Читать книгу: «Marjorie Dean, High School Senior», страница 7
CHAPTER XII – A DISCOURAGED REFORMER
Despite the late hour at which members of the Lookout Club had retired on the previous night, nine o’clock Saturday morning saw them gathered at the day nursery, for a final survey of it before the house warming began, which was scheduled to commence at two o’clock that afternoon. As Saturday was a half-holiday for the mill folks, the girls had chosen the time of the opening with a view to giving the mothers of the children, who would partake of its hospitality, an opportunity to inspect the nursery and offer the names of their little ones for registration. A buffet luncheon, contributed by the mothers of the Lookouts was to be one of the features of the occasion, and Mrs. Macy, Mrs. Dean, Mrs. Harding and Miss Susan Allison were to act as patronesses. Mignon La Salle was the only member of the club who did not put in an appearance. Why she had chosen to absent herself no one of the Lookouts knew nor did they greatly care.
“I guess Mignon feels rather queer about facing us to-day after what happened last night,” Jerry Macy confided to Marjorie, when the close of the morning brought no sign of the French girl.
“I was truly sorry for her,” Marjorie answered with evident sincerity. “She must have been terribly embarrassed.”
“Not she,” sniffed Jerry. “She was probably mad as hops, though, to think her scheme fell flat. She must have telephoned her house while we were all upstairs dancing. It was silly in her to do a thing like that. It’s funny, though, what a crush she’s always had on Laurie. She’s cared about him ever since her grammar school days, but he has never liked her. He’s awfully fond of Connie, though.”
“I know it.” Marjorie smiled. “Somehow one never thinks of either Connie or Laurie as being foolish or sentimental.”
“That’s because Connie is so sensible and nice about Laurie,” explained Jerry. “She just treats him as a boy friend and makes him understand it. Laurie is different from Hal and the Crane. He’s a musician and has associated a good deal with older men. That makes him seem ever so much older than he really is. Naturally he is more serious and grown-up. He and Hal are almost the same age, but Hal seems younger than Laurie. Danny Seabrooke and the Crane are more Hal’s speed, but Hal thinks there’s no one quite like Laurie.”
“Nearly all the Weston High boys are splendid,” praised Marjorie. Her glance happening to stray to Lucy Warner who stood across the room, talking to Muriel Harding, she said anxiously: “Jerry, do you think anyone said anything last night to Lucy to hurt her feelings? Just before she went home I tried to talk to her and she hardly answered me. She hasn’t more than spoken to me this morning, either.”
“She was pretty icy to me when she said good night,” returned Jerry unconcernedly. “That’s just her way. She’s like February weather, always thawing and freezing. I wouldn’t worry about her moods. You certainly have been nice to her. Very likely she felt a little out of things last night because she didn’t know how to dance. We ought to teach her. Go and propose it to her, Marjorie. Muriel has just left her. Now is your chance. I’ll stay here. You can talk to her better alone.”
Suiting the action to the word, Marjorie crossed the room to Lucy. “I’ve something very special to ask you, Lucy,” she said, adopting a casual tone.
Lucy frowned portentously. “What is it?” she questioned in cool, terse fashion. Mignon’s treacherous counsel still rang in her ears. Her moody frown changed to a flash of interest, however, as Marjorie stated that she and Jerry were anxious to teach her to dance. Something in Marjorie’s gay, gracious manner sent a swift rush of shamed color to Lucy’s white cheeks. Marjorie had befriended her and she had repaid her kindness by allowing suspicion to warp her belief in this delightful girl.
“I’d love to learn to dance,” she heard herself saying heartily. Then on sudden impulse she continued almost pleadingly, “You are really my friend, aren’t you, Marjorie?”
“Why, of course!” The answer conveyed absolute truth. “What makes you ask me that, Lucy?” Marjorie eyed her steadily.
Lucy’s color rose higher. “I’m glad you asked me that. I wanted to tell you something, but I didn’t know whether I’d better. It sounds gossipy.” In a few words she related what Mignon had said to her. “I shouldn’t have listened to Mignon,” she apologized. “I tried to leave her, but she kept on talking.”
Patent vexation held Marjorie speechless for an instant. When she spoke it was in a firm, almost stern manner. “I have only one thing to say, Lucy. You must not allow Mignon to make you feel that I am not your friend. Please remember that I am and hope always to be. I haven’t the least idea what she meant by saying that she knew me to be deceitful. She evidently meant me though she didn’t mention my name. I despise deceit, and I have always been straightforward with you.”
