Marjorie Dean High School Senior Part 2

"How did she happen to come here, I wonder?" mused Jerry. "You said, Marjorie, that she said she'd lived in the state of California. I suppose she must have stayed with Miss Archer's relatives and worked her way through the first three years of high school while she lived with them."

"I suppose so," agreed Marjorie. As she answered Jerry it suddenly flashed across her that during their talk Veronica had, after all, revealed very little about herself. Her att.i.tude had been toward concealment rather than revelation.

"She'll probably tell us more about herself when we get better acquainted with her," suggested gentle Irma.

"If she doesn't, then Jerry will have to take the trail and find out,"

teased Muriel Harding.

"I can--" Jerry stopped speaking as her glance met Marjorie's. In the latter's brown eyes lurked a mute protest against Muriel's proposal. No one read it there except shrewd Jerry. The abrupt halt in her speech signified her respect for it.

"You can do what?" asked Harriet Delaney, laughing.

"I can mind my own business," evaded Jerry with a broad smile at Muriel which robbed her brusque comment of any implied rebuke. "Let Veronica Browning give out her own information. If I'm going to trail anyone, I choose to shadow Mignon and see that she doesn't make things hard for this new girl."

"Let us all solemnly agree to stand by her," proposed Marjorie impulsively. "By that I don't mean that we are to forget our promise to Mignon's father. We must try somehow to help them both."

After her chums had left her at her own gate, she wondered rather soberly as she went slowly up the walk to the house, how the difficult measure she had so strongly advocated could be carried out.

CHAPTER III-MISSING: A LETTER

When Marjorie returned to school that afternoon, her eyes widened in startled surprise as they became riveted on a square white envelope on her desk addressed to herself. For an instant her heart sank. Then she laughed softly, under her breath, as she recalled that although the script was unmistakably that of the Observer, she now had no need to dread it. The Observer had been laid to rest on a certain snowy afternoon of last winter. This note was from Lucy Warner, her friend.

Opening it, a quick light of pleasure dawned in her face as she read:

"Dear Marjorie:

"How can I ever thank you enough for what you have done for me? Miss Archer sent for me to come to her office this morning and, of course, you know why. I was so surprised and delighted. To be her secretary is a great honor, I think. Then, too, the salary, which is ten dollars a week, will help mother and me so much. I have almost enough credits now to graduate, for I have always carried six studies and taken the special reading courses, too. Now I am going to take only two studies each term. That will give me almost all my time free for secretarial work. I am going to rent a typewriting machine and study stenography by myself, so I shall soon be ready to do Miss Archer's work in creditable fashion.

"Although I've never said a word to anyone about it, I have always wished for the position I now have. One reason, of course, is the salary; the other the experience. When school closes I can take an office position in Sanford, and by working hard save a little money toward some day going to college. It will take a long time, but I am determined to do it. If I can earn enough money to pay my tuition fees, then perhaps I can obtain secretarial work in whatever college I decide to go to. I only wish I had a chance to try for a scholarship.

Doesn't it seem strange that Sanford High School doesn't offer at least one? Perhaps if it did, I could not win it, so there is no use in sighing over it.

"I hope you won't be bored over this long letter. I know it has nothing in it but my own affairs, but, somehow, since that winter day when you forgave me for having been the hateful Observer I feel very near to you, and I wish you to know my ambitions for the future. You are so splendid and honorable that I know I can freely trust you with my confidence. Mother and I would be very pleased to have you come home from school with me some evening soon and take supper with us.

"Gratefully, your friend, "Lucy Warner."

Marjorie experienced a delightful glow of satisfaction as she finished the letter. How glad she was that Lucy and she now understood each other so fully, and what a clever girl Lucy was. Marjorie was lost in admiration of the quiet little senior's brilliancy as a student. She wished she could help make Lucy's dream of going to college come true as soon as her high school days were over. She knew that Lucy was too proud and sensitive to accept from anyone the money to continue her education.

Yet Marjorie determined then that if ever she could become the means of helping to realize the other girl's ambition, she would be happy.

A tender little smile lingered on her lips as she returned the letter to its envelope and tucked it inside her blouse. Very reluctantly she reached for her Cicero and was soon lost in preparing for her next hour's recitation. Marjorie had not been able to arrange her senior program so as to have the coveted last hour in the afternoon for study.

In the morning Advanced English and French Prose and Poetry took up the first two periods, leaving her the last one free. After luncheon the first afternoon period was now devoted to study. During the next she recited in Cicero and the third and last period was given over to a recitation in Greek and Roman History. As she had already gained the required amount of credits in mathematics, she was satisfied to forego trigonometry. She was not fond of mathematics and had decided not to burden her senior year with the further study of them. Once in college she knew she would have her fill of trigonometry.

"I've something to report, Captain," was her gay sally as, school over for the day, she tripped into the living room. "I've the dearest letter from Lucy Warner. I'm going to sit right down and read it to you. I found it waiting for me on my desk when I went back to school this afternoon. For just a minute it made me feel queerly. You can understand why. But it was very different from-well, you know." Marjorie unpinned her pretty white hemp hat and hastily depositing it on the library table, plumped down on the floor at her mother's knee. Dignified senior though she had now become, she had not outgrown her love for that lowly but most confidential resting place.

