The Camp Fire Girls at School; Or, The Wohelo Weavers

by Hildegard G. Frey

  CHAPTER X.

  WHO CUT THE WIRE?

  The house was packed on this the first night of the Thessalonian play.It was already long past time for the performance to begin. Theorchestra finished the overture and waited a few minutes; then begananother selection. They played this through, and there was still noindication of the curtain going up. They played a third piece. The housebecame restless and began to clap for the appearance of the performers.No sign from the stage. Behind the curtain there was pandemonium. Wheneverything was about ready to begin it was discovered that none of thestage lights would work. Neither the foot lights nor the big cluster upover the center of the stage nor any of the side lights could be turnedon. A hasty examination of the wiring led to the discovery that thewires which supplied the current had been cut in the room where theswitchboard was. The plaster had been broken into in order to reachthem. This was the reason that the play was not beginning. The Presidentof the Thessalonians came out in front and explained to the audiencethat something had gone wrong with the lights, which would cause a delayin the rising of the curtain, but the trouble was being fixed and hebegged the indulgence of the house for a few minutes. The orchestrafilled in the time by playing lively marches, while the boys behind thescenes worked feverishly to mend the severed wires, and the curtain wentup a whole hour after scheduled time.

  The first act went off famously. Gladys was a born actress and sustainedthe difficult role of _Marie Latour_ well. The part where she defies hertyrannical father brought down the house. Sahwah came in for her shareof applause too. Seeing her composed manner and hearing her calm voice,no one in the audience could ever have guessed the strenuous experienceshe had just been through. In the second scene Marie, driven from herhome, wanders around in the streets with her child, until, faint fromhunger, she sinks to the ground. The scene is laid before the wall ofher father's large estate and she falls at his very gates. Gladys madethe scene very realistic, and the audience sat tense and sympathetic."_Food, food_," moaned Marie Latour, "_only a crust to keep the life inme and my child!"_ She lay weakly in the road, unable to rise. "_Food,food_," she moaned again. At this moment there suddenly descended, asfrom the very heavens, a ham sandwich on the end of a string. It dangledwithin an inch of her nose. Gladys was petrified. The audience sat up insurprise, and a ripple of laughter ran through the house. It was such anunexpected anticlimax. That some one was playing a practical joke Gladysdid not for a moment doubt, and she was furious at this ridiculousinterruption of her big scene. In the play Marie loses consciousness andis found by a peasant, and it is on this occurrence that the rest of theplay hinges. The sudden appearance of the ham sandwich in response toher cry for food was fatal to the pathos of the scene. The rest of thecast, standing in the wings, saw what had happened and were at theirwits' end. But Gladys was equal to the occasion.

  Moving her head wearily and passing her hand over her eyes she murmuredfaintly but audibly, "Cruel, cruel mirage to taunt me thus! Vanish, thouimage of a fevered brain, thou absurd memory! Come not to mock me!" Theactors in the wings, taking their cue from her speech, found the stringto which the sandwich was tied and jerked it. The sandwich vanished fromthe sight of the audience. The scene was saved. The spectators simplypassed it over as a more or less clumsy attempt to portray a vision of adisordered brain. The string on the sandwich had been passed overcertain rigging above the stage that moved the scenery, and on through alittle ventilator that came out on the fourth floor, from which pointthe manipulator had been able to listen to the speeches on the stage andtime the drop of the sandwich. By the time the Thessalonian boys hadtraced the string to its end the perpetrator of the joke was nowhere tobe found. He had fled as soon as the thing had been lowered. The sceneended without further calamity.

