“I wouldn’t have done it, only one Sunday when you were walking along with that Miss Macy and that girl who used to live at your house, I met you and you didn’t speak to me. All three of you were dressed beautifully. It made me feel so bad. I was wearing an old gray suit, and I thought you cut me on account of my clothes. I know now that I was wrong. That was the beginning of the mistake. Then when you girls had those expensive basket ball suits made, I thought you chose them just to be mean to me. Of course, I didn’t expect to be invited to your parties, but it hurt me to be passed by all the time in school.”
“I never saw you that day, and I’m sure we never thought about how it might look to others when we ordered our suits. You’ve taught me a lesson, Lucy. One ought to be made careful about such things in a large school. Someone is sure to be made unhappy. Now we must put all the bad things away for good and think only of the nice ones. When you get well you are going to have some good times with me. My friends will like you, too. No one must ever know about—well, about the mistake.”
But Lucy could not thus easily take things for granted. Remorse had set in and she felt that she ought to be punished for her fault. After considerable cheerful persuasion, Marjorie brought her into an easier frame of mind. When finally she said good-bye she left behind her a most humble Observer who had given her word thereafter to observe life from a happier angle.
Once away from the house a feeling of heavy lassitude overwhelmed the patient Lieutenant. It had been a strenuous hike to a trying engagement. Her head swam dizzily as she stumbled through the drifted field to better walking. Her wet shoes and stockings added to her misery. How her cheeks burned and how dreadfully her throat ached! Was Jerry’s prediction about to be fulfilled? Was she only tired out, or had actual sickness descended upon her just when she needed most to be well?
CHAPTER XXVI—“TURN ABOUT IS FAIR PLAY”
“What did I tell you yesterday?” saluted Jerry Macy, the instant she found opportunity to address Irma Linton the next morning. “Marjorie’s sick. Her mother telephoned me before I started for school. She came from Lucy Warner’s yesterday so sick she couldn’t see straight. Her mother put her to bed and sent for the doctor. She has tonsilitis. Isn’t that hard luck?”
“I should say so. Poor Marjorie. I was afraid of that yesterday. You know she said her throat was sore.” Irma looked unutterably sympathetic. “And the game on Saturday, too. But it can’t be played with Marjorie, Muriel and Susan all laid up. That leaves only Rita, Daisy and Harriet on the team.”
“The sophomores will have to call it off,” decreed Jerry. “It’s only fair. The juniors did that very thing when two of the sophs were sick.”
“You’d better see Ellen this noon or before, if you can, and tell her,” Irma advised. “Then she can break it to the sophs to-day.”
“I’m going to wait for her in the senior locker room this noon,” nodded Jerry. “Then she can post a notice at once. Now I must beat it for Cæsar recitation. I wished he’d been killed in his first battle. It would have saved me a good deal of bother.” Jerry’s jolly chuckle belied her vengeful comment on the valorous general.