She had followed the boys to the door while she spoke, and, as they went down the walk, she heard them rallying Bobs on his failure to secure her as an ally. That bothered her, and she found it hard to get back into the spirit of study after Rodney had gone.
Next morning at school, the first thing she heard was that the Beta Sigmas had pledged Rodney at their fraternity house the night before, and this, coupled with the disturbing fact that Bobs was missing from school, altogether, for the next three days, had a demoralising effect on Jacquette’s good resolutions about work.
On the fourth morning she stopped Louise in the hall between bells to say,
“Wait a minute, Louise. Tell me what you know about Bobs? I saw him going upstairs, just now, but he wouldn’t give me a chance to speak to him, even, and I don’t understand why. Is it true that he’s not coming back to school?”
There had been disturbing rumours about Bobs. He was quoted as having said that there was no special object in finishing his senior year, now that the football season was over. With his record as quarterback to help him, the boys said, he could easily get into college on the work he had already done. Yet now, on the day before the Christmas vacation, he had appeared again, and seemed to be attending his classes, as usual.
“Hush!” Louise answered. “Something dreadful happened in chemistry class, and Bobs has gone to the office, now. I can’t stop, but I’ll tell you all about it at noon.”
“Gone to the office,” meant an interview with the principal, and, all through her French recitation, Jacquette was wondering what Bobs could have done. Over and over again, Mademoiselle’s searching eyes and sudden questions brought her back to the subject, but, when the bell finally rang, the amount of French she had absorbed was very slight.
Then she and Louise flew together like magnet and needle. “Never mind luncheon!” said Jacquette. “Let’s walk down the street where we can be alone. Now, tell me!”
“’Twas just this,” Louise began obediently. “Some of the boys have been getting up an illustrated magazine called the ‘Fool-killer’—just one copy, you know, on fine paper, pen and ink work, with illuminated initials—an awfully clever thing. It has caricatures of all the faculty, representing the teachers as saying ridiculous things against secret societies in high schools, and so on. The boys meant to circulate it by passing it around under desks until all the pupils had seen it. So, this morning, just as Mr. Talbot called the chemistry class to order, the magazine was handed to Bobs Drake, and, after a minute, he passed it over to me, opened at a killing picture of Mr. Talbot, talking against football with one side of his mouth and against fraternities with the other. I don’t believe Mr. Talbot would have noticed Bobs handing me the magazine, but, Jacquette, you know my failing. The minute I saw that picture, off went my laugh—right there in class! I hadn’t the slightest warning that it was going to happen. Never do have, you know.”
“Louise—you poor girl!”