  In the third scene--the one in the peasant's hut--there is a cat on thestage. The presence of this cat was the signal for further trouble. Inone of the tense passages, where Marie Latour is pleading with the sonof the peasant to flee for his life before the agents of her father comeand capture them both, and the cat lies asleep on the hearth, there wasa sudden uproar, and a dog bounded through the entrance of the stage.The cat rushed around in terror and finally ran up the curtain. Thelovers parted hastily and tried to capture the dog, but eluding theirpursuit he jumped over the footlights into the orchestra, landing with acrash on the keys of the piano, and then out into the audience. Nyodaand three or four of the Winnebagos, sitting together near the front onthe first floor of the auditorium, recognized the dog with a good dealof surprise. It was Mr. Bob, Hinpoha's black cocker spaniel. How he hadgotten in was a mystery, for Hinpoha herself was not there. Nyoda calledto him sharply and he came to her wagging his tail, and allowed himselfto be put out with the best nature in the world. But the scene had beenspoiled.

  During the rest of the evening Nyoda, as well as a number of the otherteachers, sat with brows knitted, going over the various things that hadhappened to interrupt that play. As yet they did not know about theattempt to steal the statue, which Sahwah had accidentally nipped in thebud. But the following week, when the play was all over, and the variousoccurrences had been made known, there was a day of reckoning atWashington High School. Joe Lanning and Abraham Goldstein were called upbefore the principal and confronted with Sahwah, who told, to theirinfinite amazement, every move they had made in carrying off the statue.At first they denied everything as a made-up story gotten up to spitethem, but when Sahwah led the way to the barn where she had beenconfined and triumphantly produced the base of the statue, they saw thatfurther denial was useless and admitted their guilt. They also confessedto being the authors of the sandwich joke and the ones who had broughtin the dog. Both were expelled from school.

  But the thing which the principal and teachers considered the biggercrime--the cutting of the wires at the back of the stage--was still amystery. Joe's and Abraham's complicity in the statue affair furnishedthem with a complete alibi in regard to the other. It was proven, beyonda doubt, that they had not been in the building in the early part of theafternoon nor after they had carried off the statue, until after thewires had been cut. Then who had cut the wires? That was the questionthat agitated the school. It was too big a piece of vandalism to letslip. The principal, Mr. Jackson, was determined to run down theoffender. Joe and Abraham denied all knowledge of the affair and therewas no clue. The whole school was up in arms about the matter.

  Then things took a rather unexpected turn. In one of the teachers'meetings where the matter was being discussed, one of the teachers, Mr.Wardwell, suddenly got to his feet. He had just recollected something."I remember," he said, "seeing Dorothy Bradford coming out of theelectric room late on the afternoon of the play. She came out twice,once about three o'clock and once about four. Each time she seemedembarrassed about meeting me and turned scarlet." There was a murmur ofsurprise among the teachers. Nyoda sat up very straight.

  The next day Hinpoha was summoned to the office. Unsuspectingly shewent. She had been summoned before, always on matters of more or lesscongenial business. She found Mr. Jackson, Mr. Wardwell and Nyodatogether in the private office.

  "Miss Bradford," began Mr. Jackson, without preliminary, "Mr. Wardwelltells me he saw you coming out of the electric room on the afternoon ofthe play. In view of what happened that night, the presence of anybodyin that room looks suspicious. Will you kindly state what you did inthere?"

  Nyoda listened with an untroubled heart, sure of an innocent andconvincing reason why Hinpoha had been in that room. Hinpoha, takencompletely by surprise, was speechless. To Nyoda's astonishment anddismay, she turned fiery red. Hinpoha always blushed at the slightestprovocation. In the stress of the moment she could not think of a singleworth-while excuse for having gone into the electric room. Telling thereal reason was of course out of the question because she had promisedto shield Emily Meeks.

  "I left something in there," she stammered, "and went back after it."

  "You carried nothing in your hands either time when you came out,"
saidMr. Wardwell.

  Hinpoha was struck dumb. She was a poor hand at deception and wastotally unable to "bluff" anything through. "I didn't say I carriedanything out," she said in an agitated voice. "I went in after somethingand it--wasn't there."

  "What was it?" asked Mr. Jackson.

