeable to her, I will be glad to
come and give it.”

“I’d be delighted!” exclaimed Marjorie, only too grateful for the
assistance.

“Next week, then!” urged Queenie.

Mr. Richards shook his head smilingly.

“You won’t be ready by next week,” he said. “But suppose we make it a
month from today. I’ll put it down on my calendar.”

As he departed, Marjorie saw from the interested expressions on the
girls’ faces that they were in earnest, for the time being, at least.
She had scored one point towards ultimate success.

Yet when they actually got down to work, she found that the time was
dragging. The girls thought the questions about the flag silly, and
believed they were too old to bother with tying pieces of string
together. Finally Marjorie suggested that they hold their meeting in
the afternoon the following week, and have a hike.

“Sure!” they all cried enthusiastically, and Aggie Smithers added, “Can
we bring our fellers?”

“Not this time, Aggie,” returned Marjorie. “Maybe next, if this hike is
a success.”

“Let’s talk over what we’ll bring,” suggested Queenie.

“All right,” agreed their captain, “but let’s make it something we can
cook. We might as well learn outdoor cooking while we’re about it.”

“Cooking makes me sick!” yawned Clara. “Ma’s always after me to help
her with it, and I just hate it. What’s the use, when you can get such
good stuff at the delicatessen?”

“But that sort of thing isn’t good for you to eat often,” objected
Marjorie; “and besides, when we go camping, we won’t have any stores
handy, and then we’ll have to depend upon ourselves.”

“We should worry!” laughed Gertie Reed.

“Then let’s make it dogs, if we have to cook,” said Queenie.

“All right,” approved Marjorie. “Hot dogs——”

“Hot dog!” snickered Clara, laughing at what she chose to consider
Marjorie’s slang. The latter, however, paid no attention to the
interruption.

“Cocoa and rolls, too—and apples or bananas for dessert?”

“Apples!” repeated Queenie, in disgust. “That sounds more like a fast
than a feast!”

“Well, then, what?”

“Pie—or chocolate layer-cake!” ventured Aggie.

“Or cream puffs——” said another.

“Fudge and lady-locks,” offered a third.

“How about everybody bringing what they want?” asked Queenie.

“All right,” answered Marjorie. “Bring your own dessert, and I’ll
supply the substantials.”

The selection of a place for the hike was another subject for
contention. Most of the girls wanted to turn the hike into a boat-ride
and go up the river on a steamer, and dance during the ride. Some of
them desired to sojourn to one of the nearby amusement parks. It was
only after the greatest persuasion that they were finally won over to
the Wissahickon.

“But what can we do there?” demanded Aggie, in a grieved tone.

“Hike!” exclaimed Marjorie. “The scenery’s beautiful.”

Gertie and Clara groaned.

“All right, we’ll do just as you want this time,” concluded Queenie.
And whatever Queenie decided was always adopted.

But Marjorie left the settlement house that night with anything but
pleasurable anticipation for the event of the coming week. In the eyes
of these experienced girls a mere hike into the woods was insipid. They
knew nothing of birds or flowers; beautiful scenery had no attraction
for them if the opposite sex were not present, and cooking of any sort
was a bore. They were missing so much of the best of life, Marjorie
thought, yet she had no idea how she was to open their eyes. However,
she decided not to worry; perhaps the affair would turn out far better
than she dared hope.

The weather itself proved in her favor; the sun shone brightly, the
sky was a clear, deep blue, and the colors of the autumn leaves the
most brilliant imaginable. The air was bracing, but not cold. How
the members of Pansy troop had revelled in such weather, and such
excursions; Marjorie experienced a little pang of homesickness as she
left the girls of her own class at college on their way to a picnic,
and hastened off to meet her new troop.

She was disappointed at the outset to find only four of the girls at
the appointed place. Aggie and Clara had succumbed to “dates”; Gertie
had pronounced the undertaking too strenuous; and Mame had gone to
the movies. So only the four remained—the languid Annie Marshall,
bright-eyed Stella Cox, attractive little Dottie Williams, and
Queenie. Marjorie felt her spirits suddenly sink; numbers were almost
always indicative of success on these outdoor excursions, and it would
be hard to arouse the lively spirit of adventure she so desired.

She had brought enough food for nine, so her basket was heavy; yet no
one offered to relieve her. Indeed, the girls grumbled about the weight
of their own packages and hand-bags, the latter of which they had
deemed indispensable.

“Where do we go from here, girls?” asked Queenie, as the small party
alighted from the trolley car.

“Through this big arch, up the drive till we come to a path,” replied
Marjorie shifting her load.

“Look at all them cars!” exclaimed Stella enviously. “What do you say
we git a lift?”

“Wait till some fellows come along,” advised Annie.

“Nothin’ doin’!” squelched Queenie, noting the look of disapproval in
Marjorie’s countenance. “We’re hikin’, kids—don’t you fergit it!”

“My feet ain’t likely to, anyway,” sighed Annie, glancing down at her
high-heeled slippers.

Marjorie shot a grateful look at the patrol leader, and Queenie,
appreciating it, started up a song, to make the way seem shorter.

But in spite of both their efforts, interest flagged, the girls
grumbled, jealously watching the motorists that passed, and wishing
aloud that they had been as sensible as Mame, and were comfortably
watching the pictures. In vain Marjorie tried to interest them in
conversation—about themselves, their work, their families, and their
friends, but the girls only giggled and answered her questions in a
perfunctory manner. By the time they arrived at the bridle path, where
the hiking was really to begin, they one and all flung themselves upon
a bench and announced that they were exhausted.

“Let’s eat!” suggested Queenie.

Marjorie would have been only too glad to comply with the request, even
though it was only a little after four, but they were within the park
limits, and fires were forbidden.

“We’ll have to cross over above the hills,” she explained, “and find a
spot where we are allowed to make a fire. It’s against the law here.”

“What do we want a fire for?” demanded Stella.

“To cook our supper,” responded Marjorie wearily.

“I’ve got half a dozen doughnuts and a chocolate éclair,” remarked
Annie. “That ought to see me through.”

“But we must have something substantial,” protested Marjorie. “And
sausages aren’t good cold.”

“Sure, we can eat ’em, anyhow!” put in Queenie more cheerfully.

“But I wanted to teach you something about making a fire in the open,”
sighed Marjorie.

“Oh, that’ll keep. Let’s eat and get home!”

A sense of the futility of her effort seized Marjorie, and she
resolved desperately that she would give it all up. Lily was right; she
was wasting her time, when she might be doing something worth while.
Far better to turn in and help her classmates in their round of social
and class duties, than to strive for something she could never attain.
For she felt now absolutely certain that she could never reach these
girls to influence them in any way.

“All right,” she agreed listlessly. “Let’s eat—and go.”

“Hike too much for you, too, Miss Wilkinson?” inquired Queenie.

“I guess so,” murmured Marjorie, beginning to unpack her basket.

The supper was a dismal affair, in no way resembling the happy campfire
meals of her old troop. The girls ate little of Marjorie’s food and
talked not at all. But they all consumed their bag of sweets.

“Oh, for a drink!” exclaimed Queenie, a few minutes later.

“Let’s go and get one,” suggested Marjorie. “There’s a spring back
there on the drive.”

“You stay here, Miss Wilkinson, and we’ll bring you one. Tell us which
way.”

Marjorie indicated the direction and began to pack the remains of
the food into a basket, to leave for some wanderer less fortunately
supplied. Then she gave her attention to picking up the papers which
the girls had carelessly scattered, for she was too discouraged to
insist upon their doing it. Finally she sat down to wait for their
return.

Half an hour passed and they did not come; finally an hour. She began
to be very cold. Could they be lost? A feeling of uneasiness took
possession of her and she resolved to go in search of them. She hurried
along the road which led back to the main driveway and found her way to
the spring. But they were nowhere in sight.

“I’ll go ask the park guard,” she decided. “They’re always so noisy,
one couldn’t miss them.”

When he was not occupied with the traffic, she ventured her inquiry.

“Yes, I do recall them,” he replied, “for they stopped and joked with
me. And then they went over and got a drink, and stood around, watching
the cars for awhile. First thing I knew they were making friends with a
couple of fellows in a big Packard and evidently picked up a ride. They
haven’t passed back yet.”

“Oh, thank you!” murmured Marjorie, her eyes swimming with tears.

Tired and disconsolate, she trudged home to Mrs. Hadley.




CHAPTER VII.

DISCOURAGEMENT.


“Come in, Marjorie!” cried Mrs. Hadley, with a cheery smile. “Anna is
just putting dinner on the table—and I’m so glad to have company.
John’s away.”

She looked at the girl keenly, hoping that she would detect a shadow of
disappointment on her face, at the knowledge of her son’s absence. But
it seemed as if Marjorie hardly took in what she was saying.

“I’ve had my supper,” she replied listlessly. “But I’m so thankful to
be here. I’m—all in.”

“What is it, dear?” inquired the older woman, solicitously. “You’re
tired and cold—not sick?”

“Only sick at heart.”

Marjorie dropped into a chair before the open fire, and, withdrawing
her gloves, spread her hands gratefully toward the warmth. “My hike
with the new troop was a dismal failure.”

“Tell me about it!” urged Mrs. Hadley sympathetically.

In a few words the disheartened captain told her story, without
interruption. Her hostess made no comment until they had answered the
summons to dinner.

“Do have some hot coffee, dear,” she said. “You’ll feel better.”

“Thank, you, yes.”

She stirred it moodily, silently. Again Mrs. Hadley did not interrupt.

“Now tell me what you would advise me to do,” Marjorie finally asked.

“Give them up, of course!” replied the other, emphatically. “They are
not worth your effort, your unhappiness. The trouble lies too deep for
you to reach, Marjorie. Their families, the free lawless spirit of the
age in which we live, are to blame. They are young in years, but they
are old in experience—much older than you. If you could take them away
from their homes, their pleasures, their environments, your personality
might conquer theirs. But at the most they see you only three or four
hours a week; and what mark can you hope to leave in so short a time?
There are too many things against you.”

“I guess you are right, Mrs. Hadley,” admitted the girl, wearily. “But
it seems dreadful to give them up—to accept defeat so soon. I like to
win if the cause is worth it, no matter what the odds are against me.”

“I know you do—and you always have. Your courage is marvellous,
Marjorie. But this is something different from anything you have ever
attempted; it is almost beyond human power.”

“And yet,” interposed the girl, “I am sure that Mr. Richards thinks it
could be done.”

“Mr. Richards?”

“Yes—the Boy Scout master who came to talk to the girls last week.”

Mrs. Hadley shut her lips tightly; she remembered that John had
mentioned the young man, and had hinted that he had captivated Marjorie.

“He isn’t thinking of you, dear. You must not sacrifice yourself.”

“But that’s the whole spirit of scouting!” flashed Marjorie. “If I
thought that were all that is hindering me, I wouldn’t give it up. Mrs.
Hadley, will you let me talk to him on the telephone, and—and—tell
him my troubles?”

“Certainly,” acceded her hostess graciously. “But wouldn’t John do?
He’ll be home about nine o’clock.”

“I’d like to have the opinion of both,” answered Marjorie, smiling for
the first time. Something of her usual spirit was returning.

They talked of other things, of college, of Mrs. Hadley’s varied
interests, of John’s work, until Margaret felt that she might try her
luck at the telephone.

“This is Marjorie Wilkinson,” she said, in answer to Mr. Richards’
cheery “Hello!” “And I want to tell you my troubles.”

“Of course,” returned the other. “We all have ’em, you know; even the
leaders of the so-called model troops. And you couldn’t hope to escape.”

“You know how pleased I was with your talk the other night, as I told
you over the phone, but how discouraged I was with the rest of the
meeting, when I tried to teach some of the practical things.”

“Yes, and I reminded you that that was to be expected.”

“I realized that,” admitted Marjorie. “But today I had a real
disappointment. My girls actually got so bored with me on our hike that
they ran away!”

Mr. Richards burst out laughing.

“Then girls are as hard to manage as boys?” he demanded. “I never
realized it before, but I believe it now!”

“Did boys ever do that to you?”

“Yes, and sometimes when six or eight promised to show up for some
shindig, nobody came at all! It’s all in the day’s work.”

“But what would you do? Give them up?”

“No, unless they wanted you to. Leave it entirely up to them.”

“I was thinking maybe I’d just write my resignation to the settlement.”

Mr. Richards was silent for a moment; indeed Marjorie began to wonder
whether he were still on the wire.

“Of course you must do just as you think best,” he concluded. “And
I wouldn’t let it worry me too much. After all, there are plenty of
troops.”

“Thank you,” she replied slowly, “I’ll think it over.”

“And do let me hear from you soon,” he added.

Marjorie, however, was not satisfied; the conversation had not
convinced her one way or the other. In fact, Mr. Richards’ arguments on
the one side had not been so conclusive as Mrs. Hadley’s, on the other.

Turning around, she saw John enter the living room. Mechanically she
got up to greet him.

“Marjorie!” he exclaimed, warmly, his eyes lighting up with happiness.
“This is a joyous surprise!”

“A surprise,” repeated the girl, “but as your mother will tell you, not
so joyful for you people. I’m afraid that I’m not very good company.”

“You’re always good company,” he protested. “But——” his face grew
sympathetic—“what is wrong?”

“I have failed—again!” she murmured.

“Not _again_! It must be for the first time!” John refused to take part
in her depression.

“Marjorie was chaperoning her troop on a hike,” his mother explained,
“and the girls ran away. Naturally she is discouraged.”

“Ran away!” repeated John, in amazement. “Tell me about it—all of it!”

Marjorie settled herself to tell the story once more in detail, and
while she was talking, Mrs. Hadley slipped out. She knew that she had
failed to comfort her, and she wanted to give her son his opportunity.

“And so I am just about ready to give up!” she concluded desperately.
“I don’t think I can ever win those girls.”

“You’re right, Marjorie!” exclaimed John ardently. “It’s so much better
to expend your energy and time on people who will appreciate it.
It’s ‘pearls before swine!’ Oh, my dear, why throw all that love and
devotion on girls like that, when some of the rest of us are starving
for it? Forget them—and—and—think about me for a little while. I
want you so much! I—I——”

He stopped because he saw that his appeal had met with no answer.
Marjorie only looked disturbed.

“Yes, John, I do want to think about other people—you and your mother,
and everybody else that is good to me. But I can’t just now.”

“When will you?” he asked desperately.

“When college is over and I have this Girl Scout matter and my future
definitely settled.”

“But I want to settle your future!” he cried, leaning forward and
laying his hand over hers. “I want you to promise to marry me—and then
you can take charge of all the scout troops you want to!”

Marjorie did not take her hand away, but looked at him tenderly. She
admired him more than any man she knew, perhaps she loved him—she
was not sure—but she was not ready to surrender her future into his
keeping. She had other plans for herself.

“I can’t promise, John, dear, because my mind is just filled with
other things—work, I mean, a career, if you want to call it that. You
wouldn’t want me half-heartedly. And I’d never be satisfied if I didn’t
give my ideas a try.”

John’s hand dropped listlessly over the arm of the chair, and he gazed
into the fire in silence. There was nothing more to be said; he knew
Marjorie too well to attempt to dissuade her from her purposes.

“Tell me what you have been doing, John,” she said, with forced
cheerfulness.

“Oh, the same old thing. Had a raise in salary—but—oh, what’s the
use!”

Marjorie laughed good-naturedly, and both felt that the tension had
suddenly been relieved.

“Do you suppose your mother would chaperone me back to college?” she
asked. “I really want to see Lil tonight.”

“Certainly!” he answered. “I’ll call her and bring the car around to
the door.”

It was not until they reached the college that the cause of Marjorie’s
visit was referred to again. Then Mrs. Hadley tried to make her promise
to give up the troop.

“I can’t promise till I talk it over with Lily,” she said finally. “But
I think I shall, now.”

“That’s right, dear!” returned the older woman waving good-bye to her
as she entered the doorway.

She rushed up to her room, unable to control her emotion any longer. At
least it would be a relief to cry.

But to her dismay she found that Lily had company. Jeannette Killough
was there.

“Marj!” cried both girls joyfully.

“We were hoping that you’d be back to hear about our thrilling party,”
Lily explained. “We’re going to have a class dance next Saturday night.”

“And you simply have to come!” ordered Jeannette. “We won’t take ‘No’
for an answer.”

Marjorie dropped wearily into a chair, keeping back her tears with
difficulty.

“That old scout troop can go for once——” pursued Lily. “Why, what’s
the matter, Marj?”

“Nothing much—except that my hike didn’t come off as I had hoped.”

“Well, don’t think about it!” advised Jeannette. “We’ll give you
something more pleasant to consider. Bee Tullige’s father has arranged
to get us the Country Club—think of that, Marj! Such an expensive
place, too! And everybody’s going to get a new dress and invite her
very best beau!”

“You’ll go, won’t you, Marj?” persisted Lily.

“Oh, I guess,” replied Marjorie, half-heartedly. Nothing seemed worth
while now.

“Write to Miss Winthrop now and tell her you won’t be at the settlement
on Saturday,” suggested Jeannette.

“All right—only I’m too tired tonight. I’ll promise to do it tomorrow.”

“Daisy will probably take the troop for you,” added the other. “So,
since you’ve promised, I think I better go, because you ought to go to
bed. Good-night!”

But as soon as she was gone, Lily forgot the dance in her anxiety to
hear all about the hike. Marjorie was undoubtedly very unhappy; it was
her chum’s privilege to share her burden.

“Tell me, Marj,” she begged sympathetically.

To her surprise, Marjorie burst into tears.

“Don’t say, ‘I told you so,’ Lil! Please don’t! I couldn’t bear it now.”

Lily came over and sat upon the arm of her chair.

“Of course I won’t honey. You know I believe in you! Tell me about it!”

With her head in her roommate’s lap, Marjorie sobbed out her story of
the dismal afternoon which had ended in her own chagrin. Lily listened
carefully, making a great effort to bring an unbiased mind to the
problem.

“I don’t think it’s as serious as you think, Marj,” she finally
answered. “The girls weren’t really intentionally rude, as they were
at the dance, only thoughtless. And you succeeded before, so I think
you will again—for this, after all, is only a temporary slip on their
part.”

But Marjorie was not convinced.

“I’m afraid the odds are too much against me,” she objected.

“But think of the other perfectly hopeless propositions you have
attacked and conquered,” Lily reminded her. “Ruth Henry’s deceit, those
ghosts at the tea house, the motor bandits——”

“Yes, yes, I know; but they were all different. I didn’t have to win
them over to myself.”

“Still—this is worth trying!”

Marjorie regarded Lily in amazement, wondering what had caused the
change in her point of view. Had she been more conceited, she would
have known that Lily’s faith in her was so great that she believed she
could surmount all obstacles.

“You really wouldn’t resign, then?” she ventured.

“No, I’d hate to see you give up now. And if you think it’s because you
need some help, I’ll go in it with you. After all, Marj, it isn’t so
unreasonable for girls of that type to be bored with a hike. Probably
all their picnics have been at pleasure parks where there are plenty of
amusements. You’ve got to have something inside of you to appreciate a
hike, you know you have. And there simply isn’t anything there.”

A bright smile spread over Marjorie’s countenance; somehow she felt
that if her roommate were on her side, she could tackle the job with
new energy.

“Lil, if you’ll help me, I’ll try anything!” she cried.

“I will—I will—I’ll go with you Saturday week, if you want me. At
least,” she added, “if you go to the class dance this Saturday!”

“You know,” answered Marjorie solemnly, “I promised that I would.”




CHAPTER VIII.

THE PROMISE.


Early after breakfast on Sunday morning Marjorie sat down to write her
letter to Miss Winthrop. She intended to tell her all about the hike,
and the girls’ desertion, and to conclude by saying that she would not
be present at the next meeting, but would wait until she heard from the
girls.

Yet somehow, as she tried to write, she found her desire diminishing.
It seemed like a mean trick to run to Miss Winthrop with tales;
after all, would it not be better to write to Queenie herself? Yet
she was thoroughly disgusted with the latter; she held a position of
responsibility in the troop, and she had failed at the crucial moment.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless effort, she put down her pen in
disgust.

“I’m simply at sea, Lil!” she announced. “I don’t know what I want to
do, or how I ought to go about it.”

Her roommate laid her book aside to give the matter her consideration.

“Do you know what I think would be best—if Daisy will do it, I mean?
Not write either to Miss Winthrop or Queenie, but just send Daisy next
week, with the instructions that she teach scouting if the girls want
it, but that she disband the troop if they are not going into it for
all they’re worth. That ought to wake ’em up, if anything will!”

“Pretty hard on Daisy!” commented Marjorie.

“But after all, Daisy’s at the bottom of the whole thing—it was she
who sent you in the first place.”

“Very true—I guess you’re right, Lil. I’ll go ask Daisy to go walking
with me this afternoon, and tell her the story then, and put it up to
her.”

“That would be a good idea, if you didn’t have an engagement with John
Hadley. You remember he and Dick are coming out on that two o’clock
train.”

A look of annoyance passed over Marjorie’s face; she had no desire to
see John at the present time.

“Maybe I’ll call him up——” she murmured, half to herself.

“Maybe you won’t! No, Marj, that isn’t fair. Poor John always has to
play second fiddle to the Girl Scouts. And he isn’t going to do it
today.”

Marjorie smiled at Lily’s sisterly interest in the young man.

“Then what shall I do?”

“Go for a walk now and invite Daisy to the tea room for lunch. That
would give you a dandy chance to talk.”

“I’ll do it!” agreed Marjorie, rising to carry out her plan. But at
the door she encountered one of the maids. There was a lady in the
reception room to see her, the woman told her.

“She didn’t give her name,” the latter added.

“How tiresome!” exclaimed Marjorie, in annoyance. “I hope it isn’t
somebody who has come to spend the day. If this scout business isn’t
settled one way or the other before evening, I know I won’t be able to
close my eyes tonight.”

“Just tell her that you have an important engagement for luncheon,”
suggested her roommate.

“But suppose that it is an aunt, or a fond cousin——”

“Do it just the same!”

“I’ll try,” Marjorie promised. “Though I’d hate to be rude.”

“You won’t be,” returned Lily, smiling.

It was somewhat reluctantly therefore that the girl turned about and
descended the stairway, trying to imagine who could be calling at such
an early hour. Surely, she surmised, it must be a relative; no one else
would dare to be so informal.

She was all the more startled, then, upon entering the big pleasant
room, to see Queenie Brazier rush towards her. In fact, Marjorie was so
taken aback that she actually forgot to speak.

“Miss Wilkinson, dear Miss Wilkinson!” cried the girl, anxiously. “Are
you too mad to speak to me?”

“No, of course not, Queenie,” replied Marjorie, amused by the frankness
of her greeting. “But—but—I was so surprised. I never thought of
you!”

“Finished with the bunch of us, huh? Well, I don’t blame you one bit.
After the way we stood you up——”

“Oh, no,” Marjorie hastened to reassure her. “Quite the other way
about. I was sure that you had finished with me.”

“I know we treated you dirt,” she admitted. “And I’m here to tell
you——”

“Won’t you sit down, Queenie,” Marjorie interrupted, politely. “Let’s
talk it all over.”

The girls walked over toward the window, and sat down on a wide divan
that was turned towards it. This afforded them a view of the lovely
campus, and at the same time assured them of a sort of privacy that
would admit of confidences. Queenie immediately assumed the lead.

“It was an awful thing to do,” she began, “and I knew it—in fact, it’s
all my fault because the rest of the bunch play follow the leader to
whatever I tell ’em. You know yourself that the hike wasn’t what we all
hoped—it was deader than a cemetery in winter—and we were all pretty
down and out. I’d have given my next three dates to pull off some sort
of a ringer.

“So after we got to the drive we stood there, drinkin’ our water and
kiddin’ the cop along, when the swellest car drew up and stopped to
fill up. None of our bunch ever miss nuthin’; in a minute we all sized
up the good lookers on the front seat.

“‘How about tappin’ ’em for a ride?’ Stella says to me, sidewise.

“‘Nuthin’ doin’!’ I orders, military like. ‘Miss Wilkinson never wants
us to pick up fellers!’

“But I wasn’t figurin’ on them askin’ us first. Somehow that seemed
different. And first thing you know, they was both chewin’ the rag with
Stella, and she was kiddin’ ’em back. And maybe she wasn’t rollin’ her
flash-lights around!”

Marjorie smiled at this graphic portrayal of little Stella Cox. If ever
there was a born flirt, she certainly was one.

“‘Which way you babies headed?’ asks the one at the wheel.

“‘Your way!’ smirks Stella.

“I was still tryin’ to get up courage to give ’em the razz, when out
jumps the other feller and holds open the door in the back for the
girls, and in piles Stella and Annie. Dottie puts one foot on the step
and gives me the once-over, but by that time I had argued to myself
that my feet was too tired for more ploddin’, and I creeps into the
front seat. In a minute we was off.”

“What kind of men were they, Queenie?” inquired Marjorie, eyeing the
girl narrowly, and wondering whether, in spite of her youth, she were a
judge of character.

