CHAPTER VI
THE PLEDGE
"Oh, I am so glad we are to have a locker together!" exclaimed Marjorie,impulsively. "I've been very anxious to know you. I really owe you anapology. I spoke to you in the street the other day. I don't know whatyou thought of me, but you look so much like my dearest chum inB---- that I called to you before I realized what I was doing."
The other girl regarded Marjorie with the suspicious, uneasy eyes of acornered animal. Then, without answering, she reached for her hat andwas about to go silently on her way, when something in Marjorie'sgracious words seemed to touch her and she said, grudgingly, "I rememberyou."
"That's nice," beamed Marjorie. "I was afraid you wouldn't. Let me tellyou about my chum." She launched forth in an enthusiastic description ofMary Raymond and of their long friendship. "I wrote Mary about havingseen a girl that looked like her. She will be very curious to see you.She's coming to visit me some time during the year. So I hope you and Iwill be friends. But I haven't even told you who I am. My name isMarjorie Dean. Won't you please tell me yours?" She offered her handwinningly, but the strange, self-contained young girl ignored it.
"My name is Constance Stevens." Her voice was coldly reluctant, carryingwith it an unmistakable rebuff.
Marjorie drew back, puzzled and hurt. She was not used to having herfriendly overtures rejected. The blue-eyed girl saw the shrinkingmovement, and, stirred by some hitherto unknown impulse, stretched forthher hand. "Please forgive me for being so rude," she said contritely."It is awfully sweet in you to tell me about your chum and to say thatyou wish to be my friend. You are the first girl, who has been so nicewith me since I came to Sanford. How I hate them!" Her expressive facedarkened and her blue eyes became filled with brooding, sullen anger.
"Are you going home to luncheon now?" asked Marjorie, with a view towardkeeping away from disagreeable subjects.
The other girl nodded, then, pinning on her hat, the two left thebuilding. Marjorie wished to ask questions, but she did not know how tobegin with this strange, moody girl. There were so many things to say."Do you play basketball?" she asked, almost timidly, when they hadtraversed three blocks in silence.
Constance shook her head. "I don't even know the game, let alone tryingto play it. Do you play?"
"Yes. I have played every position on the team. I was chosen for centerof the freshman team at Franklin High just before I came here. One ofthe freshmen has asked me to go to the tryout on Friday."
The Mary girl looked wistfully at Marjorie. "I'm going to tell yousomething," she announced with finality. "Truly, it's for your own good.You mustn't try to be friends with me. If you do, you'll be sorry. We,my father and I, are nobodies in this town. Father's a broken-downmusician who teaches the violin for a living. I've a little lamebrother, and we take care of a poor old musician, who, people say, iscrazy. He isn't, though. He's merely childish.
"People call us Bohemians and gypsies and even vagabonds. They don'tunderstand that our greatest crime is just being poor. The girls in thefreshman class make fun of me and call me a tramp and a beggar behind myback. One girl did try to be the least bit pleasant with me, but shesoon stopped. We've been in Sanford only two months, but it seems like ahundred years. At first I was glad to think I was going to high school.How I hate it now! But they sha'n't drive me away. I'll get myeducation in spite of everything." Her lips drew together with resolutepurpose.
"So, you see," her voice grew gentle, "you mustn't waste your time uponme. The girls won't like you if you do, and you don't know how dreadfulit is to be left out of everything. Of course, you can speak to me,but----" She paused and looked eloquent meaning at Marjorie. Her latealoofness had quite vanished. Her small face was now soft and friendly,making the resemblance to happy-go-lucky Mary Raymond more apparent.
Marjorie laughed. Those who knew her best would have understood that herlaughter meant defiance. "I don't choose my friends because they arerich or because others like them. I choose them because I want themmyself," she declared with a proud lift of her head. "I knew thatsomeone had been horrid to you the first day I ever saw you. I heardseveral girls talking of you afterward. At least, I think they weretalking of you. I said to myself then that they had misjudged you. So Iwent home and wrote my letter to Mary. I told mother all about you, too,and that I was going to be your friend, if you would let me. I want youto come and see me and meet mother and father. As for the girls in thefreshman class, I'd like to be friends with them, too, but I couldn't doanything so contemptible and unfair as to dislike a girl just becausethey thought they did. Now, you know what I think about it. Are wegoing to share our locker and our troubles and our pleasures?"
The tears flashed across Constance Stevens' eyes. Her hand slid intoMarjorie's, and thus began a friendship between the two freshmen thatwas to defy time and change.
They separated on the next corner and, throwing dignity to the winds,Marjorie raced up the long walk and into the house to see if her captainwas better.
"I came to report, Captain," she said gently as she tiptoed up to hermother's bed. "How are you, dear?"
"Better, Lieutenant," returned her mother, kissing the pretty, flushedface. "Now for the report."
"You are sure I won't make your head ache with my chatter?"
"No, dear; it is ever so much better now."
Marjorie went faithfully through with the events of the morning. "I hadto stand by my colors, Captain. I wouldn't be fit to be a soldier if Ididn't know how to stand fast. Just as though it makes any differencewhether a girl is rich or poor if she's a dear and one likes her. Howcan some girls be so silly? They wouldn't be if they had Mary's and mymilitary training. When in doubt ask your captain."
She laughed gaily, then her merry glance changed to one of dismay. "Goodgracious! It's fifteen minutes to one. I'll have to eat my luncheon ina hurry." With a hasty kiss Marjorie flitted from the room and down thestairs to the dining-room.
After luncheon she lingered for a brief moment with her mother, then setoff for the afternoon session of school. But she could not helpwondering as she walked just how it would seem to be in the freshmanclass but not of it.
Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman Page 6
