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“That’s just the point,” broke in Marjorie mournfully. “She won’t resign of her own accord. If you undertake to tell her she will be horrid to you. Then you’ll lose your temper and – we won’t have any president.”

“I guess that’s so.” Jerry frowned fiercely. Marjorie’s wistful ending had its effect on her, however. “Still, who’s going to tell her if I don’t? You can imagine what will happen if Muriel undertakes it. It will be like touching a match to gun powder. Susan has no time for her. Irma’s altogether too gentle. Harriet’s no match for Mignon. Connie – well, Connie might be able to put it over. I doubt it, though. Mignon is so jealous of her on account of her singing and Laurie. She wouldn’t listen to Connie. Afterward she’d be sure to start a story that Connie tried to put her out of the club because of Laurie’s attention to her at the Hallowe’en party. There’s only – ”

“Marjorie Dean left to tell her,” supplemented Marjorie quietly.

“You’ve said it,” nodded Jerry. “You are the only one of us who is likely to make an impression upon her. She doesn’t like you, but she’s afraid of you. She knows, even though she won’t admit it, that you are miles her superior. I’d rather be the one to go to her, but you seem to think it wouldn’t be wise. I guess you know what you’re talking about. One of us is it. If you feel you’d like to do the censuring act, then go ahead and do it.”

“I don’t feel that I’d like to do any such thing.” Marjorie’s answer conveyed strong disinclination. “It’s this way, though. You and Connie and I know more about Mignon than the others know. That’s why it would be best for one of us to have a talk with her. If all three of us went to her together, it would be more humiliating for her than if only one of us went. I’d rather it wouldn’t be Connie. Mignon would gossip about her afterward.” Marjorie paused. She disliked to remind Jerry of her short temper.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do.” Jerry rose gallantly to the distasteful interview in prospect. “You and I will form a committee of two and face Mignon together. You can do the talking and I’ll simply go along to see that she doesn’t gobble you up. I promise faithfully to be as dumb as a clam. But only for this one time. Just to please you, Marjorie, I’ll agree to let her escape what she deserves with a warning. But never again. If, after you’ve laid down the law to her, she starts any more gossip, then there will be one face missing among the Lookouts. If it isn’t hers, it will certainly be mine.”

CHAPTER XIV – AN UNREPENTANT SINNER

Having committed themselves to the unenviable duty of censorship, neither Marjorie nor Jerry had any intention of wavering in the performance of it. The following Monday they met and agreed to pay Mignon a call that evening. They also agreed not to announce to her beforehand their purposed visit to her. It would be wisest to hazard the chance of finding her at home.

Their hearts beat a trifle faster, however, when at eight o’clock that evening they proceeded up the wide stone walk leading to the La Salles’ veranda. In just what fashion Mignon, were she at home, would receive the counsel they had decided must be imparted to her, was something which they could not foretell.

“Br-rr!” shivered Jerry as Marjorie pressed the electric bell. “I hope she isn’t at home.”

“I don’t.” Marjorie spoke firmly. “I’d rather see her to-night and have it over with.”

The opening of the door by a maid cut short further conversation between them. She ushered them into the drawing room with the information that “Miss Mignon” was at home. Inviting them to be seated, she disappeared to acquaint the French girl with their arrival.

Hardly had they seated themselves when the sound of Mignon’s voice raised in sharp question floated down to them from the head of the wide hall staircase. Followed the patter of light descending feet, announcing to them that the dread moment was approaching.

“Good evening.” Mignon’s black brows lifted themselves ironically as she beheld her unexpected callers. “This is really a surprise!” Her elfish eyes roved challengingly from one girl to the other.

“Good evening, Mignon.” Marjorie’s calm salutation betrayed nothing of her inner trepidation.

“How are you, Mignon?” was all Jerry said. She, too, had sensed hostility in her hostess’ satirical exclamation.

“I was taking a look at my French lesson for to-morrow when I heard the door-bell. French, of course, is very easy for me. I need hardly to glance at a lesson before I know it.” Mignon’s sharp chin raised itself a trifle as she made this boast.

“Yes; you have the advantage of the rest of us,” conceded Marjorie honestly. “French is quite hard for me. The poetry is so difficult to translate.”

“Were you girls at the nursery this afternoon?” inquired Mignon suavely. She was wondering mightily what had occasioned their call.