“I believe you,” Lucy earnestly assured her. “Hereafter I shall have nothing whatever to say to Mignon.”
“You must do as you think best about that. I am glad you came to me frankly. If you are in doubt at any time about me, please come to me and say so. Misunderstandings are dreadful.” Marjorie’s mind had harked back to the memory of the cloud that had once shadowed hers and Mary Raymond’s friendship.
On the way home to luncheon that day, in company with Jerry, Irma and Constance, she was unusually quiet. Her thoughts reverted gloomily to the conversation between herself and Lucy Warner. It had shown her plainly that no amount of club ethics could stop Mignon’s spiteful tongue. Her crafty attack on Lucy was merely a beginning. Into what sort of tangle her mischief-making proclivities might yet involve the Lookouts was a question which time alone would answer.
The pleasant excitement of the afternoon went far toward banishing Marjorie’s dark forebodings. The house warming was a signal success, thanks to the grateful eagerness with which the residents of the mill district received the kindly effort made in their behalf. Altogether thirty youngsters were enrolled as members of the day nursery, and their mothers showed a shy, pathetic pride and pleasure in the new movement which greatly touched their young hostesses. They did hungry justice to the dainty luncheon prepared for them, and, their diffidence gradually vanishing under the hospitable treatment they were receiving, they talked and laughed in friendly fashion with the patronesses and the Lookouts.
Greatly to the surprise of her fellow members, Mignon deigned to lend her elaborately-dressed self to the house warming. It was well into the afternoon when she appeared, haughty and supercilious. As the majority of the humble guests knew her by sight, her arrival had a somewhat dampening effect upon them. The knowledge that she was the daughter of one of Sanford’s wealthiest residents rather over-awed them, and her grandiose manner served to deepen the effect. Although she was fairly affable to her schoolmates, a hint of scorn lurked in her roving black eyes, which told its own story to those who best understood her ways. No one of the band of earnest workers honestly regretted her departure which occurred not more than half an hour after her arrival.
Before five o’clock the humble guests had departed with much handshaking and friendly bobbing of heads, leaving the house to the Lookouts. The patronesses left shortly afterward and the bevy of girls turned to with commendable energy to spend a merry hour setting the nursery to rights.
“Let’s sit down at the table in these cunning little chairs and have a consultation,” proposed Muriel. “I am really tired out. This has been a strenuous afternoon, not to mention last night.”
“Not for me,” was Jerry’s discouraged comment. “One of those playhouse affairs would last about ten seconds if I attempted to sit in it.”
“We’d better be moving toward home,” suggested Daisy Griggs. “It’s almost six o’clock. I am going to a musicale this evening and I mustn’t be late for it.” Daisy made a determined march for the stairs, and disappeared in search of hat and coat.
“Daisy is a very energetic person,” laughed Irma. “I am going home, eat my dinner and go straight to bed. I’ve been sleepy all day.”
“So have I,” complained Rita Talbot. “I am glad I don’t have to be a spook the year round. Spooks must lose a lot of sleep.”
“I suppose they must. I never interviewed a real one, so I can’t say positively,” giggled Susan.
Following Daisy’s example the Lookouts trooped upstairs in search of their various belongings, exchanging light nonsense as they went. Soon afterward they descended ready for the street. Marjorie, Jerry and Constance lingered while Jerry locked the door, depositing the key in a secret refuge of its own, the location of which was known to the woman who had been engaged to come early Monday morning in order to receive her small charges.
“I wish you and Connie would come over to our house to-night,” invited Jerry. “Hal, Laurie and Dan will be on the job, I mean on the scene. Hal has a brilliant idea that he thinks might interest the Lookouts. He won’t tell me what it is, either. Unless you two are kindly disposed enough to come over, I’ll have to take my curiosity out in guessing.”
“I’ll have to ask my superior officer,” demurred Marjorie. “Captain may think that I ought to stay at home this evening. I’ll do some expert coaxing just to please you, Jerry.”
“My aunt may also be of the same mind about me,” said Constance. “Still, I think I can come.”
“Saved!” Jerry clasped her fat hands in exaggerated thankfulness. “I see I stand some chance of having my curiosity satisfied.”
“Can’t you telephone your aunt and stay to dinner with me, Connie?” begged Marjorie.
“Of course she can. That’s a good idea. If your aunt says ‘yes’ then so will Mrs. Dean,” calculated crafty Jerry. “As Professor Fontaine beautifully puts it, ‘We weel conseedaire the mattaire as settled.’”
