Marjorie Dean High School Senior Part 17

There was one person, however, who had not been pleasantly impressed by Veronica's dancing. Mignon La Salle was enraged beyond measure at the triumph of "that servant girl." Her own solo, as usual a difficult French song which few present had understood and could therefore only mildly appreciate, had been received with a far lesser degree of enthusiasm than she had confidently expected. She blamed Marjorie Dean, who had helped Laurie arrange the program, for placing her song so near to the end of the revue. She was also furious with Jerry Macy. The stout girl had calmly refused to place the lemonade bowl in one of the booths, explaining that, as it in itself was a feature, its present position would not be bettered by moving it to a booth.

Completely out of sorts with the world in general, Mignon cherished a lawless desire to swoop down upon the big cut gla.s.s lemonade bowl, overturn it, send it crashing to the floor and fling the cups that surrounded it, after it. Her second thought was to go to Jerry, refuse to become a purveyor of lemonade and shake the dust of the Armory from her disdainful feet. Crafty reflection whispered to her that this course would be folly. Jerry would take her at her word and show little sorrow at being thus deprived of her services. It behooved her to hit upon some new method of retaliation which would doubly repay these hateful girls for the fancied wrongs she had suffered at their hands. She vowed that before the third and last evening of the bazaar had ended she would find a way to do it.

CHAPTER XVII-CHOOSING A VICTIM

The military maneuvers by the Sanford Guards over, the well-pleased spectators made an orderly rush for the big drill floor, there to take more active part in the Campfire. Opening as it did on a national holiday, everyone was in high good humor and willing to spend money. The s.p.a.ce reserved for the dancing had been roped in, leaving a good-sized aisle all the way around the Armory between the ropes and the booths.

There was no room on the lower floor for chairs, but the gallery offered a vantage point to those who preferred to become onlookers of the dancing rather than take part in it.

That it had been a highly profitable evening became evident to the Lookouts, when just before midnight they happily viewed their depleted booths and fell to counting their gains. Everything had progressed with unrivaled smoothness. Even Mignon's black eyes glistened as she counted the wealth of nickels and small silver which had accrued from the despised lemonade bowl. She had taken in almost thirty dollars and plumed herself accordingly. Jerry had been right in her calculation as to the best place for the lemonade. Far from admitting it, Mignon merely felt increasing bitterness toward Jerry.

Busy Jerry was quite unaware of Mignon's dark sentiments toward herself.

Had she known of them, they would have caused her small anxiety. She was too blissfully elated over the success of the Campfire to do anything but rejoice loudly as she moved from booth to booth, a good-sized cash box in hand, to collect the evening's profits.

"It's a howling success," she caroled joyously, as she entered the candy booth. Seated on a high stool Marjorie was too much absorbed in the counting of little piles of money, from notes to pennies, to do more than nod emphatically to this triumphant salutation.

"I believe almost everyone who was here to-night bought a box of candy,"

she said solemnly as she finished with a heap of nickels and marked down the amount they made on a slip of paper. "We've taken in--" She hurriedly calculated the joint receipts. "Would you believe it? I have one hundred and two dollars here. If we keep on like this we won't have enough candy to last us over to-morrow night."

"It's pretty much the same in all the booths. You folks are quite a little ahead of the others, though. You're the original candy kid, Marjorie. That's not slang. It's a compliment."

"It sounds like both," laughed Marjorie. "Wasn't the revue fine, Jerry?

Did you ever before see anyone dance like Ronny. She's a marvel. Not that I liked her dancing a bit better than Connie's singing," she added loyally, "but it was so entirely different from anything we've ever had at a show. She told me to-night that she made up both those dances herself."

"She gets curiouser and curiouser," commented Jerry. "One who didn't know could never be made to believe that such a gorgeous person was working her way through high school. What puzzles me most is where-- I guess I won't say it. I'm a Lookout."

"I know what you mean. I thought of it, too. It's her own affair. We mustn't discuss it, or her, either." Marjorie was equally bent on loyalty.

"There's something I've just got to say, though," declared Jerry.

"Mignon behaved a lot better about the lemonade bowl than I thought. She asked me to change the location of it. Of course I said 'no.' She looked pretty stormy for a minute, then she said, 'Have it your own way,' and walked off, shrugging her shoulders. I expected she'd make a fuss, and for once she gave me a pleasant surprise. I hope she behaves like a reasonable human being during the other two nights of the Campfire."

