I'm going to telephone Laurie after my next cla.s.s is over and tell him about it. The chorus is our only hope. Some one of the girls may know the part fairly well. They all ought to after so much rehearsing last Spring. Most of them can't do solo work, though. Do you think you could sing it?" Jerry had drawn Marjorie to one side of the corridor as she rapidly related her bad news.

"Mercy, no!" Marjorie registered dismay at the mere suggestion. "I wouldn't dream of attempting it. Isn't it too bad that Harriet hasn't an understudy? I'm ever so sorry she's sick. How dreadfully disappointed she must be."

"Not any more so than half of Sanford will be when they hear the operetta's been postponed. Every reserved seat ticket's been sold. Who'd have thought that Harriet would go and get tonsilitis?" mourned Jerry.

"There's a regular epidemic of it in Sanford. You know Nellie Simmons had it when the sophs wanted that basket ball game postponed. Quite a number of Sanford High girls have had it, too. Be careful you don't get it."

Marjorie laughed. "Oh, _I_ won't. Don't worry. I'm never sick. We'll have to go, Jerry. There's the last bell."

"You had better touch wood." Jerry hurled this warning advice over one plump shoulder as she moved off.

It brought a smile to Marjorie's lips. She was not in the least superst.i.tious. She grew grave with the thought that the operetta would have to be postponed. At the first performance of the "Rebellious Princess," Harriet had sung her part at a moment's notice. Until then she had been Mignon La Salle's understudy. Struck by a sudden thought Marjorie stopped short. Jerry had evidently forgotten that Mignon knew the role. Still, it would do no good to remind her of it, or Laurie either. She believed that Jerry, at least, would infinitely prefer that the operetta should never be given rather than allow Mignon to sing in it. The mere mention of it was likely to make her cross. Marjorie decided to keep her own counsel. She had no reason to wish to see Mignon thus honored, particularly after her treacherous attempt to do Constance out of her part. Then, too, there was the new grievance of the Observer against her.

By the time school was over for the day, Constance had already been acquainted with the dire news. Apart from her two chums, Jerry had told no one else except Hal and Laurie. When the three girls emerged from the school building, accompanied by Susan, Muriel and Irma, they saw the two young men waiting for them across the street. The latter three faithful satellites immediately took themselves off with much giggling advice to Jerry that four was a company, but five a crowd. Jerry merely grinned amiably and refused to join them. She knew her own business.

"This is too bad, Jerry," were Laurie's first words. "What are we to do?"

"That's for you to say," shrugged Jerry. "All I can think of to do is have a try-out of the chorus. If none of them can sing Harriet's part, we'll have to call it off. I mean postpone it." Jerry cast a sly glance at Hal to see if he had noticed her polite amendment.

"What have you to say, Constance and Marjorie?" queried Laurie. "But the street is not the place for a consultation. Suppose we go down to Sargent's to talk it over. I spoke to Professor Harmon this afternoon, but he said he'd rather leave it to me. He's busy just now with that new boy choir at the Episcopal Church. He wants me to direct the operetta."

Voicing approval of this last, the three girls allowed their willing cavaliers to steer them toward Sargent's hospitable doors. Hal, Marjorie and Jerry took the lead, leaving Constance and Laurie to follow. Nothing further relating to the problem that had risen was said until the five were seated at a rear table in the confectioner's smart little shop.

Then Laurie abruptly took it up. "We are ready for suggestions," he invited.

"I have one." There was a peculiar note of uncertainty in Constance's voice as she spoke. "You are not going to be pleased with it, but it seems to me the only thing to do." More boldly she added: "Let Mignon La Salle sing the part."

"Never!" burst from Laurie and Jerry simultaneously.

The appearance of a white-coated youth to take their order halted the discussion for a moment. As he hurried away Marjorie's soft voice was heard: "I thought of that, too, this morning. I had made up my mind not to speak of it. Connie makes me ashamed of myself. Connie is willing for Mignon to sing the part that she cheated herself of. I think we ought to be."

In silence Laurie stared at her across the table, his brows knitted in a deep frown. Then his gaze rested on Constance. "You girls are queer," he said slowly. "I don't understand you at all."