Mention of the little professor reminded Constance and Marjorie of an unusually long translation for Monday recitation, at which neither of them had looked. The talk immediately drifted into school channels to continue in that strain until Jerry left them.
After saying good-bye to her, Marjorie and Constance strolled silently along for a little.
“Marjorie,” Constance’s clear enunciation startled her chum from brief reverie. “I am afraid we can never be of much help to Mignon.”
Marjorie flashed a half-startled glance toward Constance. She wondered what new quirk in Mignon’s behavior had occasioned this observation. “Why?” was all she said.
“I’ve been waiting for a chance to tell you something I heard this afternoon. It was Gertrude Aldine who mentioned it. She said that Mignon told her last night that Jerry had hired Veronica to come to the party and do that shadow dance.”
“Hired Veronica?” Marjorie cried out in nettled amazement. “That is perfectly ridiculous and not true. But how did Mignon happen to know that it was Veronica who danced? Only Jerry, Hal, Laurie, you and I knew it. Even I didn’t recognize her on the screen. I don’t see how Mignon could have.”
“She must have, or else – ” Constance paused significantly.
“Or else what?”
“I hate to say it, but Mignon must somehow have overheard you and Jerry when you were talking to Veronica in the back parlor. I saw her leave the ball room soon after you girls did. I saw her come back again after you had returned. I didn’t pay any particular heed to it then. You see I didn’t know about Veronica until you told me last night after the dance. Even then I didn’t connect her with you girls, although I guessed from what the La Salles’ chauffeur said to Mignon that she must have gone downstairs and telephoned her home.” A tiny smile played about Constance’s lips as she recalled Mignon’s defeat. “When Gertrude mentioned what Mignon had said about Veronica, the whole thing flashed across me in a twinkling. Gertrude promised not to tell anyone else. I know she won’t. But Mignon will circulate it throughout the school. Of course she won’t mention, though, how she came by the information.”
“It was contemptible in her if she really did spy upon us,” was Marjorie’s indignant outburst. “I don’t see how she could have managed to, though. I didn’t see a soul downstairs while we were there. If she does gossip it in school, Veronica won’t care. She will only laugh.”
“But Jerry will care,” reminded Constance gravely. “As soon as she hears it she will go to Mignon and make a fuss about it. You know what she said that day at Sargent’s. She meant it, too. We can’t allow our president to resign from the club.”
“We will tell Jerry about it tonight,” decreed Marjorie. “It is better for her to hear it from us than from someone else. She will be cross, of course, but she won’t resign. Something will have to be done about Mignon, though. She’s not keeping her word of honor to the club. This is not the first offense. I can’t explain what I mean by that because I promised a certain person I wouldn’t tell what she told me. Someone will have to go to her and remind her of her duty to the club. If she keeps on saying such hateful things about others, outsiders will form a bad opinion of us all.”
“As president, it’s Jerry’s duty to tell her,” asserted Constance. “No doubt she will wish to do it. That’s just where the trouble lies. She will be apt to tell Mignon very bluntly that she must either stop gossiping or resign from the club. Mignon will simply snap her fingers at Jerry and Jerry herself will resign rather than be in the same club with Mignon.”
“Very likely,” nodded Marjorie. Constance’s theory entirely coincided with her own. “If we talk things over with Jerry beforehand it may make a good deal of difference. Although I wouldn’t say it to anyone but you or Captain, I’ve lately come to the conclusion that trying to help Mignon is a waste of time, energy and peace of mind. It’s like building a sand castle on the beach. Before one has time to finish it the sea washes over it and sweeps it away. If it hadn’t been for that affair at Riverview last year, I would never have troubled myself about her again. Do you realize, Connie, that this is the fourth year that we have had to contend with that girl’s mischief-making?” Marjorie’s question quivered with righteous resentment.
“Yes, but she has never been really successful in a single piece of mischief she has planned,” reminded Constance. “She’s caused us a good deal of unhappiness, but in the end she has been the one to suffer defeat. It generally happens that way with persons like her. They may seem to succeed for a while, but always there comes a day when they have to pay for the trouble they make others. As I have said to you before, I am sorry for Mignon. Honestly, I don’t think we can ever help her much, but she might better be in the club than out of it.”
“Then you think that no matter what she may do we ought still to be patient with her and make allowances?” Marjorie’s query indicated profound respect for Constance’s broad-minded opinion. It made her feel as though her brief flash of resentment of Mignon had been unworthy of herself.