It was on Marjorie's tongue to relate to Jerry what Mignon had said in the dressing room. Considering it in the light of gossip she refrained from repeating it. She hastened to agree with Jerry that she also hoped for the best regarding Mignon and let the subject drop.

Friday saw the Lookouts and the Guards early at the Armory, hard at work preparing for the rush they trusted that evening would bring. There was much to be done and they spent the day in indefatigable toil, going home only long enough to s.n.a.t.c.h a hasty luncheon before returning to their tasks. The program of the revue was to remain the same save for a change of songs on the part of the vocalists. There were to be no addresses, however, as on the opening night.

Their painstaking preparations were again rewarded by a crowd of pleasure seekers almost as large as that of the previous evening. Again everything slid gaily along as though on invisible wheels. Midnight again ushered in the counting of large gains. Sat.u.r.day proved an equally busy day. The youthful promoters of the Campfire were troubled only by the alarming possibility that their wares were sure to give out long before the evening was over. They decided wisely to sell out every last article of which the merchant booths boasted and let the dancing and amus.e.m.e.nt booths do the rest.

Despite the work of the Campfire, the day nursery received its afternoon quota of two Lookouts. It was an obligation which had to be met, Campfire or no Campfire. Even Mignon La Salle, when asked if she would do duty Sat.u.r.day afternoon, acquiesced without a murmur, taking care to inquire of Irma Linton, however, before committing herself, as to who would be her partner in the enterprise. Her thoughts centered on the Campfire, Irma had consulted her book and replied absently, "Lucy Warner." Nor did she note the peculiar gleam in the French girl's eyes as she answered suavely, "Very well, you may count on me to go with her."

The opportunity to hold a heart-to-heart talk with Lucy was something for which Mignon had been vainly watching ever since the Hallowe'en party. Due to Marjorie Dean's discreet counsel, Lucy had not given the French girl the slightest conversational opening. She had surrounded herself with a wall of icy reserve which Mignon had found impregnable.

She was, therefore, secretly jubilant over the unexpected manner in which Fortune had favored her. It was late Friday evening when Irma had informed her of it and Lucy had already gone home. Irma had explained to Mignon that it was really Jerry's turn to go to the nursery, but owing to her many duties at the Campfire she had asked for a subst.i.tute.

This accorded even better with Mignon's plans. There was every possibility that Lucy would know nothing of the subst.i.tution until it would be too late to protest against it. Jerry, herself, was yet to be reckoned with, however. Irma would undoubtedly inform Jerry that she, Mignon, was to take her place. If Jerry took the trouble to inquire who was to accompany Mignon she would promptly veto Lucy's going. Yet there was a fighting chance that busy Jerry might forget to ask this question.

Mignon hoped that she would. She also decided, that she would not put in an appearance at the Armory on Sat.u.r.day before going to the nursery. She would telephone Irma in the morning that she could not go there before night, but would be on hand at the nursery for her detail.

There are times when Fortune apparently leans kindly toward the unworthy. In the long run, however, she generally deserts these wrong-doers, leaving them to flounder miserably in the meshes of the nets they have heartlessly set for others. For the time being, at least, she had chosen to favor Mignon. Owing to a number of important letters Lucy Warner had promised to write for Miss Archer, she had also arranged to be away from the Armory until Sat.u.r.day evening. She had planned to go directly from the office to the day nursery, where she confidently expected Jerry to meet her.

As for Jerry, she had thankfully received Irma's promise to supply a subst.i.tute and inquired no further into the matter. Had Marjorie or Constance known of the arrangement Irma had innocently made, it would have been changed. Caught up in the whirl of the Campfire, neither of them remembered to question Irma regarding who was to do duty at the nursery on Sat.u.r.day. Thus for Mignon the field was miraculously cleared of impediments.

When, at four o'clock, Lucy entered the playroom of the nursery, her amazement can be better imagined than described. Instead of seeing good-natured Jerry Macy, her displeased eyes rested on Mignon La Salle.

Bored indifference written on her sharp features, the French girl lounged in a chair in a corner of the playroom, apparently with no intent toward making herself useful. Strangely enough she was now the only person in the room.

