Marjorie Dean and Jerry Macy, at least, entertained no illusions concerning her. Neither did Mignon La Salle. For once in her life, Mignon was beginning to find herself completely overshadowed by a nature far more hatefully mischievous than her own. True she was Rowena’s most intimate friend. Yet there were times when she inwardly regretted having rushed blindly into such a friendship. Striving ever to rule, now she was invariably overruled. Instead of being leader, she became follower. Rowena criticized, satirized and domineered over her, all in the name of friendship. Had she been anyone else, Mignon would not have borne long with her bullying. She would have speedily put an end to their association. Rowena, however, was one not thus easily to be dropped. In Mignon she glimpsed powers for mischief-making only secondary to her own. She preferred, therefore, to cling to her and was clever enough never to allow Mignon’s flashes of resentment against her high-handedness to mature into open rebellion. Those who knew the French girl for exactly what she was agreed that Mignon had at last met her match. They also agreed that a taste of her own medicine would no doubt do her a great deal of good.
The approach of Thanksgiving also brought with it a stir of excitement for the coming basket ball game, the first to be played in a series of four, which were scheduled to take place at intervals in the school year. The sophomore team had already played the freshman and given them a complete whitewashing. Now they were clamoring to meet the juniors and repeat their victory. The junior team had attended the freshman-sophomore game in a body, thereby realizing to the full the strength of their opponents. Reluctantly, they were forced to admit the brilliancy of Rowena Farnham as a player. She knew the game and she went into it with a dash and vigor that marked her as a powerful adversary. Naturally, it won her an admiration which she determined should grow and deepen with each fresh achievement.
Her doughty deeds on the floor of contest merely imbued the junior team with stronger resolution to win the coming game. They practised with stubborn energy, sedulously striving to overcome whatever they knew to be their weak points. Though manager of all the teams, Ellen Seymour’s heart was secretly with them. This they felt rather than knew. Outwardly, Ellen was impartial. She made them no show of favoritism, but they divined that she would rejoice to see them win. There was no doubt of the smoothness of their team work. Having played basket ball on the freshman and sophomore teams, Marjorie Dean herself knew that the squad of which she was now a member excelled any other of past experience. Fairly confident that it could hold its own, she looked impatiently forward to the hour of action.
To set one’s heart too steadfastly on a particular thing, seems sometimes to court disappointment. On the Thursday before the game an unexpected state of affairs came to pass. It started with a notice on the bulletin board requesting the presence of the junior team in the gymnasium at four o’clock that afternoon. It was signed “Ellen Seymour, Manager.” Naturally, the juniors thought little of it. They were accustomed to such notices. Ellen, no doubt, had some special communication to make that had to do with them. But when five minutes after four saw them gathered in the gymnasium to meet their manager, her sober face warned them that the unusual was afoot.
“Girls, I have something to ask of you which you may not wish to do. I am not going to urge you to do it. You are free to choose your own course. As it especially concerns you, yours is the right to decide. Two girls of the sophomore team are ill. Martha Tyrell has come down with tonsilitis, and Nellie Simmons is threatened with pneumonia. Both are in bed. They can’t possibly play on Saturday. The sophs are awfully cut up about it. They wouldn’t mind using one sub, but two, they say, is one too many. They have asked me to ask you if you are willing to postpone the game until these girls are well again.”
“I don’t see why we should,” objected Captain Muriel Harding. “I don’t believe they’d do the same for us. Of what use are subs, if not to replace absent players?”
“That’s what I think,” put in Daisy Griggs. “It’s too provoking. Everyone is looking forward to the game. If we don’t play we’ll disappoint a whole lot of people. It’s very nervy in the sophs to ask us to do such a thing. Besides, we are crazy to wear our new suits.”
Ellen smiled quizzically. “Remember, you are to do as you please about it,” was all she said, betraying neither pleasure or displeasure at the ready protests.
“I suppose the sophomores will think us awfully mean if we don’t do as they ask,” ventured Rita Talbot.
“Oh, let them think,” declared Susan Atwell impatiently. “It’s the first time I ever heard of such a thing. They must be terribly afraid we’ll beat them.”