"I do," declared Jerry, far from pleased. "I can't say I agree with them, though. If we ask Mignon to sing the part (I don't know who's going to ask her), she will parade around like a peac.o.c.k. She may say 'no' just for spite. She doesn't speak to any of us." Then she added in a milder tone, "I suppose her father would dance a hornpipe if we let her sing it. I heard he felt terribly about the way she performed last Spring. You know he put off a business trip just to go to hear her sing, and then she didn't. She had n.o.body but herself to blame, though."

Unwittingly, Jerry had struck a responsive chord in Hal. Leaning forward, he said impulsively, "Then I think I'd ask her, Laurie. Mr. La Salle is a fine man. His office is next to Dad's. I often go in there and talk to him. He is mighty interesting. He has traveled all over the world and knows how to tell about what he's seen. He's all wrapped up in Mignon. You can see that. I wish you'd ask her just on his account. It would pay up for last Spring."

"Three against two," grumbled Jerry, "and one of them my own brother. Do we stand our ground, Laurie, or do we not?"

Laurie did not answer immediately. He had not forgiven the French girl her transgression against Constance. The battery of earnest blue and brown eyes bent upon him proved fatal to his animosity. "Our ground seems to be shaky," he answered. "The majority generally rules."

"Then you _will_ ask her?" Constance flashed him a radiant smile that quite repaid him for his hinted decision in Mignon's favor. "It will have to be you. She wouldn't do it for us."

Laurie showed lively consternation. "Oh, see here--" Innate chivalry toward girlhood overtook him. "All right," he answered. "I'll ask her."

In the midst of countless woes, arising from her unwilling allegiance to Rowena Farnham, Mignon next day received the glorious invitation from a most studiedly polite young man. If anyone other than Lawrence Armitage had come to her with the request she would, in all probability, refused pointblank to countenance the idea. Mignon still cherished her school-girl preference for the handsome young musician. She, therefore, a.s.sented to the proposal with only the merest show of reluctance. Laurie made it very plain, however, that Constance Stevens desired it.

Inwardly, Mignon writhed with anger; outwardly, she was a smiling image of amiability.

Afterward she experienced the deepest satisfaction in boasting to Rowena of the honor which had come to her.

"I think I'll be in that operetta, too," had been Rowena's calm decision. "I'll go to that Lawrence Armitage and tell him I shall sing in the chorus." Straightway, she went on this laudable errand, only to be politely but firmly informed that there were no chorus vacancies.

Over this she raged to Mignon, then consoled herself and dismayed the French girl by calmly announcing, "I'm going to the theatre with you just the same and watch the silly operetta from behind the scenes. Let me know when you have your rehearsals, for I intend to go to them, too."

Resorting to craft, Mignon managed to attend the first rehearsal without Rowena. The latter discovered this and pounced upon her on her way home with a torrent of ungentle remarks. Bullied to tears, Mignon was obliged to allow Rowena to accompany her to the second and third rehearsals, the third being the last before the public performance.

Though the cast secretly objected to this, they made no open manifestation of their disgust. It was now fairly well known how matters stood between Rowena and Mignon. The latter had no reason to complain of the universally civil treatment she received. It was merely civil, however, and contained no friendliness of spirit. By the entire cast the French girl was regarded as an evil necessity. For that reason they also reluctantly endured Rowena's presence. But Rowena derived no pleasure from her intrusion, except the fact that she was a source of covert annoyance to all parties. Her jealous soul was filled with torment at being left out of the production. Shrewd intuition alone warned her not to create even the slightest disturbance. She had determined to go with the cast to Riverview. Consequently, she did not propose cutting off her nose to spite her face.

The knowledge that the proceeds from the operetta were to be devoted to school use, rallied the Sanfordites to the cause. The Sanford performances went off without a hitch before a huge and delighted a.s.semblage. It may be set down to her credit that Mignon La Salle sang the part of the proud step-sister even better than Harriet Delaney had rendered it. Her dramatic ability was considerable and her voice and temperament were eminently suited to her role. On this one occasion her long-suffering parent was not disappointed in his daughter. Natural perspicacity caused him to wonder not a little how it had all come about, and he made a mental note to inquire into it at the first opportunity. Strongly disapproving of the intimacy between Mignon and Rowena Farnham, he was hopeful that this honor done his daughter would throw her again among the finer type of the Sanford girls. From his young friend Hal Macy he had received glowing descriptions of Marjorie and her close friends, and he longed to see Mignon take kindly to them.

