Marjorie Dean Part 19

The game had been set for half past two o'clock, but long before that hour the gallery audience of Sanford School girls, with a fair sprinkling of boys from Weston High, had begun to arrive. Opinion was divided as to the prospective winners. Marjorie's team boasted of seasoned players, whose work on the field was well known. Mignon had not been so fortunate. Neither Daisy Griggs nor Anne Easton had played basket ball, previous to the opening of the season. But Mignon herself was counted a powerful adversary. The sympathy of the boys lay for the most part with Marjorie's squad. The Weston High lads were decidedly partial to the pretty, brown-eyed girl, whose modest, gracious ways had soon won their boyish approbation. Among the girls, however, Mignon could count on fairly strong support.

As it was a practice game no special preparations in the way of songs or the wearing of contestants' colors had been observed. That would come later, on Thanksgiving Day. But excitement ran higher than usual in the audience, for it had been whispered about that it was to be "some game."

"It's twenty-five after, children," informed Jerry Macy, who, with Irma Linton and Constance Stevens, had been accorded the privilege of invading the dressing room of Marjorie's team. Jerry had elected to become a safety deposit vault for a miscellaneous collection of pins, rings, neck chains and other simple jewelry dear to the heart of the school girl. Marjorie's bracelet watch adorned one plump wrist, while her own ornamented the other.

"Look out, Jerry, or you'll make yourself cross-eyed trying to tell time by both those watches at once," giggled Susan Atwell.

"Don't you believe it," was Jerry's good-humored retort. "They're both right to the minute."

"Remember, girls, that we've just _got_ to win," counseled Marjorie fervently. "Keep your heads, and don't let a single thing get by you.

We've practiced our signals until I'm sure you all know them perfectly."

"We'll win fast enough, if certain persons play fairly," nodded Muriel Harding, "but look out for Mignon."

A shrill blast from the referee's whistle followed Muriel's warning. It called them to action.

The next instant five black and scarlet figures flashed forth onto the gymnasium floor to meet the gray-clad quintette that advanced from the opposite side of the room.

United cheering from the gallery const.i.tuents of both teams rent the air. The contestants acknowledged the applause and ran to their stations. A significant silence fell as the referee poised the ball for the opening toss. Mignon La Salle's black eyes were fastened upon it with almost savage intensity. She leaped like a cat for it as it left the referee's hands. Again the screech of the whistle sounded. The game had begun.

It was Marjorie who won the toss-up, however. She had been just a shade quicker than Mignon. Now she sent the ball flying toward Susan Atwell with a sure aim that made the onlookers gasp with admiration. Before the gray-clad girls could comprehend just how it had all happened, their opponents had scored. But this was only the beginning of things. Buoyant over their initial gain, the black and scarlet girls played as though inspired and soon the score stood 8 to 0 in their favor.

Mignon La Salle was furious at the unexpected turn matters had taken.

Her players, of whom she had expected wonders, were behaving like dummies. They had evidently forgotten her fierce exhortations to fight their way to victory regardless of expense. Well, she would soon show them their work. It did not take her long to put her resolve into execution. Joining a wild rush for the ball, which Harriet Delaney was valiantly trying to throw to basket, Mignon made good her word. Just what happened to her Harriet could not say. She knew only that a sly, tripping foot, unseen in the turmoil, sent her cras.h.i.+ng to the floor, while the ball pa.s.sed into the enemy's keeping, and they scored.

Inspired by the sweetness of success, Mignon's "dummies" awoke and carried out the instructions, so often impressed upon them in secret by their unscrupulous leader, in a series of plays that for sly roughness had never been equalled by any other team that had elected to take the floor in that gymnasium. Yet so cleverly did they execute them that beyond an occasional foul they managed to elude the supposedly-watchful eyes of the referee, an upper cla.s.s friend of the French girl's, and rapidly piled up their score.

When the whistle called the end of the first half it found the score 10-8 in favor of the grays. It also found a quintet of enraged black-clad girls, nursing sundry bruises and vows of vengeance.

"It's a burning shame!" cried Susan Atwell, the moment the teams had reached the safety of their dressing room. "I won't stand it. My ankle hurts so where some one kicked it that I thought I couldn't finish the first half. And poor Harriet! You must have taken an awful fall."

"I did." Harriet Delaney was half crying.

Muriel Harding's dark eyes were snapping with rage and injury. She was nursing a sc.r.a.ped elbow, which she had received in the melee. "I'm going straight to Miss Archer," she threatened. "I won't play the second half with such dishonorable girls. That Miss Dutton, the referee, must know something of the rough way they are playing. But _she_ is a friend of Mignon's. I don't care much if Miss Archer forbids basket ball for the rest of the season. I'd rather have it that way than be carried off the floor, a wreck. I'm going now to find her. She's up in her office. Jerry saw her just before she came to the gym. Didn't you, Jerry?" She turned to the stout girl, who had just entered. At the beginning of the game, Jerry, Constance and Irma had hurried to the gallery to watch it.

