CHAPTER XIII
A PITCHED BATTLE
After the echoes of the dance had died away, basketball received a newimpetus that brought it to the fore with a bound. With the renewedinterest in the coming game was also noised about the report that "MissDean wasn't on the team any longer," and in some unknown fashion thenews that she had been "asked" to resign had also gone the round of thestudy hall. The upper class girls were not particularly interestedeither in Marjorie or her affairs. She had not lived in Sanford longenough to become well-known to them, and as a rule the juniors andseniors left the bringing up of the freshmen to their sophomore sisters.The sophomores were too much absorbed in the progress of their own teamto trouble themselves greatly over what was happening in the freshmanorganization. If Muriel or Mignon had resigned, then there would havebeen good cause for predicting an easy victory, for both girls wereconsidered formidable opponents; but Marjorie was new material, untriedand unproven.
It was in the freshman class, however, that comment ran rife. Since thenight of the Weston dance the class had been almost equally divided. Alittle less than half the girls had either openly or by friendly smilesand nods declared in favor of Marjorie and her friends. The remainingmembers of the class, with a few neutral exceptions, were apparentlydevoted to the French girl and Muriel. Among their adherents they alsocounted Miss Merton, who took no pains to conceal her open dislike forMarjorie, and Marcia Arnold, who even went so far as to try to explainthe situation to Miss Archer and was sternly reminded that the principalwould take no part in the private differences of her girls unless theyhad something to do with breaking the rules of the school.
The days immediately preceding the game were not cheerful ones forMarjorie. She was still unhappy over her unjust dismissal from the team,and she wondered if it had been much talked of among her classmates. Athome she had announced offhandedly her resignation from the team andher mother had asked no questions.
Mignon was greatly disturbed and displeased with the advent of MarjorieDean into Sanford High School. Young as she was, she was very shrewd,and she at once foresaw in Marjorie's pretty face and attractivepersonality a rival power. To be sure, Marjorie's father was not so richas her own, but it could not be denied that the Deans lived in a bighouse on Maple avenue, that Marjorie wore "perfectly lovely" clothes andhad plenty of pocket money. In the beginning she had decided that itwould be better to make friends with her, but Marjorie's sturdy defenseof Constance and utter disregard for Mignon's significant warning hadshown her plainly that she could not influence the other girl to do whatshe considered an unworthy act. Therefore, she had secretly determinedto make matters as disagreeable as lay within her power for the twogirls during her freshman year. Still she was obliged to admit toherself that her next move would have to be planned and carried out withmore discretion.
And now it was the Friday before the much-heralded basketball game whichwas to be played between the sophomores and the freshmen, and the meritsand shortcomings of the respective organizations were being eagerlydiscussed throughout the school. The game was to be called at half-pasttwo o'clock on Saturday afternoon, and from all accounts there was to beno lack of spectators.
"I wouldn't for anything miss that game to-morrow!" exclaimed JerryMacy, as she and Constance and Marjorie came down the steps of theschool together. "I hope the freshmen get the worst whitewashing thatany team in this school has ever had, too," she added, with a deliberateair of spite.
"You mustn't say that, Jerry," returned Marjorie, a faint color risingto her cheeks. "You must not let my grievances affect your loyalty toyour class."
"Do you mean to say that you want that horrid Mignon La Salle and hercrowd to win the game, and then go around crowing that it was allbecause they put you out of the team? You needn't look so as though youdidn't believe me. You mark my word, if they win you'll find out thatthey'll do just as I say. Freshman or no freshman, I'd rather see thatnice Ellen Seymour's team win any day."
"So would I," echoed Constance, her face darkening with the remembranceof her own wrongs at Mignon's hands.
Marjorie was silent for a moment. She knew that Jerry's outburst rosefrom pure devotion to her friends, and she could not blame Constance forher hostile spirit. Still, was it right to allow personal grudges towarp one's loyalty to one's class? If the record of their class readbadly at the end of their freshman year, whose fault would it be? Shehad fought it all out with herself on the day she wrote her resignation,and had wisely determined, then, not to allow it to spoil her year.