Could he have peeped into Mignon's subtle brain, his dreams would have vanished in thin air. Ever the ingrate, she was thankful to none for the unexpected chance to glitter. At heart she was the same tigerish young person, ready to claw at a moment's notice. Within her lurked two permanent desires. One of them was to win the interest of Lawrence Armitage; the other to be free of Rowena.

CHAPTER XXI-ROWENA RE-ARRANGES MATTERS

THE Sanford performance of "The Rebellious Princess" took place on Friday evening. Late the following afternoon the ill.u.s.trious cast were conveyed by train or motor to Riverview, the scene of Sat.u.r.day evening's operations. Marjorie, Constance, Mr. and Mrs. Dean drove there in the Deans' motor. Accompanied by Mrs. Macy, Jerry, Susan, Muriel and Irma motored to Riverview together. Hal and Laurie sought temporary freedom from the fair s.e.x in the latter's roadster. Mr. La Salle had promised, at Mignon's earnest request, to drive to Riverview with her in her runabout. She had adopted this means of thus temporarily eliminating Rowena. Not daring to thrust herself upon Mignon when bolstered by her father's protection, Rowena had declared buoyantly that she would be there anyway.

Unfortunately for Mignon, a sudden business emergency sent Mr. La Salle speeding to Buffalo on the Sat.u.r.day morning train. Before going, however, he instructed his chauffeur to drive Mignon to the train for Riverview and see her safely on it. With others of the cast on the same train, she would be in good company. But the best laid plans often go astray. Ever on the alert for treachery, Rowena saw Mr. La Salle depart and hurrying to the La Salle's home soon bullied the true state of affairs from his petulant offspring.

"Don't bother about taking the train," Rowena counseled arrogantly.

"James will drive us over to Riverview in our limousine. He can stay there until the show is over and bring us home."

"I can't do that," parried Mignon. "My father gave orders to William to drive me to the train the cast is to take and put me on it. If I were to go with you, William would tell him."

"Oh, no, he wouldn't," retorted Rowena. "Just let me talk to William."

Without waiting for further excuses from Mignon, the self-willed soph.o.m.ore dashed out of the house in the direction of the La Salle garage. Mignon followed her, divided between vexation and approbation.

She was far from anxious to make the journey to Riverview by train. For once Rowena stood for the lesser of two evils.

"Come here, William," called Rowena, pausing outside the open garage door and imperiously beckoning the chauffeur who was engaged in putting a fresh tire on Mignon's runabout.

"What is it, Miss?" asked the man, as he frowningly approached Rowena.

"You needn't take Miss La Salle to the train this afternoon. She's going with me. She has so much luggage she can't manage it on the train, so she had to make different arrangements." Rowena presented a formidably smiling front as she gave her command.

"But Mr. La Salle--" protested William.

"Don't be impertinent," was the freezing interruption. "We know our own business. Miss La Salle's father will know all about it when he returns.

Won't he?" She turned to Mignon for confirmation.

"It is all right, William," the latter a.s.sured him, purposely neglecting to answer Rowena's question. "My father will be told when he returns. He forgot about my luggage."

"All right, Miss Mignon." William was far too discreet to court the double attack, which he knew would be forthcoming, should he continue to protest. Miss Mignon always did as she pleased, regardless of her father. He made mental note, however, to clear himself the instant his employer returned.

"That was simple enough," exulted Rowena, as they turned away. "You ought to be glad I fixed everything so nicely for you. I expect some of those snippy girls will be anything but pleased to have me behind the scenes to-night."

"You'd better keep to my dressing room," warned Mignon. "On account of it being a different theatre, there is sure to be some confusion. Laurie Armitage won't like it if you go strolling around among the cast the way you've done at rehearsals."

"You just attend to your own affairs," bl.u.s.tered Rowena, "and I'll attend to mine. Who cares what that high and mighty Lawrence Armitage thinks? He's so wrapped up in that milk-and-water baby of a Constance Stevens he doesn't know you are alive. Too bad, isn't it?"