Marjorie Dean, High School Junior Part 6

"Why is it so necessary?"

"Because I must believe one of two things," was Marjorie's grave response. "I must have the truth. I won't be kept in the dark about it.

Either you only pretended to play secretary as a rather peculiar joke, or else you did it purposely because--" She hesitated, half ashamed to accuse the other of dishonesty.

"What will you do if I say I did it on purpose?" tantalized Rowena. "Go to your Miss Archer, I suppose, with a great tale about me. I understand that is one of your little pastimes. Now listen to me, and remember what I say. You think I was prying into those examination papers, don't you?"

"I'd rather not think so." Marjorie raised an honest, appealing glance to meet the mocking gleam of Rowena's black eyes.

"Who cares what _you_ think? You are a goody-goody, and I never saw one yet that I'd walk across the street with. Whatever I want, I always get.

Remember that, too. If your dear Miss Archer hadn't been called to another part of the building, I might never have had a chance to read over those examinations. She went away in a hurry and left me sitting in the office. Naturally, as her desk was open, I took a look to see what there was to see. I wasn't afraid of any subject but algebra. I'm n. g.

in that. So I was pretty lucky to get a chance to read over the examination. I knew right away by the questions that it was the one I'd have to try.

"My father promised me a pearl necklace if I'd pa.s.s all my tests for the soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s. Of course I wanted to win it. That quadratic problem counted thirty credits. It meant that without it I'd stand no chance to pa.s.s algebra. I couldn't do it, and I was in despair when you came into the office. If you hadn't been so stupid as to take me for Miss Archer's secretary and hadn't said you were a junior, I'd have let you alone.

That secretary idea wasn't bad, though. It sent those other girls about their business. I thought _you_ could do that problem if _I_ couldn't.

It's a good thing you did. I copied it in examination this afternoon and I know it's right," she ended triumphantly.

Sheer amazement of the girl's bold confession rendered Marjorie silent.

Never in all her life had she met a girl like Rowena Farnham. Her calm admittance to what Marjorie had suspected was unbelievable. And she appeared to feel no shame for her dishonesty. She gloried in it. Finding her voice at last, the astounded and dismayed interviewer said with brave firmness: "I can't look at this so lightly, Miss Farnham. It wasn't fair in you to deceive me into doing a thing like that."

"What's done can't be undone," quoted Rowena, seemingly undisturbed by the reproof. "You are as deep in the mud as I am in the mire. You helped me, you know."

"I will not be included in such dishonesty." Marjorie sprang angrily to her feet and faced Rowena. "If Miss Archer knew this she would not accept your algebra paper. She might not wish to accept you as a pupil, either. I hoped when I came here this afternoon that everything would turn out all right, after all. I hoped that paper might not be the algebra test you were to have. I don't wish to tell Miss Archer, yet it's not fair to either of us that you should masquerade under false colors. You have put me in a very hard position."

It was now Rowena who grew angry. During the interview she had remained standing, looking down on the girl in the chair with amused contempt.

Marjorie's flash of resentment unleashed a temper that had ever been the despair of Rowena's father and mother. Her dark eyes glowed like live coals, her tall, slender body shook with fury. "If you dare go to Miss Archer with what I've told you, I'll put you in a much harder position.

I'll make you lose every friend you have in school. I know all about you. You've bullied and snubbed poor Mignon La Salle and made her lose _her_ friends. But you can't bully or threaten or snub me. I didn't want to come to Sanford to live. It's nothing but a little, silly country town. I didn't want to go to your old school. My father and mother make me go. My father doesn't believe in select boarding schools, so I have to make the best of it. If I pa.s.s my examinations into the soph.o.m.ore cla.s.s I'll make it my business to see that I get whatever I take a notion to have. You can't stop me. I've always done as I pleased at home and I'll do as I please in school. If you tell Miss Archer about this morning, I'll see that you get more blame than I. Don't forget that, either."

Marjorie felt as though she had been caught in a pelting rain of hail-stones. Yet the furious flow of vituperation which beat down upon her did not in the least intimidate her. "I am not afraid of anything you may do or say," she returned, a staunch little figure of dignified scorn. "I came to see you in all good faith, willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Now that I understand exactly how you feel about this affair, I won't trouble you further. Good afternoon."

"Stop! What are you going to do?" called Rowena. Marjorie had already pa.s.sed into the hall. "You've got to tell me before you leave this house." She darted after her steadily retreating caller, cheeks flaming.

At the outer door, Marjorie paused briefly, her hand on the dead latch.

"I said 'good afternoon,'" was her sole response. Then she let herself out and walked proudly away from the house of inhospitality, oblivious to the torrent of hot words which the irate Rowena shrieked after her from the veranda.

CHAPTER VI-A QUESTION OF SCHOOL-GIRL HONOR

"I've something to report, Captain." Marjorie entered her mother's room and dropped dispiritedly at her feet. Unpinning her flower-decked hat, she removed it with a jerk and let it slide to the floor.

"Well, dear, what is it?" Mrs. Dean cast a half anxious look at her daughter. The long strip of pink crochet work, destined to become part of an afghan for Marjorie's "house" dropped from her hands. Reaching down she gave the dejected curly head at her knee a rea.s.suring pat.

"What has happened to spoil my little girl's second day at school?"

Marjorie flashed an upward glance at her mother that spoke volumes.

"I've had a horrid time to-day," she answered. "Last year, when things didn't go right, I kept some of them to myself. This year I'm going to tell you everything." Her voice quivering with indignation at the calamity that had overtaken her unawares, she related the disturbing events that had so recently transpired. "I don't know what to do," she ended. "Do you think I ought to go to Miss Archer and tell her everything?"

