Left to herself for a brief respite, Marjorie drew out the note and read it. An expression of amused consternation flashed into her eyes as she took in its spirit. Knowing the writing to be Muriel's she was now glad she had stood her ground. Note writing was not forbidden in Sanford High and never had been. Miss Merton alone, of all the teachers, strenuously opposed it. To be sure, it was not regarded by them with special favor.

Nevertheless, in the cla.s.s-rooms no one was ever taken to task for it unless it seriously interfered with the recitation. Marjorie did not know Miss Archer's views on the subject, but she believed her princ.i.p.al too great-minded to cavil at such trifles.

The instant she had finished reading the note, she reduced it to unreadable bits, leaving them in plain sight on her desk. Not by so much as a backward glance did she betray the writer. Knowing Miss Merton to be on the alert, she took no chances. Should the latter send her to Miss Archer, she would very quickly express herself on the subject. As a junior she believed that the time for treating her as a member of the primary grade had long since pa.s.sed.

It was not until she had effectually blocked all possibility of the note falling into Miss Merton's possession that she remembered the try-out.

Her heart sank as she recalled what a lengthy, lonely stay in the study hall meant. The try-out would go on without her. She would lose all chance of obtaining a place on the junior team. Her changeful face paled a trifle as she sadly accepted this dire disaster to her hopes. If only Muriel had not written that note.

The first closing bell sent a tremor of despair to her heavy heart. She wondered how long Miss Merton would detain her. She had said, "You will stay here to-night until you give it to me." Even in the midst of misfortune the edict took a humorous turn. She had a vision of herself and Miss Merton keeping a lonely, all-night vigil in the study hall.

At the second bell the long lines of girls began a decorous filing down the aisles to the great doors. Marjorie watched them go, vainly pondering on why, thus far, her junior year had been so filled with mishaps. A bad beginning sometimes made a good ending was her only comforting reflection. She hoped that in her case it would prove true.

"Why are you staying, Miss Harding?" rasped forth Miss Merton when the big room had at last emptied itself.

Marjorie faced about with a start. She had not reckoned on this. She made a desperate sign to Muriel to go. Muriel merely shook an obstinate head. Then she announced bravely, "I wrote that note to Miss Dean."

"Then you may remain in your seat," snapped the frowning teacher. "Miss Dean, do you intend to give me that note?"

"I have destroyed it," came the calm reply.

"You are determined to defy me, I see. Very well, you may tell me the contents of it. I saw you read it after I had returned to my desk."

"I have nothing to say," Marjorie replied with terse obstinacy.

"Miss Harding, _you_ may tell me what you wrote." Miss Merton suddenly swung her attack from Marjorie to Muriel.

"I will not." Muriel spoke with hot decision. "Neither Miss Dean nor I are grammar school children. I see no reason why we should be treated as such. I think it very ridiculous, and I will not submit to it. You may send me to Miss Archer if you like. I am quite ready to say to her what I have just said to you."

As Muriel's challenge of defiance cut the storm-laden atmosphere, a most unexpected thing happened. Almost as if the mere mention of her name had served to bring her to the scene, Miss Archer walked into the study hall. She had come in time to catch Muriel's last sentence, and her quick faculties had leaped to conclusion.

"What is it that you are quite ready to say to me, Miss Harding?" was her grave interrogation.

Miss Merton's sallow cheeks took on a lively tinge of red. She was not specially anxious to bring Miss Archer into the discussion. Had the recipient of the note been other than Marjorie Dean, she would have allowed the incident to pa.s.s with a caustic rebuke. But her dislike for the winsome girl was deep-rooted. She could never resist the slightest opportunity to vent it publicly.

"I wrote a note to Miss Dean, Miss Archer," burst forth Muriel. "Miss Merton asked Miss Dean for it and she wouldn't give it to her. So Miss Merton said she must stay here until she did. Miss Dean tore the note up. I stayed because I wrote it. Miss Merton says we must tell her what was in that note. I won't do it. Neither will Marjorie. I just said that I did not think we ought to be treated like grammar-school children. I said, too, that I would be willing to say so to you, and I have."

Miss Archer's quizzical gaze traveled from Muriel's flushed face to Marjorie's composed features. Here was, indeed, a problem in that unknown quant.i.ty, girl nature. Miss Archer was too thoroughly acquainted with the ways of girls not to comprehend what lay beneath this out and out defiance of Miss Merton's commands. She understood, if Miss Merton did not, or would not, the rather overdrawn sense of school-girl honor which prompted the rebellion. She knew that except in extreme cases, there was little to be obtained by using force. It was all too likely to defeat its own object.

"The att.i.tude of these two young women toward me is insufferable." Miss Merton now took up a harsh stand. She did not intend the princ.i.p.al should allow the matter to be pa.s.sed over lightly. "Miss Dean, in particular, has been most disrespectful. In fact, ever since she became a pupil of this school she has derived an especial delight from annoying me."