  "I can't tell you," said Hinpoha.

  "How did you happen to leave anything in the electric room?" persistedMr. Jackson. "What were you doing in there in the first place?"

  "I went in to see if I had left something there," said poor Hinpoha,floundering desperately in the attempt to tell a plausible tale and yetnot lie deliberately. Then, realizing that she was contradicting herselfand getting more involved all the time, she gave it up in despair andsat silent and miserable. Nyoda's expression of amazement and concernwas an added torture.

  "You admit, then, that you were in the electric room twice on Thursdayafternoon, doing something which you cannot explain?" said Mr. Jackson,slowly. Hinpoha nodded, mutely. She never for an instant wavered in herloyalty to Emily.

  "There is another thing," continued Mr. Jackson, "that seems to point tothe fact that you were in league with those who wished to spoil theplay. It was your dog that was let out on the stage in pursuit of thecat."

  "I know it was," said Hinpoha, feeling that she was being drawnhelplessly into a net from which there was no escape. "But that wasn'tmy fault. I haven't the slightest idea how he got there. It was purechance that he was coaxed into the building."

  "That may all be," said Mr. Jackson, with frowning wrinkles around thecorners of his eyes, "but it looks suspicious."

  "You certainly don't think I cut those wires, do you?" said Hinpohaincredulously.

  Mr. Jackson looked wise. "You were not at the play yourself, were you?"he asked.

  "No," answered Hinpoha.

  "Why weren't you?" pursued Mr. Jackson. "Have you anything against theThessalonian Society?"

  "No, not at all," said Hinpoha with a catch in her voice. "I am notgoing to anything this winter." She looked down at her black dressexpressively, not trusting her voice to speak.

  "Further," continued Mr. Jackson, "you were seen in the company of JoeLanning the day before these things happened." Now, Hinpoha had walkedhome from school with Joe that Wednesday. She had done it merely becauseshe was too courteous to snub him flatly when he had caught up with heron the street. She despised him just as the rest of the class did andavoided him whenever she could, but when brought face to face with himshe had not the hardihood to refuse his company. That this innocent actshould be misconstrued into meaning that she was mixed up in his doingsseemed monstrous. Yet Mr. Jackson apparently believed this to be thetruth. Things seemed to be closing around her. To Mr. Jackson her guiltwas perfectly clear. She was a friend of Joe Lanning's; she had lent himher dog to work mischief on the stage; she admitted being in theelectric room and refused to tell what she had been doing there.

  "Well," he said crisply, "somebody cut those wires Thursday Afternoon,and only one person was seen going in and out of the electric roomduring that time, and that person is yourself. You admit that you werein there doing something which will not bear explanation. It lookspretty suspicious, doesn't it?"

  "I didn't do it," Hinpoha declared stoutly.

  In her distress she did not dare meet Nyoda's eyes. What was Nyodathinking of her, anyhow?

  "And so," continued Mr. Jackson, not heeding her denial, "until you cangive a satisfactory explanation of your presence in the electric roomlast Thursday I must consider that you had something to do with thecutting of those wires. I have been asked by the Board of Education tolook into the matter thoroughly and to punish the culprit with expulsionfrom school. As all evidence points to you as the guilty person, I shallbe obliged, under the circumstances, to expel you."

  Hinpoha sat as if turned to stone. The wild beating of her heart almostsuffocated her. Expelled from school! But even with that terriblesentence ringing in her ears it never entered her head to betray Emily.If this was to be the price of loyalty, then she would pay the price.There was no other way. She had not been clever enough to explain herpresence in the electric room to the satisfaction of Mr. Jackson and yetbreathe no word of the real situation, and this was the result. Her headwhirled from the sudden calamity which had overwhelmed her; her thoughtswere chaos. She hardly heard when Mr. Jackson said curtly, "You may go."As one in a dream she walked out of the office. Nyoda came out with her.