“College fellers,” returned the other. “Said they were Penn
boys—football players, of course. We couldn’t be dead certain of
that—every feller wants to be a hero, and he makes it up if he ain’t.”

“Did you get their names?”

“Sure—and we give ’em ours. Sam MacDonald and Charlie Ingersoll.
Pretty nifty handles, huh?”

“Oh, you can’t tell by names,” Marjorie replied, mentally making
note of them, and resolving to have John look them up in the college
catalogue.

“And what did you do?” she pursued.

“Why, just went for a little spin and then they brought us all back to
our house. There wasn’t nuthin’ rough about the party—not even any
pettin’, for there wasn’t enough fellers to go round, and one of them
was drivin’. They didn’t even brag about their hip-pockets, so I guess
they’re about as straight as they come. They wouldn’t come inside, and
I was just as glad, because my friends usually get in like burglars
when Ma’s home, and she don’t know just who their parents are, and what
church they go to. But they treated us to a sundae apiece, and let it
go at that. Really, there was nuthin’ to it!”

“Do you expect to see them again?” asked Marjorie directly.

“That’s up to you, Miss Wilkinson. If you’ll keep on with our troop,
we’ll do just what you tell us. If you say to can ’em, we’ll put the
lid on tight and stand ’em up for a date we made for tonight.”

Marjorie was silent, totally at a loss as to her correct course of
action. If she advised the girls not to see the young men, they might
do it in secret; on the other hand if she did not protest, would not
that be approving their conduct? If only she were experienced; if only
she had some one to advise her!

“Do you really want to go on with the troop?” she asked, waiving the
question for the moment. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, why not?”

“But the hike bored you, you think that the tests are silly——”

“But _you_ don’t bore us, Miss Wilkinson! We want you, and so long as
you’re for the scouts, we’re for scouts. Get me?”

Marjorie could not but be pleased at such frank, such sincere
admiration. She never doubted the girl for a moment.

“I’d have to have a solemn pledge from you all,” she finally replied
firmly.

“A pledge for what? That we wouldn’t see those fellows again?”

“Oh, no, that doesn’t matter so much, if they are all right. But I
mean a promise that you won’t do that sort of thing again; that if you
decide for scouting, you will go in for it for all it is worth. I will
not have a half-hearted troop.”

“I don’t blame you a bit, Miss Wilkinson.”

“Do you want me under those conditions?”

“Absolutely!” cried Queenie, suddenly flinging her arms around
Marjorie’s neck. “You’ve got the goods—we’ll all do what you tell us!”

“All right!” agreed Marjorie, returning the embrace. “Then that’s
settled. But I have some news for you, Queenie.”

“Goin’ a be married?” demanded the other, dropping her arms into her
lap.

“No,” laughed Marjorie. “Nothing so serious. Only that I’ve promised to
go to a class dance next Saturday evening, and so I can’t come to the
scout meeting.”

“That’s all right—we’ll work just the same.”

“You really mean it?”

“Certainly. Just watch us!”

“Would you like me to send somebody in my place—one of the girls of my
own old troop?”

Queenie considered the suggestion thoughtfully.

“No, I think we better not risk it. The girls like you, but it might be
pretty hard to break anybody else in. I’ll learn ’em myself about that
flag stuff, and threaten ’em that if they don’t get it, you won’t come
back.”

“You’re sure that they’d care?”

“Positive.”

“All right, then, that’s settled. Now—will you stay to dinner with me,
Queenie?”

“To dinner—me—here at college?” she repeated, incredulously. “I’d
disgrace you, Miss Wilkinson. They’d all laugh at me!”

“No, they wouldn’t, Queenie. Well-bred people don’t laugh at
others—besides there would be no occasion to. You know how to be a
lady.”

“Do you honest to goodness mean that?” she cried, rapturously.

“I do,” affirmed Marjorie.

“I’m glad you think so—I’m awful glad. But I won’t risk it, Miss
Wilkinson. I’d rather go now. Maybe, if I get more like you——”

Marjorie laughed good-naturedly; she felt suddenly at peace with all
the world. She had not dreamed of such an easy victory.

“All right, Queenie; as you wish. But I want to ask you something
before you go. Would you like to have my room-mate, Miss Andrews, act
as lieutenant of your troop?”

“You bet!” cried the girl. “If she’s a friend of yours, she’s the cat’s
pajamas!”

Then, with another resounding kiss upon Marjorie’s cheek, she skipped
out of the room, leaving the young captain dazed by the whole
interview.




CHAPTER IX.

THE NEW PLAN.


Although Marjorie felt elated at the girls’ evident desire to go
on with the troop, she was too clever to be deceived by Queenie’s
enthusiasm, too far-seeing to expect miracles from her repentance.
Queenie herself was sincere in her promise, there was no doubt about
that; but the others would probably be only half-hearted. She realized
that a tremendous amount of work lay before her.

She resolved, therefore, to make a fresh start. Mr. Richards had told
her to let him hear from her; she meant to accept his offer. Calling
him upon the telephone, she asked him whether he could spare an evening
from his already busy program to talk the matter over and advise her.
His answer was cordiality itself; he would be delighted to give her his
only free evening that week—which happened to be Wednesday.

Marjorie hesitated a moment; Wednesday was John’s night, and she knew
that he was not in sympathy with her work for this troop, and might
resent her excuse. Nevertheless, the opportunity was too worth-while to
turn down, so she thanked Mr. Richards for his kindness and planned to
see him at eight o’clock.

As usual, however, Lily took John’s part.

“I’m afraid this Mr. Richards is becoming interested in you, Marj,” she
remarked. “And that simply won’t do. It isn’t fair to John——”

“Nonsense, Lil! He has something else to think about! You’re getting as
bad as my girls—thinking every man you see has matrimonial intentions.
But Mr. Richards is just unselfishly interested in scouting, and glad
to offer a helping hand to a beginner like me.”

“We’ll see,” muttered Lily, significantly. “I believe I’ll be on hand
Wednesday night, since I’ve been made lieutenant of the troop. We’ll
watch whether he is pleased with my presence or not.”

“I’ll be delighted to have you, Lil, honestly—though not for
that reason. Two heads are always better than one, and three than
two—we may be able to draw up a very interesting program for those
girls——But why do you think that I oughtn’t to see any other man but
John? You know we’re not engaged——”

“No, but it’s high time you were!”

“Maybe he hasn’t asked me!”

“Maybe he has!”

Marjorie blushed faintly; she never could deceive anyone successfully.
But she felt that it would not be fair to John to tell anyone, not even
Lily. So instead she turned the discussion to the other girl.

“Lil, when are you going to tell me about your engagement?”

It was Lily’s turn to blush.

“How do you know that there’s anything to tell?”

“Because I just do. And—you know you can trust me!”

Lily smiled contentedly; she could count upon Marjorie to keep her
secret. And it would be such a satisfaction to share her happiness with
her chum.

“Well, so long as you have guessed it, I’ll tell you, if you promise
not to breathe to any of the others. Dick and I are going to announce
it at Christmas time. Mother is planning a luncheon for me.”

Marjorie put her arms around Lily and kissed her joyfully. Her
happiness meant almost as much to her as her own.

“Dick Roberts is the luckiest man in the world!” she exclaimed, with
sincerity. “And,” she added, “it certainly will be fun to have a
wedding. Nothing exciting has happened in our old senior patrol since
Mae Van Horn’s wedding—and our trip to the coast.”

“Don’t forget Doris’s baby!” Lily reminded her.

“Oh, yes, of course—and Ethel has been doing wonderful things, too,
with that teaching job of hers. And I really think Daisy’s in line for
a fellowship, next year.”

“So you see we really have been pretty much alive,” Lily concluded.

“Everybody but Alice, and Florence—and me!” sighed the other.

“I won’t agree about the last one,” objected her room-mate, her eyes
filled with admiration. “You’re always doing marvellous things.”

“I’m afraid not, Lil!” An unsatisfied look crept over her face. At
present Marjorie’s powers did not stand high in her own estimation.

“The trouble with me is, I can’t get my scouts’ point of view,” she
remarked, harping back to the old subject. “I can’t seem to realize
that they aren’t our dear old senior patrol, who got a thrill out of
anything connected with scouting. In one way they know so much more
than we ever did—they’re so experienced—but in another they’re
ignorant and blind, and deaf besides. One thing I learned at the
hike—they are bored to death with nature. I might just as well cross
hiking and camping off of my program.”

“Until later, perhaps,” amended Lily. “But it all has to be very
gradual. In the meantime, we’ve got to find something else to interest
them, and keep tests in the back-ground. Then maybe when they get
out with other scouts, they’ll catch the fever.” Marjorie’s eyes
brightened; it meant so much to have some help in this weighty problem.

“Can you think of anything that they would be interested in?”

“How about basket-ball?”

“The very thing! That’s exciting enough. And if we played around, and
visited other teams——”

“Let’s talk it over with Mr. Richards on Wednesday. Maybe he’ll have
something even better to suggest.”

As the intervening days passed, Marjorie found herself banking more
and more upon this interview. She even made little notes in her book,
anxious not to forget anything, or to waste too much of the man’s
valuable time.

Yet when the hour came, and she and Lily walked down to the
reception-room, she was conscious of a strange little feeling of
loneliness. This was John’s night, and she was not to see him, might
even not see him on Saturday, and she missed him more than she had
expected. Suddenly she wondered whether she were not being foolish to
allow such an uncertain undertaking to usurp her time and monopolize
her interest. Was she right in putting John aside for this new fancy,
John, who had meant so much to her all the years of her school life?

She aroused herself sharply from her reverie to answer a question
which Lily was asking her, and managed to stammer some sort of reply.
In another moment they recognized their visitor, entering the wide
door-way, and advanced, smiling, to greet him.

Lily was agreeably surprised by Mr. Richards’ charming manner and
appearance, and immediately took a liking to him. They shook hands
cordially, and sat down by the fire-place.

“I have decided to keep the troop,” Marjorie announced, at the outset.
“But I’m not sure what I shall do with them. So that’s where we need
your advice—I say ‘we,’ for Miss Andrews has promised to be my
lieutenant.”

“You have recovered from your disappointment over the hike?” he asked.
“What decided you in favor of the troop?”

“The patrol leader. She came out to see me Sunday morning, and
apologized. She was so frank, so sincere, that I couldn’t help but
forgive her.”

Mr. Richards nodded, reminiscently.

“I remember her. She seemed like an exceptionally fine girl to me——.
I think, Miss Wilkinson, it would be worth-while going on with the work
for her sake alone. If I am not mistaken, that girl will amount to
something.”

“If she weren’t so flighty!” sighed Lily. “You simply can’t depend on
her. She does the wildest things, on impulse.”

“Remember,” advised the scout-master, “that she is very young. Once she
develops poise——”

“I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Richards,” put in Marjorie. “And
if you don’t mind, I’ll tell her, for your regard would count for a
good deal in her eyes——. Now tell me how I could keep a hold on these
girls, granted that I once have obtained it!”

“Look at life from their point of view, first of all. Evidently
amusement is their aim—but their pleasures are not yours.”

“What, for instance, do you think their pleasures might be—except
dancing and getting motor rides?”

Mr. Richards was silent for a moment, trying to adapt his own
experiences with boys of that type to girls.

“I always start boys with some sort of athletics, then work them into
the gang spirit of scouting, and last of all interest them in something
serious.”

“Just what I suggested!” cried Lily. “How about basket-ball?”

“Fine! If you could get a floor, and a coach.”

“Yes, the settlement has a floor, and—and—” a sudden inspiration
struck her—“my brother Jack would coach us!”

“That’s the idea,” agreed Mr. Richards. “They’d do more for a man than
for a woman.”

Marjorie was started now; her brain was working with its old-time
rapidity. Somehow when Jack entered into the scheme and Lily,
everything became clearer. Vaguely she wished that she might win John
over to this new cause.

“And then—and then,” she cried, “start a Girl Scout League, and
admit only scouts in good standing—and—and make our troop win the
championship!” Her eyes fairly shone with fire. “Then on to something
serious!”

“You have it, Miss Wilkinson! Go ahead, and you’ll win!”

At last Marjorie believed that she would.




CHAPTER X.

MARJORIE’S ESCORT.


When Marjorie called John Hadley on the telephone to cancel her
engagement for Wednesday night, and to invite him to the class dance,
she was surprised to find him appear indifferent.

“I had expected to be out of town this week-end,” he told her. “On
business.”

“Oh, very well,” replied Marjorie, coolly. “It doesn’t matter—you
might be bored anyhow.”

“Hardly that. But—the fact is, the firm wanted me to go on Wednesday,
and I begged off. I myself suggested Saturday. But if it means that you
will have to stay home——”

“Certainly not!” flashed Marjorie, resentfully. “It happens that I do
have two or three other friends——”

“Marjorie, you know I didn’t imply that,” he apologized.

“Well, I’ll find somebody else!” she retorted, cutting him off.

“No—please——”

But the connection was broken.

Marjorie walked away, with a strange sensation at her heart. It was
really the first time that she and John had actually quarreled, and
she suddenly felt ashamed of herself. How childish it was to be angry
because he had a business engagement! If anyone should have been
resentful, it was his right, not hers.

The more that she thought about the conversation, the more reluctant
she was to tell Lily. Yet sooner or later her room-mate would know that
John was not to be her escort at the dance.

She postponed the news until after Mr. Richards’ visit, and her scout
program was settled to her satisfaction. Then, on Thursday evening,
when the girls were dressing for dinner, she informed her.

“I haven’t any partner for Saturday night, Lil,” she mentioned,
casually.

“What!” exclaimed the other, turning about from the mirror, and facing
her in consternation.

“John can’t go—he’ll be out of town over the week-end on business.”

Lily crossed the room, and, tilting Marjorie’s chin with her hand,
looked her straight in the eyes.

“You never asked him!” was the accusation she hurled.

“I did—on my scout word of honor!”

Lily shook her head, incredulously.

“If I know John Hadley, he’d manipulate his engagements, even if they
were important, so that he could go with you. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Only of course I didn’t get down on my knees to beg him to.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” murmured Lily, regretfully. “I thought that it was
going to be such a wonderful party—with John and Dick both there.”

“It can still be wonderful without John,” returned Marjorie, lightly.
“But tell me, Lil, whom shall I invite?”

On Friday morning she told Lily that she was not going at all.

“I think that I’ll drop in on my scout troop, instead,” she remarked.

Lily knitted her brows.

“I don’t believe I would, Marj,” she advised.

“Why not?” demanded the other.

“Because—it might look funny. I forgot to tell you last night because
I was asleep when you came home, that Queenie Brazier called up and
asked for one of us. Naturally I answered, since you were at the
athletic association. She wanted to know Mr. Richards’ address, and
whether she might invite him to the scout meeting on Saturday night.”

“Well, of all things!” cried Marjorie, bursting out laughing.

“So you see it would look rather queer if you went after all,” Lily
concluded.

“Yes, it would——. Well, there’s only one thing left for me to do at
this late date—and that is invite Jack.”

“Great! Go to it, Marj!”

Marjorie used all her powers of persuasion upon her brother, and
finally prevailed upon him to promise to break another engagement in
her interest. So long as John could not go, she knew that she preferred
Jack to anyone else.

Though not wildly excited about the event herself, she could not help
catching some of Lily’s contagious spirits.

“Do your hair nicely, Marj!” the latter commanded.

“You want to ask Mr. Richards, don’t you?” The question was fired like
a shot, and it startled Marjorie, all the more because the idea had
never entered her head.

“I never thought of him, Lil. I don’t believe that he dances.”

“Still, you could call him up and find out.”

“I wouldn’t have the nerve. I wouldn’t admit to him that I was planning
to go to a dance on a scout night. He might not think I was in earnest
about my troop, and I don’t want to antagonize him—I may need his help
again.”

“Well, then, you’ll have to dig up some of your old friends. You’re
suffering now because you’ve neglected them for the scouts.”

“I’m not actually suffering!” denied Marjorie. “Because I won’t feel so
dreadful if I do have to stay home.”

“Naturally,—without John——”

“Stop it, Lil! I positively won’t stand any more teasing without
revenge! I’ll pay you back!”

“You wouldn’t dare!” laughed Lily. “Now I’m going into the other room,
to leave you alone to think. You’ll have to decide upon somebody
tonight.”

But the more Marjorie thought about it, the less she liked the idea. It
had been several years since she had attended a class affair without
John Hadley, and she knew that a change would cause comment. Moreover,
she admitted it to herself, though she would not have to anyone
else,—she really did not care to go without him. “Brothers are more
critical than anyone else.”

“Only they never look at their sisters,” remarked Marjorie. “Still, I
don’t want to disgrace you.”

“You won’t—but do hurry. The boys must be downstairs waiting for us
now.”

“Are they coming together?” inquired her roommate, in surprise. “They
don’t come from the same place—the same city.”

“I guess your escort was in Philadelphia today,” returned Lily, unable
to conceal a mischievous little twinkle.

“Come on—I’m ready now,” announced Marjorie. “Do I look all right?”

“Perfectly sweet.”

Lily did not trust herself to say anything further, for fear that
she might disclose the secret at the last minute, and spoil the fun.
Marjorie, however, was totally unconscious of any by-play; when she
walked into the reception room and saw John Hadley standing there with
Dick Roberts, she was absolutely non-plussed.

“Your brother couldn’t come, and sent a substitute,” Dick began
solemnly. “Allow me to present——”

“Don’t be so crazy, Dick!” laughed Marjorie, seizing John’s hand
impulsively. “The substitute’s perfectly satisfactory.”

Lily looked away contentedly; she felt that she might dismiss Marjorie
from her mind for that evening. She was right, too, for before the
little party had reached the country club, the girl had made her
apologies, and she and John were established again in the old pleasant
friendly relationship.




CHAPTER XI.

TENDERFOOT SCOUTS.


Marjorie could not help being amused by the reception with which she
was greeted by her troop the next Saturday evening. All of the girls
except Queenie appeared subdued, almost ashamed to look their captain
in the face; Queenie herself presented a forced gaiety.

“We’re all here, Miss Wilkinson!” cried Queenie, meeting Marjorie and
Lily at the door, and slipping her arm through that of her captain.
“And we mean to work tonight—to do whatever you say!”

Under her eyelashes Marjorie perceived the sidewise, sheepish glances
of the others. It was evident that they fully expected a severe
reprimand.

But she had no intention of making any mention of the hike. She felt
that the matter had been settled between herself and Queenie; any
further reference to it would do more harm than good.

Instead she immediately introduced Lily, and said that if the others
were willing, she would serve as lieutenant of the troop. As usual, the
patrol leader answered for the rest, in an enthusiastic affirmative.

She went through the usual formal opening of the meeting, proceeding,
after the pledge to the flag and the repetition of the scout oath and
laws, to the regular business. She could hardly restrain her smile as
she called for the report of the minutes of the secretary upon the hike.

“I—haven’t—any report,” stammered Stella, in embarrassment.

“Then please write one up for our next meeting,” answered the captain.
“Is there any old business to come before the troop?”

There was a moment of intense silence; then Queenie’s better nature
took possession of her, and she rose to her feet bravely.

“I want to apologize to the captain for my own and my patrol’s
behaviour on the hike!” she blurted out. “And I’d like to have this go
in the minutes.”

“Your apology is accepted,” replied Marjorie, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Now,” she continued, “we shall proceed to new business. I have been
to the scout headquarters this week, and have learned that there is a
small basket-ball league in the city organization—small because only
second-class scouts are eligible to enter. There are already four teams
in the league—which begins its schedule in December. A cup is offered
to the winning team. I should like to know how my troop would like to
qualify.”

“Basket-ball!” exclaimed Queenie. “Oh, boy!”

“But we ain’t players,” objected Gertie.

“You could learn the game,” explained Marjorie. “There is a splendid
floor here, and I could play with you—and Miss Andrews, too. Officers
aren’t barred out, unless they’re professionals.”

Marjorie had noted the stir of interest on the girls’ faces and knew
that she had hit at least one cherished dream among her members. The
girls all read the sporting pages of the papers, and talked athletics
with the boys. Besides, they knew that it was no child’s game.

“Could you play and coach both?” asked Queenie.

“No, not very well. I’d rather have a man to coach. If you are willing,
I think my brother would do it.”

“Your brother?” cried somebody.

“Is he married?” whispered another girl, perfectly audibly.

Marjorie laughed good-naturedly.

“No, he isn’t married or engaged. As far as I know, he’s never even
been in love.”

“He isn’t one-eyed, or anything, is he?” questioned Stella.

“No, he’s quite normal and respectable,” replied Marjorie. “But you
don’t have to decide upon a coach until you see him. The question is:
are you interested?”

“I’ll say we are!” declared Queenie, warmly, and of course the troop
acquiesced.

“It means hard work—both in basket-ball itself, and in scouting. There
are six girls on a team, so at least four of you would have to qualify,
and pass your second-class tests by November fifteenth, to register.”

“We’ll do it!” announced Queenie. “No more parties, nuthin’ but work,
work, work! We’ll show ’em who’s top in the scouts. We’ll be the
pussy’s meow——”

“And win that there cup!” concluded Stella, herself now thoroughly won
over to the proposition.

When Marjorie turned to the scout work, she found them all eager to
begin. A genuine surprise awaited her when she mentioned the tenderfoot
tests.

“We’re ready to pass ’em tonight!” Queenie informed her.

“Pass them!” Marjorie and Lily both cried in one breath. “You mean that
you can answer all the questions?” the former demanded.

“That’s the song I’m tryin’ to sing!”

“But—I thought—that Mr. Richards was coming to give them next week.”

She looked at the girls inquiringly. His name had not been mentioned
before, nor did she know whether he had been present the preceding week.

“He came and taught us last week,” Queenie faltered. “And believe me,
we worked. He’s a live one!”

Marjorie smiled brightly.

“I’m awfully glad, girls—I congratulate you! Then we may as well
proceed to the tests.”

The prospective members went through with them with such facility that
the young captain’s delight increased with every successive girl. When
they had finished, all but Gertie Reed and Mame Collins had passed to
her satisfaction. Then, with the regular investiture ceremony, she
presented them with their pins.

The meeting was just about to break up, when Lily came forward with
another surprise for the girls, as well as Marjorie.

“I hope,” she began, “that the new scouts will accept a present
which has been offered by a friend of the troop. My mother has asked
for the privilege of giving each girl her uniform as she passes the
tenderfoot test. These are to be made by her tailor, and are to include
riding-breeches, which we can adopt as our basket-ball costume.”

Wild cries of joy came from all the girls at once. Secretly they had
all been dreading the ready-made suits that the scouts wore, but this
offer would make their troop the smartest in the city. Before they
could even express their thanks, Lily took out six order blanks, signed
by her mother, and gave them to the girls. Even Gertie and Mame, who
had heretofore shown little interest in the proceedings, looked on in
frank envy.

Then, while the excitement was still high, they adjourned to the
gymnasium, to receive their first instructions in basket-ball.




CHAPTER XII.

ETHEL’S ADVICE.


Marjorie and Lily did not go back to college after the meeting. Instead
they boarded the train for New York, and were met at the terminal by
Mr. Andrews and Dick Roberts.

“My, it’s good to see you, dear!” exclaimed the former, kissing his
daughter affectionately, while the poor young man had to be content to
let his sentiments go unuttered. Marjorie, who shared the secret of
their engagement, smiled at the feeling which he could not suppress in
his eyes.

“You’re really going to give us a Sunday, baby?” continued Lily’s
father, jokingly. “Why couldn’t you have made it a week-end?”

“Marj and I have serious duties now,” began the girl, as she stepped
into the machine, whose door was held open by a uniformed chauffeur.
“We have a regular Saturday night engagement——” She paused while they
seated themselves, and Dick, the last one to get in, pulled up one of
the small seats.

“Oh, I ought to know by this time how busy college seniors are!”
remarked Mr. Andrews.

“But it isn’t college that keeps us busy Saturday nights,” Marjorie
informed him. “It’s Girl Scouts!”

“A brand new occurrence!” exclaimed Dick, mockingly.

“Reviving that old patrol?” inquired Mr. Andrews. “That’s nice! Summer
plans, and all?” He looked questioningly at Dick and Lily. As far as he
knew the wedding was set for June.

“Oh, no!” returned Lily, with a blush. “I’m afraid we’re too old for
any more wild camping or motor trips——”

Her father burst out laughing.

“Your mother and I are planning a camping trip for this very summer,
while you young people are on your honey-moon.”

Dick, who grew slightly embarrassed at the personal turn which the
conversation had taken, began to inquire about the prospective trip.

“Now tell us what we are doing tomorrow,” entreated Lily, after her
father had outlined his own plans.

“Your mother will tell you all about that,” he answered for already the
car was stopping at the fashionable apartment house in which their home
was located.

Mrs. Andrews was just as delighted to see the girls as ever, indeed
the addition of Marjorie always made her daughter’s home-coming doubly
enjoyable. Before she had removed her things, Marjorie was thanking her
for her wonderful interest in the new troop.