“No. It was Muriel’s and Irma’s turn to go this afternoon. Jerry and I are to take ours on Friday. What afternoon are you to have, and which one of the girls is to go with you? Irma has the list of names. I haven’t seen it,” Marjorie added.

Mignon shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, I was asked to be on duty Thursday afternoon. I didn’t inquire who was to help me amuse those tiresome slum youngsters.” She tossed her head with elaborate unconcern. A scornful smile played about her lips. “It really doesn’t matter, though. I shall not be there. I am going out of town on Wednesday evening and shall not return until late Thursday night. I must tell Irma not to count on me this week.”

An awkward silence followed this announcement. Jerry frowned but held her peace. Marjorie’s brown eyes showed a faint sparkle of indignation. Mignon’s slighting reference to the nursery children angered her. No trace of her displeasure lurked in her voice, however, as she said evenly: “I am willing to take your place on Thursday, Mignon.”

“Suit yourself.” Mignon’s shoulders again went into ready play. “I imagine you girls will find that day nursery a white elephant. It will cost the club more time and money than it is worth. It will keep the Lookouts hustling to supply funds for it. The sum of money we now have in the treasury won’t last long at the rate it is being spent.”

“We have thought of a way to put more money in our treasury,” was Marjorie’s quiet assurance.

Jerry’s round blue eyes focussed themselves upon her friend, amazement in their depths. Surely Marjorie did not intend to put Mignon in possession of the Campfire project before the rest of the Lookouts knew it? Marjorie, however, had been visited by a swift flash of inspiration. In view of the prospective Campfire, Mignon might receive the rebuke about to be delivered in a more chastened spirit than she would otherwise exhibit. She was not likely to cut off her nose to spite her face.

“What do you mean?” Alert interest leaped into Mignon’s face. “What is your new plan?”

Marjorie outlined briefly the money-making scheme which Hal Macy had conceived.

“And will there be a show every night?”

“Yes; Laurie Armitage is going to arrange a little revue.”

“Is he really!” Mignon leaned forward, an eager figure of anticipation. “Do you know who is to take part in it?”

“Nothing definite has been decided yet.” Marjorie could scarcely repress a smile. Mignon’s question patently indicated what was in her mind.

“I wonder if he will ask – ” Tardily realizing that she was betraying undue eagerness, Mignon checked herself.

She had said enough, however, to give Marjorie the desired opportunity. “I think Laurie ought to ask you to take part in his revue, Mignon. You sang beautifully in the Rebellious Princess. I suppose he would rather choose the girls for it from among the Lookouts. But he said last night that he was going to be very sure that those he asked to help him would work together without friction.”

“Are you accusing me of being a trouble-maker?” Mignon sprang to her feet, her black eyes snapping with anger. “I want you to understand – ”

“Please allow me to go on with what I was about to say,” came the dignified interruption.

“I will not – ” began Mignon. Her furious tone changing to one of sullenness, she muttered, “Well, say it.”

“I know you won’t like to hear this, but it must be said. Laurie intends to ask Veronica Browning to take part in the revue. She dances very cleverly and is sure to please the audience. I know that you don’t like Veronica, simply because she is poor,” Marjorie went on bravely. “I know, too, that you have said unkind things about her to others. I have learned that you circulated the report that she was paid to come to Jerry’s Hallowe’en party and dance. This was not the case. She offered to dance at Jerry’s of her own free will. She did not remain for the party, simply because she did not wish to do so. If you take part in the revue and Veronica agrees to be in it, too, then you will have to treat her with courtesy and make no slighting remarks about her behind her back. Should you do so, and were Laurie to hear of it, he would be very angry.”

“That for your servant girl!” Mignon snapped derisive fingers. “I shall say whatever I please to her or about her.”

“Then you are not a true Lookout,” condemned Marjorie sternly. “Every time you make an unkind remark about Veronica or in fact anyone else, you are breaking the Golden Rule. We all promised to live up to it. As an officer of the club, you are especially bound to do so. I came here to-night on purpose to remind you of that promise. It is not fair in you to lay the Lookouts open to censure. You are not playing fairly with yourself, either.”

“Thank you for your kind consideration of me,” retorted Mignon in shrill, furious tones. “I know just how sincere it is.”

“It is sincere.” Marjorie’s low, harmonious accents contrasted sharply with Mignon’s high-pitched tones. “It has been hard for me to tell you these things. I have done so because I am trying to warn you before it is too late. Aside from Jerry and me there are only two other girls in the club who would stand by you if you got into trouble through your own mischief-making. The others would simply demand your resignation.”

