“The Observer.”
“Oh!” Marjorie dashed the offending letter to the floor. Muriel’s accident was bad enough. It had not needed this to complete her dejection. Recapturing the spiteful message she was about to tear it into bits. On second reflection she decided to keep it and add it to her obnoxious collection. Something whispered to her that the identity of the tormenting Observer would yet be revealed to her.
Facing the lamentable knowledge that Muriel must be counted out of the coming contest, Harriet replaced her. This in itself provided a grain of comfort. Harriet was a skilful player and would work for the success of the team with all her energy. The other four players congratulated themselves on thus having such able support. Due to Muriel’s absence, Marjorie had been asked to assume temporary captainship. Her mind now at ease by reason of Harriet’s good work, she gave her most conscientious attention to practice.
Matters skimmed along with commendable smoothness until the Wednesday before the game. Then she encountered a fresh set-back. Word came to her that Susan Atwell had succumbed to the dreaded tonsilitis that all through the winter had been going its deadly round in Sanford. On receipt of the news she recalled that for the past two days Susan had complained of sore throat. She had given it no serious thought, however. Her own throat had also troubled her a trifle since that stormy day when Muriel had come to grief. There was but one thing to do. Put Lucy Warner in Susan’s position. Her heart almost skipped a beat as she faced the fact that Lucy, too, had been absent from school for over a week. Someone had said that Lucy was also ill. Marjorie reproached herself for not having inquired more closely about the peculiar green-eyed junior. “I ought to have gone to see her,” she reflected. “I’ll go to-night. Perhaps she is almost well by this time, and can come back to school in time for the game. If she can’t, then I’d better ask Mignon to play in Susan’s place.”
School over for the day she accosted Jerry and Irma with, “I can only walk as far as the corner with you to-night. I’m going to see Lucy Warner. She’s been sick for over a week. Did you ever hear of such bad luck as the team has been having lately? I feel so discouraged and tired out. I don’t believe I’ll try for the team next year.” Marjorie’s usually sprightliness was entirely missing. Her voice had taken on a weary tone and her brown eyes had lost their pretty sparkle.
“You’d better go straight home and take care of yourself,” gruffly advised Jerry, “or you won’t be fit to play on the team Saturday.”
“Oh, I’m all right.” Marjorie made an attempt to look cheerful. “I’m not feeling ill. My throat is a little bit sore. I caught cold that day Muriel fell down the steps. But it’s nothing serious. I shall go to bed at eight o’clock to-night and have a long sleep. I’m just tired; not sick. I must leave you here. Good-bye. See you to-morrow.” Nodding brightly she left the two and turned down a side street.
“See us to-morrow,” sniffed Jerry. “Humph! I doubt it, unless we go to her house. She’s about half sick now. It’s the first time I ever saw her look that way. She’s so brave, though. She’d fight to keep up if she were dying.”
Meanwhile, as she plodded down the snowy street on her errand of mercy, Marjorie was, indeed, fighting to make herself believe that she was merely a little tired. Despite her languor, generosity prompted her to stop in passing a fruit store and purchase an attractive basket filled with various fruits likely to tempt the appetite of a sick person. She wondered if Lucy would resent the offering. She was such a queer, self-contained little creature.
“What a dingy house!” was her thought, as she floundered her way through a stretch of deep snow to Lucy’s unpretentious home. Detached from its neighbors, it stood unfenced, facing a bit of field, which the small boys of Sanford used in summer as a ball ground. It was across this field that Marjorie was obliged to wend a course made difficult by a week’s fall of snow that blanketed it. An irregular path made by the passing and repassing of someone’s feet led up to the door. It appeared that the Warners were either too busy or else unable to clear their walk.