“What’s all this about?” asked Mr. Andrews again. “Your mother never
told me.”

Marjorie would have been glad then and there to repeat the entire
story, but a sigh from Lily reminded her that it was late, and that as
yet they had not heard their plans for the morrow.

“First have something to eat,” invited Mrs. Andrews. “I know that Dick
is starved if you girls aren’t.”

“Now tell us who are coming!” begged Lily, after the refreshments had
been served. “Did you hear from Ethel Todd?”

“Yes, she expects to be here—and Jack is coming too, and John Hadley.”

Marjorie’s eyes sparkled.

“It will be thrilling to see Ethel again,” she said.

“How about John?” teased Dick.

“Well, he isn’t quite such a stranger, you know,” returned Marjorie.

In view of the pleasant day that was before them, the girls excused
themselves early, and retired almost immediately. Breakfast in bed,
however, promised to restore all their usual vivacity.

Long before they were up the following day, the young men of the party
had all three arrived, and were patiently awaiting their appearance in
the drawing-room. It was not until Ethel came, and literally dragged
them out of bed that they proclaimed themselves wide-awake, and
promised to be on hand within ten minutes’ time.

As soon as the young people were assembled, and the usual questions and
answers exchanged, the girls both turned to Ethel for news of herself.

“Tell us all about how it feels to be a schoolmarm,” urged Marjorie.

“Fine!” responded the young teacher, glowing with pride. “You’d love
it, Marj—you really must take the exams!”

“Not a chance in the world,” muttered Jack, chuckling.

Ethel immediately took the hint.

“Marj, what are you keeping from us?” she demanded. “If you are
engaged——” Then, turning to John, “Is she?”

“Not to me!” he replied, sadly.

Ethel’s brow clouded; after all these years could someone else have
stepped in, and usurped John’s place?

“I’m not engaged to anybody!” replied the girl herself, emphatically.
“Jack doesn’t mean that. He means that there isn’t a chance of my
teaching because I’m headed straight for social-service work. A scout
official, if I can get a job!”

“No!” cried Ethel, incredulously. “You mean besides being a
captain——?”

“I mean being a paid worker, so I can devote all of my time to the Girl
Scouts!”

“As if you didn’t always!” muttered Jack.

“That reminds me,” remarked Marjorie, “I have a job for you, Jack.”

“With pay, I take it?”

“No—gratis. But the girls are charming.”

“Out with it, Sis!” commanded the young man.

Marjorie launched upon her story eagerly, painting it in all its
brilliant coloring. The young people all laughed hilariously at her
descriptions.

“The flapper troop!” Jack christened it.

“Call it that if you like,” agreed Marjorie. “But the question is, will
you help?”

“Did you ever know me to fail you?”

“Oh, Jack, you’re a brick!” she cried, jumping up and throwing her
arms about her brother’s neck. “Now,” she added, releasing him, “I’ll
forgive you for that trick you played on me at the dance.”

John looked guilty, but Jack laughed uproariously.

“What’s the joke?” demanded Ethel.

“Marj and John had a tiff,” Jack explained, in spite of the evident
embarrassment of both concerned, “and so Sis was hard up for a partner
for her class dance, and took out her spite by picking on me!”

“You mean thing!” denounced his sister. “That’s all you think of a
perfectly good invitation——”

“So I just fixed it up, and sent John anyway. I don’t think either of
them minded much.”

“The tiff’s all fixed up, then?” inquired Ethel.

“Dinner is served,” announced the butler, before the question could be
answered.

All through the meal, however, Ethel kept wondering whether there were
anything wrong between John and Marjorie. The latter failed to show
her usual interest in him, and as the conversation dwelt often upon the
new troop, she almost seemed to exclude John in her descriptions of the
girls and their doings.

Ethel was still wondering over this idea when the young people started
for a walk after dinner. Again it seemed to her that Marjorie was
avoiding him, on the pretence of wishing to talk over her plans with
her brother. So almost casually Ethel fell into step with John, and
tactfully steered the conversation to himself and Marjorie. Before
long he confessed that although the tiff, as Jack had called it, was
entirely patched up, still something seemed to be amiss between them.

“Want my advice?” asked Ethel.

“I’d be only too grateful.”

“Then interest yourself in what Marjorie is doing—and even offer to
help her. She’s still heart and soul in the Girl Scouts.”

“And always will be,” he muttered, darkly.

“No; I think you’re wrong there. Sometime she will grow up, and then
scouts will have to take a second place. But you must not try to hurry
her; you must let her follow her dream.”

John pondered this idea for a long time.

“I guess you’re right, Ethel,” he admitted, at last. “And—thanks
awfully.... Yes ... I’m going to act on your advice, as quickly as
possible.”

“Then that’s settled,” concluded the girl. “Let’s join the others
again.”

The young people walked almost all afternoon; it was only when Lily
began to notice pangs of hunger that she realized that it must be late.

“Shall we have tea somewhere, and go back in a taxi?” she suggested.

“All right about the taxi—but we mustn’t wait for tea,” Marjorie
reminded her. “Remember, we still have to get back to college tonight.”

“As you say! Just as you say, Captain!” agreed her room-mate, docibly.

When the girls were finally on the train, and had waved their last
good-byes to the others, Lily turned expectantly to Marjorie.

“Let’s have a good gossip, Marj,” she began.

“What about?” inquired the other languidly.

“Why, the week-end—the boys—and Ethel—”

“Oh, I can say all that in one sentence: We had a perfectly marvellous
time, and I love them all.”

“Is that all?” asked Lily, in a disappointed tone.

Her companion stared out of the window, but it was too dark for her to
see anything except her own reflection.

“Lil,” she said, after a moment, “my chief worry is shoes. I hate to
ask all those girls to buy sneakers, when they don’t even know whether
they’re going to like basket-ball or not.”

Lily burst out laughing.

“You’re hopeless, Marj, positively hopeless! Here I am talking about
our party, while your single-track mind leads you straight back to the
Girl Scouts! Some day they’ll have to build a Girl Scout insane asylum
for people like you!”

Marjorie smiled, and promised to reform. With a great effort she
managed to keep away from the subject during the remainder of the ride.

Yet the less she talked about her problem, the more she thought about
it. She was still engrossed in it on Wednesday night when John Hadley
made his usual visit.

“I guess I’d better take Lil’s advice, and not mention scouts to John,”
she thought, regretfully, as she went down stairs. “I mustn’t lose all
my friends by boring them to death!”

There was almost an added warmth to her greeting, which the young man
was quick to notice.

“You really are glad to see me?” he inquired, searchingly.

“Of course I am!”

They seated themselves in their accustomed corner of the reception room.

“You—you—really wouldn’t rather see somebody else—a scoutmaster—or
somebody like that?” he stammered.

“No, no, John,” laughed Marjorie. “And I’m not going to bore you with
scouts tonight, either!”

“But I want to talk about scouts,” he insisted. “You mustn’t think I’m
not interested, though I admit I do get jealous once in a while. And
I’ll be jealous of Jack if you let him help, and don’t find something I
can do!”

Marjorie was immensely pleased; as Ethel had surmised no other method
of reconciliation could have been half so effective.

“Our immediate problem is basket-ball,” she stated. “I want to get our
team started.”

“What do you need? You have a floor and a coach—how about a ball?”

“The settlement house is lending us theirs.”

“Bad guess! You suggest something else.”

“You really mean that you want to give us something?” Her tone grew
eager.

“Yes, I do! Please tell me what you want most!”

“Shoes!” she cried, laughingly. “Gym shoes—above everything else in
the world.”

“Great!” exclaimed John. “I’ll outfit the troop!”

Marjorie’s eyes shone; ever since Queenie’s visit that Sunday, she
had progressed far beyond her wildest dreams. It seemed almost as
if she were getting everything that she desired most: Girl Scouts,
athletics,—and finally the help of Lily and Jack and John. Surely with
all this assistance she could make her new girls her own!

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” John was saying, “I’ll have one of the
Spaulding salesmen take over a bunch of the usual sizes next Saturday
night, and your scouts can take their pick.”

“Marvellous!” she exclaimed. “And John, will you drop into the
gymnasium, and see our first practice?”

“I’ll say I will!” he promised, happily, grateful to have her want him.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE FIRST PRACTICE.


Six weeks had passed since the first meeting of Sunflower Troop, and
Marjorie felt more than encouraged with the progress she had made.
For the first time since its organization, she looked forward to the
meeting with real anticipation. Six of her eight girls were registered
scouts, and would soon appear in uniform; all of them were apparently
interested in basket-ball. Moreover, she brought news to them of the
League, and would have a surprise for them in the gift of the gymnasium
shoes. On the whole, the evening promised to be delightful.

She had learned by this time never to count events certainties until
they were past; therefore, though she was disappointed to meet Queenie
and Stella with frowns on their faces, she was not wholly surprised.

“Anything wrong?” she asked, immediately.

“I’ll say there is!” stormed the patrol leader. “Gertie and Mame are
bagging tonight!”

“Gertie and Mame,” repeated Marjorie, with a feeling of relief.
“Well, I’m sorry, but after all I didn’t expect them to do much with
basket-ball, and we really have enough without them.”

“Knock again, Queenie—nobody home!” laughed the girl, touching her
captain upon the forehead. “Don’t you understand, Miss Wilkinson—we
have to have eight scouts to register our troop at Headquarters, and
we need them two quitters? How can we get in the League if we ain’t—I
mean are not—registered?”

Marjorie groaned.

“You’re right, Queenie. And we must register soon! It’s almost the
middle of November, and we have to be in by December first! What shall
we do?”

“I’ve a good mind to drop ’em, and get the Ernsberg twins.”

“Who are they?” demanded Marjorie, eagerly.

“Two kids that live on our street. They’ve never really been in our
gang, but they’re dyin’ to. Only thing is, they’re kind a young.”

“How young?”

“School kids—in Dot’s class at High. Only fifteen, I guess.”

“Do they seem interested in scouts?”

Queenie shrugged her shoulders.

“I guess they’d like to do anything I did. And they’d fall hard for you
and Miss Andrews.”

“Couldn’t we get them without dropping the others?” suggested Marjorie,
ignoring the compliment.

“We could—but I’m beginnin’ to feel Mame and Gertie is dead ones.
Sunflower Troop just naturally has to be up and kickin’!”

“Yes, that’s my idea too,” agreed the captain, although she would have
expressed it in different language. “Well, I’ll leave it up to you,
Queenie—I know you will think of whatever is best. It wouldn’t be
putting Gertie and Mame out, because they haven’t shown enough interest
to get in yet. And I do think it’s pretty mean not to make an effort
to pass the tenderfoot test. They’re keeping the whole troop from
appearing in uniform.”

Queenie’s eyes blazed angrily; she had not thought of this outcome
before.

“That decides it, Miss Wilkinson!” she exclaimed. “I’m goin’ a get the
kids on the phone this minute, if you’ll hold up the meetin’ for me.”

Marjorie acquiesced, and when Queenie was gone, she and Lily regarded
each other in amusement.

“She’s a typical political boss!” remarked Lily. “But you can’t help
admiring her.”

“No, you certainly can’t. Do you remember what Mr. Richards said about
her—that he thought she would make something of herself. Now I wonder
what Jack’s opinion will be.”

“That will be interesting—he usually sizes people up pretty correctly.
I don’t think Dick or John ever gave her a thought.”

“Except to be angry at her, that first night,” commented Marjorie.
“Come, Lil, let’s go get ready for the meeting; we have a lot to do
tonight.”

In a few minutes the patrol leader returned, wearing a smile of
satisfaction on her face that told the officers her quest had been
successful, and the troop went through with its usual ceremonies. After
the business meeting, Lily took charge of signalling in preparation for
the passing of second class tests, and Marjorie turned to her notes
about the League.

“Do you want to hear about the teams that have entered?” she asked. “I
went up to Headquarters today to find out about them, and noted them
down so that I could tell you.”

“Sure we want to hear!” cried Queenie, excitedly. “Reel ’em off!”

“Well,” began Marjorie, checking off the troops as she mentioned them,
“there is Troop Six, from one of the playgrounds. They have a very good
coach, I believe, and practice two or three nights a week, outside of
scout meeting.”

“So that’s two troops sure of the cup!” observed Queenie.

“Two? Which two?” demanded Lily.

“Theirs, and ours!” replied the other, coolly.

The girls all laughed, and Marjorie continued.

“Troops Eighteen and Thirty-five, both from churches. I think they’re
rather new at the game——”

“Whitewash them!” commented Stella, adopting her patrol leader’s
attitude.

“Troop Ninety-seven, from one of the suburbs. I understand they’re
older girls—farmerettes, I believe.”

“Regular Huskies!” was Queenie’s definition of them. “But we’ve got
brains, besides muscle!”

“And last of all, Troop One-sixty-one, from down in your district,
Dottie——”

“That’s the High School Troop!” cried the latter, with unmistakable awe
in her tone. “They really going into the League?”

“Yes, why not?” asked Marjorie.

“Then we might as well lie down and die!” the younger girl informed
her. “We’d have about as much chance as a Ford against a Rolls Royce.
They’ve been playing together two or three years, and beat every team
they play!”

This piece of news was received with a groan from the members of the
troop. Queenie, however, was still undaunted.

“Now we know who we got a beat!” she said, with the same assurance.
“How ’bout an extra practice a week, Miss Wilkinson?”

“I’m afraid Miss Andrews and I couldn’t come, much as we should like
to,” answered Marjorie, regretfully. “And as yet there aren’t enough
girls to get along without us. Maybe later——”

The appearance of two freckle-faced girls, dressed exactly alike, and
accompanied by a dapper young man put an abrupt end to the discussion.

“Here comes the twins!” announced Queenie, dashing out of her seat.
“And darned if they haven’t got a feller!”

All eyes turned upon the young man, who blushed painfully.

“You ought a be ashamed to rob the cradle——” Queenie began,
mockingly, when a sharp pinch from one of the twins stopped her.

“He ain’t with us, Queenie—so shut up!” she whispered perfectly
audibly.

“Oh, beg your pardon,” the patrol leader faltered, humbly.

At this moment Marjorie decided that it was time to take things into
her own hands.

“Did you wish to speak to anyone in particular?” she asked the
stranger, courteously.

“Yes—er—I’m from Spaulding’s,” he told her, rather timidly. “I have
brought the gymnasium shoes that were ordered.”

“Certainly!” replied Marjorie. “I remember—and I’m sorry that the
girls misunderstood. Won’t you have a seat?”

Briefly she explained his errand to the troop, taking care, however,
not to mention the name of the donor.

Queenie, who was the first to be fitted, established herself at the
door to keep a sharp watch out for Jack. It was her secret desire to be
the first to see “what he was like.”

Long before the young salesman, who by this time felt quite at home
with the girls, had finished, both Jack and John swung cheerfully down
the hall, and stopped at the open door. Queenie greeted them with the
utmost hospitality.

“At home to all our friends tonight!” she welcomed them, joyfully. “But
I pity you, Mr. Wilkinson, when you try to get basket-ball through our
thick heads. We’re nuthin’ but dumb-bells.”

“Just what I like best,” he grinned. “People that don’t think they know
it all. They’re much easier to teach.”

Marjorie, who had been watching her brother closely, sensed his
immediate liking for Queenie, and felt pleased. She was so anxious for
others to back up her judgment, to consider these girls worth-while.
Smilingly she came over to the boys.

“Hello, Jack and John!” she exclaimed. “So glad to see you—both. I
think we’re about through now——” She allowed her eyes to rest for a
second upon John’s, with understanding. “And everybody’s delighted. So
shall we adjourn to the floor?”

“Yes, indeed!” agreed her brother. “By the way, isn’t that Sautter over
there, tying up those boxes?”

“Yes, it is,” John answered for her. “Nice chap—do you know him?”

“Several years. Let’s go speak to him.”

The young men sauntered over to speak to their friend, and concluded,
with Marjorie’s consent, by inviting him down to the gymnasium. The
party was growing so large that John had a sudden inspiration to make
it a festive occasion, and asked the young captain whether he might
not go out and buy ice-cream for the crowd.

“If you want to,” answered the girl, smilingly. “I don’t see how
anybody could fail to appreciate it, especially after basket-ball.”

While he was gone, Jack threw himself seriously into his task, and
carefully explained to the girls the fundamentals of the game,
concluding with demonstrations and practice. Annie Marshall and Stella
Cox seemed to take to it as if they had been playing for weeks; they
learned how to make their passes swift and straight, and in a short
time, got the knack of shooting baskets.

“Let’s have a little game now,” suggested Jack, after the drilling.
“Suppose I line you up: Sis, jumping-center, Miss Williams—oh, bosh!
I’m going to call you by your first names, if nobody objects——”

“That’s what we like!” shouted Queenie, from the other end of the floor.

“All right, then: Dot, side-center; Stella and—and—I forget your
name——?”

“Annie,” supplied Queenie, who by this time was standing beside him.

“Yes, Stella and Annie, forwards; Miss Andrews and Queenie, guards. For
the time being, we’ll call that our first team.”

“Ain’t we just the cat’s whiskers?” demanded Queenie, pulling her
shoulders up proudly, and strutting around like a peacock. “Stars—in
one night, too!”

Jack almost shook with laughter, regretting that John had not returned
from his errand, to enjoy the fun with him.

“Now then, opposing team—you won’t mind if I call you scrubs?”

“So long as we don’t have to scrub floors,” returned Clara, in the
spirit of the occasion.

“Well, the twins for forwards; Clara, you and—Aggie—guards—and—”
turning to their visitor over near the wall—“Sautter, you play
side-center, and I’ll jump center, against Sis. Now, all we need’s a
referee!”

“Here he comes!” cried Marjorie, exultantly, thinking that it was
John coming down the steps; but to her amazement, she recognized Mr.
Richards. He was dropping in to see the troop on his way home from a
meeting, and immediately agreed to take his part in the game.

For five minutes there was a jolly, rough-and-tumble sort of game,
until the new players declared that they were exhausted. Marjorie, too,
was willing to stop, for she saw John beckoning to her in her doorway.

“Ice-cream’s ready!” he announced, and was greeted with shouts of joy
from all members of the party.

The girls flopped to the floor of the gymnasium, while the young men
trotted back and forth with the paper plates of ice-cream and the bags
of cakes John had procured with some difficulty, after a good deal of
search for a clean bakery in the vicinity. Miss Winthrop looked in upon
the party and nodded approvingly, but she was too busy to stay.

“By the way,” said Mr. Richards, after an interval, “I really came
to offer my services for next Wednesday evening.” Apparently he was
addressing Queenie, rather than Marjorie. “I have a night off, and I
know that you’re all anxious to pass that second class test——”

“It would be great!” exclaimed the patrol leader, with obvious delight.
“You don’t mind, do you, Captain?”

“No, I heartily approve,” returned Marjorie. “But I’m sorry I can’t
come myself—I—er—have an important engagement——”

“We know all about that, Miss Wilkinson!” teased Queenie, noticing the
grateful look that John Hadley flashed to Marjorie; “but I take it Mr.
Richards meant to save your time.”

“That’s just the idea,” he explained.

“Then it’s all settled——” She looked up, sharply. “Who’s that banging
at the door?”

Mr. Sautter hastened to unfasten it; and, to the amazement of the
girls, Gertie Reed and Mame Collins faced them with angry countenances.

“A party—with fellers! And kep’ it from us!” Gertie blurted out,
resentfully. “All right! We’ll show you——”

“Come in, girls!” Marjorie invited, pleasantly, in an attempt to
overlook their discourtesy. “And have some cakes——”

“Nuthin’ doin’!” thundered Queenie. “You’re canned, both of you! You
stood us up for registerin’ the troop, by baggin’ scouts for dates!
You’re out of! Get out, before we fire you!”

“No, no!” protested Marjorie, in alarm, jumping up and rushing forward.
“Let me explain, girls——”

But the furious girls were not listening to her. They were still
looking at Queenie.

“We’ll pay you back, Queenie Brazier!” threatened Gertie, slamming the
door again, and racing up the steps.

The young people looked at each other in consternation; but before
anything could be said, the gong sounded to warn them of the building’s
closing. Silently they obeyed its summons, leaving all discussion until
the officers had gone.




CHAPTER XIV.

GOSSIP.


Marjorie was behind in her studies; college athletics, class affairs,
and most of all, Girl Scouts, had crowded them out temporarily. But
she was not a girl to let them slide indefinitely; to have to report
“unprepared” more than once at a recitation troubled her conscience.
So, contrary to her custom, she decided to devote Sunday to work.

She had mentioned this fact to John Hadley as they left the scout
meeting the previous evening, and he had willingly fallen in with her
plans, knowing that Wednesday evening would be his.

“Just so long as you promise not to worry over this unpleasantness,” he
agreed. “It isn’t worth it.”

Marjorie laughed lightly; she had learned to be a philosopher.

“They certainly do get provoked easily,” she remarked. “But I think
Queenie was in the right——those girls never exerted themselves in the
least way to pass that tenderfoot test.”

“Then you mean to uphold her in keeping them out of the troop?”

“I don’t think there will be any effort attached to it. They probably
never would bother to study to get into it.”

John looked relieved; he had feared that the little scene would mean
anxiety for Marjorie.

“Then I’ll leave you to your studies all day tomorrow,” he concluded,
as he left her.

Marjorie intended to be as good as her word. While the other girls
loitered in the dining-room over their breakfast on Sunday morning,
or strolled into the library to look over the magazines and papers on
the tables, she went directly to her own room, and assembled her Latin
books. It was thus employed that Lily found her, after church.

“Going to spend the afternoon with John, Marj?” she inquired, dropping
down upon the couch.

“No,” replied her room-mate, without raising her eyes from the
dictionary she was consulting—“with Horace.”

“Horace!” repeated Lily, failing to catch the significance of the
remark. “His name isn’t Horace. It’s Walter.”

“Wrong again, Lil! I haven’t any engagement with Mr. Richards, if
that’s whom you’re referring to. I mean this ‘Horace’—” She held up
her Latin book—“Shall I introduce you?”

“No, thank you,” returned Lily. “I’ve met him quite often enough—I
think I can easily do without him for today. Do you honestly mean that
you’re going to stay inside all this beautiful afternoon and dig?”

“If I don’t have any interruptions. Of course I may go out for a little
air, if I get caught up in what I am doing. But please don’t tempt me,
Lil!”

“I won’t, if you’ve made up your mind. I’m sincerely sorry for you, but
I’ll leave you to your lonely fate.”

“Thanks, you’re a dear. And Lil, will you tell the other girls that
might want to include me?”

“Oh, nobody would think of expecting you for Sunday afternoon. It’s a
foregone conclusion that you’ll spend it with John.”

“Very kind of them, I’m sure,” muttered Marjorie.

The girls of her troop, however, were not so considerate. Early in
the afternoon Gertie Reed and Mame Collins put in an appearance, and,
in spite of her unwillingness to see anyone, and especially those two
girls, she put her work aside and went down stairs.

“I am glad to see you, girls,” she said, with a certain reserve in her
tone. “It will be better to clear up last night’s misunderstanding as
soon as possible.”

“Yea—that’s why we come,” Gertie told her.

“Of course. Shall we sit down—or would you rather go for a walk?”

“Oh, let’s sit down. We can hash things over easier that way.”

“Maybe,” suggested Marjorie, “it would be nicer up in my sitting-room.
My room-mate’s out, so we’d be alone.”

“All right! Suits us,” agreed Gertie. “One place is as good as another.”

They ascended the stairway, Marjorie all the while racking her brains
to decide upon the best manner in which to treat the subject. Gertie,
however, was evidently not worried about such a detail, for she was too
much concerned with the effort it required to ascend the steps.

“Should have thought you’d have an elevator,” she sneered. “If I’d a
known what a climb it was, I’d just as soon stayed where we was.”

“I’m sorry,” apologized Marjorie, “but we never think of it—we’re so
used to it. Of course there is an elevator, but nobody ever remembers
to use it unless they’re sick or hurt.”

“Guess I’ll survive!” rejoined the other, more cheerfully.

Once they were in the room, Gertie plunged into a harangue against her
patrol leader.

“Queenie Brazier thinks she’s some punkins to pull the wool over your
eyes like she’s doin’, Miss Wilkinson. But I’m here to tell you that
she ain’t a goin’ a get away with it, long as I’m around and she treats
me like she done last night.

“She pretends to be the sweet, innocent babe, that does just what the
teacher tells her, but she’s as hard-boiled as the rest of us. If you
knew what I do about her and this here Sam she picked up at the park,
you wouldn’t be treatin’ her so fine.”

Marjorie’s brow clouded; above everything else she hated gossip. Was
this the reason that Gertie had come to see her, just to tell tales on
Queenie, and not to apologize for her own conduct the previous evening?
How differently Queenie had acted, when she was in the wrong!

“She’s a goin’ it pretty strong—every night in the week, ’cept
Saturday,” Gertie continued. “And—” she lowered her tone to a
whisper—“her family ain’t on to it, neither!”