“You needn’t count on me to stand by you, Mignon, if you keep up your back-biting about Veronica,” flashed Jerry. She had reached the limit of silence. “I’d have asked you to resign before this if it hadn’t been for Marjorie. You make me tired. Why can’t you let well enough alone? You’re an officer in the Lookouts. If you behave yourself you can shine in the revue. You’ll gain more by keeping your opinions of Veronica to yourself.”

Astonishment at this blunt advice tied Mignon’s tongue for an instant. Secretly she had always been afraid of plain-spoken Jerry Macy. The stout girl had the disconcerting faculty of coming to the point with a vengeance. Her arguments were too clinching to be easily refuted. Marjorie’s earnest speech had had small effect upon Mignon. Jerry had outlined her shaky position in a few brusque words, the truth of which struck home.

Having met her match, Mignon resorted to the world-old feminine artifice. Flinging herself down on a brocade settee she burst into tears. They were not tears of remorse; merely an outward expression of baffled rage. Justly accused, she was overcome by the knowledge of her own inability to clear herself.

Jerry eyed her with patent disgust. “Crocodile tears,” was her uncharitable thought. Marjorie, on the contrary, was moved to pity. Rising, she crossed the room to where Mignon sat huddled on the settee, her face hidden in her hands. Laying a gentle hand on the bowed shoulders, Marjorie said soothingly: “Don’t cry, Mignon. Please try to think of Jerry and me as your friends. We have your interests at heart as well as Veronica’s. I am sure that if you will try to know her, you will find her a delightful girl. No one knows that Jerry and I intended to speak to you about her. No one will ever know. All I am asking you to do is to give both yourself and Veronica a fair chance.”

Mignon answered only with a fresh burst of sobs. This time they were not genuine. Under pretence of weeping, her active mind was already at work, endeavoring to decide what she had best do. To resign from the club would profit her nothing. Once out of it, she would not only miss all the good times in prospect, but also find herself completely out of touch with the members. Far from accepting Marjorie’s rebuke in the spirit in which it had been offered, she now yearned for revenge upon this priggish, goody-goody who had dared to remind her of her shortcomings. Yet how could she retaliate if she deliberately cut herself off from her intended victim? Taking a leaf from Rowena’s book she resolved to bring craft to her aid. She would pretend to fall in with Marjorie’s scheme of conduct. Afterward —

Raising her head with a jerk she said with well-simulated meekness: “I believe you are right, Marjorie. Please give me another chance to show you that I can be a true Lookout.” With an air of deep penitence she held out her hand to Marjorie.

“I am glad you can say that, Mignon.” Marjorie’s hand went out instantly. “Now let us forget all about the disagreeable part. It has been hard for all of us. There is just one thing more I’d like to say. If after you have tried to like Veronica you find that you can’t, then no one will be to blame. We cannot expect others always to see our friends as we see them. You have a perfect right to like or dislike anyone you please. All I ask is – ”

“I will try to like her for your sake, Marjorie,” Mignon interrupted with deceitful sweetness. Immediately changing the subject, she began to regale Marjorie with an account of a near accident she had had that day while driving her runabout.

“I think we’d better go,” Jerry announced sharply. She had had quite enough of Mignon and was not impressed by the erring one’s miraculous repentance. She doubted its sincerity, and she could hardly refrain from saying so. She had sat silent and uncompromising during the scene, making no move toward offering a rehabilitating hand. Mignon’s swift change of the subject disgusted her even more. She understood the reason for it if Marjorie did not.

Mignon sent a covert glance toward this stony-faced third party whom she feared. She knew that Jerry was quite out of sympathy with her. She longed to say something particularly cutting to the stout girl but caution warned her to silence.

“Yes, we must go.” Marjorie still stood beside the settee that held Mignon. Now she turned to the latter who had made no move to rise and again held out her hand. “Good night, Mignon,” she said. “Don’t forget the club meeting to-morrow evening.”

Reluctantly Mignon rose to perform the parting civilities which courtesy demanded.

“Good night, Mignon.” Jerry was already half way to the door when she spoke.

“Good night.” Mignon cast a spiteful look toward the stout girl. Following her callers into the hall, she saw them to the door with little enthusiasm. She was longing for them to go and could scarcely forbear slamming the unoffending portal in their faces. Closing it behind them with spiteful force, she clenched her hands in an excess of passionate fury. “Idiots!” she raged. “How dared they come here and humiliate me? They’ll be sorry! Just wait!”

