CHAPTER X
A BLUE GOWN AND A SOLEMN RESOLVE
The next day in school was a particularly trying one for poor Marjorie.It was decidedly hard for the sore-hearted little freshman to believethat Miss Arnold's motive in asking her to resign from the team had beenpurely disinterested. She was reasonably sure that she had Mignon toblame for the humiliation. Jerry Macy had told her of Miss Arnold'srespect for Mignon's father's money, and that Miss Archer's thin-lipped,austere-looking secretary was one of the French girl's most devotedfollowers.
The wave of dislike which had swept over Marjorie upon first beholdingMarcia Arnold had, as the days passed, intensified rather than lessened.Jerry, too, could not endure the secretary. "I never could bear her,"she had confided to Marjorie. "I'm glad she's a junior. I'll have twoyears of comfort after she's gone. I suppose she deserves a lot ofcredit for keeping up in her studies and earning money as a secretary atthe same time, but I'd rather have a nice wriggly snake, or a cheerfulcrocodile for a friend if it comes to a choice."
Marjorie was equally certain that Miss Arnold did not like her. She hadhad occasion to ask the secretary several questions and the latter'smanner of answering had been curt, almost to rudeness. The desiredresignation was yet to be written. Marjorie had purposely delayedwriting it until the last hour of the afternoon session. She wished tothink before writing. It took her the greater part of the hour tocompose it, although, when it was finally copied on a sheet of notepaper she had brought to school for that purpose, it covered little morethan one side of the sheet.
While she was addressing it for mailing, she suddenly remembered thatshe had not yet asked Miss Arnold for her Hallowe'en invitation. Shouldshe hand the secretary her resignation instead of mailing it? Shedecided that the more dignified course would be to mail it. As to theinvitation for the dance, she was entitled to it; therefore she was notafraid to demand it. She wondered if Constance had received hers, and,when her new friend returned from class, Marjorie managed to catch hereye and question her by means of a sign language known only toschoolgirls. A vigorous shake of Constance's fair head brought forthmore signs, which, when school was dismissed, resulted in a determinedmarch upon Miss Archer's office by the two friends, reinforced by Jerryand Irma, who had managed to join Marjorie and Constance in thecorridor.
"That's just why we waited," announced Jerry, wagging her heademphatically when Marjorie explained her mission. "We wondered if she'dgiven them to you. You let me do the talking. She won't have a word tosay when I'm through."
"Hush, Jerry!" cautioned Irma. "She'll hear you."
They were now entering Miss Archer's living-room office. Marcia Arnold,who was seated before her desk, intent on the book she held in her hand,raised her eyes and regarded the quartette with a displeased frown. Thenshe addressed them in peremptory tones.
"Please make less noise, girls. Your voices can be plainly heard in MissArcher's office and she is too busy now to be disturbed." This last witha view to discouraging any attempt on their part to see the principal.
"We didn't come to see Miss Archer," was Geraldine Macy's calm retort."We came to see you about Miss Dean's and Miss Stevens' invitations forthe dance. They haven't received them."
"I know nothing whatever about them," snapped Miss Arnold, picking upher book as a sign of dismissal.
"You ought to know. The invitations were given to you by the boys'committee," was Jerry's pertinent reminder. "You sent them the list ofnames, didn't you? Perhaps you accidentally left out these two names."
This was a malicious afterthought on Jerry's part, but it had a potenteffect on Marcia Arnold. A tide of red rose to her sallow face. For asecond her eyes wavered from the four pairs searchingly upon her. Thenshe answered with elaborate carelessness: "It is just possible thatthese two names have been omitted. I will go over my list and see."
"Yes, do," advised Jerry, laconically. Then she slyly added: "It seemsfunny, doesn't it, that when 'D' and 'S' are so far apart on thealphabetical list, they should both happen to be overlooked? If thegirls don't receive their invitations by to-morrow night I'll speak tomy brother about it. He's the president of the junior class, you know,and he'll take it up with the committee. Come on, girls."
The three young women obediently following her, Jerry marched from theroom with the air of a conqueror. True to her prediction, Marcia Arnoldhad found nothing to say to the stout girl's parting shot.
"There really wasn't much use in our going. I'm afraid we weren't verybrave. We shouldn't have stood like wooden images and let you fight ourbattles, Jerry. It was awfully dear in you, but I do hope Miss Arnoldwon't think Constance and I are babies," demurred Marjorie.
"What do you care what she thinks as long as she hunts up yourinvitations?" asked Jerry, with superb contempt. "What she thinks willnever hurt either of you."
The belated invitations were delivered to the two freshmen by MissArnold herself the next day, greatly to Jerry's satisfaction.
"I saw her give them to you, girls," she whispered to Marjorie on theway to the English class. "She looked mad as a hatter, too. She thoughtshe'd hold back your invitations until the last minute; then maybe youwould get mad and not go to the dance."
"But why should she wish to keep us from going?" asked Marjorie,wonderingly.
