CHAPTER XVIII
DOROTHY'S SACRIFICE
The day had been unusually tiresome, all the little spots of jollity,club meetings, evening fudge parties and the like having suddenly beenabandoned, and Dorothy, with Rose-Mary, was trying to find comfort inwatching a winter sunset.
"Did you know Mrs. Pangborn had come back?" asked Rose, burying herchin in her palms, and dropping into a reclining attitude.
"No," said Dorothy, simply, still watching the floating clouds.
"Yes, and I overheard a maid ask Viola Green to go to the office aftertea."
"Viola?" echoed Dorothy abstractedly.
"Of course you know it is she who made all this fuss, and I'm rightglad she has been called to give an explanation at last."
"I have not been able to get the least hint of what it was all about,"mused Dorothy. "I had a letter from Tavia to-day, and I'm afraid shecannot come back this term. My last lingering hope went out when Iread that. Tavia would be sure to dig it out someway."
Rose-Mary thought how foolish had been the talk she had "dug out," andsmiled when she imagined Tavia at work at such nonsense. But she wouldnot pain Dorothy with the thought of that talk--too silly and toounkind to bother her with,--decided Rose, so that then, as well as onother occasions when the opportunity came to her to mention the arreststory, she let it pass.
"Let's go see Dick," suggested Rose, "we'll find Ned there and perhapswe may manage some fun. I'm positively getting musty."
"You go," said Dorothy, just as Rose had expected, "I'll do myexercises--I'm pages behind."
"Not without you," argued the other, "I have lots I ought to do, butI'm going to cut it for this night. Come along," and she tookDorothy's arm. "I'm dying to hear Ned sing a coon song."
But they found number twenty-three vacant. Edna was out, so was Molly,in fact everybody seemed to be out, for knots of girls talked in everycorner of the halls and always stopped speaking when Dorothy and Rosecame up to them.
"It's the investigation!" whispered Rose. "They are waiting for Viola;did you ever see such a crowd of magpies."
"I'm going in," said Dorothy, nervously. "I can't bear the way theylook at me."
"All right," assented Rose, "I'll see you home since I dragged you out.And I'll promise to make known to you the words of the very firstbulletin. Sorry to be so cruel, but I cannot find any sympathy in myheart for Viola Green."
"Oh, indeed I can," spoke up the kind-hearted Dorothy. "She has somuch worry about her mother. And perhaps she inherits some peculiartrait--"
"Bottle Green, I suppose. Well, you can pity her if you like, but Iwill save mine until I know why."
So Rose-Mary kissed Dorothy good-night--she had done so regularly oflate, and the two friends parted. For some time the hum of voicescould be heard in the corridor outside Dorothy's door, then the lightswere turned out and everything seemed as usual.
But in room twelve Viola Green was struggling--struggling with aweighty problem. What Mrs. Pangborn had said to her that evening inthe office meant for Viola dismissal from school, unless--unless--
Viola was thinking of a plan. Surely she could make Dorothy agree toit, Dorothy was so easy to manage, so easy to influence.
In room nineteen Dorothy had not yet gone to her bed. She felt nervousand restless. Then too, she had fully decided to leave Glenwood andshe had to think over what that meant for her, for her father and forAunt Winnie.
What explanation could she make? She had never been a coward, whycould she not face this thing and show everybody that she deserved noblame?
Surely Major Dale's Little Captain should display better courage thanto let a crowd of foolish schoolgirls drive her from Glenwood!
Dorothy was thinking over the whole miserable affair when a timid knockcame to her door.
It was too late for any of the girls--perhaps it was Mrs. Pangborn!
Dorothy opened the door promptly.
Viola Green stood before her--in a nightrobe, with her thick black hairfalling about her like a pall.
"Viola!" whispered Dorothy, as kindly and quietly as if that girl hadnot stood between her and happiness.
"Oh, let me come in," begged the black-eyed girl in a wretched voice."Quick! Some one may see me!"
"What is it?" asked Dorothy, making a chair ready and then turning upthe light.
"Oh, please don't turn that up," begged the visitor. "I can't standit! Dorothy, I feel as if I should die!"
Dorothy had felt that way herself a moment ago, but now there wassomeone else to look after; now she must not think of herself. Howdifferent it was with Viola! The ability to act is often a wonderfuladvantage. Viola made excellent use of her talent now.
"Dorothy," she began, "I have come to ask a great favor of you. And Ido not know how to begin." She buried her face in her hands and leftthe other to draw out the interview as she might choose to. It wasgaining time to lose it in that way.
"Is it about your mother?" asked the unsuspecting Dorothy.
"Yes, it is," wailed Viola. "It is really about her, although I am init too."
"Is she worse?"
"Dreadfully bad"--and in this Viola did not deceive--. "I had a letterto-day--But Oh! Dorothy, promise you will help me!"
"I certainly will if I can!" declared Dorothy, warmly, quite anxiousabout Viola's grief.
"Oh, you can--and you are the only one who can! But how will I askyou?" and again Viola buried her white face in her equally white hands.
"Tell me what it is," said Dorothy, gently.
"Oh, you know that foolish story about the Dalton police wagon--"
"What about it?" asked Dorothy, perplexed.
"Oh, that nonsense about you and Tavia riding in it," and Viola triedto pass off the "nonsense" without allowing Dorothy time to realizejust what she had to say.
"Well, what of that?" asked Dorothy again.
Would she ever grasp it? Viola was almost impatient, but of course shedare not show such a sentiment.
"Why, you know I told it to a couple of girls just for fun one day, andthey took it up in earnest. The silly things!--and then to make allthis trouble over it!"
"What trouble could that have possibly made?" and Dorothy seemed asmuch in the dark as ever.