“But Gertie,” Marjorie interrupted, irritably, “I didn’t think you came
out here to talk about Queenie. I want to talk about you—and Mame.”
She nodded toward the other girl, who up to this time had taken no part
in the conversation.

“What’s there to say about us?” demanded the latter, in surprise.

Marjorie came directly to her point.

“Why—lots! Do you intend to go on with the scouts, or don’t you?”

Mame only coughed, and Gertie attempted to hedge at the question.

“How could we belong to the scouts when Queenie put us out? She’s the
boss, ain’t she?”

“No,” replied Marjorie, firmly; “I am the captain, and I intend to
control the affairs of my troop as long as I hold that office. I repeat
now what I said last night: If you and Mame show that you are in
earnest, and pass the tenderfoot test, I’ll be only too delighted to
register you, regardless of Queenie’s opinion!”

“She’d bust up the troop!” Mame warned her.

“No, I don’t think that she would,” answered Marjorie. “It would not be
a scout-like thing to do, and I think Queenie is a real Girl Scout. But
I would rather she did, than expect me to be captain of a troop like
that. I must have real Girl Scouts—or nobody!”

“Nuthin’ doubtful about you, is there?” remarked Gertie.

“No; and I don’t want to leave any doubts about my troop. Once more I
ask you both: Do you or do you not intend to join the scouts?”

“I guess not, Miss Wilkinson,” replied Gertie, speaking for both
herself and Mame. “It seems sort of foolish to me.”

“Besides, there’s a grand serial runnin’ Saturday nights at the ‘White
Palace’,” added Mame, “and it’s a shame to miss it, now we’ve begun it.”

“Very well, then, that’s settled. But don’t either of you say that
we put you out, for we didn’t. You were expected last night at the
meeting, and it wasn’t our fault that you stayed away, and missed what
turned out to be a very good time....

“Now—may I make you some tea?”

“All right, I don’t mind,” accepted Gertie. “We got a good ride ahead
of us.”

A moment later, however Marjorie realized that her hospitable
invitation was a mistake on her part. The informality of the little
party gave Gertie a further chance for gossip.

“Ever met this Sam of Queenie’s, Miss Wilkinson?” questioned Gertie.
“Sized him up for yourself yet?”

“No, I haven’t,” answered Marjorie, as she poured the tea. “Now—you’ll
excuse paper napkins, won’t you? And Mame, will you pass the cake?”

Gertie’s eyes shone at the sight of the chocolate fudge cake, and she
helped herself plentifully. Marjorie, noticing her pleasure, seized the
opportunity to direct the conversation away from Queenie.

“Mother made the cake,” she explained. “She usually sends me a box from
home every week-end.”

“It’s swell!” exclaimed Gertie, relapsing into silence while she
consumed it.

“Did you come out by train or trolley?” inquired Marjorie.

“Trolley,” answered Mame, briefly. “We’re goin’ back the same way.”

Gertie, who had finished the refreshment, sought to revive the gossip.

“You sure ought a meet Sam, Miss Wilkinson,” she observed again. “You’d
get a jolt, all right.”

“What’s the matter with him, Gertie?” Marjorie demanded, in
exasperation. “I can’t see that it’s any affair of ours who Queenie’s
friends are!”

“I should of thought you’d be the last person in the world to want any
scout of yours, let alone the patrol leader, to keep steady company
with a feller her family put the lid on!” challenged Gertie.

Marjorie’s eyes flashed; she was genuinely angry now.

“What do you mean?” she cried.

“I mean Queenie sees him ’most every night without her ma knowin’ it.
If he was all right, she’d be only too glad to bring him home!”

“Maybe they think she’s too young to have company,” Marjorie ventured.

“Maybe they don’t! She’d had lots of dates before—even had fellers to
supper Sunday nights.”

Gertie grinned maliciously; at last she was thoroughly enjoying herself.

“Well, I wouldn’t let it concern me, if I were you,” concluded
Marjorie, with a clear note of dismissal in her voice. “Queenie has too
much good sense to do anything rash.”

“That’s just where you make your mistake!” retorted the other, rising.
“The real dope is—” she paused to give emphasis to the final shot she
was about to fire—“the real dope is: she’s got it into her head to
elope! You can take that from me!”

“What?”

Marjorie was startled, in spite of herself.

“Thought that would nail you!” smirked Gertie.... “Well, guess we
better beat it.”

Silently Marjorie accompanied them down the stairs to the college door, disturbed by their visit more than she would admit even to herself.

When she returned to her room, she did not take up her books again,
but sat very still, lost in meditation. She assured herself that
there was very little basis of truth in Gertie’s last supposition,
yet she could not dismiss it entirely from her mind. Queenie was so
impulsive, so young, the glamour of the thing might get the better of
her judgment. What a tragedy that would be, if the young man were, as
Gertie suggested, far from what he should be!

She could not make up her mind whether to tell Lily or not, but finally
she decided that it would hardly be fair to Queenie. Undoubtedly the
story was an exaggeration, if not an absolute lie, and it would only
do harm to repeat it. She rejected also the idea of consulting the
girl’s parents, for the same reason; the only remaining solution was
to investigate for herself. She must meet the man, and form her own
judgment of him; then, if she found cause for worry, she could plead
with the girl herself.

“I must plan it like a party,” she thought, “so that Queenie won’t
suspect anything. But how can I arrange it? Two girls and one man would
seem so one-sided——”

In a flash the answer came to her.

“I’ll consult John!” she decided. “Thank goodness he’s in sympathy with
my work!”




CHAPTER XV.

THE SUPPER PARTY.


The following Wednesday Marjorie repeated the story of Gertie’s visit
to her, just as it had happened, reserving not the slightest detail,
in order that her listener might judge for himself. To her relief, he
expressed only amusement.

“I wouldn’t give it a thought, you conscientious little captain!”
he said smilingly. “It was just Gertie’s way of getting back at
Queenie—as she threatened her the other night.”

“Then you don’t think she really is seeing this young man every night
in the week?”

“She may be; but you remember that she didn’t hesitate a single moment
when Mr. Richards suggested a scout meeting for tonight?”

Marjorie had not thought of that before; it reassured her.

“Still, you know she admires Mr. Richards an awful lot,” she remarked.

“But would she, if, as Gertie suggests, she were planning to elope with
the other man?”

“I guess you’re right, John—I’m convinced,” admitted Marjorie happily.
“Then,” she continued after a moment, “you don’t think I would better
do anything—plan to meet Sam, or something like that?”

“Oh, I think that’s a very good idea, just on general principles,
though, and not because you take anything that Gertie said seriously.
How would it do for me to entertain the couple with you for dinner some
night?”

“At home, you mean?” faltered Marjorie. The combination of Queenie and
Mrs. Hadley did not seem particularly good to her.

“No—at one of these little tea-houses, where we sometimes stop. We
could drive somewhere in the car.”

“Oh, John! You’re wonderful! That’s the very thing!” Her eyes rested
upon his admiringly, gratefully. “You are always helping me.”

“That’s what makes me happiest.”

“I wish I could do something for you,” she murmured wistfully.

“You could.”

She looked up sharply, hoping that he was not going to repeat his
proposal of marriage.

“I’d do anything that wouldn’t interfere with my plans for next year,”
she told him.

“It’s only that I want you to promise not to take a job too far
away—in the west or south, for instance—where I could never see you.
Stay in Pennsylvania, or one of the nearby states!”

“All right!” returned Marjorie immediately. “I promise.”

They fell to discussing the little supper party they were to have for
Queenie, and Marjorie decided that it would be best to wait another
week, lest Gertie had told the girl of her visit, and had aroused
her suspicions. It must be a nice, sociable little party; above all,
Queenie must enjoy it.

At the next troop meeting, however, she made no mention of Gertie’s and
Mame’s visit, but simply informed the troop that she had been notified
of their withdrawal.

She found the Ernsberg twins a vast improvement over the members whose
places they had taken; at that very meeting they both passed their
tenderfoot test, and Marjorie prepared the list for registration.

“Sunflower Troop, Number—I wonder what?” she surmised aloud, as she
folded the paper.

“And may we wear our uniforms next week, those that are finished?”
asked Queenie, her face bright with anticipation.

“You certainly may,” replied the captain proudly. “And I hope you are
going to pass that second-class test then.”

“Some of us are ready now!” Queenie announced. “We worked awfully hard
on Wednesday night, when Mr. Richards was here. Stella, Dot and me. If
Annie passes next week, we can register the team in the League.”

“I’m a goin’ a pass it!” put in the latter, with more resolution than
Marjorie had ever given her credit for.

There was no difficulty now in keeping the troop’s interest during the
scout meetings; all of the girls seemed united in trying to learn as
much as possible in as little time, in order that they might get down
to the gymnasium at an early hour. Jack, too, found them delightful
to instruct, for they were quick, apt and enthusiastic. Such rapid
progress did they make at that meeting and the next, that he declared
himself ready to match them against any team in the League.

“Oh, no! Not yet!” gasped Queenie, suddenly growing modest.

“Well, we may play a few outside teams first. What would you all say to
a game next Saturday night?”

“Swell!” cried Queenie, as usual speaking for the troop.

“Yes,” agreed Marjorie. “Only I do wish that some more girls would pass
that second-class test, as Annie did tonight. We haven’t one, single,
registered substitute.”

Queenie looked worried.

“You twins has got t’ get to work!” she commanded seriously.

Both girls saluted respectfully.

“We’ll do that little thing for you, Queenie!”

It was not until after the practice that Marjorie made an opportunity
to extend her invitation to Queenie. Since nothing had been said about
Gertie’s visit at either meeting, she felt comparatively sure that the
patrol leader had heard nothing of it. Evidently she was right, for
Queenie was delighted with the invitation.

“Sure we’ll go!” she cried excitedly. “I’ve been wantin’ you to meet
Sam, so you can tell my mother that you like him. Somehow, they can’t
see him.”

“Why not?” asked Marjorie shrewdly.

“I guess because he never comes to the house. It’s always somethin’
doin with him—a ride or a show, or somethin’. They haven’t had a good
look at him yet.”

“Do you see him often, Queenie?”

“Not as often as he wants,” laughed the other.

They set the date for the following Friday evening, arranging to meet
at the settlement house, and drive off in John’s car.

As the time approached, Marjorie felt herself growing more and more
nervous, as if she dreaded to meet this young man, lest she should
find out that Gertie was right in her estimate of his character. John,
noticing this as they drove to the settlement, reminded her that she
was not to allow herself to be prejudiced.

She was impressed neither one way nor the other by MacDonald’s
appearance; he was not handsome, or even striking looking, but on the
other hand, he was not badly or flashily dressed. The only thing
that Marjorie realized immediately was that he was older than he made
himself to be—much older than the usual college student. In fact, she
decided almost instantly that he was not a college student at all.

Queenie and Sam sat in the back seat, so there was little opportunity
for general conversation during the ride. Once, when John overheard
them discussing basketball, he joined in.

“Go in for sports yourself, MacDonald?” he asked apparently idly,
though Marjorie sensed the fact that he was leading up to his
purpose—namely to extract information from the young man whom Gertie
termed questionable.

“No, only as a fan. I watch the sporting page in the paper.”

“Go in for any college athletics?” pursued John. “Miss Brazier said you
were a Penn man.”

“Was—I quit last year,” replied the other hastily. “You a college man?”

“Yes, Princeton. But I didn’t graduate either.”

They drew up in front of the little inn which John had decided upon,
and the men helped the girls to get out. Marjorie could not but be
pleased with MacDonald’s manner; he seemed perfectly at ease, familiar
with the accepted social code. She found herself wondering at Queenie’s
attraction for him, for, whatever the girl’s good points were, she was
undoubtedly crude, her manners were often rough and boisterous, and her
English was frightful. And although pretty, she was scarcely above
the average American girl of her own age and class. Her strong point,
Marjorie thought, was her genuineness, and that quality was seldom
attractive to men of MacDonald’s type. Yet she had personality, too; or
how else could she be such a pronounced leader in her own little group?

They selected a little table with a prettily shaded lamp, and John
ordered a tempting dinner. It was all so pleasant that Marjorie felt
just as if she were accompanied by any of her college friends.

She watched John wonderingly, as he led the conversation, seeming
perfectly content to let it remain upon general topics, except now and
then, when it returned to the always interesting subject of the troop
and the team. He apparently made no progress at all with MacDonald as
far as personalities were concerned, yet he did not seem disturbed.
Probably he was learning more than Marjorie had any idea of.

“May I smoke, Miss Wilkinson?” asked Queenie, when the meal was over.

“That’s up to you,” replied Marjorie indifferently. “It’s permitted
here, I believe.”

“Well, why shouldn’t I?” flashed the younger girl challengingly, as
if Marjorie had actually expressed disapproval. “Can you tell me any
reason why a girl shouldn’t smoke as well as a fellow?”

“None,” replied Marjorie with provoking calmness.

“Then you don’t object—I mean the Girl Scouts don’t?”

“It is a generally accepted rule of both the Boy and Girl Scout
organizations alike that their members do not smoke at least until they
are twenty-one years of age. All athletes keep this up as long as they
are in training—men and women alike. So if you are really interested
in becoming a _fast_ basket-ball player, I want to warn you that it
cuts your wind.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Queenie in surprise, “I felt sure you would think it
was an awful sin!”

“And you liked the idea of shocking me!” Marjorie remarked. “Well, I
don’t consider it a sin at all; I think the same moral laws apply to
girls as to men, and instead of being a moral issue at all, it’s a
physical one that concerns your health.”

This was an entirely new aspect to Queenie, and she pondered it
thoughtfully.

“I believe you’re right, Miss Wilkinson, and I wish that you’d give
the troop this same line of talk. Because we need to work up every
advantage we can get for our team. Then you don’t smoke?”

“No, nor eat candy when I’m in training. I happen to play on both the
’Varsity basketball and hockey teams for my college.”

“Whew!” exclaimed Queenie admiringly. “No wonder you’re a whiz on our
team!”

The men listened in amusement to this conversation, and could not help
admiring Marjorie as she drove her point home. MacDonald, however,
began to grow restless, as if he wanted to break up the party, and
suggested that they go out in the air again.

“I’ve had a marvellous time, Mr. Hadley!” said Queenie, as if to
indicate that it was over.

“Glad you enjoyed it,” returned John heartily. “We must do it again.
Shan’t we take in a movie?”

“No, thanks,” replied the girl graciously. “Mr. MacDonald has an
engagement. So just drop us anywhere.”

“Can’t we take you home, Queenie?” inquired Marjorie. “Or we could
drive Mr. MacDonald to wherever he wants to go.”

“Oh, no, don’t bother,” replied the young man hastily. “I’m leaving
town tonight, and have a few errands before I go.”

“Very well,” replied Marjorie, seeing that it was useless to insist.

After their guests had left them, Marjorie turned to John expectantly.

“What do you make of him, John?” she asked.

“Probably a travelling salesman—from nowhere. He’ll probably
disappear, and Queenie won’t see him again.”

“Do you think he’s all right?”

“Possibly.”

“You seem doubtful.”

“I am. I couldn’t get a thing out of him, as you probably noticed.
He said he wasn’t from Philadelphia, but when I asked him where he
was from he said I’d probably never heard of the place—some spot in
Kansas. I didn’t even find out what his line was, and can’t say I
tried hard. I thought I could size him up from his general line of
conversation.”

“Yet he seemed courteous and well-bred.”

“Only a veneer. No, to be frank, I don’t like him. I’d rather have
Queenie pick out a man with the worst grammar in the world than one of
these smooth birds. But I don’t think we need to worry about her—she
doesn’t seem serious.”

“Can you find out whether he ever did go to Penn—look it up, I mean?”
Marjorie pursued.

“I don’t have to, my dear. He never went.”

Marjorie sighed; but it was not a sigh of great discontent. As John
said, there was probably no real cause for worry, and nothing to
do about it. She resolved simply to keep in touch with Queenie’s
engagements, and learn if she saw him again. If she were in love, she
had certainly been successful in concealing the fact from both of them.
And one of her strongest characteristics was her frankness!




CHAPTER XVI.

THE FIRST GAME.


Marjorie felt so reassured by the party that she decided to tell Lily
all about it, including Gertie’s visit two weeks previous. It was
probably true, as John had surmised, that Sam MacDonald had never seen
the inside of a college, that he was only a cheap sort of sport who
had acquired a smooth manner with girls; but these facts were in no
way alarming since Queenie herself showed no signs of being in love
with him. It was too much to ask, Marjorie supposed, that the kind of
man she admired would be interesting to Queenie. She must expect to be
disappointed in her friends; but there was time enough to worry about
them when the girl actually became engaged.

Lily listened to the incident in much the same mood as John had
displayed, regarding it all as rather a joke.

“I think it’s a good thing it happened,” she remarked. “Because it
was a harmless way for Gertie Reed to take out her spite. And she was
awfully mad that night, you know.”

“Yes, she was—and I’m thankful that she’s out of the troop. I saw
from the beginning that I could never have any influence over her, or
Mame either, for that matter.”

“Well, you’re certainly doing wonders with the others,” observed her
chum admiringly. “It seems almost like a miracle—in such a short time!”

“If it only lasts!” sighed Marjorie.

“Why shouldn’t it?” demanded Lily. “Look at the enthusiasm over that
practice game on Saturday night! Every single scout out, all in
uniform, and proud as Punch. I think Jack was tickled to death with
them, even though we did get beaten.”

“Oh, he expected us to get beaten,” returned her roommate. “But what
pleases me more than the interest in basketball is the actual scout
progress we’re making. Four second-class scouts out of eight is pretty
promising, and if I’m not mistaken, Sophia Ernsberg is going to pass
the test before the first League game, so that we’ll have at least one
substitute.”

“I wish that game didn’t come before Christmas,” said Lily. “So many
things going on here at college—and I’m actually tired.”

“Yes, but I consider it a good thing for the troop. Remember you and I
will be away for ten days, and the girls might lose interest if they
didn’t have something like that to think about.”

“You have the schedule, haven’t you, Marj? What team do we play?”

Marjorie frowned, as if the prospect were not quite to her liking.

“That’s the worst of it,” she answered, “we play that out-of-town
troop—Number Ninety-seven. I understand that they’ve been playing a
good while but by boys’ rules. They just organized into a scout troop
this fall, and adopted girls’ rules. We are both new troops, you see,
but they are experienced players.”

“And you think it would go very hard with our girls if they were
defeated in their first game?”

“Yes, especially if their opponents played rough. But I understand that
Miss Ainsworth is very strict.”

“Miss Ainsworth?”

“The official referee of the League.”

“Well, then don’t worry about it, Marj. We have one more practice,
anyway, before the game.”

The night of the game arrived—the last scout meeting before the
Christmas holidays. The troop had arranged to gather at the settlement
at half past seven and go in a body to the appointed place, one of the
Y. W. C. A. gymnasiums in the upper part of the city. Jack, using his
privilege as official coach, decided to go with the girls; but Marjorie
instructed all other outsiders to go straight to the hall. She did not
want to risk any unnecessary confusion or excitement.

“I never saw a better looking troop!” she cried proudly, when they
were all assembled. “Honestly you girls look wonderful!”

“We have to live up to our officers and coach,” returned Queenie, with
more sincerity than her bantering tone betrayed.

“Six players, one sub, three rooters,” counted Jack, with satisfaction.
“Of course the last are the most important. Don’t forget to make lots
of noise!”

“We’ll make it sound like thirty instead of three!” boasted Clara.

When they entered the building they met uniformed scouts on every side.
Boys and girls alike were rushing about excitedly, as if the management
of the whole match were upon their shoulders.

“Here comes the other team!” cried a husky girl in middy and bloomers,
who in spite of her sneakers, looked at least six feet tall. “Welcome,
worthy opponents!”

Marjorie’s entire troop stood still, rooted to the spot.

“Are you all that size?” gasped Queenie in awe.

The other girl laughed uproariously.

“We’ve got some height—and muscle, too!” she replied with assurance.
“We’re going to give you a fight, even if we are from the country!”

“That’s what we like,” nodded Marjorie, with true sportsmanship.

“Anyway,” whispered Stella to her captain, “their uniforms can’t touch
ours!”

“And we have two college ’Varsity players on our team,” Queenie
reminded her.

“And a whale of a coach!” added Dot enthusiastically.

The girls found the gymnasium as crowded and as confused as the halls.
Evidently, they surmised, this was the usual custom at important games,
but Marjorie sensed that something was amiss. Leaving her girls in the
dressing room, she went in search of Miss Ainsworth.

“She hasn’t come yet,” one of the secretaries in the office informed
her.

“Hasn’t come!” repeated Marjorie in alarm. “Well, what could have
happened?”

“There has been a train wreck on her branch,” replied the other, “and
we suppose that is the reason for the delay.”

“Then what shall we do? Have you someone else who can referee?”

At that moment the city director of the Girl Scouts entered the room.
Apparently she was disturbed over the situation as Marjorie.

“I don’t know what to do, Miss Wilkinson,” she said, “unless we let
your coach referee one-half of the game and Troop Ninety-seven’s the
other half.”

“But our coach is a man,” objected Marjorie. “And I never consider men
strict enough.”

“So is Troop Ninety-seven’s coach a man—but as far as I can see there
is nothing else to do. I don’t know enough about the game myself, or
I’d be glad to do it. If you can suggest anything else——”

“Only postpone the game,” offered Marjorie.

“No, that wouldn’t do—it would mix up the schedule. So I suppose we
shall have to leave it at that—Mr. Bridges is willing to serve the
first half. Will you ask your brother to serve the second?”

“He hasn’t gym shoes,” replied Marjorie doubtfully. “Besides, I don’t
think he would want to——”

“Well, find out and let me know; if he isn’t willing, the other man can
go through with the entire game.”

Marjorie hurried out in search of her brother for the clock informed
her that the game was about to begin. As she had thought, he absolutely
refused to act, on the plea of lack of knowledge.

“I don’t know the fine points of girls’ rules,” he said. “I wouldn’t
want to make a mistake in front of all these people.”

Marjorie sighed; the very worst had happened, she felt. But again she
made up her mind not to let the girls see that she was disturbed; she
would show them only confidence and determination to win.

She noticed that the girls, usually so self-possessed in any
circumstance, were exceedingly nervous as they stepped out on the floor
to warm up; indeed, Stella and Queenie were actually trembling. They
chewed gum continuously, and rushed back and forth from one player
to another, grasping the ball, shooting at the baskets, darting over
to Jack now and again for a last word of encouragement or advice.
She smiled over at Lily, who, like herself, was absolutely calm and
unaffected by the excitement. It seemed hardly possible to her that
these were the same girls who had ridiculed them so nonchalantly not
three months ago on the same floor.

Fortunately for her team, all of the opponents were not so tall or so
heavy as the girl they had met in the hall, and Marjorie was thankful
to learn that this girl played in the center. Without being conceited
about her own skill, she nevertheless felt entirely confident that
she would outjump and outrun the other. Suddenly she felt her spirits
rising; if her own team remembered the signals and the passing that
Jack had drilled them with, they had a good chance of victory.

At last the referee’s whistle blew and the girls scrambled for their
places, Marjorie within the circle alert for the toss-up. The ball
whizzed into the air; quick as a flash Marjorie jumped high, and, in
spite of her opponent’s advantage, touched it and tapped it back. Dot,
true to her instructions, dashed back to receive it, secured it, and
threw it swiftly over the heads of the opposing guards right into the
hands of tall Annie Marshall. As had been pre-arranged, Annie passed it
to Queenie, who was at that very moment cutting for the basket. She
caught it deftly and tossed it into the basket, scoring for her team
two points.

Loud shouts of applause rose from the balcony, admiration for the team
play, the clever, swift passing, the assurance of the girls of this new
troop. Jack Wilkinson rubbed his hands in delight; they were carrying
out his instructions to the very letter.

The opposing team, however, displayed no admiration, only consternation
and anger at the dexterity of their rivals. The captain glanced
anxiously at the coach, who was frowning, but she received no
encouragement. The whistle blew again; the game continued in much
the same manner, with Marjorie’s team scoring six more points to the
other’s none. Then, ever so cautiously, when the referee’s back was
turned, the center winked at her side-center and forwards, and began
to play rough, using her body to guard, waving her arms, pushing and
elbowing her opponent until she obtained possession of the ball. The
side-center took the hint, employing her greater weight against Dot,
shoving her rudely aside in their mad scramble for the ball after
the toss-up. To the amazement of Marjorie’s team this conduct went
by unnoticed; whether the referee did not see it, or whether he did
not consider it wrong, they could not tell, but he called no foul.
Marjorie’s team stopped scoring; the ball somehow travelled down to the
opponent’s basket, and the forwards, imitating their centers, began
to fight for their goals. They scored point after point; Marjorie’s
players were powerless to use their passing; even if they did secure
the ball, and apparently held it fast in their hands, their opponents
knocked it out, and tossed it, or even kicked it in the opposite
direction. Marjorie stood it as long as she could; finally she called
time-out.

