Once out of the gymnasium, her smile vanished. The anxious sophomore was Rowena Farnham. Ellen cherished small liking for this arrogant, self-centered young person whose request had been more in the nature of a command. Personally, she had not favored putting off the game. Had illness befallen a member or members of any team on which she had formerly played, no such favor would have been asked. Nothing short of incapacitation of the whole squad would have brought forth a stay in activities. Yet as manager she was obliged to be strictly impersonal. True, she might have exercised her authority and herself made the decision. But she had deemed the other way wisest.
On entering the senior locker room she was still more annoyed to find Mignon La Salle with Rowena. If Ellen disliked the latter, she had less love for the tricky French girl. “Birds of a feather,” she mentally styled them as she coldly bowed to Mignon. Her chilly recognition was not returned. Mignon had not forgiven her for the try-out.
“Well, what’s the verdict?” inquired Rowena, satirically pleasant. Her manner toward dignified Ellen verged on insolence.
“The junior team are willing to postpone the game,” informed Ellen briefly. She intended the interview to be a short one.
“They know on which side their bread is buttered,” laughed the other girl. “I suppose they weren’t specially delighted. Did they make much fuss before they gave in?”
“As I have delivered my message, I will say ‘good afternoon,’” Ellen returned stiffly.
“Don’t be in too much of a hurry,” drawled Rowena. “When I ask a question, I expect an answer.”
“Good afternoon.” Ellen wheeled and walked calmly from the locker room. Rowena’s expectations were a matter of indifference to the disgusted manager. She, at least, was not to be bullied.
Mignon La Salle laughed unpleasantly. “You were foolish to waste your breath on her.” She wagged her black head in the direction of the door, which had just closed behind Ellen. “You didn’t impress her that much.” She snapped her fingers significantly.
Smarting under the dignified snubbing Ellen had administered, Rowena hailed Mignon as an escape valve. “You keep your remarks to yourself,” she blustered. “How dare you stand there laughing and snapping your fingers? No wonder people say you’re two-faced and tricky. You’re so deceitful you don’t know your own mind. One minute you come whining to me about this Seymour snip, the next you take sides with her.”