  "Of all things," said Mr. Wardwell to Mr. Jackson, when they were leftalone, "to think that a girl should have done that thing."

  "It seems strange, too," mused Mr. Jackson, "that she should have beenable to do it. You would hardly look for a girl to be cutting electricwires, would you? It takes some skill to do that. Where did she learnhow to do it?"

  "Those Camp Fire Girls," said Mr. Wardwell emphatically, "knoweverything. I don't know where they learn it, but they do."

  Nyoda led Hinpoha into one of the empty club rooms and sat down besideher. "Now, my dear," she said quietly, "will you please tell me thewhole story? It is absurd of course to accuse you of cutting thosewires, but what were you doing in that room? All you have to do is givea satisfactory explanation and the accusation will be withdrawn."Nyoda's voice was friendly and sympathetic and it was a sore temptationto Hinpoha to tell her the whole thing just as it happened. But she hadpromised Emily not to tell a living soul, and a promise was a promisewith Hinpoha.

  "Nyoda," she said steadily, "I _was_ in that electric room twice onThursday afternoon. I carried something in and I carried it out again.But I can't tell you what it was."

  "Not even to save yourself from being expelled?" asked Nyoda curiously.

  "Not even to save myself from being expelled," said Hinpoha steadfastly.

  And Nyoda, baffled, gave it up. But of one thing she was sure. Whateversilly thing Hinpoha had done that she was ashamed to confess, she hadnever in the world cut those wires. It was simply impossible for her tohave done such a thing. Entirely convinced on this point, Nyoda wentback to Mr. Jackson, and told him her belief, begging him not to put histhreat of expulsion into execution. But Mr. Jackson was obdurate. Therewas something under the surface of which Nyoda knew nothing. All theyear there had been a certain lawless element in the school which wascontinually breaking out in open defiance of law and order. Mr. Jacksonhad been totally unable to cope with the situation. He had been severelycriticised for not having succeeded in stamping out this disorder, andwas accused of not being able to control his scholars. The eventsconnected with the giving of the play had been widely published--it wasimpossible to keep them a secret--and Mr. Jackson had been taken to taskby those above him in the educational department for not being able tofind out who had cut the wires. Smarting under this censure, he haddetermined to fix the blame at an early date at all costs, and when theopportunity came of fastening a suspicion onto Hinpoha he had seized iteagerly, and intended to publish far and wide that he had found theguilty one. Therefore he met Nyoda's appeal with stony indifference.

  "I shall consider her guilty until she has proven her innocence," hemaintained obstinately, "and you will find that I am right. That isnothing but a made-up story about going in there for something she hadleft. You noticed how she contradicted herself half a dozen times in asmany minutes. She is the guilty one, all right," and in sore distressNyoda left him.

  The axe fell and Hinpoha was expelled from school. If lightning hadfallen on a clear day and cleft the roof open, the pupils could not havebeen more dumbfounded. Hinpoha was the very last one any one would havesuspected of cutting wires. In fact, many were openly incredulous. ButMr. Jackson took care to make all the damaging facts public, andHinpoha's fair name was dragged in the mud. Emily Meeks was one whostood loyal to Hinpoha. She was ignorant that it was to shield herHinpoha had refused to tell what she was doing in the electric room, asshe had gone home before Hinpoha had retouched the picture, but sherefused to believe that her angel, as she always thought of Hinpoha,could be guilty of any wr
ong doing.

  As for Hinpoha herself, life was not worth living. The scene with AuntPhoebe, when she heard of her disgrace, was too painful to record here.Suffice to say that Hinpoha was regarded as a criminal of the worst typeand was never allowed to forget for one instant that she had disgracedthe name of Bradford forever. It was awful not to be going to school andgetting lessons. Those days at home were nightmares that she rememberedto the end of her life with a shudder. The only ray of comfort she hadwas the fact that Nyoda and the Winnebagos stood by her stanchly. "I canbear it," she said to Nyoda forlornly, "knowing that you believe in me,but if you ever went back on me I couldn't live." Nyoda urged her nomore to tell her secret, for she suspected that it concerned some oneelse whom Hinpoha would not expose, and trusted to time to solve themystery and remove the stain from Hinpoha's name.