“Yes;” came the unhesitating reply. “What else is there to do? You and I, in particular, made ourselves responsible when we insisted that Mignon should be asked to join the Lookouts. As good soldiers we have no right to shirk that responsibility.”
“I am not going to shirk it.” Marjorie squared her shoulders with an energy that bespoke fresh purpose. “After all I said to the girls about Mignon joining the club, it was cowardly in me to complain so bitterly about her. You’ve made me realize all over again that we ought to look out for Mignon, because it’s the right thing to do, not because of our promise to her father.”
“I’ll stand by you.” Stopping in the middle of the walk, Constance offered her hand to Marjorie in pledge of her offer to stand by.
Both girls laughed as they went through with the little ceremony of shaking hands, little realizing that their compact would, later, turn out to be no laughing matter.
CHAPTER XIII – JERRY DECLARES HERSELF
“Well, here we are again!” jubilantly announced Danny Seabrooke, executing a few fantastic steps about the Macys’ living room by way of expressing his approval of the sextette of young people gathered there.
“Yes, here we are,” echoed Laurie Armitage with a fervor that indicated his deep satisfaction. Seated on the davenport beside Constance Stevens, his blue eyes rested on her with infinite content. This second gathering at the Macys’ was quite to his liking.
“This amiable crowd reminds me of a verse in the third reader that I used to admire,” remarked Jerry humorously. “It went something like this:
“‘Let joy be ours, we’re all at home,
To-night let no cold stranger come.
May gentle peace assert her power
And kind affection rule the hour.’”
Jerry recited this gem in a high, affected voice, ending with a giggle.
“Very touching,” commented Danny, “and very true. We are, indeed, a happy, hilarious, harmonious, harmless, hopeful, hospitable band.”
“After all,” declared Marjorie, “there’s nothing quite like the Invincible Six, is there? I had a gorgeous time at the Hallowe’en party last night, but these little sessions of ours are so jolly.”
“Hurrah! Marjorie’s given us a name!” cheered Hal Macy. “Hereafter we’ll call ourselves the Invincible Six. It’s a good name, and has a lot of snap to it. It means we are a combination that can’t be downed.”
“Of course we can’t,” agreed Danny Seabrooke glibly. “No combination of which I am a part can be downed. Hence the term ‘invincible.’ It’s lucky for all of you that you have me to lean on. Understand, I speak merely in figurative language. I have no intention of becoming an actual prop for two big fellows like Hal Macy and Laurie Armitage.”
“Don’t worry,” jeered Hal, “we wouldn’t take a chance on you. An unstable prop – you know the rest.”
“I know nothing whatever about it,” returned Danny with dignity. “Furthermore, I don’t wish to know.”
“‘Where ignorance is bliss – ’” quoted Hal tantalizingly.
“’Tis folly to waste time spouting proverbs,” finished Danny, his wide grin in evidence.
“Stop squabbling, both of you,” commanded Jerry. “One would think to hear you that the March Hare and the Mad Hatter had both come to life. What about that wonderful idea of yours, Hal? It’s time you quit being so stingy.”
“Keep Dan quiet and I promise to be generous,” was the teasing stipulation.
“Come and sit beside me, Danny,” invited Marjorie with a roguish glance toward the talkative Daniel.
The latter immediately moved his chair with a wild flourish. Planting it beside Marjorie’s he settled himself in it with a triumphant flop. “There’s nothing like proper appreciation,” he declared, beaming owlishly at Hal, who merely smiled tolerantly at this fling.
“Go ahead, Hal,” directed Laurie. “Marjorie’s beneficent influence on Dan will keep him quiet for at least five minutes.”
“All right.” Hitching his chair about until he faced the interested group, Hal began. “You know, of course, that most of the Weston High fellows belong to the Sanford Guards. You know, too, that it is just a high school company and has always furnished its own equipment. Just now the company needs a lot of stuff that it can’t afford to buy. A few of us could club together and buy it, but that wouldn’t suit some of the boys. We ought to try and raise the money in some more democratic way. Now you girls have a club and would like to do something to raise money for it. So I thought between the Guards and the club we could get up some sort of entertainment together that the Sanfordites would turn out to and spend their money. That’s the first half of the idea. The second half is the show itself. Why couldn’t we give a big Campfire in the Armory, and make a lot of money?”
“A Campfire? I never heard of one. What sort of show is it, Hal?” Marjorie leaned forward in her chair, her changeful features alive with curious interest.