“I am sorry to seem to protest,” she said apologetically, turning to
the referee, “but really we are not playing girls’ rules at all. You
have not called a single foul!”

The man colored.

“I have to admit that I don’t know much about girls’ rules,” he
replied. “I’m not refereeing from choice, you know. Nobody would be
more thankful than I to see Miss Ainsworth appear.”

“Well,” explained Marjorie, relenting a little at his humility, “it is
a foul to charge or attack a player with the ball, and two hands on it
give possession. Our team won’t play this kind of game.”

“I’ll be as careful as I can,” the other agreed. “But you
know—fellows’ rules—and fellows’ games——”

“Yes, I understand,” smiled Marjorie. “But do your best!”

She walked across to her own little group, who were taking advantage of
the time-out to talk with each other in animated and angry tones about
their opponents.

“Let’s get in and fight!” cried Queenie. “Do them like they’re doin’
us! Kick ’em and trip ’em——”

Marjorie shook her head sadly.

“No, girls, that’s a contemptible way to play, and I am surprised that
any Girl Scouts would stoop to it. I would be mortally ashamed of my
team if they would do such a thing. Better a thousand times to lose the
game.”

“But our team has them cinched a mile!” protested Stella, who was very
eager to win.

“I wish we could consult Mr. Wilkinson!” exclaimed Queenie. “He’d let
us play rough.”

“No, he wouldn’t, either,” answered Marjorie. “He’s too good a
sport for that—and that kind of playing is the poorest kind of
sportsmanship. We can consult him between halves, but not on a
time-out. There’s the whistle—remember now, girls—good, clean
playing!”

The girls sulked a little, but Marjorie knew that they would do as she
asked.

The game proceeded with very little difference. The referee eased his
conscience by calling one personal foul when the opposing side-center
actually knocked little Dot Williams down in an attempt to secure the
ball; but after that he subsided into the same slip-shod manner. At
last the whistle blew for the half, with Troop Ninety-Seven in the lead
at a score of 14–10.

Marjorie’s team was absolutely worn out, besides being angry and
disgusted. They rushed over to Jack, repeating their plea to use the
same kind of tactics their opponents were employing. But Jack was as
firm as Marjorie in his refusal; in fact, he went farther and said that
if they tried it in spite of his orders, he would sever his connections
with the team. This was the deciding factor; the girls all liked and
admired their coach, and had no desire to lose him.

To Marjorie’s amazement, however, she saw the opposing team return
to the floor with a sullen sort of dejection in their countenances.
What, she wondered, could be the cause of this, in the light of their
probable victory? The captain shuffled towards her.

“You the Captain?” she asked Marjorie somewhat gruffly.

“Yes,” she replied, still at a loss because of her manner.

“Well, Miss Ainsworth has been here ever since that time-out, and says
that if our team doesn’t apologize for its playing, we are out of the
Girl Scout League. So—I apologize.”

“I accept in the name of the team,” answered Marjorie, greatly relieved.

Then, to her delight, Miss Ainsworth took her place in the center of
the floor, and the teams began playing again, much as they had started
off at the beginning. Again Marjorie’s team worked its signal plays,
its passing, and all the manoeuvers which Jack had taught them. The new
referee performed her task in silent approval, and she was frankly
delighted to witness their victory.

The final score was 36–16 in the favor of Marjorie’s team.




CHAPTER XVII.

LILY’S ENGAGEMENT.


So busy had the girls been with their basketball practice, and so
elated were they over their first victory, that they seemed to have no
time or inclination to plan a Christmas party. Marjorie, tired though
she was, had suggested a dance, but to her relief they had vetoed the
proposition.

So the night of the game had been the final event of the year for Troop
Two Hundred, as their group was now designated. Two two-pound boxes of
chocolates, tied with gay red and green ribbons, presented to Marjorie
and Lily by Queenie in the name of her patrol were the only reminders
of Christmas in the occasion.

Both officers were surprised and delighted with the gifts, and
exclaimed appreciatively. It was characteristic of Queenie that she had
to explain the truth of the matter.

“Clara works in a candy factory,” she said, “and she got ’em cheap, so
it didn’t set us back as much as you’d think.”

Marjorie laughed, really pleased by the girl’s frankness. It meant a
great deal to her to have the scouts want to give her something.

“Well, I thank you a thousand times,” she said; “and I hope you all
have a very merry Christmas. Don’t forget scout meeting—the first
Saturday night in January!”

“We’ll all be there!” Queenie promised.

She climbed into John’s car and literally dropped into her seat. She
thought she had never been so tired in her life before.

“Thank goodness that’s over!” she breathed at last. “And only three
more days of college!”

“Are you really so worn-out, Marjorie?” inquired John solicitously.
“You oughtn’t to have played tonight!”

“And lost the chance of that victory—with what it means to the scouts?
Oh, John, I’d have played till I dropped!”

“I believe you would!”

“But when I get home I certainly am going to take things easy.
Breakfast in bed every day, afternoon nap, retire at half past nine.
It’s going to be the simple life for me after the next ten days.”

“Then mayn’t I come up and see you?” he asked, a trifle pensively.

“Yes, indeed—whenever you like, if you don’t demand entertainment. You
will probably be bored to death; I don’t even feel as if I’ll be able
to talk about anything—not even my scout troop!”

John’s eyes lighted up; it would be a pleasant occurrence to have
Marjorie all to himself, not even disturbed by her own seething plans.

As soon as she reached her home town and was met by her family, she
outlined the same program to them. Her parents were astonished at the
idea of such a vacation, so different from the busy social whirl she
usually lived in. Mrs. Wilkinson was actually worried.

“You don’t feel sick, do you dear?” she asked.

“No, only tired,” her daughter assured her.

“And you haven’t made any engagements at all?”

“Only one—Lil is giving a luncheon to announce her engagement. So I’m
going over to New York on Tuesday.”

“Good for her!” cried Jack in approval. “I don’t need to ask who the
lucky fellow is.”

“No, I don’t think anybody will be very much surprised,” his sister
rejoined.

“Sis, you better hurry up!” teased the other. “You’ll be the old maid
of the troop!”

“I don’t care!” retorted Marjorie defiantly. “There are worse fates!”

“Marjorie,” asked her mother seriously, “have you made up your mind yet
what you are going to do next year?”

“Stay home with her old daddy, aren’t you, dear?” put in Mr. Wilkinson
hopefully.

“No, papa—I’m sorry I can’t. I’ve made up my mind to do scout work.”

“That’s a great idea!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Start a troop right
here, in your own home town!”

But Marjorie shook her head.

“No, papa, not a troop. I mean to become a scout director. I have
enrolled for a six weeks’ training course this summer.”

“Marjorie!”

“And we won’t even have you this vacation, then?” questioned her mother
wistfully.

“Part of the time I’ll be with you. The camp doesn’t open until July
first, and closes the fifteenth of August. Even if I get a position I
wouldn’t begin before the first of September.”

“Oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Wilkinson. “Well, if it will make you happy,
that’s all I care about—Now, tell me about your troop, the new one, I
mean.”

Marjorie was willing to talk about it for a while, but soon she
pronounced herself weary of it, and went off to take a nap.

It was not until the next day that Mrs. Wilkinson began to realize how
very tired her daughter was and she did not disturb her until long
after noon. Then she suggested that she see no callers.

“Only—John!” whispered Marjorie.

“Why, Marjorie!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilkinson, her eyes brightening. “You
want him?”

“Yes, it’s funny—but—I sort of rest better when he’s around. I guess
that’s silly——”

“Not a bit, dear! He sent you some flowers this morning, but I didn’t
bring them up because you were asleep. Do you want them now?”

“Yes, indeed! What are they?”

“Violets.”

“I knew they would be. He knows they’re my favorite.”

In honor of the gift Marjorie selected a violet-grey voile from among
her simpler dinner dresses and waited for her visitor in her own little
private sitting room. He came in eagerly, seeming to bring freshness
and health with him as he entered.

“It’s good to see you with so much pep, John,” she said, admirably.
“I’ve been so lazy all day.”

“It’s just what you needed to be, my dear,” he answered tenderly. “You
think of everybody else but yourself. Your classmates—and those Girl
Scouts!”

“John, don’t let’s talk about scouts tonight. Your flowers—they’re so
wonderful—my lazy mood—everything makes me feel like poetry. Let’s
read.”

“I’d love to!”

Marjorie drew down one of her favorite volumes—a collection of Alfred
Noyes’ poems—and gave it to him to read aloud. She curled up in her
big chair and watched him dreamily.

It was a charming evening for both of them, too charming for John
to risk spoiling by chancing the refusal a repeated proposal would
probably bring. A few more evenings like this, he told himself, would
only serve to bind her more closely to him.

He inquired about her plans for Christmas day, and she invited him to
spend it with her. But he refused, for he did not want to leave his
mother alone.

Marjorie told him about Lily’s luncheon.

“I think it’s a surprise to most of the girls,” she explained.
“Probably not to Ethel—she’s such a wise old owl. But I’m certain
Daisy and Floss and Alice haven’t an inkling.”

“Who else will be there?” he asked.

“Everybody’s coming—even Doris and the baby. Mae and Tom are running
on from Ohio.”

“Is Tom to be at the luncheon?” John demanded jealously.

“Oh, no—only girls. He’ll have to look up somebody—some of his frat
brothers, I guess.”

“You mean the ones that trailed your car to the coast?” laughed John.
“Did you ever hear anything of them again?”

“No, never.”

“I thought one of them was quite smitten with Daisy.”

“So he seemed, but I guess he was ashamed of himself.”

Reluctantly John decided to go; Marjorie needed the rest.

“Marjorie, I am leaving your Christmas present with your mother, since
I won’t see you on Christmas. And may I come up the day after?”

“That’s the luncheon.”

“Well, I want to hear all about it.”

“I thought maybe I’d stay over night at Lil’s.”

“Then let me come there—Lily will have Dick, and you know that
‘three’s a crowd.’”

“Right, John! You’ll be more than welcome.”

Almost wistfully Marjorie watched him go; she had enjoyed the evening
even more than she would admit to herself. She took her flowers,
absently pressing them to her lips, and half closed her eyes dreamily.
After all, Girl Scouts were not the only thing in the world.

The next day she felt less tired, less depressed by the invisible
weight she had seemed to be carrying, and by Christmas her old spirits
had returned, she was quite herself again. John’s present turned out to
be books; knowing her taste he had selected just what she liked best,
yet in her heart she was a trifle disappointed. Why couldn’t it have
been jewelry—not a ring, of course, but a pin, perhaps—it would have
been so much more personal. Yet she knew that she had said nothing to
tempt him to risk taking such a liberty, and she could not but admire
him for his tact.

Her strength was so restored by the rest and quiet of the last few days
that she decided to drive to New York in her car. Daisy and Florence
would undoubtedly bring theirs, and perhaps Alice; it would be fun to
display them together to Mae and Doris.

The weather was cold, but clear, and the roads were hard and dry.
Wrapped snugly in her fur coat, she felt that the drive would be
exhilarating; she jumped into her car with as keen a sense of
anticipation as if it had been May instead of December. She did not
regret in the least the fact that she was to go alone; her own thoughts
would be as pleasant company as she could desire. At that moment
Marjorie Wilkinson was perfectly happy.

She found four cars exactly alike parked in front of Lily’s apartment
house, and for a second she wondered whether Ethel could have scorned
the distance and driven all the way from school in hers. An instant
later, however, she recognized Lily’s licence number, and laughed
at her roommate’s evident desire to be represented in the display.
Lily was prouder of her little roadster than she had ever been of her
Rolls-Royce.

She found four of the girls—Daisy, Alice, Ethel and Florence in a
circle about Lily, admiring her engagement ring—a solitaire in a
filigree platinum setting. Lily had discarded her other rings for the
time being, so the new jewel shone out in undisputed splendor on her
pretty hand.

“We’re not a bit surprised,” said Alice teasingly. “We’ve known it for
a long time!”

Lily turned indignantly towards her roommate.

“Marj!” she flared. “If you told on me——”

For a moment Marjorie looked hurt; then Lily burst out laughing.

“I know you didn’t, you old peach!” she declared. “But I guess after
all I couldn’t expect it to be much of a secret. Girls, where do you
suppose Doris and Mae are?”

“Coming now!” cried Ethel, rushing into the hall as the butler opened
the door.

Lily’s engagement was forgotten; everything, everybody faded into the
background at the entrance of the young mother with her baby. Little
Doris was four months old now, and they all pronounced her the very
cunningest baby they had ever seen. She was not in the least frightened
by the girls, but went from one to another of her admirers with the
sweetest smile.

“Our youngest Girl Scout!” Alice nicknamed her as she dropped on her
knees to play with her. “It was so thoughtful of you to have a girl,
Doris.”

Doris beamed in happiness, and her daughter imitated her with a smile.

“Who’ll hold her during luncheon?” asked Marjorie eager for her turn to
come.

“No one, of course!” answered the mother sternly. “Well brought-up
babies aren’t held during meals. They lie on a bed with their bottles.”

“Oh,” replied Marjorie humbly, “I guess I don’t know much.”

“You couldn’t know less than I did,” Doris assured her. “But it’s very
easy to learn—it sort of comes natural.”

She carried the baby into one of the bedrooms and the girls answered
the summons to luncheon. Although the table was elaborately decorated,
and the courses beautifully served, Lily explained that she had not
planned any special feature to announce her engagement in a novel way,
“because,” she concluded, “it has to be a complete surprise to pull off
a stunt like that.”

“And yours wasn’t,” added Ethel. “I supposed it was a fact ever since
last summer, but when I visited you that Sunday I was positive of it.”

“And I knew it all along, too!” Alice boasted.

“Well,” returned Lily, “since you’re all such clever guessers, tell me
which girl in the patrol is engaged—besides me!”

The girls all opened their eyes wide in interest and stopped eating to
look around the group and study the expressions of the others. No one,
apparently, betrayed any guilt.

“Who?” demanded Alice excitedly. “Tell us quick, Lil!”

Her hostess laughed softly.

“Oh, you’re so wise that I don’t have to tell you!”

“Well, let’s figure it out,” began Ethel. “Doris and Mae are
married—you’re not either of you contemplating a divorce, are you?”

Both girls shook their heads emphatically.

“Lily has announced her engagement, and I know I’m not the one. That
leaves Daisy, Floss, Alice and Marj.”

“It’s Marj, of course!” cried Alice.

Marjorie smiled enigmatically; it would be fun to tease them.

“Are you the one, Marj?” Alice persisted.

“She is!” exclaimed Daisy. “Look how guilty she looks!”

“No, girls, she isn’t,” Lily answered for her. “I give you my scout
word of honor, unless something has happened since we left college. But
I won’t hold you in suspense any more: I was only teasing you!”

“Then nobody is?” Alice inferred, a trifle disappointed.

“Goodness, isn’t one engagement enough for you in one day?” asked Ethel.

“Aren’t you really keeping anything from us, Marj?” Alice repeated.

“No,” laughed Marjorie. “Absolutely nothing. I have taken a solemn vow
not even to think of marriage until I get my Girl Scout troop firmly
established.”

“Good gracious, Marj! You’ll never get them ‘established,’ as you say!”
remarked Florence. “If you succeed in holding them together for a whole
week after the basketball season is over, I’ll treat you to a dinner at
the Ritz!”

“Thanks,” replied Marjorie confidently. “Better start to save your
money. And, to go back to the old subject, I mean to train for more
scout work. I’m going to take a six weeks’ course at the national
Leaders’ Camp this summer and hope to land a job next year.”

“Poor John!” muttered Daisy.

“Marj has had too much attention at this luncheon,” Ethel abruptly
announced. “We must concentrate on the bride-to-be. Tell us about your
plans, Lil.”

“Well, we expect to live in Philadelphia,” replied the latter, “for
Dick is permanently located there. We hope to get a house somewhere
near Doris and Roger.”

“And when are you going to be married?”

“In June—after graduation.”

“Think of getting an A.B. and a MRS. both in one month!” remarked
Daisy, almost enviously, it seemed.

“It will be lovely to have you in Philadelphia,” Doris assured
her. “Wouldn’t it be grand if all eight of us were married and
lived near together!”

“You _are_ domestic, Doris!” teased Ethel.

“Girls, that reminds me,” put in Lily, “I invited Mrs. Remington to
this luncheon, but she couldn’t come. So she sent her love, and asked
that we start a round-robin, to keep us informed with what everybody is
doing.”

“Great idea!” approved Ethel, who was least in touch with the others.
“I’ll start it this very week.”

A gentle coo from the baby in the adjoining room drew them away from
their coffee cups, and the remainder of the afternoon was spent in
admiration of Lily’s hope-chest, and little Doris Harris.




CHAPTER XVIII.

DOLLS.


The luncheon guests had all gone home; Marjorie and Lily were resting
before dinner. Neither, however, seemed inclined to sleep; both were
occupied with their own thoughts.

“Marj,” began Lily, dreamily, after she had reassured herself that her
companion was awake, “would you care an awful lot if I didn’t come to
scout meeting _every_ Saturday night?”

The other girl regarded her tenderly.

“Of course not, Lil—I understand. You have so much to plan for to
think about, if you’re going to be married right after Commencement. I
know I’d feel the same way.”

“You won’t think me a quitter, then?” she asked, anxiously. “It isn’t
as if I weren’t interested in the troop—but I’m so sure it’s going
to keep on going splendidly that I don’t believe you really need me.
Sophia can take my place on the team. If it were any other night but
Saturday——”

“Yes, of course, Lil,” repeated Marjorie sympathetically. “I really
think you are right. After all, Dick has some claims. And he ought to
have your week-ends.”

“I’m so glad you see it that way, Marj! I do want to come home, too,
whenever I can, for mother and dad’s sake as much as for my own. She
even insists on a New York dressmaker for my trousseau, though I’d
rather just find somebody in Philadelphia. You know I haven’t any
classes on Saturday, so I could leave college sometimes on Fridays.”

“The scouts will agree, I am sure,” continued Marjorie, “especially
when they see your ring. They won’t think it’s because you’re tired of
them.”

“Do you think that you ought to get another lieutenant?” Lily inquired.
“Daisy or Floss?”

“All three of the juniors are busy with that troop in the village,”
Marjorie reminded her. “So I’d hate to take them away, for they’re
doing good work there. And I’m sure I don’t want an outsider. No, I
think I can manage myself, if you’ll drop in whenever you can.”

“Indeed I will!” the other girl promised.

Marjorie closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but she found it
impossible. Although up to this time she had been quite successful in
dismissing her scout troop from her mind during the vacation, she found
her old perplexing problems returning. It was Florence who had stirred
up this questioning, Florence who had suggested that she did not have a
firm hold on the troop, that they would be interested only as long as
the basketball season lasted.

When the girls began to dress for dinner, she sought Lily’s advice.

“I don’t want to bother you, Lil, but I must talk scout affairs over
with you once in a while. Floss’ remark that the girls are only
interested in basket-ball sort of worries me. Couldn’t you suggest some
new interest, like you did this one?”

Her chum, who at that moment was trying to decide whether to wear
a heliotrope georgette or a black velvet dinner dress, brought her
attention with difficulty to Marjorie’s question.

“What—er—yes,” she answered absently.

“Think of something, Lil!” Marjorie pleaded.

Lily looked at her companion in amusement.

“I think, Marj, for your own sake, you ought to forget that troop for
a while. You promised you would during the holidays, you know. And
everything’s going beautifully—remember the game, and our boxes of
chocolates!”

“I know—but who was it who said, ‘In time of peace prepare for war?’
That’s my idea—just keep things going every minute, so that the girls
haven’t time to wonder whether they are bored.”

“But my dear, you can’t expect this to keep up all your life! You
probably wouldn’t have time for them next year, anyway.”

“All the more reason why I must make a desperate attempt to secure a
really firm hold, so I could be as sure of them as I am of our senior
patrol.”

“You’ll never be able to do that, Marj. That would be almost a miracle.
But I do think you’ve done remarkably; why not be content?”

“Oh, I can’t! If that is all, then I shall have failed!”

“Better fail, as you call it, than give your life to such a tremendous
struggle. Marj, do be normal! Just enjoy things while you’re young!
Don’t be everlastingly aiming at the impossible.”

Marjorie laughed, but it was without heart. There was no use appealing
to Lily now, indeed she ought to be thankful that her roommate had
already given her so much assistance.

She knew that she had made the same promise to John—not to refer to
the troop during the vacation—yet she decided to risk breaking it. If
there was a possibility of his helping her, he would not want her to
worry over her problem alone. So, as soon as the young men had arrived,
and had heard all the details of the luncheon, and John had presented
his best wishes to the couple, Marjorie sought an opportunity to talk
with him in confidence. As she had hoped, she found him eager to listen.

“I have been expecting this—though I didn’t think you would see it
until nearer the close of the basketball season,” he said quietly.
“And I have been doing some thinking along lines of my own. I have a
suggestion to offer, although you may not consider it very good. Don’t
hesitate to tell me if you don’t approve.”

“Oh, thank you, John!” cried the girl, with a feeling of deep gratitude
in her heart.

“Well, one day last week our wash-woman’s little girl was run over
and was taken to the Children’s Hospital. She is getting along all
right, fortunately, but Mother wanted me to go see her and take her
some flowers and fruit. I found her in the children’s ward—the most
pathetic, and yet the most marvellous place in the world.”

“Yes?” breathed Marjorie sympathetically.

“I just wish you could have seen the brave little patients there, some
of them the most dreadful cases, but all trying to be so courageous. I
admit I could scarcely keep back my tears, and when I got home and told
Mother all about it, she had a good cry. I don’t think I ever have been
more deeply touched.

“I felt as if I must do something—send more money, more toys, more
nurses. I wanted to go out and preach children’s hospitals from morning
till night, I wanted to get every girl I knew to enroll as a nurse. If
you could see the way the little things depend upon those nurses! They
adore them, they wait patiently till they have time to attend to them.
Oh, they are wonderful!”

Marjorie herself felt near to tears, so realistic was John’s
description of the little sufferers. She did not trust herself to say
anything.

“And then I thought of your girl scouts, girls who have no definite aim
in life, who are not preparing for anything special, and I wondered
whether we couldn’t turn at least part of their interest there. Perhaps
we have been thinking too much of what we could do for them; maybe if
we realized that the greatest thing would be for them to do something
for others, we might succeed further.”

“I believe you’re right, John,” Marjorie said, thoughtfully. “But how?”

“Well, I would begin by taking them to see the children. There are
about fifteen little girls in that ward; suppose I bought a doll for
each child—would your girls dress them? That would give them a chance
to see the hospital from the inside, and they might be interested. You
may even be able to start a course in home-nursing or first-aid, as a
result.”

Marjorie was silent for a long while, pondering the idea. Was it
possible, she wondered, to touch these girls, to take them outside of
themselves and their own little worlds, to see someone else’s point of
view? Was not John correct in thinking she had given too much attention
to the good she might do them, rather than the good they might do to
others? The idea was so much bigger than any she had ever conceived for
them that she was almost terrified at its seriousness.

“It certainly is worth a try, John. It would be great if we could
interest them, but I am not going to count on it, or expect a miracle.
At least the visit to the hospital with the dolls would be worth-while,
if nothing finally came of it.”

“Then you will let me send the dolls?”

“I’d love to—but you better wait till I ask the scouts. There is a
chance they may turn me down.”

“But you do like the suggestion?”

“Immensely, John—and—thank you so much.” She lowered her voice almost
to a whisper. “Other people may fail me in emergencies, but it seems to
me you are always there.”

Nor did Marjorie’s words express the real depth to which she was
touched. If this scheme worked, she might be able to reach the girls
whom she still felt to be outside of her influence. About Stella and
Annie she was no longer concerned; they not only took basketball
seriously, but athletics had really opened up a new life for them. They
had told her that they were going regularly to the Y. W. C. A. for
swimming instruction; their nights were so crowded now that there was
little time for frivolity. Moreover, both girls were enlarging their
circles of friends to include those more interested in the real things
in life. It was almost as if they had received a fresh start; she felt
satisfied that they would no longer drift.

She next thought of the school girls—Dot Williams and the twins;
they were apparently headed in the right direction; but what about
Queenie and Clara and Aggie? Of all the patrol these were the most
pleasure-loving, the most flighty, and, with the exception of Queenie,
the most irresponsible. Could she possibly hope to interest them in
charitable work of any kind? Would they turn in disgust from contact
with suffering in any form? Perhaps they might be bored by it, but at
least they could not ridicule it. Only someone less than a human being
could fail to be affected by a sight so pathetic as the one John had
described.

The remainder of Marjorie’s vacation passed all too quickly; there were
shopping expeditions, rides with her mother in her own little car,
evenings with John at home. Almost before she realized it, she was back
at college, sharing in pleasant little celebrations in her roommate’s
honor.

She could not fight off an intangible sense of loneliness as she drove
into the city to her first scout meeting of the new year. It was not
so much that she missed Lily on this one particular occasion, but that
she felt it to be symbolic of her days to come. In the eight years of
her school life away from home, no one had been so close to her as this
girl. At last she was to be separated from her; she sighed, but she
would not alter the situation if she could. It was lovely for Lily to
be so happy.

