“Oh, if you would.” Marjorie’s face brightened. “Miss Harding fell down those steps. She’s badly hurt.”
“Where does she live? I’ll take her home,” offered the kindly motorist. Lifting Muriel in his arms he carried her to the car and gently deposited her in its tonneau. “Perhaps you’d better come with her,” he suggested.
“Thank you, I will. Good-bye, girls. Go on over to my house and wait for me. I’ll be there in a little while.” Lifting her hand to the three frightened girls, who had advanced upon the machine with sundry other curious pedestrians, Marjorie gave Muriel’s rescuer the Hardings’ address, climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.
“Poor Muriel,” wailed Daisy Griggs, as the car rolled away. “I told her to be careful. I hope she isn’t hurt much. And the game next week!”
Three pairs of startled eyes met and conveyed the same dismaying thought. What would the team do without Captain Muriel?
CHAPTER XXV—A STRENUOUS HIKE TO A TRYING ENGAGEMENT
Everybody knows the trite saying: “It never rains but that it pours.” The disasters of the following week seemed quite in accord with it. Muriel’s spectacular slide down the ice steps brought her a broken collarbone. The three anxious girls had awaited news of Muriel at Marjorie’s home had hardly taken their leave when the ring of the postman brought her fresh misery. Little knowing what he did, that patient individual handed Marjorie a letter which filled her with angry consternation. Why in the world had the hated Observer come to life again at such a time?
Without waiting to read the unwelcome epistle in her Captain’s presence, Marjorie ripped open the envelope with a savage hand. This time the unknown was detestably brief, writing merely:
“Miss Dean:
“I hope you lose the game next Saturday. You are more of a snob than ever. Defeat will do you good. Prepare to meet it.