  The excitement over, school settled down into its old rut. Joe Lanning'sfather sent him away to military school and Abraham's father began touse his influence to have him reinstated. Mr. Goldstein put forth such atouching plea about Abraham's having been led astray by Joe Lanning andbeing no more than a tool in his hands, and Abraham promised sofaithfully that he would never deviate from the path of virtue again,now that his evil genius was removed, if they would only let him comeback and graduate, that he was given the chance. Nothing new came upabout the cutting of the wires except that the end of a knife blade wasfound on the floor under the place where the hole had been made in thewall. There were no marks of identification on it and nothing was doneabout it.

  One day, Dick Albright, in the Physics room on the third floor of thebuilding, stood by the window and looked across at a friend of his whowas standing at the window of the Chemistry room. The two rooms facedeach other across an open space in the back of the building, which wasdesigned to let more light into certain rooms. This space was only openat the third and fourth floors. The second floor was roofed over with askylight at this point. It was after school hours and Dick was alone inthe room. So, apparently, was his friend. Dick raised the window andcalled across the space to the other boy, who raised his window andanswered him. From talking back and forth they passed to throwing a ballof twine to each other. Once Dick failed to catch it, and falling shortof the window, it rolled down upon the roof of the second story.

  Dick promptly climbed out of the window, and sliding down thewaterspout, reached the roof and went in pursuit of the ball. One of thewindows opening from the third story onto this open space was that inthe electric room, and it was under this window that the ball came to astandstill. As Dick stooped to pick it up he found a knife lying besideit. He brought it along with him and climbed back into his room. Then hepulled it out and looked at it. It was an ordinary pocket knife with ahorn handle. On one side of the handle there was a plate bearing thename F. Boyd. "Frank Boyd's knife," said Dick to himself. "He must havedropped it out of the window." Idly he opened the blade. It was brokenoff about half an inch from the point. Dick began to turn things over inhis mind. A piece of a knife blade had been found in the electric room.A knife with a broken blade had been found on the roof under the windowof the electric room. That knife belonged to Frank Boyd. The inferencewas very simple. Frank had climbed in the window of the electric roomfrom the roof of the second story and cut the wires, and then climbedout again, and so was not seen coming out of the room into the hall. Inclimbing out he had dropped the knife without noticing it. He hadalready left a piece of the blade inside. Frank Boyd was one of thelawless spirits who had caused much of the trouble all through the year.He had also been blackballed at the last election of the ThessalonianSociety. It was very easy to believe that he would try to do somethingto spite the Thessalonians.

  Dick hastened down to Mr. Jackson's office with the knife and asked himto fit the broken piece to the shortened blade. It fitted perfectly.Beyond a doubt it was Frank Boyd and not Hinpoha who had cut the wiresin the electric room. The next morning Frank was confronted with theevidence of the knife and confessed his guilt. He had been in leaguewith Joe Lanning, and cutting the wires had been his part of the job. Hehad done it in the early part of the evening while the actors weremaking up for their parts, getting in and out of the window, just asDick had figured out. No one had detected him in the act and the luckyincident of Hinpoha's having been seen coming out of the electric roomturned all suspicion away from him. Justice in his case was tardy butcertain, and Frank Boyd was expelled, and Hinpoha was reinstated. Mr.Jackson, in his elation over having caught the real culprit andeffectually breaking up the "Rowdy Ring," was gracious enough to make apublic apology to Hinpoha. So the blot was wiped off her scutcheon, andEmily's secret was still intact, for no one ever asked again whatHinpoha had been doing in the electric room on the afternoon of theThessalonian play.