"I know how you girls feel about this," she said slowly. "I felt thesame way until after I had written my resignation. While I was writing Ikept hoping that the team would lose and be sorry they had put someoneelse in my place. Then it just came to me all of a sudden that a goodsoldier wouldn't be a traitor to his country even if he were reduced inrank or had something happen unpleasant to him in his camp."
She stopped and looked embarrassed. She had forgotten that the girlscould not possibly know what she meant. She had never told any one inSanford High School about the pretty soldier play which she and Mary hadcarried on for so long. It was one of the little intimate details of herlife which she preferred to keep to herself. Should she explain? Jerry'simpatient retort made it unnecessary.
"The only traitor I know anything about is Mignon," she flung back,failing to grasp the significance of Marjorie's comparison.
Constance, however, had flashed a curious glance at her friend, sayingnothing. When Geraldine had nodded good-bye at her street, and the twowere alone, she asked: "What did you mean by comparing yourself to asoldier, Marjorie?"
Marjorie smiled.
"I think I'd better tell you all about it. I've never told anyone else."
"What a splendid game," mused Constance, half to herself, when Marjoriehad finished. "Do you--would you--could I be a soldier, too, Marjorie?It would help me. You don't know. There are so many things."
The wistful appeal touched Marjorie.
"Of course you can," she assured. "You'd better come to my house toluncheon to-morrow. You can join the army then and go to the game withme."
"I'm not going to the game." The look of expectancy died out ofConstance's face.
"You can't be a soldier if you balk at the first disagreeable thing thatcomes along," reminded Marjorie, slipping her arm through that of herfriend. Constance walked a few steps in stolid silence. She could notmake up her mind to watch the playing of the girls whom she felt shehated, even to please Marjorie. It was not until they were about toseparate that Marjorie said quietly. "Shall I tell mother you arecoming?" and Constance forced herself to reply shortly, "I'll come."
By half past one Saturday afternoon every seat in the large gallerysurrounding the gymnasium was filled, and by a quarter to two everysquare foot of standing room was occupied by an enthusiastic audiencelargely composed of boys and girls of the two high schools. Marjorie'smother had after some little coaxing consented to come to the game withher daughter as her guest. She sat with Constance and Marjorie in thefirst row of the gallery, while beside her sat none other than MissArcher, whom they had encountered on their way to the high school andwho had invited them to take seats in the front row with her. She hadalready met Mrs. Dean at the church which both women attended and hadconceived an instant liking for the pretty, gracious woman who lookedlittle older than her daughter.
"Wasn't it nice of Miss Archer to ask us to sit here?" whisperedMarjorie in her friend's ear. "We have mother to thank for it. She is sodear that no one can help liking her." Marjorie looked adoringadmiration at her mother's clear-cut profile. "Do you suppose anyonewill mistake us for faculty?"
Both girls giggled softly at such an improbability.
"I never went to a basketball game before," confessed Constance after atime. "What are those girls over there in the red paper hats and big redbows going to do?"
"Oh, that's the sophomore class. They lead their class in the songs. Thegreen and purple girls are the freshman chorus
."
"I didn't even know our class colors were green and purple."
"You didn't! Why, that's the reason you and I wore violets to the dance.Almost every freshman had them."
"Oh, look!" Constance's eyes were fixed upon a tiny purple figure thathad just emerged from a side door in the gymnasium and was walkingslowly across the big floor. Immediately afterward a door opened on theopposite side and a diminutive scarlet-clad boy flashed forth.
"They are the mascots," explained Marjorie, her gaze on the two childrenwho advanced to the center of the room and gravely shook hands. Then theboy in red announced in a high, clear treble: "Ladies and gentlemen, thenoble sophomores!"
The door swung wide and a band of lithe blue figures, bearing a hugeletter "S" done in scarlet on the fronts of their blouses, pattered intothe gymnasium, amid loud applause.
"The valiant freshmen!" piped the purple-clad youngster.