Half way down the walk the reform committee heard the slam of the door.

“Hear that?” asked Jerry savagely. “That’s the real Mignon. Look out for her. You made a mistake when you said what you did about her being free to like or dislike Ronny. You gave her a chance to hit back.”

“But I said afterward that all I asked of her was – ” Marjorie stopped. “Why, Jerry, I didn’t say the most important part of my sentence. Mignon interrupted me. Then she began talking about her runabout and I didn’t finish it. I thought she changed the subject because she was dreadfully embarrassed.”

“Of course, she interrupted you.” Jerry grew increasingly scornful. “She knew you’d said just enough to be useful to her. She hasn’t any intention of trying to like Ronny. She’ll treat her just the same as ever. If you say anything about it to her again, she will laugh and quote your own words to you. We might better have stayed at home for all the good we’ve done.”

“Don’t borrow trouble, Jeremiah.” Marjorie linked an affectionate arm in Jerry’s. “I think we’ve done a little good to-night. Mignon will be careful what she says or does for a while. She doesn’t care to resign from the club, else she would have said so to-night. She wants to be in the revue, too. Telling her what Laurie said sounded rather like threatening her, but I had to do it.”

“There is no cure for Mignon,” stated Jerry shortly, “and this is the last time I’ll help play doctor. There’s just one consolation, though. Give her enough rope and she’ll hang herself.”

CHAPTER XV – THE FULFILLMENT OF THE PLAN

The Lookouts met the next evening at Muriel Harding’s home, and the Campfire project was received with acclamation. Nearly everyone present had a suggestion to tender that would go toward making the affair a success. The decision regarding the number of booths and what each should offer for sale had been left to the Lookouts. After much discussion they agreed upon a number of attractions which were calculated to meet the approval of the residents of Sanford. Not wishing to solicit donations from those on whose attendance they counted, it was difficult to plan features that would yield the largest profit for the smallest outlay of money. Unsolicited donations would be thankfully received. As a matter of fact the mothers and fathers of the members had already offered their help.

One booth would be devoted to the sale of homemade candy, which the mothers of the Lookouts had agreed to contribute. Another would offer hand-painted postcards, pledged by the artistic element of the club. There was also to be a gypsy fortune-teller, a fish pond, a lemonade stand, an ice cream and cake booth, fruit and flower booth, a huge pumpkin on which guesses were to be sold regarding the exact number of seeds it contained, and various other artful attractions which would cost little and yield much profit. It was also deemed advisable to ask the members of the senior class to help at the various booths.

The Sanford Guards had held a meeting on the preceding evening and Hal had informed Jerry of their willingness to take half of the work of preparation on their shoulders. Besides Laurie’s revue, they would offer a funny side show, a shooting gallery, a patriotic booth, as well as furnishing nightly an exhibition of military maneuvers. Jerry duly reported this to the Lookouts, who were well-satisfied. Thanksgiving fell on the twenty-seventh of November. As it was the evening of the fourth on which the meeting was held, the need for swift action became imminent.

“We’ll have to hustle if we are going to do all we’ve planned to do in the next three weeks,” was Jerry’s unofficial reminder. “We have to go to school, you know, and we can’t neglect the day nursery. We’ll have to buy some of the postcards. You girls can never turn out enough in three weeks to supply the demand. The candy and cakes our mothers will take care of, thank goodness. Still, we ought to buy a certain amount of boxed candy. The boys will see to the tents and the counters and such things. Hal says that the military tents the Guards use aren’t large enough. Most of the boys have larger ones of their own that they use to go camping. They will be best for booths. It’s a good thing the Armory is such a whale – I mean, such a large place.”

“We can’t afford to waste a minute,” nodded Muriel Harding. “It’s a good thing, too, that we are out of basket ball this year. I am glad of it. Last year killed my ambition to play.”

“Miss Davis is having her own troubles in making up the teams,” informed Daisy Griggs. “The sophs who played on Rowena Farnham’s team last year all refused to try for the junior team. Nellie Simmons told a girl that she wouldn’t play basket ball again for a hundred dollars. I guess the scolding Miss Archer gave them last year was a little too much for them.”

“I am very sorry there is no senior team,” declared Mignon with a defiant toss of her head. “Basket ball is about the only thing worth while in Sanford High. I think it is very sweet in Miss Davis to try so hard to keep it alive after what she had to endure last year.”