Her spirits rose, however, as she drew up to the settlement and found
Queenie and Stella waiting for her just inside the door. Regardless of
the fact that they wore neither hats nor coats, they both rushed out in
the cold to greet her.

“You didn’t elope, then, did you, Miss Wilkinson?” demanded Queenie.
“We were almost afraid you’d give us the slip!”

“Nothing like that, Queenie,” Marjorie replied laughingly. “How about
you?”

“Her sweetie’s out of town,” Stella answered for her. “Slipped off
without even coming across with a Christmas present.”

Inwardly Marjorie breathed a sigh of thanksgiving. She hoped fervently
that “Sam” was gone for good.

All the rest of the troop were already assembled in the scout room, and
Marjorie felt something of the joyousness of homecoming in her welcome.
There was no doubt about their genuine pleasure in her return. She felt
hopeful about launching her new plans.

The girls, however, were eager to talk of basket-ball; they wanted to
hear Marjorie’s opinion of the match game, and Jack’s; they demanded
the rest of their League schedule, and they insisted upon discussing
their opponents.

“The whole thing is arranged very fortunately for us,” remarked
Marjorie. “We have two easy teams to play next—at least I hope they’ll
be easy—from Troop Thirty-five, and Troop Eighteen. Then in February
we meet Troop Six, and the very last League game of the season is our
team against One-Sixty One!”

“Hooray!” shouted Queenie gleefully. “Lady Luck sure is with us!
Remember I said we’d whitewash Sixteen and Thirty-five? Well, there’s
no doubt about it now, after we trimmed Ninety-seven so neat!”

“I have one sad piece of news for our troop, though,” interrupted
Marjorie: “Miss Andrews has announced her engagement to Mr. Roberts,
and feels that she hasn’t time enough to play on our team any longer.
She wants to be with her fiancé on Saturday evenings.”

“Good night!” cried Stella in dismay. “What did she have to go and get
engaged for—just when our team was pullin’ together so good!”

“Anyway we can be glad it ain’t—isn’t—you, Miss Wilkinson!” observed
Queenie.

“Or you!” returned Marjorie meaningly.

“And it’s a good thing we got Sophia. But say, we’ve got a get another
sub. Any of you kids done any work over Christmas?”

All three of the tenderfoot scouts shook their heads guiltily.

“Let’s make it a race,” suggested Marjorie, “and see who can be ready
first. I’ll telephone Mr. Richards.”

“That’ll fix ’em—they’ll get to work!” Queenie assured her jokingly.
“Specially Goldie—she’s entirely gone on him.”

Reluctantly Marjorie put aside the subject of basketball and steeled
herself to put forward her new proposition.

“Girls,” she began, “would you be willing to dress some dolls for some
children in a hospital ward?”

“I can’t sew!” announced Annie Marshall immediately.

“And I hate it!” volunteered Aggie.

Marjorie’s spirits fell. But remembering the hike, she decided not to
insist.

“All right, then—that’s all about that,” she said as cheerfully as she
could.

But when the girls were adjourning their meeting to the basketball
floor, she was surprised to hear Goldie and Dot bring the subject up
again.

“Miss Wilkinson,” whispered Dot, “Goldie and I would love to dress some
dolls for sick children. Will you tell us about it?”

Marjorie’s heart warmed towards these girls—almost children themselves
in comparison to herself. She told them gladly of her idea—that the
troop dress some and take them to the hospital in person.

“Bring them next week!” Goldie pleaded, “and we’ll make all the others
envious. Just you watch!”

Marjorie was only too delighted to promise that she would. Her one
regret was that it was not Queenie who offered.




CHAPTER XIX.

THE EXHIBITION.


Marjorie did not bring the dolls to the next scout meeting as she had
promised, for it was a scheduled game with Troop Eighteen. She knew
that the girls who had offered to dress them would be too excited to
think about it. She was correct; for both Dot and Goldie were already
on the floor practicing when she arrived. She sauntered over towards
them.

“Goldie,” she began, “how would you like to play this game instead of
me?”

The girl fairly gasped in amazement.

“Oh, I never could, Miss Wilkinson!”

“Why not? You passed your second-class test on Wednesday night, and you
are registered with the League.”

“You don’t get me, Captain. I’m not a good enough player, and besides,
I couldn’t jump center. I’m not tall enough.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” Marjorie assured her. “You would play forward,
as you have been practicing. Queenie would jump; you know Jack has been
training her to substitute that position.”

Goldie’s eyes sparkled; there was nothing she would like better.

“But what would your brother say?”

“It was he who suggested it.”

“Then it’s up to you. You’re the captain!”

“Very well, then, you play forward with Annie. Queenie and Dot will
take care of the center, and your sister and Stella can guard. I think
a line-up like that can give any team a good fight.”

Nor was she mistaken in her confidence; the girls, who now played with
more assurance and less nervousness because of their recent victory,
went into the game with all their energy, again trying to follow their
coach’s instructions to the letter. This time there was no confusion,
no foul play; the opposing troop played a clean game, but Troop Two
Hundred carried off the honors because of their superior skill.
Marjorie felt elated; all the more so because the girls had been able
to accomplish it unaided by officers.

It was after the game was over, when they were together in the dressing
room that Goldie suddenly thought of the dolls, and asked her captain
whether she had brought them.

“No,” replied Marjorie, “for two reasons. First, I didn’t think that
tonight would be a good time to distribute them, on account of carrying
them home, but principally because there are fifteen little girls in
the ward, and I wouldn’t want to take them for some and not for all.
And you and Dot and I couldn’t possibly dress five dolls apiece.”

“Oh, I’ll help!” cried Sophia, who was in the mood to agree to anything
anyone asked.

“We’ll all do it, Miss Wilkinson,” muttered Queenie, not too pleasantly.

“Not unless you really want to,” Marjorie stipulated.

“All right, we want to, then. Bring ’em next week.”

As soon as Marjorie was with John again, she told him of their
expressions of willingness, which, she had to admit, seemed rather
reluctant.

“All right—I didn’t expect they’d enthuse over sewing. Most girls
don’t. Look at the jokes in the paper about the married men who have to
sew their own buttons on!”

“I never cared for it much myself,” remarked Marjorie.

“Trying to scare me?” he inquired jokingly, but was rewarded with a
withering look.

“I had no idea that they would be interested,” he continued, “until
they actually pay a visit to the hospital. Only, by the way—mother had
a suggestion to offer. She wants to supply the goods—what do you call
’em?—remnants?—and lace and ribbons to make the dresses, and said
she’d be glad to offer a prize—a handbag, or something—to the girl
who dresses the prettiest one.”

“That’s a great idea, John!” exclaimed Marjorie. “My word, you are a
help to our troop!”

“As much as Mr. Richards?” he asked slyly.

“Almost,” Marjorie conceded.

At the very next meeting she made an opportunity to put his plans into
action and found them more successful then she had dared to hope. The
dolls were little French toys; their pretty faces made a decided appeal
to all of the girls. Moreover, the materials which Mrs. Hadley had sent
were so dainty and charming, that it made them actually want to sew.

While they were thus busily engaged, talking at the same time about the
prize that was offered, Mr. Richards dropped in.

“No interest in second-class tests tonight, I can see that!” he joked
in his pleasant, breezy manner, which was so attractive to the girls.
“I guess this is no place for a mere man!”

“Then we’ll quit!” announced Queenie, glad in her heart of an excuse to
stop. “We can practice signalling——”

The scout master raised his hand forbiddingly.

“Nothing doing!” he asserted. “When I get married I want a girl who can
sew—it’s lots more use than being able to signal. And I guess all the
other fellows are about alike. So you go right on!”

He addressed the troop in general, but he was looking at Marjorie.

“He’s crazy about her!” Queenie thought, watching him jealously. “Of
course, he couldn’t see me—when she’s around.” Her eyes narrowed.
“What do I care?” she decided, with an unconscious toss of her head.
“Didn’t I get a letter from Sam this morning?” She put her hand against
her dress and distinguished the outline of the envelope against her
clothing.

“We’re all working for a prize,” Marjorie was telling Mr. Richards.
Then she repeated the story of the children in the hospital, and
mentioned the scouts’ proposed visit.

The young man was more than interested, and asked that he be allowed to
accompany them on their expedition.

“Plannin’ to see her oftener,” Queenie mused with tightened lips.

“And that reminds me,” he continued, when he had been assured by
the captain that he was welcome, “how would you girls like to study
first-aid and follow it with home nursing? I could give you the
first-aid, and I know a cracker-jack of a nurse who’d give the other.”

Queenie knew that this time he kept his eyes fixed upon her, expecting
her to accept with enthusiasm. Just to baffle him, she turned to
Marjorie.

“What do you say, Captain?”

“Splendid!” cried Marjorie eagerly.

“I think so, too!” put in Stella, not waiting to be asked.

“All in favor say, ‘Aye,’” suggested Mr. Richards.

“Aye!” voted every scout present.

“All right, then, that’s settled—Miss Wilkinson can let me know when
you want to begin. Now I won’t bother you any more. But tell me the
date of the doll exhibition, so I can be on hand. I’d like to bring a
bunch of flowers to the mother of the doll-baby I like best.”

Queenie felt a sudden thrill pass through her. How wonderful it would
be to wear a gift from him! Then she glanced at her own sewing and
realized that her doll would never win a prize. Unless perhaps he might
have a personal interest in her, and would identify her doll, and give
her the flowers simply as a gift, in that guise. That possibility
buoyed her up; she resolved not to answer Sam’s letter until after the
exhibition, for, after all, the latter could not compare in any way
with Mr. Richards.

The scout master’s share in the affair seemed to give it an added
attraction, for after his visit the girls worked willingly, stopping
only when it was time for basketball practice. Only twice was the
sewing excluded, on the occasions of the two League games, and as these
both resulted in victories for their team, they did not feel that they
had been robbing their basketball time. About the middle of March, just
one week before the final deciding game of the League, they gave their
little exhibition.

As John had originally planned, there were fifteen dolls in all. Most
of the girls had dressed two; Queenie and Aggie and Annie had been
satisfied with one. They arranged them to advantage in Miss Winthrop’s
office, and awaited their guests.

Only a small number had been invited—Mrs. Hadley and John, Mr.
Richards, Jack, Lily and Miss Winthrop. They were to vote by ballot
for their favorite, and the prize was to be awarded to the girl who
received the most votes. Mr. Richards, however, reserved the right to
control the sole vote upon his own prize.

Queenie, who entertained no hope of winning Mrs. Hadley’s prize,
watched Mr. Richards furtively as he strolled from doll to doll,
picking them up now and then, apparently inspecting them carefully. She
actually trembled when she recognized her own doll in his hand.

The balloting was concluded; Marjorie collected the votes and counted
them, while the girls busied themselves by serving the lemonade and
cakes they had provided in honor of their guests. In a few moments the
captain returned, a bright smile on her face. It was evident that she
was well satisfied with the result of the election.

She went over to the table and selected the winning dolls, holding them
up for the others to see. With a gasp Queenie realized that hers had
not been chosen!

“Mrs. Hadley’s prize—the first prize—goes to this cute little doll
in pink,” she announced—“which was dressed by Dot Williams. And the
second prize goes to the baby doll, whose clothing was made by Goldie
Ernsberg.”

Every one but Queenie clapped approvingly; she sat silent, lost in
remorse. Then suddenly realizing that her attitude might be noticed,
she added her applause to the rest.

But when the party met to pay their proposed visit to the children’s
ward, Marjorie found, to her amazement and dismay, that Queenie Brazier
was not among them. Nor could any member of the troop explain the cause
of her absence.




CHAPTER XX.

THE CHAMPIONSHIP.


Although Marjorie had been disappointed in Queenie’s failure to
participate in the troop’s visit to the hospital, she was not deeply
concerned. Of all the girls in the patrol she had shown the least
interest in the event; from the beginning she had tried to discourage
it. Her doll had been the most carelessly dressed in the exhibition,
and she had left almost immediately after the affair itself was over.
But Marjorie felt so sure of Queenie that this indifference scarcely
troubled her; it was enough to find the others so enthusiastic.
Moreover she had not the slightest doubt that Sam MacDonald had passed
out of Queenie’s life, so she dismissed the matter from her mind,
believing that her absence had been due to a whim. After all she could
not be expected to go in for everything.

She wished, however, that she might hear from her before Saturday—the
night of the big basket-ball game that was to decide the League
championship. She wanted every one of her players to be on hand, in
trim for her position, and she was counting on Queenie to jump center.
It would be a wonderful honor for her troop if the team would win;
it would give them a standing among the other troops in the city that
no other one act could accomplish so quickly; it would go a long way
in establishing them for next year. But Marjorie was well aware that
victory was very doubtful; like themselves, Troop One Sixty-one had
beaten every team that they had met thus far in the League, but in
almost every instance by a greater advantage. She had watched some
of their games, and had admired the dexterity of their players. Her
one hope lay in Jack’s ability as a coach; he, too, had observed them
keenly, and had trained his own team to cope with their tactics.

Marjorie herself would have been glad to play on the team if she had
felt that she was needed. But during the last few weeks, she had
experienced an increasing sense of fatigue, a decided reduction in
energy. Always, she remembered, she had felt a certain weariness of
both mind and body as the spring holiday approached, but this year she
noticed it to a marked degree. John had perceived it, and had urged
her not to play on the team if any one else were available; Lily had
remarked about it, even to the extent of begging her to take a week-end
off and go home. But she had steadfastly refused to let down; she was
confident that she could stick it out to the end.

The evening of the game arrived, and she drove into the city with
Lily. Both girls were keyed to the highest pitch of excitement and
anticipation.

“I wish you wouldn’t even take your basketball suit,” Lily remarked, as
they stepped into the car. “Because if your team is losing, you may be
tempted to play.”

“I shall leave it entirely up to Jack,” her companion replied. “If he
advises me to play, I’ll do it.”

“Well, I’ll take good care to see him and tell him how you’ve been
feeling lately! I’ll fix you!”

“Don’t be mean, Lil!”

“It’s for your own good.”

“We must think of the good of the team tonight—after this match is
over, I’ll have all the rest of my life to consider my own good.”

“Much chance!” muttered Lily sarcastically.

“Well, I don’t honestly think you need worry,” Marjorie assured her.
“It’s Queenie who has been practicing with the team, Queenie who has
been coached on the signals—she’s the one Jack is depending on.”

“I’m mighty glad of it!” replied the other, letting out her throttle,
and giving her attention to the road, as if the matter were concluded.

When the girls reached the hall where the game was to be played,
they found it brilliantly lighted in honor of the occasion. From the
wide open windows a confusion of laughter and talking floated out;
scouts and other visitors could be seen in all the front rooms of the
building. It was evident that this was to be a big event for the Girl
Scouts of Philadelphia.

Marjorie and Lily found Dick and John waiting for them at the entrance,
and made their way through the crowd to the gymnasium. There they saw
not only bright lights, but festive decorations as well. The balcony
had been divided into two sections; one of which was draped with wide
streamers of yellow cheesecloth, with a huge artificial sunflower in
the center, the other in blue, with a big cornflower ornamenting it. It
was evident that the visitors were expected to express their preference
for either team by sitting in the seats marked by their respective
flowers.

“Why, we have a splendid showing!” cried Marjorie gaily, as she looked
up and saw half of their section already filled with spectators. “Look,
Lil—we have more rooters than the other troop! Do you really suppose
we’re so popular?”

“Looks that way!” returned Lily, as much pleased as Marjorie.

“But why, I wonder—when hardly anybody knows us?”

“I think we must have won a lot of friends that first night when
you made the girls stick to their principle. Everybody admires good
sportsmanship.”

“Well, it’s lovely, anyhow, whatever the reason is. But it means that
you people better hurry up and get some seats, or there won’t be any
left. Save a place for me, and I’ll be up as soon as I find Jack and
get the team lined up.”

Hardly was she outside the door when Goldie and Dot, obviously in a
panic, literally bumped into her.

“Captain!” Dot flung out breathlessly. “Queenie hasn’t shown up!”

Marjorie grasped the excited girl’s arm in sudden alarm.

“Queenie!” she repeated. Then, realizing that she must not allow the
girls to lose control of themselves at so decisive a time, she added,
“But it’s only ten minutes of eight. She’ll surely come—she always
does.”

“But she didn’t go to the hospital with us,” Goldie reminded her.

“Oh, that was different! That wasn’t basket-ball!”

“But suppose she doesn’t come?” demanded Goldie. “What shall we do?”

“Why, I’ll play, of course. The others are all here, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but that leaves us without a single sub. Suppose something
happens—five personal fouls on a player, or somebody gets knocked
out——”

“We shan’t worry about that till the time comes,” replied Marjorie
coolly. “Let’s go into the dressing room, while I get ready. Above all,
girls, don’t lose your nerve. We must win tonight!”

They found the other members of the team—Stella, Annie and Sophia
gathered together on one of the low benches in a corner of the room,
talking with the same nervous rapidity as the others had displayed.
Marjorie immediately set about her task of reassuring them; in a few
minutes she had restored their natural good spirits.

Yet for all her own words to the contrary, she was actually alarmed
herself at the event which in her heart she believed would prove a
catastrophe, not so much for the team, as for the troop. If she put
forth a tremendous effort by sacrificing herself, she could probably
play as good a game that night as Queenie, for what she lacked in
energy, she would offset by superior knowledge and experience. But the
effect upon the troop in general would be far more disastrous; if, as
she now really believed, Queenie had lost interest in the scouts, the
patrol would be without a leader, the girls would be at loose ends.

Eight o’clock struck and both teams assembled on the floor to “warm
up.” A reassuring cheer from the balcony greeted their own arrival,
and caused the girls to glance up with pride at their well-filled
section of the balcony. Marjorie caught Lily’s eye, gazing at her in
questioning disapproval, but she only nodded and smiled as if nothing
had happened. Mr. Richards slipped into the seat that John had saved
for her, and waved to her in encouragement.

The whistle blew, the captains shook hands, the players fell into their
places. A sudden silence took possession of the spectators as the
referee tossed the ball into the air.

Tense with determination, Marjorie jumped high into the air; but
perhaps because she was out of practice, or possibly because she was so
tired, she had not timed her jump with the accuracy of her opponent.
The other girl was too quick for her; she tapped the ball back to her
side-center, who, with the agility of a tigress, had slipped it into
the right position, caught it, and tossed it over to her forward.
Marjorie cast a desperate appeal to her guards, hoping that they would
intercept the pass. Perhaps they might have succeeded, if Cornflower
Troop had not done the unexpected. Instead of the forward’s passing it
to her companion under the basket, who was well covered by Stella, she
slipped it back to the side-center, got free herself again, and almost
too quickly for the spectators to follow, received it back and shot
for the goal. The ball dropped neatly through the basket, scoring two
points in Troop One Hundred Sixty-one’s favor.

Marjorie did not trust herself to look at her players during the
applause which followed, but added her own expression of appreciation
to that of the others. The trouble was entirely with her, she believed;
if she could only succeed in getting the jump, everything would be
different.

But she was no more fortunate the second time than the first, and the
ball took the same course down the floor. Its progress, however, was
halted this time by Sophia; with almost a superhuman effort she jumped
high into the air and intercepted the pass before the forward could
secure the ball. Instantly both Marjorie and Dot got free; Sophia chose
Dot as her recipient, the latter sent the ball straight into Stella’s
hands.

“Now for a goal!” thought Marjorie, her heart beating wildly. “Oh, if
it only does go in——”

But Stella’s shot missed its mark; Goldie obtained possession of the
ball, and tried also in vain; then the guards asserted themselves, and
took it away. With lightning rapidity, it passed down the floor to the
opponent’s basket.

Marjorie felt her knees actually shaking; there seemed to be no doubt
that the other team was superior, that they were going to beat them
by a big score. It was maddening to have to stand still and watch
her guards do all the work, but for several minutes the ball neither
came over the line nor went into the basket. Sophia and Stella were
certainly fighting courageously.

At last, however, the ball whizzed back to Dot, and passed on to the
other end of the floor, once again giving Goldie and Annie a chance to
shoot. But they found it no easy task. Without overguarding a sixteenth
of an inch, their opponents seemed able to prevent their making a clear
shot; finally Annie made use of her height, and aimed for a one-point
shot. The ball fell through the basket; the wild cheering that followed
seemed to tell them that now they were started, and nothing should
prevent their going on to victory.

The rest of her team resumed their positions with an unconscious air of
confidence, but Marjorie herself returned to her circle with the same
apprehension in her heart. They had scored, to be sure, but the other
team was ahead; worst of all, she had not yet outwitted her opponent in
the toss-up. As long as she failed at the jump, her own team would be
at an enormous disadvantage.

She made another valiant attempt, but failed again; her own team,
remembering their coach’s instructions, seemed suddenly, one and all,
to throw themselves into a defensive game. For seven minutes they
held their opponents without a single point being scored. Then, just
before the conclusion of the first half, one of the forwards made a
one-point shot. The whistle blew, leaving the score at 3–1, in Troop
One Sixty-one’s favor.

Marjorie’s whole team hurried immediately over to Jack, who was sitting
in a corner of the gymnasium. What, they all demanded in confusion,
must they do to conquer their opponents?

Jack looked from one to the other in silence, waiting for them to calm
down before he answered.

“Every girl is playing her position splendidly,” he said slowly, “with
the exception of the jumping-center.”

“I know it!” cried Marjorie with sincere humility.

“You’re playing wild, Sis,” he continued. “You haven’t landed the jump
once—and after the ball is in play the rest of the team can’t depend
on you. Poor little Dot is being overworked!”

“I don’t mind it!” exclaimed the latter, her eyes shining with
excitement.

“But that won’t do!” objected the coach. “Every girl has got to play
her position, if you want to win.”

“What can I do, Jack?” asked Marjorie desperately.

“Why, this is what I’m going to try: You know you used to be a pretty
good shot as a forward, so I’m going to move you up, and put Annie in
the center. She’s quick and tall; I believe that she can get the ball.”

“That’s a great idea!” exclaimed his sister, in obvious relief. She
believed that her own nervousness before each toss-up was actually
rendering her helpless. If this were removed, she might be able to get
into the game with her old time speed.

The coach took Annie aside and began to give her some further
instruction regarding her new position, while Marjorie dashed up to the
balcony to see Lily and John. To her amazement she found the latter
gone.

“Where is he?” she demanded instantly.

Lily smiled at her chum’s frank distress.

“He had to go on an errand,” she replied; “but he’ll be back. You’re
doing splendidly, Marj,” she added. “Do you feel all right?”

“Yes—yes, of course,” answered the other girl, who was on too great a
tension to know how she actually felt. Then she told Lily of the change
Jack was effecting for the second half.

“I know that you’re going to win!” Lily assured her gaily.

“Lil—has Mr. Richards gone, too?” inquired Marjorie, suddenly growing
suspicious lest something had happened.

“Yes, I believe he had some sort of work to do.”

“Seems funny,” muttered Marjorie. “I can’t understand John’s leaving,
since he never mentioned any engagement to me, or errand of any sort.
Well, I guess I better go practice shooting baskets till the whistle
blows.”

She went back to the floor, feeling something of her old confidence
returning. She was an experienced forward, having played the position
almost as often as that of center; moreover, she was sure that her aim
was good. The practicing, too, only served to confirm this assurance,
for time after time the ball fell through the basket. When the second
half was about to begin, she was all eagerness to try her skill.

The change which Jack had suggested proved his wisdom immediately;
at the very first toss-up, Annie tapped the ball right into her
side-center’s hands. Loyal little scout that she was, Dot was only
too anxious to give Marjorie a chance to make good, and selected her,
rather than Goldie, as the recipient of her pass. Marjorie jumped
higher than she had jumped in the center to catch it, and with perfect
sureness of aim, tossed it right into the basket. In less than a
minute’s time, Sunflower team had tied the score.

Marjorie’s joy knew no bounds; during the applause that followed, her
eyes sought John’s, but he was still absent; in Lily’s however, she
read encouragement and approval.

It was Cornflower Troop’s turn to play the defensive game, and with a
mighty effort they threw themselves into the task. But the advantage
remained with Marjorie’s players, for Annie Marshall continued to land
the jump.

Both teams were too strong on the defensive to allow their opponents
to run up high scores; nevertheless, slowly, but surely, Sunflower
steadily gained. Not only did Annie prove a better center than
Marjorie, but Marjorie proved a better forward than Annie. It was
almost a foregone conclusion that whenever she secured the ball she
would make a goal. At last the time was up; the whistle blew, and the
game was over. Troop Two Hundred had conquered their opponents by a
score of 16–7; the League championship was theirs.

Hardly waiting to congratulate her girls, Marjorie dashed off to find
John and Lily.

“It was marvellous!” cried her chum delightedly. “You make a wonderful
forward——”

“Lil, where’s John?” interrupted Marjorie, in perplexity.

