“That will not be necessary, Leslie.” Miss Reid’s tones were freighted with annoyance. “I believe I can be trusted to coach the freshman team so that they will—well, make a good showing at the next game.”
“Win the game?” was the significant question.
“Yes, win the game,” repeated Miss Reid. “Please recall that I selected that team; not the coach. It doesn’t include any of your pet aversions. I hope I am equal to this emergency.”
“I hope so,” returned Leslie, without enthusiasm. “Anyway, I shall keep an eye on the team myself. Now if Nat comes raving to you about Lola or me pay no attention to her. She wants to be a basket ball star and it’s an inconvenient time to aspire to it. Understand? What?” With this final characteristic interjection, Leslie sauntered out of the instructor’s room without troubling to say good-bye. It had not occurred to her to say “Merry Christmas” or wish Miss Reid the season’s compliments, although the conversation took place between them not more than two hours before Leslie left Hamilton to go to New York for the holidays.
Happily unconscious of any dark conspiracies against her welfare, Marjorie’s last night at the Hall was congenially spent. The Five Travelers had packed in the afternoon and were free to spend the evening together. They had decided to use the time in wrapping and directing a number of packages, containing simple remembrances for a few of the Hamilton students whose home addresses they had secured. These they could mail at the station the next morning. While the five girls talked and worked, their old friend, the chimes, entertained them with his ever beautiful Christmas repertoire. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” “Silent Night,” “Little Town of Bethlehem,” “Cheerful Adoration,” and other Yuletide favorites rang gloriously out on the still snowy air. The concert ended with “God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen,” which had been Brooke Hamilton’s pet carol.
“Thank you ever so much, old dear,” Marjorie made a childish little bow in the direction of her friend as the little prelude before the striking of eleven began. The ten-thirty rule was not being observed that night and no one cared.
“Yes; much obliged chimes,” echoed Jerry. “It will be quite awhile before we hear your melodious voice again. There, that’s my last package.” She laid an oblong bundle on a pile beside her with an audible sigh of satisfaction.
“Mine, too. Come on, Lucy, we must turn in. Shoo, shoo, Muriel. Go right straight to your room. It’s late. Didn’t you know it.” Ronny made a playful attempt to drive Muriel to the door. The latter braced her feet and stood her ground. Both girls were laughing as were also the three onlookers. The sound of mirth could be faintly heard in the hall.
Coming in from a motor ride with several of the Sans, Natalie Weyman heard the laughter as she passed Marjorie’s room on the way to her own. Her face clouded perceptibly. What a lot those girls seemed to find to laugh at, was her resentful thought. She was always hearing sounds of laughter from both Marjorie’s room and that of her friend across the hall. It was evident they did not quarrel much. For an instant Natalie wished she knew them better. Leslie and Dulcie were always so disagreeable unless they could have their own way. Remembering her grudge against Marjorie, her lips tightened. What she really wished was not to know Marjorie better; only to be even with her for what she considered an irreparable injury done her.