“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Ellen when Jerry broke the news to her. “That is too bad. Certainly the game will have to be postponed. I’ll write a notice instantly asking the sophs to meet me in the gym at four this afternoon. I must call up on the ’phone and inquire for Marjorie. Dear little girl, I wish I could do a great deal more for her. Thank you for telling me, Jerry.” Ellen hurried off to write and then post the notice before going home to luncheon. Her lips wore a quizzical smile. She wondered what the sophomore team would say when she told them.
She had just finished tucking it into the bulletin board when Nellie Simmons, a member of the sophomore team, paused curiously to read it. The very fact that it came from Ellen’s hands indicated basket ball news. “Hmm!” she ejaculated as she took in its contents. “What’s the matter now?”
“I’ll tell you at four o’clock,” Ellen flashed back. With a slight lift of her shoulders, she walked away. Nellie’s tone had verged on the insolent. She had hardly disappeared when Nellie faced about and hurried toward the sophomore locker room, bumping smartly against Rowena Farnham, who was in the act of leaving it.
“Look out!” cried Rowena. “What are you trying to do? I’m not made of iron.”
“Oh, Rowena, I was hurrying to find you!” exclaimed Nellie. “Ellen Seymour just posted a notice on the bulletin board for the team to meet her in the gym at four o’clock. I think I know what it’s about. Marjorie Dean is sick. I heard Jerry Macy tell Esther Lind. You know what that means to the junior team, with two others away from it. I’m sure Ellen’s going to ask us to postpone the game.”
“I’ll forgive you for almost knocking me down,” laughed Rowena, her black eyes glowing. “So Miss Seymour thinks we will postpone the game to please her and that goody-goody Dean girl. I’ll see that she gets a surprise. Lucky you came to me. I can fix things before I go home to luncheon. I’m going to have a talk with Miss Davis.”
Leaving Nellie plunged in admiration at her daring tactics, Rowena sped up the basement stairs and down the corridor toward Miss Davis’s tiny office. “How are you, Miss Davis?” was her offhand greeting. “I’ve come to you for help.”
Miss Davis viewed her visitor with mild disapproval. “I don’t care to implicate myself in any more of your tangles, Rowena,” she declared firmly.
“Oh, this isn’t entirely my affair. It’s about basket ball, though. That Dean girl is sick and Miss Seymour is going to ask us to postpone the game just on her account. Of course, we’ll say ‘no,’ but Miss Seymour won’t mind that unless you stand by us. It’s pure favoritism. Miss Harding and Miss Atwell are sick, too. Even so, there are three of the team left. If you say the game must go on, it will give poor Mignon a chance to sub in the Dean girl’s place. That Esther Lind played on the sophomore team last year. She could fill the other position and we could have the game. Miss Seymour knows that, but she won’t pay any attention to it. Mignon ought to have been chosen in the first place. You owe it to her to do this for her. Besides, it will give you a good chance to even things with the Seymour-Dean combination.”
“I don’t like your tone, Rowena. It’s hardly respectful. As a teacher I have no desire to ‘even things,’ as you express it.” Miss Davis’s censure did not ring true. She knew that this domineering girl had no illusions concerning her dignity of position.