“He had to go, dear,” replied Lily. “But Dick will take us home.”

“Thanks, but I guess Jack’s willing——”

“Jack had to hurry off, too; he just waved to me from the door.”

“Jack!” repeated Marjorie. “Why in the world? And Mr. Richards?”

“I told you before that he had to go.”

Marjorie seized Lily’s shoulder.

“Something’s wrong, Lil! I know it! Tell me quick! Is it Mother—or
Dad?”

“No, Marj—it’s—Queenie. But you mustn’t worry. The boys are going to
do whatever can be done.”

“What’s the matter with her?” demanded Marjorie, her face pale with
fatigue and alarm.

“We’re afraid she has eloped—or has run away to meet that man and
elope. But luckily John guessed something of the sort, and is going to
follow on her trail. I have every hope he’ll catch her.”

Marjorie dropped wearily into the seat behind her, too disheartened,
too tired for words. The League championship was forgotten; nothing
mattered now if Queenie was gone!




CHAPTER XXI.

THE PURSUIT.


When John Hadley came to the basket-ball game on Saturday, he brought
with him some illuminating facts about Sam MacDonald’s history for
Marjorie’s consideration. But the absence of Queenie Brazier from the
team decided him in favor of silence—for the time being at least.

It was after Marjorie had actually started to play that he concluded
that there might be a good reason for Queenie’s failure to put in an
appearance—a reason connected with the young man whose record he had
just traced, and which he had found to be so precarious. Without giving
much attention to the game, he went over the whole situation in his own
mind, deciding finally to take Mr. Richards into his confidence.

“I have found out about MacDonald—that friend of Queenie’s,” he
whispered to the scout-master, “and know that he isn’t any good. That’s
an assumed name—his real one is George Hinds—and he has served a term
in an Ohio prison.”

Mr. Richards, however, was inclined to give the man the benefit of the
doubt.

“Maybe he’s reformed—you couldn’t blame him for changing his name to
get a clean start,” he suggested.

“But he hasn’t made a clean start—that’s just the difficulty. They are
after him now for a contemptible crime—and they have his picture on
record at City Hall. That’s how I identified him.”

“They haven’t caught him, then?”

“No; he’s sneaked out of the city, of course. Now, what worries me,
naturally, is that he may have tried to lure Queenie after him. He does
that sort of thing.”

“Then we’ve got to locate Queenie!” cried Richards, alert for action.

“Yes, for even supposing he were honest in his desire to marry her,
he’s no sort of man for her to throw herself away on.”

“Obviously not. What shall we do first?”

“Go to the girl’s home. I’ll give Lily an inkling of the situation, and
get Queenie’s address. Marjorie mustn’t hear a word about it until the
game is over—then Lily can use her own discretion.”

“Right!” agreed the other, in admiration of John’s direct reasoning and
well calculated plan.

They lost no time in securing the desired information and hurried
off in John’s car to the girl’s home. If only they might find her
there—and thus end all their fears!

But Mrs. Brazier’s reply immediately dashed all their hopes to the
ground.

“Why no—she ain’t here. She left about half-past seven for the
basket-ball game,” the woman told them cheerfully. She identified Mr.
Richards by his uniform, for she had often heard her daughter speak of
him. “Did you look in on the game?”

“Perhaps she is there by now,” answered the scout-master, unwilling to
arouse the mother’s suspicions. “Did she carry a suit-case?”

“Yes, she always does—a bag for her shoes and bloomers. She must ’ave
went there, because I noticed the bag. I picks it up, and I says to
her, ‘It’s heavier than usual,’ and she says it had oranges in it—they
was goin’ to have eats after the game.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said John, drawing his own conclusions. “Well, I
guess she’s there by now. We’ll go back. Thank you, Mrs. Brazier.”

No sooner were they in the car than they both blurted out the same
solution.

“She’s going off to elope with Hinds!”

“Which station shall we go to first?” demanded Richards.

“The Pennsylvania—I think it’s most likely he’d strike out for the
west. Probably a Pittsburg train.”

“If we can only catch her in time!” cried the other. “Speed up, Hadley!”

“I’m feeding her to the limit, for the city traffic laws,” John assured
him. “And then some!”

They reached the station and dashed to the information booth. A local
for Pittsburg had just left, but there was an express due in fifteen
minutes.

“Think one of us better take that?” asked Richards.

“Seems sort of wild,” replied John. “Let’s search the station first.
You take the down-stairs, and the platform, and I’ll go upstairs.”

They separated; John going first to the Traveller’s Aid Agent, in the
hope that Queenie might have consulted her. After all the girl was very
young and inexperienced in travelling. In a few words he described the
girl to the woman, telling her that they feared she might have eloped
with a questionable man.

“I don’t recall any couple of that description during the last hour,”
she said.

“Oh, I don’t mean a _couple_—the girl was probably alone. The man is
not in the city, I’m sure of that.” Then he went on to give a minute
description of Queenie. Suddenly the woman recalled her.

“Yes—she did come ask me, about the difference between the local and
the express, and which she ought to take to get to Wilmington at nine
o’clock. I advised the express, but she didn’t want to wait around the
station, and took the local.”

“Wilmington!” repeated John. “So that’s where she went!”

“Yes; she showed me her ticket.”

John thanked her, and hurried off to the ticket booth. But the express
had already gone; there was not another train for over an hour.
Looking up, he saw Richards, still busily searching the station. He
called him over, and told him his news.

“The best thing we can do,” he said, “is to drive with all speed to
Wilmington, and catch her at the station, before she meets the man.
Luckily it’s a good road—we may be able to beat the train.”

In the meantime Marjorie and Lily had gone back to college, and
were making an attempt to sleep. So utterly weary was Marjorie that
her room-mate insisted upon undressing her, comforting her with the
assurance that all would be right on the morrow. For, she reminded her,
whenever Jack and John undertook anything, they succeeded.

The full reaction set in on Sunday; when Marjorie opened her eyes the
next morning she realized that something was vitally wrong with her.
Her head swam and her limbs ached; she wondered whether she could
ever summon sufficient courage to get up. The thought of food was
abhorrent to her; she absolutely refused to allow Lily to bring her any
breakfast, and turned back on her pillow again in despair.

Neither she nor her room-mate mentioned the name of Queenie, yet
Lily knew that in spite of her own aches and pains, Marjorie must
be worrying about her. It was only when Daisy Gravers came in to
congratulate her upon the winning of the championship, that the episode
was mentioned.

“What’s the matter, Marj?” inquired Daisy, with concern. “You ought to
be the happiest, gayest girl in the world, and instead you look all in.”

“I’m afraid that I over-did it,” replied Marjorie, sitting up in
bed, and wearily brushing her hair. “I had no business to play last
night——”

“Then why did you?”

“One of our girls didn’t show up, and we hadn’t any other substitute.
So I had to—or forfeit the game.”

“Why can’t those girls take responsibility?” exclaimed Daisy,
irritably. “You never seem able to count on them! What happened to
her—who was it?”

“Queenie Brazier,” Marjorie admitted, reluctantly. “I don’t know what
happened to her. We haven’t heard yet.”

“Well, I’m sorry that I ever got you into it, Marj, especially since
you’re so tired out. Please don’t go and get sick.”

“I don’t feel very well, but it isn’t your fault, Dais, or the Girl
Scouts, either. It’s just everything, all at once. But spring vacation
will be here a day after tomorrow!”

“Drop the old troop!” urged the other.

“The troop may drop me—for Queenie’s the leader, you know. And I’m not
sure just how secure my hold on the others would be without her.”

Against the advice of both girls, she insisted upon making the attempt
to dress. She had not progressed very far, when she was summoned to
the telephone in the hall.

“Let me answer for you, Marj!” begged Daisy.

“No—it might be about Queenie—I better go,” she said, slipping on her
kimona. “But you can come with me.”

She was correct in her surmise. “Sis, this is Jack,” came the welcome
voice over the wire. “John and Richards have succeeded in waylaying
Queenie. John is bringing her to college this afternoon. Can you look
after her?”

“Of course,” answered Marjorie, forgetting her own weakened condition
for the time being. “Is she all right?”

“Absolutely!” her brother assured her. “She’ll tell you the whole story
when she comes.”

“Thank heavens!” cried the girl leaning back upon Daisy. “Now I know I
will soon feel better.”

Obedient to Lily’s request she consented to go back to bed and to
attempt to eat some of the dinner which was brought to her on a tray
from the infirmary. At last Queenie arrived and, leaving John in his
car, came right up to Marjorie’s room.

Both Lily and Marjorie were startled at her appearance; never had
Queenie looked so pathetic, so crest-fallen, so utterly dejected.
Instinctively Marjorie forgot her anger, and felt only sympathy towards
the sufferer.

“Miss Wilkinson!” exclaimed the girl, bursting into tears as soon as
she was inside the door. “I’ve run away from home!”

“Sit down, Queenie,” said Marjorie, in a soft voice; “and tell us all
about it.”

“To begin with, I’m almost afraid to come to you, because I guess I got
in like a burglar when I stood you up at the big game.”

“We were rather put out about it,” Marjorie admitted. “But I supposed
there was some good reason——”

“There was. I was elopin’!”

Marjorie gasped; it was, then, as bad as she had feared. Although Lily
had told her of Queenie’s disappearance, she never mentioned the fact
that they thought she was joining MacDonald. But Marjorie had kept it
at the back of her mind, yet not caring to speak of it.

“But I take it that you didn’t succeed!”

“No, I didn’t—and I guess I was lucky at that. Just as I was steppin’
off the train at Wilmington, and lookin’ about for Sam—and by the way,
his name ain’t Sam at all—two men rushed up to me. Maybe I wasn’t
surprised to see Mr. Hadley and Mr. Richards!”

“But how did they know where to find you?” asked Marjorie incredulously.

“Search me! I never told anybody but Sam—and the ticket agent—wait, I
did ask the Traveller’s Aid woman a question—maybe they found out from
her.”

“Didn’t your mother know?”

Queenie laughed. “Much chance of me going if she’d found out!” she
remarked.

“But what about Mr. MacDonald—didn’t you meet him?”

“No; he must have given those men one look, and sneaked off in the
other direction. Then they told me about him being a criminal, and I
believed every word of it. You know I always had a soft spot in my
heart for Mr. Richards, and I’m sure Mr. Hadley wouldn’t tell anything
but the truth. So I just got into their car as they told me, and we
drove home.”

“What did your mother say?” asked Marjorie.

“What didn’t she say? The fellows didn’t go in, and I was just fool
enough to blurt out the whole song and dance. It might have been all
right, if Aunt Tillie hadn’t been in the room. It just seemed like she
couldn’t keep her hand out of the pie.”

“Did she scold you?”

Queenie’s eyes flashed with anger.

“She sure did butt in with her say. ‘The city’s no place for a wild ’un
like her,’ she says, lookin’ daggers at me. ‘But I tell you what ’ud
fix her—let me take her back to the country with me. I’ll keep her
away from the fellows!’”

“Then you can believe I flared up. ‘Be buried on that farm, in the
wilds of nowhere!’ I yells. ‘I should say not!’”

“Well, the family kep’ on arguin’ for a while, and at last I went to
bed. And today before they were up, I slipped out. I went straight to
Mr. Hadley—he gave me his address last night. His mother made me eat
a nice breakfast, and pretty soon your brother showed up. Then he said
he’d call you.”

She paused, hardly daring to look at Marjorie. She expected to receive
another scolding, milder perhaps than the one her parents had given her
but just as serious. But Marjorie merely asked her what she intended to
do.

“I don’t know—I only make ten dollars a week at my job, and there’s
not much chance of a raise. I’ll have to get along somehow till I can
get a better job.”

“Suppose you stay here until I go home,” suggested Marjorie, laying
her head wearily against the pillow, “and then go home with me for a
vacation. You can find a new position when you come back.”

“You really mean it, Miss Wilkinson?” cried Queenie, gratefully.

“Yes, of course. Now will you go down and tell Mr. Hadley that I’m
sick, and can’t see him. And ask him to stop and tell your mother
you’re with me for several days?”

Queenie obeyed immediately, thankful to find forgiveness so easily.




CHAPTER XXII.

QUEENIE’S CALLER.


Marjorie realized at last that her strength was completely exhausted;
she was only too willing to remain in bed, and to allow Lily to call up
her parents and inform them of her condition. She even promised to go
home as soon as her family sent for her.

A change came over Queenie as she grew fully aware of the seriousness
of Marjorie’s condition. Now that she herself was safe, her own
troubles were forgotten; all her anxiety was directed towards her
captain.

“Your father is going to drive out for you tomorrow, Marj,” Lily
informed her as she returned from the telephone booth. “And Miss Hawes
is coming right away to take you to the infirmary.”

“Then I can’t be with you?” asked Queenie, almost pathetically.

“I’m afraid not,” replied Lily. “But I’ll look out for you. I’ll take
you down to dinner with me tonight.”

“Oh, I couldn’t! I have nuthin’ to wear that’s decent. I’d disgrace you
sure!”

“Wear one of my dresses,” murmured Marjorie languidly as if the effort
to talk were too much for her.

Lily beckoned to her visitor to follow her out of the room.

“We won’t bother her, Queenie. I’m sure she’ll be all right if we leave
her alone.”

“I’m afraid she’s going to be sick!” wailed Queenie stifling her sobs.

All during dinner she was very quiet, as she sat beside Lily in
Marjorie’s demure little gray dress, no one would have thought her to
be any different from the college girls about her—only younger. Except
for a short walk after the meal was over, she remained in the girls’
sitting room all evening, anxiously awaiting news of her captain.

The next morning she learned to her relief that Marjorie was better,
that the fever with which she had been afflicted during the night had
subsided, and that the doctor thought it would be safe for her to go
home in a closed car. This news brought Queenie not only hope but
occupation; for the next hour she busied herself by packing Marjorie’s
things. At eleven o’clock the machine arrived.

In a few words Lily explained the situation about Queenie to Mrs.
Wilkinson, and the latter gladly consented to take her along. Then she
gave her attention to Marjorie.

The girl lay listlessly against her mother during the long ride, her
head pillowed on her shoulder, her eyes closed. Mrs. Wilkinson was
more worried than she would admit even to herself.

She found Queenie very useful when they reached home; the girl did not
spare herself in any way when she found that she could really help. She
knew, too, that Marjorie’s mother was grateful; as long as she could be
of service to her captain she was content.

Yet, after the patient had been put to bed, and a doctor summoned, she
found time suddenly very heavy on her hands. Jack was not at home; Mr.
and Mrs. Wilkinson were too pre-occupied to talk to her, and she began
to feel lonely. Dinner had been gloomy and tiring; she wondered how she
would get through the evening.

She tiptoed into Marjorie’s room, and sat down by her bedside. The sick
girl looked up and smiled, assuring her that she felt better.

“You ought to go out somewhere this evening, Queenie,” she whispered.
“Put on my violet-gray voile that you like so much, and go to the
movies.”

“Oh, Miss Wilkinson, I couldn’t enjoy a show with you home here sick!”
she protested.

“But if I insist?” asked Marjorie.

Before she could reply, Mrs. Wilkinson entered the room softly, making
sure that her daughter was awake before she ventured to speak.

“Mr. Richards is here, Marjorie, asking for you. I told him Queenie was
with you, and that she would come down if he liked. He seemed very
much pleased—so run along, dear. You need a change!”

“Why, I’d love to,” admitted Queenie, trying not to appear too eager.
“If—if—Miss Wilkinson wants me to.”

“By all means,” replied Marjorie. “And slip on my dress, Queenie—and
take my gray cloak, so you can go out if you want to.”

“Thanks ever so much!” said Queenie, stooping to kiss Marjorie’s finger
tips. “If anybody sees me, they’ll think it’s you—revived in short
order.”

Within five minutes she was down in the living room greeting her caller.

“Mrs. Wilkinson suggested that I come down and see you—if you can
stand me!” she blurted out.

Mr. Richards beamed; he had always admired Queenie’s frankness.

“Maybe that is the very reason I came,” he retorted. “You know I could
have inquired Miss Wilkinson’s condition over the telephone.”

The girl’s eyes lighted up with happiness; once more she was glad that
she had been rescued from her silly adventure. If she were to see more
of him—and of men like him——

But he was asking her to go to the movies.

“No, don’t let’s go yet,” she aroused herself to reply. “I want to talk
to you for a while——” She hesitated, as if she did not know exactly
how to begin. “It’s this, Mr. Richards: I sort of want to take a new
start. Your rescuing me from that lemon made me wake up. My, wasn’t it
funny the way Sam ran when he seen—saw—you two? Guilty conscience, I
bet!”

“We certainly were lucky to beat that train,” remarked the young man.
“Hadley’s a good driver.”

Queenie was silent for a moment; she wanted to express her gratitude
and yet she could not find the right words.

“I guess I’ll be thankful to you two for the rest of my life—and Miss
Wilkinson, too,” she said finally. “And there’s one thing I want to
ask, did you and Mr. Hadley think of it yourself, or did she put you up
to it?”

“No, we did. But the credit of most of it goes to Mr. Hadley.”

“But you were interested enough to help him. I wonder why?”

“Because,” answered the scout-master seriously, “I think you are too
fine a girl to waste her life on such a fellow as that man is. I
believe you could make something worth while of your life.”

“What?” demanded Queenie eagerly. “That’s just what I want to talk
about. You know I quit my old job, to come here with Miss Wilkinson.”

“What do you think you would like to do?” he inquired.

“I don’t know yet. But not sell stockings at a basement counter.”

“Would you like to study stenography?”

“I don’t think so. Clara Abrams is doin’ that—don’t let on to Miss
Wilkinson, for she’s plannin’ to surprise her when she lands her first
job—but it doesn’t look good to me. I’d like to do somethin’ with
people. I’m awful sociable.”

“Yet you don’t like selling?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Well, I’d like to think about it, if you are willing to take me on as
an advisor. I can keep my eyes open and try to hunt up something for
you.”

“Will you really?” Queenie beamed in appreciation.

“I will—if you’ll let me come to see you and tell you all about
anything I find.”

She blushed in genuine surprise.

“You mean you actually want to see me, when you could be spending your
time with girls like Miss Wilkinson?”

The young man laughed heartily.

“I can like you both, can’t I?” he suggested.

“Of course, unless you was—I mean were—plannin’ to go steady with
her.”

Again he laughed.

“I’m not planning to go steady as you say with anybody at present. I’m
too busy and too poor!”

Queenie looked at him timidly. “I want to ask you something,” she
faltered, “What would you say instead of ‘goin’ steady’ with a girl? It
seemed to strike you funny.”

“I guess I’d say ‘engaged’—become engaged, I mean. Why?”

“Because I want to get to talk like Miss Wilkinson—and you. Will you
correct me?”

“Certainly,” he agreed. Then, rising, “Now let’s go to a show—I think
you need an outing.”

“All right—only—one thing more. Will you make me out a list of books
to read?”

“Yes, I’ll send you one. I’ll write to you tomorrow. Now, run and get
your coat.”

He put the gray cloak around her shoulders and they descended the steps
together, arm in arm. At the same moment a car drew up in front of the
house, and its occupant gazed at the couple in amazement. Could it be
possible, thought John Hadley, that Marjorie was well enough to go out
with Walter Richards?

“There’s no reason why I should be angry,” he mused, “for she hadn’t
any engagement with me. But it does seem funny. Guess I’ll stop in and
ask about her, as if I hadn’t seen a thing.”

Stepping out of his car, he assumed an air of indifference as he
mounted the steps and rang the door-bell.

“Is Miss Marjorie in?” he asked of the maid.

“Yes, sir, but she’s ill,” came the surprising, the unbelievable reply,
for had he not just seen her, in her gray cloak and dress, that he
liked so well?

He forgot to say that he was sorry; he only bit his lip in chagrin.

“Will you come in?” invited the maid.

“Is Mr. Jack home?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I won’t come in, thank you,” he replied.

“Shall I tell Miss Marjorie that you called, Mr. Hadley?”

“Yes, I wish you would,” he answered grimly.




CHAPTER XXIII.

THE CRISIS.


Marjorie, however, did not hear of John’s visit the next day, for all
night long she tossed in a fever, and towards morning she relaxed into
a sort of stupor. The whole family were seriously alarmed; Jack was
sent for, and the physician summoned earlier than he was expected.

The man, an old friend of the family, re-examined her most thoroughly,
and noted the symptoms again. Mrs. Wilkinson watched anxiously at the
bedside, and Queenie, in the doorway, was very near to tears.

“Pleurisy!” he muttered finally. “I feared it yesterday.” Then he gave
Mrs. Wilkinson some directions, and went down stairs in search of her
husband. Stealthily Queenie followed, pausing in the hall, to hear if
possible the real verdict.

“It looks pretty serious to me, Wilkinson,” she heard the doctor say;
“Marjorie’s condition is poor—she is completely run down. I should
advise a nurse.”

Queenie stifled a sob, not only at the gravity of her illness, but at
the idea of bringing in some one strange to do for her what Queenie
herself longed to do. If she were only a nurse!

“Certainly—by all means,” Mr. Wilkinson was saying. “Will you arrange
for it, Doctor?”

“Yes; I’ll get the most capable one I know of—and hope to have her
here by noon. In the meantime, Mrs. Wilkinson has directions.”

Queenie could restrain herself no longer; she burst into the room and
took hold of the doctor’s coat lapels.

“You—you don’t think that she will die, do you?” she blurted out
hysterically.

“Oh, no,” answered the doctor gravely; “she has a good chance. Marjorie
has always been healthy.”

“It’s her first real sickness since childhood,” supplied Mr. Wilkinson,
with an effort towards cheerfulness. “And that ought to help.”

“No doubt it will,” came the doctor’s reassuring reply.

“But please tell me what I can do!” begged the girl tremulously.

“Just whatever Mrs. Wilkinson tells you,” answered the physician. “And
try to keep your spirits up,” he added, as he picked up his case.

After he had gone, Queenie looked desperately at Mr. Wilkinson, and
repeated her question.

“Well, I should think that you could wait on Mrs. Wilkinson, as the
doctor said, and answer the telephone when friends inquire about
Marjorie, and write notes if she receives flowers, and help with the
housework and marketing——”

“Oh, I can! I’m sure I can!” she cried, in relief to find that she
could actually be of some service.

The hours dragged wearily by; Marjorie almost a ghost of her former
self, lay on the bed, motionless and almost lifeless while the hideous
disease worked its calamity in her system. Queenie tiptoed in and out
of the room at Mrs. Wilkinson’s call, but Marjorie was totally unaware
of her presence. At noon the nurse, a splendidly capable young woman,
arrived and relieved the tired mother, who consented to go to bed.
Queenie was thankful to go out and do the marketing; for a while at
least she would be too busy to think.

Early in the evening Mr. Richards came to inquire after Marjorie, and,
seeing how tired and nervous Queenie was, offered to take her out for
a ride in the car. Queenie assented indifferently, unable to find much
interest in anything.

“Isn’t she the least bit better?” he asked, as they started. “Not the
tiniest bit?”

“No,” returned Queenie dismally. “If anything, she’s worse. The
doctor’s afraid of pneumonia now. A night-nurse is coming on to-morrow.”

“I wish that I could do something,” said Mr. Richards.

To his amazement, Queenie suddenly burst out crying.

“That’s the dreadful thing, Mr. Richards—_we_ can’t do anything!
Those strange nurses, who mean nothing to her, can do everything, and
all we can do is sit back and hope. Oh, it makes me feel terrible!
Suppose she dies!—I can’t help thinkin’ of all the mean things I’ve
done to her, and said to her—Oh!—Oh!——” Suddenly she drooped her
head upon the back of the seat and sobbed miserably.

“Don’t—please don’t take it so hard, little girl,” the young man
pleaded, surprised and affected by the depth of the girl’s feeling. “I
don’t think Miss Wilkinson ever thinks of anything like that.”

“Yes, yes, she must!” Queenie protested. “The first night she saw us we
were so awful, made fun of her, and laughed at her—and then that hike,
when we picked up those fellows—Gee! How I wish I’d never seen them!
And then the time I left her in the lurch at the game on account of
that worthless Sam MacDonald and forced her to play! Oh, Mr. Richards,
do you s’pose that’s what made her sick? If it’s my fault—and she
dies——” She ended in another volley of weeping.

Mr. Richards slowed down and laid a sympathetic hand upon her shoulder.

“Please don’t blame yourself so, Queenie,” he said softly. “Of course
it wasn’t your fault. And you were young and thoughtless then—and
didn’t know any better. Now you’re a young woman—and a very admirable
young woman; Miss Wilkinson must be proud and happy to know how
splendidly you have developed. Six months ago you didn’t have the
capacity to feel in this way. And surely your captain isn’t going to
die; she’s going to live, and rejoice in your friendship. Your duty is
not to dwell on the past, and what you have been but to think of what
you can still do to make her proud of you!”

Queenie grew calmer at these reassuring words and the sympathetic
manner and sat up and dried her eyes. At that moment, Mr. Richards
seemed like the most wonderful man in the world to her.

