“Then maybe the freshman coaches are just as near crazy as you are,” Fluffy threw out gaily.
“I’ll bet they are,” Straight took up her twin soberly. “I’ll bet she has even the freshman captain guessing. I’ll bet the freshman high moguls would go for her good and hard, if they dared,—for raising false hopes and getting the team overexcited, and all that sort of thing. But they don’t dare, because they can’t make her out. And there’s one chance in a hundred that she’s thought up the grand plan that will save them.”
Straight was a clever forecaster; the situation in the freshman class was exactly as she had analyzed it. The team lost its temper and wasted its practice hours discussing the truth about Montana Marie. The ruling spirits of the freshman class, who saw the fine esprit de corps of the Invincibles falling in ruins, raged in executive sessions and singly and in groups interrogated the sphinx-like Miss O’Toole. She received their inquiries with smiles, giggles, and blank, non-committal impenetrability.
“I should say we ought to win! Well, rather! Can I do anything to help? Why, really I can’t tell you offhand like this. I’ll think hard, and maybe I’ll have a thought—isn’t that what that killing Fluffy Dutton is forever saying? And when I have a thought, I’ll let you know.”
Thus did Montana Marie O’Toole meet the pointed inquiries of the leading freshmen, and bring their plans for sounding her to naught. Montana Marie O’Toole had entered Harding against all rules and precedents. She had stayed despite the gloomiest prophecies to the contrary. With all her peculiarities she was close friends with the most prominent upper-class girls. She always got what she wanted. She wanted the freshman team to win. “Ergo——” Timmy Wentworth completed the syllogism with a wave of her good right arm. Timmy, who was coaching the freshmen, was unable to decide whether or not the vague confidence they felt in Marie offset the damaging effect of their constant quarrels about her. But being a lover of the picturesque and the bizarre, Timmy was personally amused by the episode. Also logic is logic.
The winter term wore on its long and tedious course. The weather continued unreasonably cold; so did the hearts of the faculty. The Invincibles lost a third member, their prize home, and the freshmen their best center. However, a sub who had been taken on at the last minute turned out to be quite a wonder at jumping, and on the whole the freshman chances were looking up a little. Finally it was only two weeks to the great game, then ten days, a week, and less than a week. Timmy Wentworth, being consulted by the leading freshmen, advised them to go to Marie once more.
“And this time don’t you be so afraid of her,” she urged. “Call her bluff. Make her show her hand. If she gets mad about it, never you mind. Trick-plays that she keeps to herself won’t help us any. Now is the time for her to come out with her great thought. If she won’t—or can’t—why, we shall just have to scrape along without it.”
So a solemn deputation of six, headed by the class president, waited upon Marie that same afternoon. Marie listened to them with her habitual contemplative smile.
“It is getting pretty near the time, if we’re going to spring something good,” she agreed vaguely at last. “But say, what makes you all so sure that I can think of the right thing?”
The freshman president referred briefly to the rumors. “Reports like that usually have some truth in them. Besides, you’ve sort of hinted at something when we’ve asked you before.”