"h.e.l.lo, Lucy," she drawled. "You don't seem pleased to see me."

"I'm not," snapped Lucy. "Where is Jerry Macy? _She_ is to be on duty with me this afternoon."

Mignon merely shrugged her shoulders by way of an answer.

"Where is she?" repeated Lucy, her brows knitting in their ready scowl.

"She won't be here. Irma asked me to take her place. Any objections?"

"I am willing to abide by Irma's decision." It cost Lucy severe effort to make this reply. "As you are to take Jerry's place, suppose we start at once to amuse the children. By the way, where _are_ they?"

"Out in the back yard. I sent them there and told that stupid maid to look after them. They made too much noise. I couldn't stand it."

"It's too cold for them to be out." With a swift, reproachful glance toward indolent Mignon, Lucy hurried to the back yard to attend to her charges. Five minutes later she had hustled them into the playroom, a shivering little band, and started a romping, childish game, calculated to undo any bad effects which might otherwise result from Mignon's neglect.

Realizing that she could expect no help from the French girl, Lucy ignored her and entered energetically into her work. A lover of children, it was a pleasure to make them happy. One baby game followed another until the twilight shadows began to thicken. Finally marshaling them to their chairs at the table, she took her place among them and told them fairy tales in a simple, lively fashion that quite enthralled them.

Through it all, Mignon made no move to a.s.sist her. She simply sat still, a smile of mocking amus.e.m.e.nt on her thin lips. Lucy Warner had found her own level, was her uncharitable thought. As a mere n.o.body, she was quite at home with these grubby, slum waifs. Undoubtedly Lucy was furious with her for not helping entertain these beggars. Nevertheless, she was quite sure that angry or not Lucy would listen to what she intended, presently, to say. Six o'clock would mark the end of the detestable session. Then-Mignon's smile grew more malevolent as she noted that the wall clock pointed to five minutes before six.

As it rang out the hour, the matron entered the kitchen. "You'd better go now, Miss Lucy," she said kindly. "I know you have to be at the Armory by half past seven. The mothers of these babies will soon be coming for them. I'll look after them till then."

"Thank you, Mrs. Taggart." Lucy rose amid a chorus of hearty protest from her charges. "Dood-bye," and "Tum aden soon, nice lady," greeted her from all sides.

"I will," she promised, nodding gaily toward her small worshippers.

Without glancing at Mignon she turned to the oak settle on which she had laid her wraps and began to put them on. She was, indeed, deeply incensed against Mignon. Should she or should she not inform Jerry Macy of Mignon's lack of co-operation? She hardly knew what to do about it.

On one point she was quite determined. She would not walk home with the French girl. She would bid her a cool "good night" and hurry from the house.

Mignon was of a different opinion. Seeing Lucy engaged in donning her wraps, she lazily rose. Pettishly brushing aside a youngster who had toddled up to her and clutched a fold of her gown, she hastily slipped on her fur coat-she had not removed her hat-and hurried after Lucy. The latter had already delivered her curt farewell and was out on the veranda before Mignon overtook her.

"Wait a minute," commanded Mignon. "I have something to tell you that you _must_ listen to. You'll understand that I mean well, the moment you hear it. It's a shame for you to be so deceived by Marjorie Dean. She--"

"I won't listen to you." Lucy's smoldering anger flashed into instant flame. "You can't make me believe anything hateful of Marjorie. You are only trying to make trouble." Discretion overcome by wrath she continued heatedly, "Marjorie herself warned me not to take your gossip seriously.

She knew that--"

"I'd tell you certain things she has said about you to me," sneered Mignon.

"Certain things? What do you mean?" Lucy's too-suspicious nature now sprang to the fore. This was the second time that Mignon had insinuated that Marjorie had gossiped about her.

"After all, what's the use of telling you?" Mignon craftily changed her tactics with a view toward whetting Lucy's morbid curiosity. "You'll go straight to Marjorie Dean with them. She will deny them, of course. Then you will be down on me more than ever."

"If you can tell me anything that will actually prove to me that Marjorie Dean is not my friend, I promise you faithfully never to go to her with it." Lucy spoke with hurt intensity. "If she has been deceitful with me, as you insist that she has, I will never willingly speak to her again. But I am sure she is honorable and loyal. I can't believe otherwise," she ended with a quick, sobbing breath.