Miss Archer's face wore an inscrutable expression as she listened. Years of a.s.sociation with Miss Merton had taught her to read between the lines. Yet she knew she must now proceed with the utmost diplomacy. As a teacher Miss Merton was ent.i.tled to the respect of her pupils. She had an inner conviction, however, that the irate woman was piling injustice upon Marjorie's shoulders. She herself was beginning to understand the girl's motives could never be cla.s.sed as unworthy. Young in years, she possessed already a breadth of mind which Miss Merton could never hope to attain.

"You are ent.i.tled to the utmost respect on the part of your pupils, Miss Merton," she levelly acknowledged. "I am sorry to hear bad reports of any of my pupils. I am sure that Miss Harding and Miss Dean will rectify the matter with an apology. As for the note, perhaps it might be wiser to allow the matter to drop."

"Girls," she now addressed the belligerents, "it seems to me that, as long as note-writing has proved a source of trouble to you, you might better give up the practice. Let me ask you a question. Was there any grave and important reason for writing that note?"

Muriel Harding hung her head. "No, Miss Archer," came her low answer.

Marjorie's pale face took on a faint glow of pink. "It was not necessary," she admitted.

"Very well. You have both agreed that it was unnecessary. My advice to you is to discontinue the practice. I must insist that both of you make apology to Miss Merton for the annoyance you have caused."

"Miss Merton, I regret that you should have been annoyed by me."

Marjorie made an immediate and dignified apology, which was perfectly sincere on her part. For more reasons than one she deplored the annoyance.

Muriel, however, hesitated a second or two before committing herself.

Suddenly it dawned upon her that Miss Archer's demand for apology had a deeper significance. She thereupon made haste to repeat Marjorie's exact words.

Miss Merton received both apologetic speeches in black silence. She was inwardly furious with the princ.i.p.al, not only for her unexpected intrusion, but for the lax manner in which she had administered discipline. At least, Miss Merton considered it distinctly lax. Still, she knew that it would be in bad taste to try to overrule the princ.i.p.al's decision. "You are dismissed," she said stiffly. "See to it that you conduct yourselves properly hereafter." She could not resist this one touch of authority.

The ex-culprits lost no time in leaving the study hall behind them. Not a word pa.s.sed between them until the door of the junior locker room had closed upon them. Their eyes meeting, they burst into laughter, discreetly subdued, but most expressive of their feelings. Each mind held the same thought. What would Miss Merton have said had she read the note?

CHAPTER XII-A DOUBTFUL VICTORY

"Marjorie Dean, you are true blue!" exclaimed Muriel. "Whatever possessed me to write that awful note? If Miss Merton had read it-well, you can guess what would have happened. I shook in my shoes when I heard her ask you for it."

"I'm glad I didn't give it to her." An angry sparkle leaped into Marjorie's soft eyes. "She only made a fuss about it because it was I who had it. I think Miss Archer understood that. I love her for it. She treats us always as though we were young women; not as naughty children.

But we mustn't stand here. It's four o'clock now. I am afraid we won't have a chance to play. Only about fifteen or twenty juniors are going to try for the team. It may be made already." Marjorie picked up the bag which contained her basket ball suit and tennis shoes.

"Let us hustle along then," urged Muriel. Seizing her friend by one hand, her luggage in the other, the two raced for the gymnasium, hoping against hope.

"It's all over." Muriel cried out in disappointment as they entered the great room.

"I am afraid so," faltered Marjorie, as she noted the group of bloomer-clad girls standing idle at one end of the gymnasium. Here and there about the floor were others in uniform. Altogether she counted eighteen. Ellen Seymour and two other seniors were seated on the platform, their chairs drawn together, their attention apparently fixed on a pad on Ellen's knee. Spectators had been firmly but politely denied admission. Ellen had p.r.o.nounced them a detriment to the try-out and elected that they should remain away.

"h.e.l.lo, Marjorie Dean," joyfully called out Harriet Delaney. As she hailed Marjorie she ran toward the two girls. "We thought you were lost to us forever. Where were you, Muriel? You surely didn't have to stay."

"Did you make the team?" was Muriel's excited query.

"Not yet." Harriet's eyes twinkled. "The try-out hasn't begun yet."

"Hasn't begun!" echoed two voices.

"No. Ellen was awfully cross about the way Miss Merton acted, so she said we'd wait for Marjorie. Then, when Muriel didn't appear, she said, that if neither of you materialized, she would have the try-out put off until to-morrow. Miss Davis is so busy with that new system of gymnastics she's going to adopt this year that she's left basket ball to Ellen. I don't see how she could help herself, though. Last year the juniors and seniors ran their own teams."

"Ellen's a dear," exulted Muriel. "We are lucky to have her for manager.

Marjorie and I will be her grateful slaves for the rest of the year. I wrote that note; so, naturally, I had to stay and face the music."

"You did!" It was Harriet who now registered surprise. "What was in it?"

Muriel giggled. She could now afford to laugh. "Oh, a lot of sweet things about Miss Merton. You can guess just how sweet they were."

"Goodness!" breathed Harriet. "No wonder Marjorie wouldn't give it up.

She-why, she's gone!"

Marjorie had stopped only to greet Harriet. While Muriel was explaining matters, she slipped away to the platform where Ellen Seymour sat. "It was splendid in you, Ellen!" she burst forth, as she reached the senior's side. "Thank you, ever so much."