The forwards put even more energy into their playing; but the guards on both sides opposed them the more zealously. During the first ten minutes each side threw a successful foul, so that the score now stood at one all.
When Marjorie realized that the time was almost up, she grew desperate. Giving Frances a new signal, which she had agreed to use only in case of the greatest necessity, she made a quick dodge away from the opposing center, and, at the very edge of the line, made a wild throw at the goal. But she missed it, and stepped slightly over the line; the referee called a foul, and Miss Martin’s girls scored a point on the ensuing free throw. The home team was ahead. A wild shout arose from the enthusiastic spectators.
But Marjorie was not to be daunted by one failure; her forwards had proved themselves unable to dodge their guards and score; she would try a second time. Accordingly, she gave the same signal to Frances again, and, quick as a flash, leapt away from her opponent. Keeping her eye on the line that she might not overstep it, she made another flying shot. The ball sped high over the heads of the girls who rushed to defend the basket; for an instant a hush came over the field as all eyes watched it describe a graceful arc and fall straight through the goal,—a perfect shot. Then the silence was broken—not only Miss Allen’s girls; everyone on the benches clapped; it was a spectacular play, and it brought victory. In less than a minute, the whistle blew; and the score-board registered 3–2, in favor of Miss Allen’s team.
Ruth breathed a long sigh, and John wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “By George!” he exclaimed, “that was the most exciting game I ever saw! Wasn’t Marjorie wonderful?”
At this moment a yell arose for Marjorie, and it was then that Ruth realized her mistake in having John Hadley asked to attend the game. But it was too late now to regret her action. Instead, she discreetly joined in the other girl’s praises.
Her party followed the crowd across the campus to the gym where tea was being served. John looked anxiously for Marjorie, but she had been too much exhausted to appear. Everyone was clamoring for her—the heroine of the day.
“And they say she isn’t even a Girl Scout!” Ruth heard one of Miss Martin’s girls remark to her companions. “She’s such a peach, too! I wonder why!”
Ruth frowned. “Yes, everybody else wonders why, too!” she thought. “Oh, I’m sick of hearing the praises of Marjorie Wilkinson. But I’m even with her!”
Ruth was relieved to hear Miss Martin ask the Girl Scouts to give a demonstration; she stepped forward proudly, glad of the chance to assume again the center of attraction.
But Ruth was not happy as she rode home that evening. Outwardly, her plans had all succeeded; but she was not at peace. She knew that she was as much of a thief as the common burglar who breaks into the house at night and steals the silverware; she had stolen Marjorie’s happiness, and she was paying for her act—she had lost her own.