Seasoned fans, they had observed the playing with critical eyes that saw much. The instant the first half was over, they had descended to their friends with precipitate haste.

"Yes, she's in her office." Jerry had appeared in time to hear Muriel's tirade. "I think I _would_ go to her, if I were you, Muriel. Those girls are a disgrace to Sanford."

"Let's all go," proposed Harriet Delaney, wrathfully. "I'd rather do that than stay and be murdered."

Marjorie stood regarding her players with brooding eyes. She smiled faintly at Harriet's vehement utterance. "Girls," she said in a clear, resolute voice, "I told you this morning that if anything like this happened I'd go straight to Mignon and have an understanding. I'm going.

I wish you to go with me, though. I have a reason for it." She walked determinedly to the door.

"What are you going to say to them, Marjorie?" demanded Muriel. "You might as well save your breath. They'll only laugh at you. Miss Archer is the person to go to."

"Not yet." Marjorie shook her head in gentle contradiction. "Please let me try my way, Muriel. If it doesn't work, then I promise you that I'll go with you to Miss Archer. Oh, yes. I wish you all to stand by me, but don't say a word unless I ask you to. Will you trust me?" She glanced wistfully at her little flock.

"Go ahead," ordered Muriel shortly. "We'll stand by you. Won't we, girls?"

Three heads nodded on emphatic a.s.sent.

"All right. Come on. We haven't much time left. How many minutes, Jerry?"

"Eight," replied the stout girl. "Can Irma and Connie and I come, too?"

"No. I'd rather you wouldn't."

"We'll forgive you. Now beat it." Although Jerry was earnestly endeavoring to eliminate slang from her vocabulary, she could not resist this forceful advice.

"Suppose we go around through the corridor and use that side door nearest Mignon's dressing room," suggested Marjorie. "Then we won't be noticed. I'd rather we weren't. This is really private, you know."

Four black and scarlet figures gloomily followed their leader. There were two doors to each dressing room. One led into the gymnasium, which was situated in a wing of the school, the other led into the corridor.

Through the half-open door of Mignon's dressing room the sound of exultant voices reached the advancing squad. She stood with her back toward them.

"We were a little too much for them." Mignon's boasting tones brought fresh resentment to her injured opponents. "I told you that----"

"Miss La Salle!" Marjorie's stern voice caused the French girl to whirl about. "We heard what you were saying. We came over here to notify you that we do not intend to play the second half of the game with you unless you give us your promise to play fairly and without unnecessary roughness."

Mignon's black eyes blazed. "What do you mean by stealing into our room and listening to our private conversation?" she demanded pa.s.sionately.

Marjorie faced the furious girl with calm, contemptuous eyes. Before their steady gaze, Mignon quailed a trifle.

"We did not _steal_ into your room. If you had not been so busy boasting over your own unfairness you could have heard our approach. However, that doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is this. Come here, Muriel." She beckoned Muriel to her side. "Show Miss La Salle your elbow," she commanded.

Muriel rolled back her loose sleeve and showed the raw, red spot on her soft, white arm.

Mignon laughed sarcastically and shrugged her scorn of the injury. "You can't be a baby and play basket ball," she jeered.

"Neither can you behave like a savage and expect it to pa.s.s unnoticed--by at least a few persons," retorted Marjorie. She was fighting hard to control the rush of temper which this heartless girl always brought to the surface. "Harriet was badly shaken up, because someone purposely tripped her. Some one else kicked Susan on the ankle.

It is too much. We won't endure it. Now I give you fair warning, if any girl of my squad is handled roughly during the next half she intends to call a halt in the game. The rest of us will then leave the floor and go to Miss Archer's office. Think it over. That's all."

Marjorie turned on her heel. Without so much as a glance toward the discomfited girls of Mignon's team, she walked from the room, followed by her silently obedient train.

"Well, _what_ do you think of that?" gasped Louise Selden. Nevertheless, she had had the grace to turn very red during Marjorie's stern arraignment.

Mignon turned savagely upon the abashed members of her squad. "If you pay any attention to _her_, you are all _babies_," she hissed. "You are to play the second half just as I told you. Don't let that priggish Dean girl scare you. _She_ wouldn't go to Miss Archer. She knows better than that."

"You're wrong, Mignon. She meant every word she said." Daisy Griggs'

ruddy face had grown suddenly pale. "_I'm_ going to be pretty careful how I play the rest of this game."

"So am I," echoed Elizabeth Meredith. "If Miss Dean went to Miss Archer it would raise a regular riot."

Anne Easton and Louise Selden nodded in solemn agreement with Daisy's bold stand. In her heart each of them stood convicted of unworthiness.

The righteous gleam of Marjorie's clear eyes had made them feel most uncomfortable.

"You're cowards, every one of you," burst forth Mignon, her dark face distorted with rage, "and if----"

"T-r-r-ill!" The referee's whistle was summoning them to the game.