“Whatever she had to stand from the players was her own fault,” flashed Susan Atwell heatedly. “If she hadn’t – Oh, I forgot – I’m a Lookout.” Susan subsided with a blush and a giggle.

Mignon’s black eyes gleamed. Others beside herself, it seemed, could gossip. Daisy Griggs and Susan Atwell were both guilty of back-biting. Realizing her advantage she promptly seized it. “It is because I am a Lookout that I am defending Miss Davis. It is hardly fair, I think, to gossip about her behind her back.”

“I’d just as soon say it to her face,” sputtered Susan.

“Suppose we drop the subject of basket ball,” suggested Jerry significantly. “We have other things more important to discuss.”

Mignon opened her lips as though about to make hot reply. Reconsidering, she contented herself with an inimitable shrug that spoke volumes. For once she had scored. She would treasure the knowledge against a time of need. Supremely satisfied with herself, she entered into the further discussion of the Campfire with deceitful amiability. Only one person utterly refuted it. Jerry Macy was not to be deceived for a moment. Unknown to Marjorie, she had determined to constitute herself a vigilance committee of one to keep tab on Mignon. She was entirely through with Mignon and she vengefully hoped that the figurative hanging she had prophesied would soon take place.

The next three weeks found the Lookouts engaged in a whirl of day nursery, Campfire and school. Naturally the Campfire movement predominated their interest. Had they undertaken it alone, they could never have carried it to completion in so short a period of time. The Guards, headed by Laurie, Hal and Danny Seabrooke, proved able coadjutors, and the project took definite shape with a rush.

The Campfire was scheduled to open on Thanksgiving evening, and the excited promoters of it hurried through with their Thanksgiving dinners in order to spend the afternoon in putting the final touches to its various attractions. In a small city like Sanford, advertising the affair had been a simple matter. For two weeks beforehand it had been the main topic of conversation in the two high schools. Gay posters announcing it were prominently placed in several of the largest stores. Typed notices ornamented the locker rooms in both high schools, the pupils of which straightway constituted themselves as ardent news-carriers. This in itself was an infallible method of advertising.

As for the big Armory, it hardly knew itself. A festive collection of tents opened in front to their widest extent, lined three sides of it. At the upper end, at the right of the platform, a palm-screened enclosure had been arranged to hold the Sanford orchestra. Despite the amount of room the booths took up, the space enclosed by them was large. During the early part of the evening it would be used for the military maneuvers. These over it would be turned into a dancing floor. An admission fee of thirty-five cents would be levied at the door, and the spectators would view the entertainment provided from the gallery which extended around three sides of the drill floor.

The Lookouts, in their prettiest evening frocks, assisted by their senior sisters, were to preside over the booths the club had fitted out as their part of the undertaking. The Guards were to look after their own special contributions and act as ushers and program distributors. Colonel Dearborn, a United States Army veteran, the only Sanford survivor of the Civil War, would open the Campfire with a speech of welcome. Captain Baynes, the drill master of the Sanford Guards, was also down for a speech. The latter had received injuries in the Spanish-American war which incapacitated him for further active service in the army. His enthusiasm unquenched, he had organized the Sanford Guards and devoted himself assiduously to their training. He was greatly liked and respected by the Weston High School lads, who had vigorously pleaded for a few words from him to complete the opening ceremonies. Miss Archer had been unanimously chosen by the Lookouts as their representative speaker.

Owing to lack of time, Laurie’s revue would begin at eight o’clock, and last an hour. Constance and Mignon were down on the program for songs. Veronica was to dance, Danny Seabrooke was to demonstrate his agility in a comic juggling act. Laurie and Hal were to display themselves as scientific handlers of fencing foils, while the Crane was to do a funny eccentric dance which he could perform to perfection. Muriel, Susan, Rita Talbot and three Weston High School boys were to contribute a pretty singing and dancing number. Greatly to his discomfiture, Laurie had received numerous requests to play on his violin, and had reluctantly consented to render a solo as the concluding number of the revue. The Weston High Glee Club were to open the performance. The revue was to be followed by ten minutes of military maneuvers, a different drill to be given each night. Then the spectators were to be cordially invited to descend and spend their money.

