“Glad you told me,” murmured the other, lazily unbelieving. “I know several girls with whom she is not particularly popular.”
To this Ellen made no response. With vexation at her own stupidity, she now remembered too late that Charlotte Horner had always been rather friendly with Mignon La Salle. Remembering only Charlotte’s undeniable prowess as a basket ball player, she had asked her to act with herself and Leila Elbert as one of the three judges at the try-out. This explained why Charlotte had not been in favor of postponing the try-out in case Marjorie were detained indefinitely. Ellen found herself hoping that personal prejudice would not influence Charlotte to decry Marjorie’s work on the floor.
“I think Miss Dean is very nice.” It was Leila Elbert who made this announcement. Her reserved manner had arisen merely from shyness. She was a quiet, diffident girl, who, beyond an enthusiasm for basket ball, had mixed little with the social side of high school. She was an expert player who had been on the same team with Ellen during her freshman, sophomore and junior years. Accordingly, she was eminently fitted to judge the merits of the respective contestants.
“That’s sweet in you.” Ellen flashed her a grateful look. It would be two against one in Marjorie’s favor.
Within ten minutes after seeking the dressing room Marjorie issued from it ready for the fray, wearing her sophomore basket ball uniform. Running up to Ellen she announced: “I am ready. So is Muriel.” In a lower tone she added: “It was dear in you to wish me well.” Then she trotted over and joined the contestants, who had gradually collected in one spot.
“All right.” Ellen left the platform and approached the fruitful material for junior honors. “Girls,” she began, with an elaborate bow, “behold your stern manager.”
She was interrupted by giggling applause. Cheerful Ellen Seymour was beloved throughout Sanford High School.
“Much obliged,” she nodded gaily. “As I was saying when interrupted by your heart-felt appreciation, I am your manager. This year there will be no senior team. The seniors have soared to heights beyond mere basket ball. I had to soar with them, though I wasn’t in a soaring mood. Since I can’t play the good old game alone, I’ve decided to bury my disappointment in managership. Of course, you know that you can’t all play. So if you’re not chosen, don’t be disappointed. It’s going to be an absolutely fair try-out. If you’re chosen, it is because you are a better player than the girl who isn’t. Now please line up until I count you over.”
It was a nondescript line that whipped itself promptly into position. There were the five gray-clad girls who had made up Mignon La Salle’s famous team. There were also the five black-garbed players who had comprised Marjorie’s squad. Besides these were ten new applicants in blue gymnasium suits who had not been fortunate enough to make either of the two teams that had striven against each other in the sophomore year. These girls had decided to try again, hoping that better luck would be theirs.
Marjorie thrilled with excitement as she cast a quick glance up and down the line. Every face was set in determined fashion. It was going to be much harder than ever before to make the team.