“I’m going to live in that belief,” she announced resolutely. “Now
drive me home, so that I can write some notes to the scouts. All of the
girls in the troop will want to hear just how Miss Wilkinson is.”

“All right, and I’ll help you if I may,” he rejoined. “I can drop your
notes into the post office tonight.”

As soon as he was gone she crept noiselessly to bed—half happy and
half sad. This new friendship seemed wonderful to her, yet if she was
to have it at the cost of Marjorie’s illness, it was not worth it.

The next day brought little change in the patient’s condition. Flowers
and notes and messages continued to arrive, but Marjorie was oblivious
to all that was going on. Queenie took charge of everything, and
presently fell into a routine of duties which at least kept her calm.

To her surprise, however, she found no word from John Hadley, no
expression of concern from the one person who she expected would be
most solicitous. This seemed so strange to her that she mentioned the
fact to Jack at dinner, and he replied that he had heard that he had
gone out of town.

“But he knows she is sick,” continued Queenie; “because I told him the
day he brought me to college.”

“I believe he was here that first night to inquire,” remarked Jack.
“Are you sure he hasn’t telephoned?”

“Not when I was at home,” answered the girl.

The day nurse entered the room softly and stood in the doorway, a mute
appeal in her eyes. Mrs. Wilkinson rose anxiously.

“I’m afraid Miss Marjorie’s worse,” she whispered. “I think we had
better call the doctor—and suggest a consultation. I expect the crisis
tonight.”

“Oh!” gasped Queenie, choking over the food she had put into her mouth,
but with a great effort summoning her control. She had already learned
the necessity of self-restraint.

Mr. Wilkinson went to the telephone, and Mrs. Wilkinson returned to the
sick room with the nurse. Queenie turned to her supper and tried to eat.

In half an hour the doctors were there, and the young people retired
to the library, to await the result of the consultation. The minutes
dragged by; neither Jack nor Queenie made any attempt to talk; both sat
listlessly staring at the newspapers in their hands, without making
any pretense at reading them. At last the doctors left, but it was some
time before they could get any information.

Finally the nurse came down to telephone a prescription and Jack seized
upon her eagerly.

“We don’t know anything more,” she replied quietly; “only that if your
sister lives through tonight, she is likely to get well.”

Jack swallowed hard and Queenie began to sob.

“Do—you expect her to?” he finally managed to inquire.

“We hope so,” was the unassuring reply. “She is asleep now, under a
drug. When she wakens up——”

“About what time?” demanded Queenie.

“Probably about midnight. The doctor is coming back to spend the night
here.”

Queenie watched the nurse go back to the sick room and she sat still,
pondering.

“I tell you what I’m going to do, Jack,” she said slowly: “I’m going
to bed now and set my alarm for about two o’clock.” She began to weep
again. “Oh, Jack! She must live!”

“Sure—she’s going to!” he managed to say, with forced cheerfulness.

Queenie went sound asleep the minute her head touched the pillow,
fortified by the belief that she would be awake at the crucial moment.
But so tired was she from the exhaustion and strain of the last three
or four days, that she slept more soundly than she had expected. The
alarm went off unheeded; it was not until the morning sun streamed into
the room that she finally opened her eyes. Then she jumped up in horror
and remorse at her error. Suppose—suppose—that Marjorie had died!

She rushed out into the hall, flinging a kimona around her shoulders as
she went, and almost bumped into Mrs. Wilkinson in the passageway. The
mother’s face was haggard, but a great look of peace flooded it.

“Tell me! Tell me!” whispered the girl, clutching her arm.

“The crisis is past—and Marjorie’s alive!” replied Mrs. Wilkinson.
“But so weak! She spoke once to me—calling ‘Mother,’ but she doesn’t
seem to know anybody else.”

“Thank God!” breathed Queenie devoutly.

She went back into her room, and dressed. A deep feeling of
thankfulness filled her heart; she made tremendous resolves as she went
about her task, pledging herself to a veritable life of service. She
would do anything, anything at all, that Marjorie asked, in the future.

The morning brought many visitors, inquiring for the sick girl, and
many boxes of flowers. Queenie received them all, happier than she had
ever been in her life before.

In the evening Mr. Richards came again, and took her for a ride. To
him, too, she seemed like a totally different girl.

“You are ready to think about your own future now?” he asked, smiling
at her gaiety.

“I guess so—when I’m sure Miss Wilkinson’s better. Oh, Mr. Richards,
do you think she will be able to graduate?”

“I should think so. Spring vacation isn’t over yet—she really hasn’t
been ill long.”

“No, it only seems long.”

Again he made an effort to induce Queenie to talk about herself.

“I have something in mind for you, Queenie,” he said. “Are you
interested?”

“Yes, if it will wait until next week. I have a lot to do here, now.”

He saw that it was indeed useless, for when they returned to the house,
they found that the night nurse had been called away and Queenie was
swift to offer her services.

“Please try me tonight, Mrs. Wilkinson!” she urged. “I’ll be ever so
careful!”

“You are sure you want to?” asked the mother. “I will sleep in the next
room, and the day nurse on the other side.”

“Oh, yes, please!” She put her whole soul into her pleading.

“All right then—and promise to call me if anything happens.”

“I promise!” breathed Queenie, thankful to be considered so
responsible.




CHAPTER XXIV.

QUEENIE’S DAY OFF.


The bright morning sunlight streamed into Marjorie’s room, as she sat
up in bed, a week later, finishing her dainty breakfast, and watching
expectantly for Queenie. The girl’s first visit in the morning was the
most pleasant event of her quiet days during her convalescence; Queenie
always seemed radiant as she entered, bearing interesting news of the
outside world.

This morning she ran up the stairs two steps at a time, her hands
filled with letters and flowers. Darting over to the bed, she piled
them all on top of Marjorie, while she stooped over to kiss her hair.

“Just look how much everybody loves you, Cap!” she exclaimed. “I think
there must be a dozen letters—and two new boxes of flowers!”

Marjorie’s eyes shone with happiness; it was worth while to be ill, to
find out how much every one cared.

“You open the flowers, Queenie,” she said, “and I’ll begin on the
letters. Let’s go slowly—I like to make them last as long as I can.”

“Maybe you’ll have some real visitors today,” observed the younger
girl. “The doctor said you might have two, you know.”

“I wonder,” mused Marjorie. She was thinking of John, and trying to
understand why he had sent no message.

“Which two would you choose, if you could have anybody you wanted,
Cap?” ventured Queenie.

“Lil, of course, first of all!” she answered emphatically.

“Lilies of the valley from her!” cried Queenie, delighted at the
coincidence of the donor’s name with the flowers she had just opened.
“Why, she sends you flowers every other day, doesn’t she?”

“I guess she has—even when I was too ill to realize it. Her roses are
still fresh.”

Marjorie turned to her mail, and read three lively letters from college
friends. Then she could restrain her curiosity no longer concerning the
other box of flowers.

“It’s a man’s card,” observed Queenie, as she handed Marjorie the tiny
envelope accompanying a huge bunch of snapdragon. “I can tell by the
shape.”

Marjorie’s fingers trembled as she pulled open the flap; but upon
reading the name a sharp look of disappointment spread over her
countenance.

“Walter Richards,” she repeated mechanically. “How very nice.”

Queenie raised her eyes quickly, recalling her own jealousy on a former
occasion when she had thought the scout master infatuated with her
pretty captain. But there could be no doubt now that if the young man
did entertain any such hopes, they would not be encouraged. Marjorie
could not conceal her disappointment.

“Now read the rest of your letters,” Queenie advised her tenderly.

“They’re all from college girls,” she said, “except one—from Ethel
Todd, one of our old scouts. I recognize their handwriting.”

Queenie busied herself with the flowers, changing the water in the old
ones, filling other vases for the new bouquets that had just arrived.
When she had finished, Marjorie tossed her letters aside and settled
back in her pillows.

“Queenie, here’s one for you—I found it under the quilt,” she
remarked. “Looks like a man’s handwriting!”

The girl blushed and took the letter with feigned indifference.

“It’s from Mr. Richards,” she said calmly. “He often sends me lists of
books—and things like that.”

“Oh, I see!” nodded the other girl, restraining a smile.

Queenie opened the letter deliberately, but as she started to read it,
a look of happiness crept over her face.

“He wants me to meet him in town tomorrow,” she announced, as she read
on, “and take lunch with him—and—and——Miss Wilkinson, may I go?”

“You certainly may! And what’s more, you can pick out the best looking
suit and hat I own to wear! Why, it’ll be almost like going out myself
to have my clothes get an airing.”

Queenie threw her arms about Marjorie, overcome by her sense of
gratitude.

“I don’t deserve that you should be so good to me, Cap! I
don’t—really!”

“You certainly do! Nobody needs a holiday more than you. Just look how
you sat up with me those nights after the night nurse was called away!
I want you to go and have the best time ever!”

For the next half hour both girls thoroughly enjoyed themselves while
Queenie tried on all of Marjorie’s street costumes. At last they both
agreed upon a trim little dark blue serge, made with straight lines and
a cunning taffeta toque to match.

“I’m going to pull the hat way down over my eyes,” she remarked, “and
see if I can fool any of your friends, if I meet them. It would be such
fun to have somebody rush up and kiss me, and call me ‘Marjorie.’”

“You flatter me, Queenie. You know I’m a lot older than you.”

“But you don’t look it!” flashed the other immediately.

She was not to leave for the city until the eleven o’clock train the
following morning, so the girls had plenty of time for their hour
together after breakfast. Queenie had a share in the excitement this
time, for the florist’s messenger brought her a box of flowers in
addition to Marjorie’s gifts.

“Violets!” she exclaimed, “from Mr. Richards. He wants me to wear them
today.”

Marjorie looked on a trifle enviously; she was missing her violets more
each day. For somehow, with her, violets were always associated with
John Hadley.

Queenie was off at last, looking sweeter than Marjorie had ever seen
her look. Perhaps the girl herself was aware of it, or perhaps it was
merely the beauty of the April day and the flowers in her belt; but
whatever it was she smiled quietly to herself all the way into the
city. She found Mr. Richards on the platform, watching for her amid the
stream of people that poured out of the suburban train.

“My, it’s good to see you!” he cried recognizing her from a distance by
the violets, rather than by her general appearance. “You didn’t breathe
a word of it to Miss Wilkinson?”

“Not a word—though I almost made a slip the very first thing. I was
reading your letter in her room, and told her you wanted to meet me in
town—and I almost told her why!”

“You’re sure you didn’t?” he inquired, searchingly. Like most men he
did not believe that girls could keep secrets.

“No—honor bright! Besides, it may all come to nothing. And I wouldn’t
want to disappoint Miss Wilkinson.”

“I think it’s going to pan out all right,” the young man replied with
assurance. “Your consent was all that was needed and since you think
you’ll like it——”

“Sh!” warned Queenie. “Don’t even let’s talk about it in public, till
it’s a sure thing. We might see somebody we know.”

They were making their way along a crowded street now, so crowded
that Richards felt obliged to take Queenie’s arm, to keep from being
separated. Neither had been paying much attention to the passers-by,
but hardly were the words out of the girl’s mouth, than they came face
to face with John Hadley!

“Marjor—I beg your pardon,” he stammered, realizing his mistake, “I am
very sorry, but I thought——”

Queenie’s laugh rang out clearly, in spite of the publicity of the
place.

“Mr. Hadley!” she exclaimed, seizing his hand, and dragging him aside
from the crowd. “It’s Miss Wilkinson’s clothes, that’s why you thought
it was her. But now I’ve got you, I want to ask you why you’ve been
such a quitter? You, of all people!”

John tried to be angry, but he felt his resentment melting at the
girl’s earnestness.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“What do I mean? Miss Wilkinson at death’s door, so hundreds of her
friends were telephonin’ and sendin’ flowers day and night, and not
even the price of a two-cent stamp would you spend to find out how she
was! Even if you had been mad at her, common decency ought to have made
you ask after her, when she’s been that sick!”

In spite of the force of her words, Queenie kept her voice lowered,
so soft, indeed, that Mr. Richards did not catch the portent of the
conversation. Instead of being angry now, John was intensely alarmed.
Had Marjorie really been ill, then, and he had not taken the trouble
to find out! His face turned deathly pale at the thought of what might
have happened.

It was his turn to clutch Queenie’s arm.

“Is she all right now? Tell me quick, Queenie!”

“She’s sitting up in bed,” replied the girl stiffly. “But far from
well.”

“Do you suppose I could see her?”

“Yes, if your ‘business’ lets you,” she replied sarcastically. “I
understand it took you out of town the very day she was the worst!”

“I didn’t know it. I swear I didn’t!”

“But you called at the house the night before—and the hired girl told
you.”

“I didn’t believe her,” John admitted sheepishly. “I was sure I saw her
go out with—Richards.”

The corners of Queenie’s mouth drooped in a smirk, as she suddenly
understood the cause of John’s absence. He must have mistaken her for
Marjorie, the night that she wore her gray dress and cloak! In a word
she explained the situation.

“But you’re a big boob, just the same, Mr. Hadley, and you ought to be
ashamed of yourself for havin’ so little faith. Now run along, and make
up for lost time. We got a date ourselves.”

They hurried off to their mysterious engagement, which resulted
entirely to their satisfaction, and proceeded leisurely to a hotel
for luncheon. They lingered over it as long as they could, Richards
expressing his regret that he could not devote the rest of the
afternoon to Queenie’s amusement.

“You’ve done enough for me today, Mr. Richards,” she replied
appreciatively. “It’s been the happiest day of my life.”

“You deserve it,” he returned, “you spent a good part of it in making
three other people happy.”

“Three?” she repeated in perplexity.

“John Hadley, Marjorie Wilkinson—and——” he helped her into the
train—“and me!”

The next moment he had disappeared.




CHAPTER XXV.

CONCLUSION.


Another week had passed by, and Marjorie was to be allowed to come
down stairs for dinner. Gradually she was growing stronger; the color
was returning to her cheeks, the vivacity to her voice. Perhaps it was
John’s visit, with its apologies and explanations that had given her a
renewed interest in life, or perhaps it was the bunch of violets that
arrived each day from the florist, or the letter that came punctually
with each morning’s mail. At any rate, it seemed so to Queenie,
for the very day after her trip to the city, the doctor pronounced
Marjorie able to get up for a while, and to repeat this program for
an increasing length of time each day, until he considered her strong
enough to go down stairs. The added exertion seemed not to hurt her in
the least; indeed, after three days he agreed that the nurse’s services
were no longer necessary.

All this time Queenie had safely guarded her secret, going about her
duties with a smile on her lips and a suppressed light in her eyes.
Half the pleasure would be lost if she divulged it before the appointed
moment.

Marjorie, however, was not too deeply engrossed in her own affairs to
notice that Queenie was unusually happy, and she longed to be able to
share her joy with her. Once or twice she ventured to ask her about
it, but Queenie had only laughed, and replied that it was only because
Marjorie was getting better that she felt like dancing with every step.

On the very morning that Marjorie was to celebrate her recovery by a
little dinner party down stairs, she made one more attempt to fathom
the younger girl’s secret.

“Queenie,” she began, as she folded John’s letter and replaced it in
the envelope, “You’re keeping something from me. Please tell me! You’re
not engaged, or anything, are you?”

The other girl burst out laughing.

“Miss Wilkinson! Of course I’m not! Why, who would I be engaged to?
You know I haven’t seen any of my old fellows—or heard from them,
either——”

“Well, you might be engaged to Jack, or Mr. Richards. You’ve certainly
seen a good deal of both of them.”

“You can put your mind at rest on that point, Cap! Neither one has
asked me—and I wouldn’t have them if they did. I’m not ready to get
married yet—I’m mighty thankful to be single. Besides—don’t forget
I’m only seventeen!”

“Yes, I know—and I’m glad you feel that way about it. You’re much too
young.”

“I know it,” answered Queenie decisively. “Besides—I’ve got other
plans.”

“What, Queenie?” demanded Marjorie eagerly, believing that she was
getting at the reason at last. “Did you go and get a job?”

“I’m not tellin’ yet. My job is right here—till you’re well enough to
go back to college.”

“Yes, but what then?” asked Marjorie anxiously. “I meant to help you to
find something during spring vacation, and here I went and got sick.”

“Don’t you bother your head about that, Miss Wilkinson. I’ll be all
right.”

“Will you go back home? Have you heard from your mother?”

“Yes, I’ve heard from her and she’s still pretty mad, but she says I
can come back whenever I want and she won’t send me off to Aunt Tillie.
But I’m not goin’ to stay—maybe once in a while to visit.”

“Where are you going to live, then?” persisted Marjorie. “Not at some
cheap room——”

“Oh, no! But really you needn’t worry, Cap. Your mother has invited me
to stay here till I get settled, and I promise you I will if you don’t
approve of where I will be living. Now, your mother wants you please
to tell me what you’d most rather have for dinner tonight. It’s your
party, you know.”

“Anything but chicken,” returned Marjorie laughingly. “I’m so tired of
chicken broth, and spring chicken, that I feel as if I never wanted to
taste another. Let’s see. Roast beef, I guess—and a real fancy salad!”

“Ice cream and birthday cake for dessert?” concluded Queenie.

“Birthday cake? It isn’t my birthday!”

“It’s just like it, though.”

It seemed indeed to Marjorie that Queenie’s words were true, for all
day long she continued to be treated as if it were her birthday. Her
wishes were consulted upon every detail of the dinner, and her comfort
looked out for. She received more flowers than she usually did on her
real birthday, and, when John Hadley arrived just before dinner, he
capped the climax by presenting her with a tiny jeweler’s box.

“Marjorie,” he began, “I ventured to bring you a pin—a friendship pin,
in honor of the occasion. Will you accept it?”

“Of course I will, John!” she replied radiantly, taking the box and
opening it. It was a narrow circle, bordered on both edges with the
finest, the daintiest, carving.

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, pinning it upon her dress. “And,” she
added softly, “I will always wear it.”

Before the young man could express just how much this promise meant to
him, Lily and Dick entered the room. The former had been out to see
Marjorie several times during her illness, but not since college had
re-opened, and she had a great deal to tell her.

“When are you really coming back, Marj?” she inquired finally, as they
went into the dining room. “I’ll die of loneliness if you don’t come
soon.”

“I don’t know,” replied her roommate, casting meek glances at Queenie
and her mother. “Those two are such tyrants.”

“The last day of April, I believe—if she is strong enough,” answered
Mrs. Wilkinson for her, with a sidelong look at Queenie.

“Yes, that’s right,” nodded the younger girl.

“I’m beginning to be worried about my lessons—the classes I’m
missing,” said Marjorie. “And my troop, too. But Queenie says that will
be all right——”

“Yes, she and I will take care of that, won’t we, Queenie?” Lily
assured her.

“But suppose the girls are all scattered by this time—it’s been so
long——”

“You’ll see them soon, Miss Wilkinson,” put in Queenie, with another
meaning glance at her captain’s mother. “Just mark my words.”

“Yes, I think so,” smiled the older woman.

Marjorie shrugged her shoulders, and turned to John in the hope of
gaining some explanation of the mysterious messages that seemed to be
flashing between Queenie and her mother, but was not rewarded with any
information. So she gave it up, and entered light heartedly into the
joyousness of the occasion.

When they had finished the salad course, Mrs. Wilkinson surprised
Marjorie by announcing that dessert would be served in the living room.

“How funny, Mother!” commented Marjorie. “I know it’s quite the thing
to serve coffee in another room, but I never heard of doing it with
dessert. Has that become the fashion, since I was sick?”

“We’re starting the fashion tonight!” came the joking reply. “You lead
the way, Marjorie.”

“But it’s all dark!” she exclaimed as she peeped through the curtains.

“Oh, so it is! Jack, run and make a light!”

He flashed on the electricity; to Marjorie’s amazement she beheld her
whole scout troop, with the exception of Queenie, standing to receive
her. An exclamation of delight and surprise burst from her lips; but
before she could say anything Stella stepped forward and presented her
with a huge bunch of American Beauty roses.

“Oh, this is wonderful!” she cried, sinking limply into the nearest
chair. “I never had such a thrill in all my life!”

The maids began to bring in the ice cream and cake and after a minute
or two of questions and explanations, the party proceeded more calmly.
It was only after Mr. Richards’ arrival, a little later, that the real
surprises began.

Queenie took charge of the ceremony. She began by rising and saluting
her captain, in real scout fashion.

“Captain Wilkinson,” she said, “this was a little surprise party that
your mother and I planned for you tonight, and I hope the shock won’t
be too much for you, because a bigger one yet is comin’. But you seem
pretty strong now, so I guess you’ll survive.”

Marjorie’s eyes shone with anticipation; Queenie was always doing
something unusual, something delightful.

“Well,” she continued, “you said tonight at dinner you were afraid
we might not stick to you, and be scouts. We’re here tonight to tell
you we’re goin’ to, and by way of showin’ our colors, we want to tell
you just how serious we are. We all have our little story. Clara, you
first!”

All eyes immediately shifted to the girl in question, but undaunted,
she followed her cue.

“I’ve been studyin’ stenography, and I’ve landed a job with the
Curtis’. It was scouts started me thinkin’ about my old job, and not
bein’ satisfied.”

“Good work!” approved Marjorie with a genuine pleasure.

“You next, Stella and Annie.”

“Miss Wilkinson knows we’re takin’ up swimmin’ at the Y. W.”, answered
Stella for both of them, “but she don’t know we’ve been takin’ the
normal course. And we’ve been appointed swimmin’ teachers at a girls’
camp for the summer.”

“Great!” exclaimed Marjorie absolutely bewildered by the actual
realization of her own dreams for her scouts. “I certainly do
congratulate you both!”

“And of course you know Dot and the twins are makin’ good at school,”
added Queenie, “and Aggie always was a plugger.” She paid no attention
to the giggles that greeted this last remark, but proceeded right on to
her climax—the thing, as she told Mr. Richards, “that would knock Miss
Wilkinson’s eye out.”

“And now about my job—and why you won’t need to worry about our scout
troop—at least if I make good. You know I’m so sociable I always said
I wished I could get a job where I’d meet a lot of people in a social
way, and Mr. Richards has found me one. I start in May first as Miss
Winthrop’s assistant at the community house!”

“Miss Winthrop’s assistant!” Marjorie repeated, almost unable to
believe her ears. “Why, Queenie, that is marvellous!”

“I think so, too,” agreed the girl. “I’m to have charge of the girls’
clubs, under her direction, and have my mornings off to study. So
naturally, Troop Two Hundred will get the choicest care!”

Marjorie leaned back in her chair, pressing her roses to her face, and
letting her eyes wander from one scout to another, and finally to John.
At last she heaved a sigh of content.

“This,” she whispered so low that hardly any one could hear her, “is
the happiest day of my life!”

But Queenie and John, on either side of her, heard and understood—and
smiled.


THE END.




Transcriber’s Note:

The Contents was added by the transcriber. Punctuation has been
standardised. Hyphenation has been retained as published in the
original book.

Known changes have been made as follows:

  Title page
    THT GIRL SCOUTS’ CAPTAIN _changed to_
    THE GIRL SCOUTS’ CAPTAIN

  Page 29
    They don’t phase me _changed to_
    They don’t faze me

  Page 30
    a great sheath of wheat _changed to_
    a great sheaf of wheat

  Page 52
    But girls, you musn’t bank _changed to_
    But girls, you mustn’t bank

  Page 57
    talk with wrapt attention _changed to_
    talk with rapt attention

  Page 62
    the futilty of her effort _changed to_
    the futility of her effort

  Page 78
    the later added _changed to_
    the latter added

  Page 86
    muttered Lily, signficantly _changed to_
    muttered Lily, significantly

  Page 96
    I’ll play you back _changed to_
    I’ll pay you back

  Page 99
    that there in a small _changed to_
    that there is a small

  Page 100
    have to qualify, ahd pass _changed to_
    have to qualify, and pass

  Page 104
    A brand new occurance _changed to_
    A brand new occurrence

  Page 137
    at im yet _changed to_
    at him yet

  Page 139
    as he lead the conversation _changed to_
    as he led the conversation

  Page 141
    So just drop us anyhere _changed to_
    So just drop us anywhere

  Page 156
    it would be a pleasant occurrance _changed to_
    it would be a pleasant occurrence

  Page 161
    and by Chritsmas _changed to_
    and by Christmas

  Page 162
    if it had been May instead of Deecmber _changed to_
    if it had been May instead of December

  Page 162
    a solitaire in a filagree platinum _changed to_
    a solitaire in a filigree platinum

  Page 166
    were married and liver near _changed to_
    were married and lived near

  Page 180
    some and not far all _changed to_
    some and not for all

  Page 192
    with the agilty of a tigress _changed to_
    with the agility of a tigress

  Page 194
    with the same apprenhension _changed to_
    with the same apprehension

  Page 227
    Lillies of the valley from her _changed to_
    Lilies of the valley from her

  Page 241
    unable to believe here ears _changed to_
    unable to believe her ears

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 64315 ***