Marjorie Wilkinson’s three years at Turner College had already been filled with positions of honor and responsibility; she had held class offices, the athletic association presidency, and, during the latter part of her junior year, had found herself at the head of the student-government. From the point of view of experience and popularity, she was the only girl for the class to choose.
So sure were Marjorie’s friends in the outcome of the election that, when the actual day came, they found the excitement dying. Lily Andrews seemed to be the only girl who was really concerned.
“Marj isn’t interested enough in the election,” she complained to Alice Endicott, after lunch on the eventful day. “I think in her heart she really hopes that she won’t get it, and she is still trying to induce the girls to vote for Jeannette. I wish she could be made to see its real importance.”
“There’s no use trying to influence Marj,” returned Alice. “She usually has her mind made up—and her reasons are always so good that nobody can argue with her. Remember the time we all tried to keep her from spending the night at the tea room? Now she’s probably interested in something else.”
“She is,” the other admitted. “It’s the same old story—Girl Scouts. Just because she’s twenty-one, she feels that she must rush into a captaincy.”
“But anybody can be a Girl Scout captain—I mean anybody with ordinary intelligence; but it takes an unusual girl to be senior president.”
“Marjorie has no idea of being an ordinary captain—she’ll work until she’s an extraordinary one, just as she does everything else. Still, I think if we get her really elected, she’ll have so much to do that she won’t have time to think about anything else. Girl Scouts will have to be forgotten, until next year.”
Had Lily been with her roommate at that moment, however, she might not have spoken so optimistically. Marjorie was stretched on the couch in her sitting room, in the act of reading the Girl Scouts’ magazine from cover to cover. She was searching eagerly for any notices of troops in need of captains, in the hope of finding a place where her services could be used to real advantage. In her mind’s eye she pictured a very poor troop, whose members could hardly assemble the necessary money to pay their dues, to whom uniforms were out of the question; girls who knew nothing of parties or camping trips; girls who had never had a chance to get away from the ugly slum district and learn the rapture of the woods. How thrilling it would be to open their eyes to beauty, to fill their starved minds with knowledge, to imbue their spirits with the great scout ideal! In comparison with the glory of such leadership, the honor of class presidency seemed insignificant.
Unfortunately, however, she found no such troop mentioned in the pages of the magazine. There was a call for leaders in one of the country districts, and an opportunity offered for camp councillors, but the cities evidently were well provided. Or perhaps, as she feared, no one had taken the trouble to look up any such groups of girls.
When Daisy Gravers dropped in a few minutes later, she was still deep in her problem.