“I can almost believe I’m a real soldier,” Marjorie confided to Constance, when at half past seven o’clock Thanksgiving evening the two girls stepped into the patriotically decorated Armory which presented a gay and busy aspect. Wherever her eyes chanced to rest she saw the khaki-clad figures of the Guards, their uniforms patterned after those of the regular United States Army.

“It’s inspiring, isn’t it?” Constance, looking very lovely in her pale blue and silver frock, gazed eagerly about her. Standing beside Marjorie, who was wearing her peachblow gown, the two young girls made a pretty picture, as more than one gallant guardsman was ready to testify.

“I do hope everything will go beautifully.” Marjorie clasped her hands fervently. “I have made up my mind that our booth must sell every single box of candy. Irma is sweet among the flowers, isn’t she? The flower booth just suits her. All the girls look lovely. Lucy Warner is a dear in that soft, white gown. She’s a good person to have in the postcards.”

“Now what are you two talking about?” Unobserved, Jerry Macy had stolen up behind them.

“Oh, hello, Jeremiah! How nice you look!” Marjorie reached out to pat Jerry’s plump shoulder. “That white net gown is so becoming.”

“It’ll do,” conceded Jerry gruffly. According to her own statement, praise always made her “feel foolish.” “You and Connie are pretty likely to drag down a few bouquets,” she generously added.

“We’ll do.” Constance mischievously mimicked Jerry.

“Now that we’ve changed compliments, I’ll throw a few bouquets at the shrine of the Lookouts,” grinned Jerry. “We certainly deserve a lot of credit, and we owe a loud vote of thanks to our fathers and mothers. If it hadn’t been for them we wouldn’t have half the stuff for the booths that’s in them now. When this thing is over, the Lookouts must send personal letters of thanks to all who’ve helped us.”

“We surely must,” chorused Marjorie and Constance.

The Lookouts were indeed indebted to their elders. Mr. Macy, Mr. La Salle and Miss Allison had been especially liberal with monetary gifts, while the fathers of the members in less affluent circumstances had each “done their bit.” The mothers, too, had become loyal candy and cake makers, not to mention the many other services they had rendered ungrudgingly. Anxious to encourage their children to the performance of worthy work, these broad-minded men and women believed it to be their duty to assist the young enthusiasts in every possible way.

“I’m glad we gave Mignon that lemonade job,” commented Jerry, her round eyes wandering to where the big punch bowl stood, thus far minus the French girl’s presence. “She’ll be off by herself where she can’t stir up trouble. She’ll have to stay there, too, when the revue’s over. I calculated on that when I asked her to take charge of the lemonade bowl. She doesn’t know that she’s going to be off in a corner away from the rest of the girls. I didn’t tell her. Maybe she’ll be mad when she finds out. I can’t help it. I hope she will get here on time. It’s just like her to come straggling in late so everyone will see her.”

“Jerry, you are breaking the Golden Rule,” reminded Marjorie.

“Oh, I’m only bending it,” retorted Jerry good-humoredly. “Besides, you two girls don’t count. I must say whatever I think to you. To others I am a clammy clam. Hello! There she comes now. I must say she looks like a lemon in that yellow frock. It’s the exact color of one.”

“She is really stunning!” Marjorie exclaimed generously. “That pale yellow chiffon frock is quite suited to her. It brings out her black eyes and hair.”

“Handsome is as handsome does,” Jerry made skeptical response. “I must leave you now to break the sad news to her. If, in about three minutes, you see her looking like a thundercloud you’ll know the reason.”

Jerry sauntered away to deliver the fateful information to Mignon. The eyes of the two friends meeting, Marjorie made a gesture of dissent. “I’d rather not watch to see how she takes it. It doesn’t seem quite fair. Jerry didn’t stop to think or she wouldn’t have said that. As I’m not in the revue I had better go to my booth.”

“I must hurry behind the scenes,” said Constance. “It’s ten minutes to eight now and my song comes third on the program.”

With this the two girls separated, Constance heading in the direction of a room at the left of the Armory, nearest to the platform. From it the girl performers made their entrance to the improvised stage. The room on the right had been given over to the boys, Marjorie walked slowly toward the candy booth. When half way to it she heard someone call her name. Glancing in the direction of the post card booth, she saw Lucy Warner beckoning eagerly to her. A happy light radiated from the girl’s usually austere features. Her bluish-green eyes sparkled with pleasure. Lucy was childishly delighted to have the opportunity to assist in so important an affair as the Campfire. She felt that she owed this happiness directly to Marjorie.