"Ask Mignon," was Jerry's enigmatical answer. "Very likely she knowsmore about it than anyone else."
Marjorie found no chance for conversation with Constance until they metin French class. Even then she had only time to say, "Be sure to waitfor me this noon," before Professor Fontaine called his class to orderand attacked the advance lesson with his usual Latin ardor.
Constance was first at their locker. She had already put on her own hatand coat and was holding Marjorie's for her, when her friend arrived.
"What are you going to wear, Constance?" asked Marjorie, as she put onher coat and hat.
"I'm not going," was the brief answer.
"Not going!" Marjorie stared hard at her friend. Was Constance hurtbecause she had not received her invitation? Then she went on, eagerlyapologetic: "It wasn't the Weston boys' fault that we didn't get ourinvitations when the others received theirs. They didn't intend to leaveus out, even though they only knew our names."
"It's not that." Constance's voice trembled a little. "I--I--well, Ihaven't a dress fit to wear!" Her pale cheeks grew pink with shame asshe burst forth with this confession of poverty. "This blue suit andthree house dresses are all the clothes I have in the world. Don't sayyou feel sorry for me. I shall hate you if you do. I sha'n't always bepoor. Some day," her eyes grew dreamy, "I'll have all sorts of lovelyclothes. When I am a----" She stopped abruptly, then said in her usualhalf-sullen tones, "I can't go, so don't ask me."
Marjorie looked curiously at this strange girl. The longer she knewConstance the better she liked her, but she did not in the leastunderstand her. Suddenly a bright idea popped into her head. "I'm sosorry you can't go to the dance," she commented, then promptly droppedthe subject. When she left Constance, however, she remarked innocently:"Don't forget, you are coming home with me to-night. Don't say you can't.You promised, you know."
"I will come," promised Constance, brightening. "Good-bye."
The moment Marjorie reached home she made a dash for her room and goingto her closet, emerged a moment afterward with an immense whitepasteboard box in her arms. Stopping only long enough to drop her wrapson her bed she ran downstairs and burst into the dining-room with: "Ihave found her, Mother. I've found the girl this was made for."
"What is all this commotion about, Lieutenant?" asked her father,teasingly. "Are we about to be attacked by the enemy? Salute yoursuperior officers and then state your case. Discipline must be preservedat all costs in the army. Is it a requisition for new uniforms? Yousoldiers are dreadfully hard on your clothes. Or is the post about tomove and is that a packing case?"
Marjorie made a most unsoldierlike rush for him and, throwing her armsabout his neck, kissed his cheek. "You are a great big t
ease, and Ichoose to salute you this way." Then she kissed her mother, saying:"I've the loveliest plan, Captain. I'm sure that this dress will fitConstance. She says she won't go to the school dance because she has nopretty gown to wear. May I give her this darling blue one?" She openedthe box and drew forth a dainty frock of pale blue chiffon over silk.The chiffon was caught up here and there with tiny clusters ofpinky-white rosebuds. The round neck was just low enough to show toadvantage a white girlish throat, while the soft, fluffy sleeves reachedbarely to the elbows. It was a particularly beautiful and appropriatefrock for a young girl.
"You see, General," explained Marjorie, "Aunt Mary sent this to me whenI graduated from grammar school. She hadn't seen me for two years anddidn't know I had grown so fast. She bought it ready made in one of theNew York stores. It was too short and too tight for me and to make itover meant simply to spoil it. It was so sweet in her to send it thatwhen I wrote my thank you to her I couldn't bear to tell her that itdidn't fit, so I kept it just to look at. I didn't really need it, for,thanks to you and mother, I have plenty of others. Don't you think Iought to make someone else happy when I have the chance? It is right toshare one's spoils with a comrade, isn't it?"
Her father looked lovingly at the pretty, earnest face of his daughteras she stood holding up the filmy gown, her eyes bright with unselfishpurpose. "I am very glad my little girl is so thoughtful of others," hesaid. "Whatever your captain says is law. How about it, Captain?" Hiswife and he exchanged glances.
"You may give your friend the dress if you like, dear," consented Mrs.Dean, "if you think she will accept it."
"That's just the point, Captain," returned Marjorie. "You know you saidI could bring Constance home for dinner to-night, and she is coming.Perhaps we can think of some nice way to give it to her while she ishere."
Marjorie carefully replaced the gown in its box and ran upstairs withit. She returned with her hat and coat on her arm, and hanging them onthe hall rack hastened to eat her luncheon.
All afternoon she puzzled as to how she might best offer Constance thegown. When the four girls strolled homeward together after school shehad still not thought of a way. Jerry and Irma held forth, at length,with true schoolgirl eloquence, upon the subject of their gowns.Constance listened gravely without comment. Her small, impassive faceshowed no sign of her hopeless longing for the pretty things she hadnever possessed.
