CHAPTER XV
MARJORIE'S WONDERFUL DISCOVERY
What transpired in Miss Archer's private office on that memorablemorning when the freshman team visited her in a body was a subject thatagitated high school circles for at least a week afterward. Other thanthe team no one could furnish any authentic information as to what hadactually been said and done, but the amazing report that "Miss Archerhad disbanded the freshman basketball team" was on every one's tongue.Whether or not another team would be selected no one knew. That woulddepend wholly upon Miss Archer's decision. That the members of the teamhad offended seriously there could be no doubt. As for the ex-membersthemselves, they were absolutely mute on the subject. Among themselves,however, they had a great deal to say, and, one and all, held MarjorieDean responsible for their downfall.
When Miss Archer had commanded their presence in her office thateventful morning it was not in connection with the conflictingstatements of Ellen Seymour and Mignon La Salle. Satisfied that Mignonwas the real offender, she had read that young woman a lesson onuntruthfulness and treachery in the presence of the team that left herwhite with mortification, her stormy black eyes alone betraying herrage.
Then Miss Archer proceeded to the other business at hand, which was aninquiry into their reason for requesting Marjorie Dean's resignationfrom the team. One by one, the four girls, with the exception of HelenThornton, were questioned separately and acknowledged, in shamefacedfashion, that Marjorie was a really good player.
"Then why," Miss Archer had asked sharply, "did you ask her to resign?"There had been no answer to this pertinent question, and then hadfollowed their principal's rebuke, sharp and stinging.
"It is not often that I feel impelled to interfere in your games," shehad said. "Not long since I refused to listen to something Miss Arnoldtried to tell me; but, when several heartless girls deliberately combineto humiliate and discomfit a companion under the flimsy pretext of 'thegood of the team' it is time to call a halt. Four girls were primemovers in this contemptible plan. One girl was an accessory, andtherefore equally guilty. In justice to the traditions of Sanford HighSchool the girl who has suffered at your hands, and in defense of my ownself-respect, these offenders must be punished. So I am going todisband your team and forbid any one of you to play basketball againuntil I am satisfied that you know something of the first principles ofhonor and fair play. However, I shall not forbid basketball to thefreshmen. The innocent shall not suffer with the guilty. A new team willbe chosen which I trust will be a credit rather than a detriment to ourhigh school. You are dismissed."
Five girls, whose faces were an open indication of their chagrin, hadleft the principal's office in a far more chastened frame of mind thanwhen they had entered it. Miss Archer's arraignment had been a mostunpleasant surprise, and in discussing it among themselves afterward,Helen Thornton had caused Mignon to pour forth a torrent of biting wordsby saying sulkily, that if Mignon had let Ellen Seymour alone everythingwould have been all right.
"Do you mean to say that you believe those miserable girls?" Mignon hadcried out.
And Helen had answered with marked sarcasm, "No; I believe what I sawwith my own eyes, and I wish I'd never heard of your old team. I'mashamed to think I ever listened to you," and had walked away from thegroup with a sore and penitent heart, never to return to their circleagain.
All this was, of course, kept strictly secret by the other fourex-members, who joined hands and vowed solemnly that they would weatherthe gale together. The disbanding of the team by Miss Archer and EllenSeymour's vindication, could not be hushed up, however, and, despitetheir protests that Miss Archer was unfair, and that the statements ofcertain other girls were wholly unreliable, they lost ground with theirclassmates.
Marjorie, too, had been made to feel the weight of their displeasure,for they took pains to circulate the report that it was she who had toldtales to the principal, and thus brought them to grief. Several of thesophomores, including Ellen Seymour, heatedly denied the rumor, and anumber of freshmen also took up the cudgels in her behalf. Jerry, Irmaand Constance stood firmly by her, and, although the poor littlelieutenant was far more hurt over the allegation than she would show,she kept a brave face to the front and tried to ignore the ill-naturedthrusts launched chiefly by Muriel and Mignon.
But in the midst of this uncomfortable season Marjorie made a wonderfuldiscovery. It was quite by chance that she made it, and it concernedConstance Stevens. Although the Mary girl had apparently grown very fondof Marjorie and had almost entirely dropped her strange cloak ofreserve, she had never invited the girl who had so graciously befriendedher to her home.
From the words of vehement protest which Constance had spoken on thatday when Marjorie had followed her and protested that they becomefriends, she had partly understood the other girl's position in regardto her family, and had tactfully avoided the subject ever afterward. Shehad talked the matter over with her captain, and they had decided torespect Constance's reticence and keep religiously away from anythingbordering on the discussion of her family.
It was on a crisp November afternoon, several days before Thanksgiving,that Marjorie made her discovery. As she walked into the living-room,her books on her arm, her cheeks pink from the sharp, frosty air, hermother hung up the telephone with: "Marjorie, do you think Constancewould like to go with us to the theatre to-night? Your father has justtelephoned me that he has four tickets."
"She'd love it. I know she would. I'll hurry straight down to her houseand ask her." Marjorie dropped her books on the table with a joyfulthump.
"Very well; but I wish you would wait until I finish my letter, then youcan post it on your way there."
"Did Nora bake chocolate cake to-day?" asked Marjorie irrelevantly.
"Yes."
There was a rush of light feet from the room. Three minutes laterMarjorie returned, a huge piece of chocolate layer cake in her hand.
"It's the best ever," she declared between bites.
By the time the cake was eaten the letter was ready.
"Hurry, dear," her mother called after her; "we shall have an earlydinner."
It did not recur to Marjorie until within sight of the house whereConstance lived that she was an uninvited guest. What a queer-lookinglittle house it was! Long ago it had been painted a pale gray with whitetrimmings, but now it was a dingy, hopeless color that defieddescription. A child's dilapidated tricycle stood on the rickety porch,which was approached by a flight of three unstable-looking steps.
Her mind centered upon her errand, Marjorie paid small attention to hersurroundings. She bounded up the steps, searching with alert eyes for abell. Finding none she doubled her fist to knock, but paused suddenlywith upraised arm. From within the house came the vibrant notes of aviolin mingled with the soft accompaniment of a piano.
"Schubert's 'Serenade,'" breathed Marjorie, delightedly, lowering herarm. "I simply must listen."
Suddenly a voice took up the plaintive strain. It was so high and sweetand clear that the listener caught her breath in sheer amazement.
She stood spellbound, while the wonderful voice sang on and on to thelast note of the exquisite "Serenade" that seemed to end in a long-drawnsigh.
Marjorie knocked lightly, but no one responded.
The singer had begun again. This time it was Nevin's "Oh That We TwoWere Maying."
She listened again; then, to her surprise, the door was gently opened.Before her stood the tiny figure of a boy whose great black eyes lookedcuriously into hers. Laying his finger upon his lips, he gravelymotioned with his other hand for her to enter. Then as he limped awayfrom the door Marjorie saw he was a cripple.
Marjorie stepped noiselessly into the room, her eyes on the piano. A manwas seated before it. She could not see his face, but she noted that hehad an enormous shock of snow-white hair. At one side of him stoodanother old man, his thin cheek resting lovingly against his violin, hiswhole soul intent upon the flood of melody he was bringing forth, whileon the other side of the pi
anist, her quiet face fairly transfiguredstood Constance, pouring out her very heart in song.