There was a rush of black-clad girls, with resplendent violet "F's"ornamenting their breasts, another volley of cheers from the audience,then a shrill blast from the referee's whistle rent the air, the teamsdropped into their places, the umpire, time-keeper and scorer tooktheir stations, and a tense silence settled over the audience.
The referee balanced the ball. Ellen Seymour and Mignon La Sallegathered themselves for the toss. Up it went. The two players leaped forit. The referee's whistle sounded again. The struggle for basketballhonors began.
A jubilant shout swelled from the throats of the watching freshmen andtheir fans. Mignon had caught the ball. She sent it speeding towardHelen Thornton, who fumbled it, and losing her head, threw it awayfrom, instead of to the basket. An audible sigh of disapproval came fromthe freshman contingent as they beheld the ball pass into the hands ofthe sophomores, who scored shortly afterward.
Now that the ball was in their hands the sophomores proceeded to showtheir friends and opponents a few things about playing. They had theadvantage and they kept it. Try as the freshmen might, they could notscore. The first unlucky error on the part of Helen Thornton had seemedto turn the tide against them. Toward the close of the first half theymanaged to score, but all too soon the whistle blew, with the score 8 to2 in favor of the sophomores.
Their fans went wild with delight and their chorus sang or rathershouted gleefully their pet song, beginning,
"Hail the sophomores, gallant band! See how bold they take their stand!"
to the tune of "Hail Columbia," coming out noisily on the concludinglines,
"Firm and steadfast shall they be, Marching on to victory; As a band of players, they Shall be conquerors to-day."
The freshmen answered with their song, "The Freshmen's Brave Banner,"but they did not sing as spiritedly as they had before the beginning ofthe game.
"I wonder what Jerry and Irma think," commented Marjorie. Their twochums had been detailed to sing in the freshman chorus, which accountedfor their absence from the Dean party.
"Jerry looks awfully cross," returned Constance, scanning the oppositeside of the gallery where Jerry was singing lustily, her straight, heavybrows drawn together in a savage scowl.
"There goes the whistle!" Marjorie leaned eagerly forward to see thefreshman team come in from the side room which they were using. Heralert eyes noted that Muriel looked sulky, Mignon stormy, Susan Atwellbelligerent, Harriet Delaney offended, and that Helen Thornton, thesubstitute who had replaced her, had been crying.
Marjorie felt a thrill of pity for the unfortunate substitute. It lookedas though she had spent an unhappy quarter of an hour in the little sideroom.
The teams changed sides and hastened to their places. Again Mignon andEllen faced each other. Then the whistle shrilled and the second half ofthe game was on.
From the beginning of the second half it looked as though the freshmenmight retrieve their early losses. They worked with might and main andmade no false moves. Slowly their score climbed to six. So far thesophomores had gained nothing. Then Ellen Seymour made a spectacularthrow to the basket and brought her team up two points. With therealization that they were facing defeat the freshmen rallied and made adesperate effort to hold their own, bringing their count up to eight.
Two more points were gained and the score was tied, but the time wasgrowing short. Helen Thornton had the ball and was plainly trying toelude the tantalizing sophomore who barred her way. She made a clumsyfeint of throwing the ball. It slipped from her fingers and rolled alongthe floor. There was a mad scramble for it. Mignon and Ellen Seymourleaped forward simultaneously.
The crowd in the gallery was aroused to the height of excitement.Marjorie, breathless, leaned far over the gallery rail. She knew everydetail of the dear old game. She saw Mignon's and Ellen's heads closetogether as they sprang; then she saw Mignon give a sly, vicious sidelunge which threw Ellen almost off her feet. In the instant it tookEllen to recover herself the French girl had seized the ball and was offwith it. Eluding her pursuers, she balanced herself on her toes, andthrew her prize toward the freshman basket. But it never reached there.A long blue figure shot straight up into the air. Elizabeth Corey, agirl whose sensational plays had made her a lion during her freshmanyear, had intercepted the flying ball. She sent it spinning through theair toward the sophomore nearest their basket, whose willing handsreceived it and threw it home.
Mignon's trickery had availed her little. The sophomores had won.