Could it be that Dorothy had lived it all down and did not now considerit trouble? Viola's heart gave a jump for joy at the thought. Itmight after all be easier than she expected.
"I am so glad they have not said anything to you about it. I have beendreadfully worried over it," went on Viola with a sigh.
"I am sorry, I hope you haven't been worrying on my account."
"Well, I was. You did seem so sad--but I should have known you hadbetter sense."
"I have been and am still very sad at Glenwood. In fact, I have almostmade up my mind to leave."
"When?" gasped Viola. Then to hide the joy that Dorothy's wordsbrought her, she continued, "Do you have to go? Is someone ill?"
"No, not at home. But I am afraid I'll be ill if I do not stop thisworrying," and Dorothy indeed looked very pale and miserable. EvenViola could not help noticing that.
"I wouldn't blame you," spoke Viola. "It's dreadful to be homesick."
"But I am not homesick," replied Dorothy. "I would not allow thatfeeling to conquer me when I know what it meant for father to let mecome here. I must make good use of my time, and not be foolish. Butno matter how I try to be happy, it seems useless. And I know I am notstrong enough to keep that up. So," and Dorothy sighed heavily,leaning her head against the blanket that covered the foot of her bed,"I feel I must go away!"
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She loved Glenwood and could not bearthe thought of leaving the school which had been so pleasant beforeTavia went, and before that awful afternoon in the hall.
"What I really wanted to ask you, Dorothy, is about that story."
"What story?"
"You are not listening to me, Dorothy, and I am just as miserable as Ican be. Do
tell me you will do what I ask."
"I certainly was listening, and I am sorry you are miserable. But whatis it you want me to do?"
Viola decided instantly upon a bold strike. She would make her demandand then follow it up so closely Dorothy would not know just what shewas giving her promise to.
"Mrs. Pangborn sent for me to-night, and gave me such a dreadfulscolding, I just cried myself sick," said Viola, "and now when shesends for you, and asks you about that ride, I want you to promise youwill not deny it!"
"Certainly I shall not deny it! Why should I?"
"Then, if she wants to know what it is all about, just don't give herany more information. Say you did ride in the patrol wagon and that Ihad not told a lie. She actually said she would dismiss me if--if yousaid I had told what was not true. And oh, Dorothy! You know thatwould kill mother! Just as sure as a shot from a gun would kill her,my dismissal from Glenwood would do it!"
"But why should you be dismissed? If you only told the story in fun,and it has done no harm--"
"Of course that's exactly the way to look at it. But I'm so afraidMrs. Pangborn will take another view of it. Promise me, Dorothy! Oh,please promise me!" and Viola actually knelt before the girl on thebedside. "When Mrs. Pangborn asks for an explanation just say I toldthe truth, that you did ride in the police wagon. And then if sheinsists on hearing all the story make some excuse, but do not tell it!Oh! if you knew how worried I am! And how dreadful it would be if shetook it into her head to dismiss me!"
As Viola expected, she did bewilder Dorothy. Why should Viola weep andcarry on so? But of course her mother was very delicate and perhaps itmight get mixed up so that Viola would be blamed!
As if anything could be more mixed than that story was at present!Dorothy arranging to leave school because she could not find out whyher companions had taken a sudden dislike to her, and Viola theretelling her why, and yet keeping the real truth as far from her as ithad ever been hidden.
"But why should I not tell Mrs. Pangborn about the ride if she asksme?" insisted Dorothy, trying to see what was hidden from her.
"Because, don't you see, those girls may have made foolish remarks, andthey will be blamed on me. Just because I was silly enough to believethey could see through a joke. And if you do not tell the story, therecan be no further complications. It may be a little hard but, oh,Dorothy! do promise me!" and again Viola grasped both Dorothy's coldhands in hers.
"I certainly would not do anything that would bring trouble on you,"reflected Dorothy aloud, "especially if that might worry your poor,sick mother."
"Oh, you darling! I knew you would promise. Now, no matter what Mrs.Pangborn says, promise you will not do more than admit you took theride--be sure not to say why you took it!"
Dorothy was not suspicious by nature, else she would have seen throughthe thin veil that hung between Viola and that word "promise." She wasusing it too frequently for good taste, but she wanted and insisted ongetting a real, absolute Promise.
"But it might be rude for me to refuse to tell why we were in thewagon, and at the same time to say we were in it."
"Rude!" echoed Viola. "What small account that would be compared to mydismissal from school."
Dorothy tried to think--just as Viola had planned, she was not able toreason it all out clearly--it was too complicated. The night wasgetting old, it was ten o'clock and every Glenwood girl was expected tobe sleeping honestly, but these two were still far from reaching asatisfactory settlement of their difficulty.
"One thing is certain, Viola," said Dorothy firmly, "I cannot and willnot do anything that would seem disrespectful to Mrs. Pangborn. Notonly is she a grand, sweet woman, a kind, just teacher, but she was mymother's friend and is still my father's friend. So that it would beimpossible for me to do, or say, anything rude to her!"
This was a declaration of principles at last. And Viola for the momentseemed beaten. But girls of her type have more than one loophole insuch an emergency.
"I had no idea of asking you to do anything unlady-like," she said witha show of indignation. "It was you who made use of that word. Imerely asked that you would, if possible, not make known to Mrs.Pangborn the details of the story. Of course I was foolish to thinkyou would care about their effect upon me, or my dying mother."
Viola rose to leave. Tears were in her eyes and she did look forlorn.
"I will do all I can to save you," Dorothy assured her, "and if I canavoid the story, without being impertinent, I promise to do so."
"Oh, bless you, Dorothy Dale!" exclaimed the now truly miserable girl."I am sure, then, that it will be all right. When you make a promiseyou know how to keep it!" and before Dorothy could say another word hervisitor was gone.