"That is a leading question, Lieutenant." Mrs. Dean continued a sympathetic smoothing of Marjorie's curls. "It is one thing to confess one's own faults; it is quite another to make public the faults of someone else. It is hardly fair to Miss Archer to allow this girl to profit by her own dishonesty. It is not fair to the girl herself. If she is allowed to pursue, unchecked, a course which will eventually lead to a great dishonesty, then you would be in a measure responsible. On the other hand, I abhor a talebearer. I can't decide at once what you ought to do. I shall have to think it over and give you my answer later. Your rights must be considered also. You were an innocent party to a despicable act, therefore I do not believe that you owe the author of it any special loyalty. I am not sure but that I ought to go to Miss Archer myself about it. You have suffered a good deal, since you began going to Sanford High School, through Mignon La Salle. I do not propose that this new girl shall spoil your junior year for you. Come to me to-morrow at this time and I will have made up my mind what is best for you. I am glad you told me this."

"So am I," sighed Marjorie. "I know that whatever you decide will be best for me, Captain. I am not afraid for myself. It's only that I hate to make trouble for this girl, even though she deserves it. You see it may mean a good deal to her father and mother to have her get along well in school. She said her father wouldn't let her go away to boarding school. That sounds as though he wanted her to be at home where he could look after her."

"That must also be considered," agreed Mrs. Dean. "Now don't worry about this affair any more. I am sure we shall find the wisest way out of it for everyone concerned. You had better run along now and get ready for dinner. It's almost half past six."

Marjorie reached for her discarded hat. Scrambling to her feet she embraced her mother and went to her room, infinitely cheered. As she left the room, Mrs. Dean sent after her a glance freighted with motherly protection. She had no sympathy for a girl such as Marjorie had described Rowena Farnham to be, and she uttered a mental prayer of thankfulness that her own daughter was above reproach.

No further mention of the affair was made between mother and daughter that evening. Nevertheless, Marjorie went to school the next morning in a far from buoyant mood. She had been wakened by a reverberating roll of thunder, followed by the furious beating of rain against her windows. A true child of sunshine, the steady tapping of the heavy drops filled her with a dread sense of oppression which she could not shake off.

By noon, however, it had pa.s.sed away with the storm. When she went home to luncheon the sun was high in the sky. The rain-washed streets were rapidly succ.u.mbing to his warm smile. Only a puddle here and there, or a shower of silver drops from a breeze-shaken tree remained to remind her of the morning deluge.

Returning from luncheon, she had hardly gained her seat when Miss Merton stalked down the aisle to her desk. "Report to Miss Archer at once, Miss Dean," she commanded in her most disagreeable manner.

Marjorie's thoughts immediately flew to yesterday. Was it possible that Rowena Farnham had gone to the princ.i.p.al of her own volition? It was hardly to be credited. Remembering her mother's note, Marjorie jumped to the conclusion that this was the most probable reason for the summons.

"Good afternoon, Marjorie," greeted Miss Archer from her desk, as the pretty junior appeared in the doorway. "Come here, my dear. I have something rather unusual to show you." She motioned Marjorie to draw up a chair beside her own. "I wonder if you can throw any light upon this."

"This" was an open letter, which she now tendered to the puzzled girl.

Marjorie read:

"Miss Archer:

"Yesterday morning, at a little after eleven o'clock, Marjorie Dean and a girl with red hair and black eyes, whose name I do not know, meddled with the examination papers on your desk while you were in another part of the building. Marjorie Dean showed the girl how to do one of the examination problems in algebra. This I know because I heard them talking about it and saw them have the list of questions.

Such dishonesty is a disgrace to Sanford High School.

"The Observer."

Marjorie allowed the letter to fall from her nerveless hands. She felt herself grow hot and cold as she forced herself to meet Miss Archer's intent scrutiny. Yet she said nothing. Only her brown eyes sent forth agonized signals of distress.

Noting her strange demeanor, Miss Archer's pleasant face hardened. Was Marjorie Dean really guilty of such dishonor? If innocent, why did she not hotly proclaim the fact? "I am waiting for you to explain the meaning of this note, Marjorie," she reminded sternly. "Can you do so?"

"Yes," came the low monosyllable.

"Then do so at once," crisply ordered the princ.i.p.al.

Marjorie drew a long breath. "I can't explain my part of it without bringing in someone else," she faltered.

"You mean Miss Farnham, I suppose?"

Marjorie hesitated, then nodded. It appeared that Miss Archer had already put two and two together.

"I happen to know that Miss Farnham is the only one who could possibly answer to the description this letter gives," continued Miss Archer impatiently. "She was also the only one to be interested in the papers on my desk. I sent for you first, however, because I wished to give you a chance to explain how you happened to figure in this affair. I have always had a great deal of faith in you, Marjorie. I do not wish to lose that faith. Now I must insist on knowing exactly what occurred here yesterday morning. Did you or did you not a.s.sist Miss Farnham in solving a problem in algebra, which she culled from the examination paper in that subject?"

"Miss Archer," Marjorie said earnestly, "I did help Miss Farnham with that problem, but I had no idea that she was trying to do anything so dishonorable. It all came about through a mistake. I'd rather she would explain that part of it. The reason I happened to be in this office was because of the note my mother asked me to bring you. Miss Farnham was here when I came in. While I sat waiting for you she asked me to help her with that problem. I solved it for her and she took it and went away. I waited a little longer, then left the office."

Miss Archer's stern features gradually relaxed as Marjorie made this straightforward account of her own actions. The princ.i.p.al noted, however, that she had revealed considerably less regarding the other girl. "That is a somewhat indefinite statement," she said slowly. "You have not been frank as to Miss Farnham. You are keeping something back.

You must tell me all. I prefer to know the absolute facts from you before sending for the other party to this affair."

"Please don't ask me to tell you, Miss Archer," pleaded Marjorie. "I'd rather not."