Once inside the Dean's pleasant home, a flash of appreciation routed herimpassivity as Marjorie conducted her into the comfortable living-roomwhere Mrs. Dean sat reading, and her face softened under the spell ofthe older woman's gentle greeting.
"I am pleased to know you, Constance," said Mrs. Dean, offering herhand. "I have been expecting you for some time. Now that I have seen youI will say that you do look very much like Marjorie's friend Mary." Shedid not add that this girl's face lacked the good-natured, happyexpression that so perfectly matched Mary Raymond's sunny curls. Yet shenoted that the blue eyes met hers openly and frankly, and that there wasan undeniable air of sincerity and truth about Constance which causedone instinctively to trust her.
To the formerly friendless girl who had never before been invited to thehome of a Sanford girl, the evening passed like a dream. Under thegenial atmosphere of the Dean household, her reserve melted and beforedinner was over she had forgotten all about herself and was laughingmerrily with Marjorie over Mr. Dean's nonsense. After dinner Mrs. Deanplayed on the piano and Constance, who knew how to dance was initiatedinto the mysteries of several new steps which were favorites of theFranklin girls, and later the two girls spent a happy hour in Marjorie'sroom with her books, of which she had a large collection.
"Oh, dear," sighed Constance, as she glanced at the clock on thechiffonier. "It is ten o'clock. I must go."
"Wait a few minutes," requested Marjorie. "I have something to show you,but I must see mother for a minute first. Please excuse me. I'll be backdirectly."
"Mother," Marjorie hurried into the living-room. "Have you thought of away? Constance is going home, and it's now or never."
"Suppose you give it to her by yourself," suggested her mother. "I amafraid my presence will embarrass her and then she will surely refuse."
Marjorie stood eyeing her mother uncertainly. Then she laughed. "I knowthe easiest way in the world," she declared, and was gone.
When she entered the room Constance was kneeling interestedly before thebook-shelves. "You have the 'Jungle Books,' haven't you? Don't you lovethem?"
"Yes," laughed Marjorie. "Mary and I read them together. I always calledmyself 'Bagheera' the black panther, and she always called herself'Mogli, the man-cub.' We used to write notes to each other sometimes inthe language of the jungle."
"How funny," smiled Constance. Her gaze intent upon the books, she didnot notice that Marjorie had stepped to her closet, returning to her bedwith a cloud of pink over her arm. Next she opened a big box and laid acloud of blue beside the one of pink. "Constance, come here a minute,"she said.
Constance sprang up obediently. Her glance fell upon the bed and shegave a little startled, admiring "Oh!"
Marjorie linked her arm in that of her friend and drew her up to thebed. "This gown," she pointed to the pink one, "is mine, and this one,"she withdrew her arm, and lifting the blue cloud held it out toConstance, "is yours."
The Mary girl drew back sharply. "I don't know what you mean," shemuttered. "Please don't make fun of me."
"I'm not making fun of you. It's your very own, and after I tell you allabout it you'll see just why it happens to be yours."
Seated on the edge of the bed beside Marjorie, the wonderful blue gownon her lap, the girl who had never owned a party dress before heard thestory of how it happened to be hers. At first she steadily refused itsacceptance, but in the end wily Marjorie persuaded her to "just try iton," and when she saw herself, for the first time in herpoverty-stricken young life, wearing a real evening gown that glimpsedher unusually white neck and arms she wavered. So intent was she uponexamining her reflection that she did not notice Marjorie had slippedfrom the room, returning with a pair of blue silk stockings and satinslippers to match. "These go with it," she announced.
"Oh--I--can't," faltered Constance, making a move toward unhooking thefrock.
"Of course you can." Marjorie deposited the stockings and slippers onthe foot of her bed and going over to Constance put both arms aroundher. "You are going to have this dress because mother and I want you to.I can't possibly wear it myself, and it's a shame to lay it away in thecloset until it is all out of style. Please, please take it. You simplymust, for I won't go to the dance unless you do, and you know howdreadfully I should hate to miss it. I mean what I say, too."
"I'll take it," said Constance, slowly.
Suddenly she slipped from Marjorie's encircling arm and leaned againstthe chiffonier, covering her face with her hands.
"Constance!" Marjorie cried out in surprise. "You mustn't cry."
"I--can't--help--it." The words came brokenly. "Ever since I was littleI've dreamed about a blue dress like this. You--are--too--good--to--me.Nobody--was--ever--good to me before."
It was a quarter to eleven o'clock before Constance, her tears dried,her face beaming with a new expression of happiness, left the Deans'house, accompanied by Mr. Dean, who had come in shortly before teno'clock and insisted on seeing her safely home.
Later, as she prepared for bed in her bare little room she could nothelp wondering why Marjorie had desired her for a best friend, and hadclung to her in spite of the displeasure of certain other girls. Shewondered, too, if there were any way in which she might show Marjorieher affection and gratitude, and she made a solemn resolve that if thattime came she would prove herself worthy of Marjorie Dean's friendship.
Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman Page 10