“It’s a new one on me!” exclaimed Jerry. “I mean, I never heard of a Campfire, either,” was her hasty amendment.
“A Campfire is a kind of big military show,” explained Hal. “I went to one once in Buffalo. It’s like a bazaar, only instead of booths, there are tents all the way around the Armory except at one end where there’s a little stage. The center of the floor is left free for dancing. Different things are sold in the tents. Confectionery and ices and postcards or anything one cares to have. That would be the part you girls would have to see to. We could have a show and a dance afterward. If we gave it for three nights running we’d make quite a lot of money. Half of it would go to the Lookouts and the other half to the Guards.”
“You’ve certainly got a head on your shoulders, Harold. I forgive you for those disrespectful proverbs.” Danny regarded Hal with grinning magnanimity. “I promise faithfully to be one of the special features at the Woodfire, Coalfire, Nofire – pardon me; Campfire.”
“I’m not sure whether you’ll be there,” retorted Hal. “It will depend entirely upon your behavior.”
“Oh, I’ll be there; never fear” was the airy assurance.
“It’s the very nicest kind of idea,” approved Marjorie warmly. “I am sure that we could work together and carry it out successfully. It means a lot of work, though. When could we have it?” This as an afterthought.
“Thanksgiving would be a pretty good time for us,” proposed Jerry. “We have no school after Wednesday of Thanksgiving week. But there’s football. You boys will be busy with that.”
“Not this year.” Hal shook his head. “Laurie and I are out of it. We’ve had three years of football and so we thought we’d give some of the other fellows our chance. Having to drill so much lately at the Armory has kept us both busy. Then, too, Laurie wanted all the extra time he could get to work on his new opera.”
This last information brought a chorus of surprised exclamations from four young throats. Even Constance was not in possession of this news.
“Now who is stingy?” cried Jerry, looking playful accusation at Laurie.
“Oh, I intended to tell you folks about it tonight,” defended the young composer, flushing. “Hal merely got the start of me. There isn’t much to tell so far. I have a vague inspiration which I’m trying to translate into music. I don’t know yet whether or not it will be worth while.”
“What are you going to name your opera?” inquired practical Jerry. “What is it about?”
“I – that is – ” Laurie showed further signs of embarrassment. “I haven’t exactly decided on a name for it. I’d rather not say anything about it for a while. Later on, I’ll be pleased to answer both your questions, Jerry.”
“More mystery!” Jerry threw up her hands in comical disapproval. “Our senior year seems to be full of it. There’s the mystery of Veronica, for instance, and – ”
“She is a rather mysterious person,” broke in Laurie. “Last night while she was waiting to do that shadow dance, I stood beside her so as to be ready to take her broom and that stuffed cat she carried on her shoulder after she made her bow on the screen. When she had finished the dance she slipped away from me before I had a chance to congratulate her on her dancing. I thought of course she’d stay for the party. I was surprised when you told me, Jerry, that she wouldn’t hear to it. She seems like a mighty nice girl. Strange, but I could almost swear that I’d met her before last night.”
“You’ve probably seen her going to or coming from school,” remarked Constance. “She is often with us.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed her with you girls, and I’ve always had that same peculiar impression about her. The moment she first spoke to me last night it deepened.” Laurie knit his brows in a puzzled effort to bring back the circumstances of some possibly former meeting with Veronica.
A gleam of sudden inspiration shot into Jerry’s round eyes. “Perhaps you may have met Veronica before last night, Laurie,” she said eagerly. “Think hard and see if you can’t recall the meeting. It might throw a little light on some of the things that puzzle us.”
“Sorry I can’t oblige you,” he declared ruefully after due reflection, “but I can’t remember ever having met her previous to last night. It must be a case of her resembling somebody else I’ve met.”
“Jerry will never be satisfied until she knows all the whys and wherefores of Veronica,” laughed Marjorie. “Never mind, Jerry. Some day we may find out that our great mystery amounts to very little after all. By that I don’t mean that we are likely to be disappointed in Ronny. It’s quite probable that we don’t understand her now as we may later on. To go back to the Campfire, we had better decide to-night when we are to have it. I think Thanksgiving would be the best time. I imagine the other Lookouts beside ourselves will think so, too.”