"That is pleasant news." Mrs. Dean glanced affectionately down at her daughter, who was busily engaged in exploring the folds of her silk blouse for the letter.

"Why!" A frightened look overspread Marjorie's lately radiant face.

"Why, it's _gone_! Oh, Captain, I've lost it!"

"Perhaps it has slipped to the back of your blouse, dear." Mrs. Dean became the acme of maternal solicitude. "Unfasten your blouse and look carefully."

Ready to cry, Marjorie sprang to her feet and obeyed the instruction, but the missing letter was not forthcoming. "How could I have lost it,"

she mourned despairingly. "I always tuck my letters inside my blouse.

But I've never lost one before to-day."

"I don't like to pile up misery, Lieutenant, but that seems to me a rather careless practice," commented her mother. "I am truly sorry for you. Perhaps you left it in school instead of putting it inside your blouse."

Marjorie shook a dejected head. "No; I didn't. I wish now that I had. I know I put it inside my blouse. I was anxious to bring it home and show it to you. I would feel worried about losing any letter that had been written me, but this is a great deal worse. It was a very confidential letter. In it Lucy spoke of-of-last winter and of her plans for the future. Suppose someone were to find it who didn't like her very well?

The person who found it might gossip about it. That would be dreadful.

Of course, anyone who finds it can see by the address that it is my letter. I think most of the girls would be honorable enough to give it back. A few of them perhaps wouldn't. None of the four juniors who were on the soph.o.m.ore basket-ball team last year like me very well. And there's Mignon, too. I wouldn't say so to anyone but you, Captain, but I'm not quite sure what she might do."

"No, my dear, I am afraid you can never trust Mignon La Salle very far."

Mrs. Dean grew grave. "I made up my mind to that the day your girl friends were here at that little party you gave while you were sick. If ever a girl's eyes spelled treachery, Mignon's showed it that afternoon.

Several times I have intended mentioning it to you. You know, however, that I do not like to interfere in your school affairs. Then, too, since her father so depends on your help and that of your girl chums, it seems hardly right in me to wish that you might be entirely free from her companionship. Yet, at heart, I am not particularly in favor of your a.s.sociation with her. Sooner or later you will find yourself in the thick of some disagreeable affair for which she is responsible."

"I am always a little bit afraid of that, too," was Marjorie's dispirited answer. "I try not to think so, though. But it's like trying to walk across a slippery log without falling off. Mignon is so-so-different from the rest of us. You know I told you of the things she said about that nice girl who works for Miss Archer and her sister.

Well, the girl came to school to-day. Her name is Veronica Browning and she's a senior."

Marjorie went on to tell her captain of the locker-room incident, and the walk home from luncheon, ending with: "She is awfully dear and sweet. We are friends already. I may invite her to come and see us, mayn't I, Captain?"

"By all means," came the prompt response. "I am very glad, Lieutenant, that you have no false pride. It is contemptible. You may invite your new friend here as soon as you like. No doubt when I see Miss Archer she will tell me more of her protege of her own accord. Judging from what you say of her, she seems to be a rather mysterious young person."

"She acts a little as Connie used to act before I knew her well,"

declared Marjorie. "She has the same fashion of starting to say something and then stopping short. I think it is only because she is quite poor. But she doesn't seem to mind it as Connie did. She just smiles about it."

"A young philosopher," commented Mrs. Dean, her eyes twinkling. "I shall look forward to knowing her."

"Oh, you will surely like Veronica," Marjorie confidently predicted. The next instant her face fell. "Oh, dear," she sighed, as fresh recollection of her loss smote her, "what shall I do about that letter?

I'll simply have to tell Lucy that I lost it. She's so peculiar, too. I am afraid she won't like it."

"Don't put off telling her," counseled Mrs. Dean. "It is right that you should. Perhaps when you go to school to-morrow morning, you may find that some one of your friends has picked it up. I sincerely hope so, for your sake, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Captain." Marjorie brightened a trifle. "I am going to hope as hard as ever I can that I'll have it back by to-morrow."

Marjorie's earnest wish that the lost letter might be returned to her the next morning met with unfulfillment. Anxious inquiry among her close friends revealed no clue to the whereabouts of the missing letter. Nor, during the long day which anxiety made longer, did any of her schoolmates seek her with the joyful news, "Here is a letter I found, Marjorie, which is addressed to you."

At the close of the afternoon session, which had lagged interminably, Marjorie turned slow steps toward Miss Archer's big living-room office where Lucy Warner now claimed the secretary's desk.

"Why, Marjorie, I was just thinking of you!" Lucy's bluish-green eyes lighted with pleasure as Marjorie approached her desk. "I was hoping you'd run up soon to see me. I am so glad my hope came true." Her hand went out to Marjorie in cordial greeting.

"I am ever so glad to have a chance to talk to you," returned Marjorie earnestly as she took Lucy's hand. "I received your letter. It was splendid. I loved every line of it. I-but I am afraid you won't feel so glad that I came when I tell you what I've done." A quick flush dyed Marjorie's cheeks.

"I guess it is nothing very dreadful." Lucy smiled her utmost faith in her pretty visitor.

"Lucy, I-well-I hate to tell you, but I've _lost_ that letter you wrote me." Marjorie looked the picture of anxiety as she made the disagreeable confession.