The subject of the Campfire again taken up, the six friends entered into an avid planning for it. The three boys were reasonably sure that the project would find favor with the Sanford Guards, to which military organization they all belonged. The three girls were equally certain that it would meet the approval of their club associates. Their interest centered on the delightful scheme, both Marjorie and Constance entirely forgot the disagreeable news which they had previously agreed must be broken to Jerry.
It was well toward eleven o’clock when tardy recollection of it swept over Marjorie. The sextette were in the midst of a delectable collation of hot chocolate, sandwiches and French cakes, of which they had despoiled the indefatigable tea wagon, when the remembrance of Mignon’s latest iniquity popped into her mind. Luckily for her, Jerry was seated in the chair nearest to her. Under cover of one of Danny Seabrooke’s lively sallies, Marjorie leaned toward Jerry and said softly: “I have something to tell you, Jeremiah. I thought I might have a chance to say it to-night, but perhaps I’d better wait until to-morrow.”
“‘Never put off until to-morrow what you can do to-day,’” was the cheerful reminder. “Wait until we have finished the spread. You can help me trundle the tea wagon out of here and into the kitchen. Then we can talk. I’ll make a loud and special clamor for the pleasure of your assistance. Does Connie know what’s on your mind? I don’t want to seem rude to her.”
“Yes, she will understand,” nodded Marjorie. “She’d rather I’d tell you. She can entertain the boys until we come back.”
Not long after this guarded conversation took place Jerry made good her promise. “Lend me a hand with this tea wagon, Marjorie,” she innocently requested. “You boys needn’t trouble yourselves. Sit still and look pleasant and Connie will do the honors while Marjorie and I do the work. Besides, two’s company,” she added, with good-humored significance.
“Don’t mention it,” affably retorted Danny Seabrooke. “You have my permission to take charge of the tea wagon. Once it looked good to me. Now that it holds nothing but empty dishes, take it away quickly.”
Hal and Laurie obediently kept their seats. They were accustomed to Jerry’s blunt orders and knew that their services were not desired. Constance flashed Marjorie a quick, inquiring glance, which the latter answered with an almost imperceptible nod.
“See how they mind me,” observed Jerry, chuckling, as the two girls left the room, trundling the tea wagon between them. Entering the kitchen she gave it a final impatient shove away from her. “You’re out of it,” she commented as it rumbled along the smooth floor with a protesting jingle of dishes. “You have the floor, Marjorie. What’s the latest? As you don’t look very joyful, I wonder if our dear Mignon has been busy again. Something seems to tell me that I am not a thousand miles off in my guess. After last night, nothing she has said or done can surprise me much. She certainly got nicely fooled, didn’t she? What I’d like to know is, When did she telephone her house?”
“That is precisely what I am going to tell you,” stated Marjorie in deliberate tones; “But, first, I want you to promise me, Jerry, that you will try not to be too much upset by what I’m going to say.”
“That’s a pretty hard promise to make.” Jerry eyed her friend speculatively. “I’ll be as calm as I can, but no calmer.”
Not greatly assured by Jerry’s half promise, Marjorie plunged bravely into the task that confronted her. Before she had ended, Jerry’s good-natured countenance showed signs of storm.
“Of all the mischief-makers,” she sputtered, “Mignon leads the van! She’s gone just a little too far this time; The idea of her slipping around behind our backs to listen to what didn’t concern her. I won’t have her in the club. As president I have some say about it. I shall call a special meeting of the Lookouts, tell them what she’s done, and recommend that she be dropped from the club. We can’t trust her. She’s broken the Golden Rule a dozen times at least since she became a member of the Lookouts. Either she must leave the club or else I shall leave it,” she threatened.
“I was afraid you’d say that. Understand, I agree with you that she deserves to be asked to resign. But we mustn’t ask her to, and you must not resign, either, Jerry. If you did, it might break up the club. We’ve too much at stake now to begin quarreling. We wouldn’t be helping Mignon by asking her to resign. We’d only be responsible for making her more dishonorable than ever. Veronica won’t mind her gossip.”
“Maybe she won’t,” snapped Jerry, “but it’s not fair to the Lookouts to allow Mignon to do and say things that will cause them to be criticized. We’ve got to take some pretty severe action about it or be set down as in her class.”
“That’s what I am coming to,” continued Marjorie. “The time has come when Mignon must be made to understand that she will have to live up to the Golden Rule. As president of the club, you ought to be the one to tell her, but I am afraid – ”
“I’ll tell her,” emphasized Jerry grimly, “and in a way that she won’t relish. Maybe then she’ll be glad to resign of her own accord. If she won’t, then I shall.”
