“That’s just it,” chimed in Susan Atwell crossly. “She’s as sharp as a needle. She goes just far enough to get what she wants without getting into trouble by it. Anyway, they didn’t win much of a victory. If that last throw of Marjorie’s hadn’t missed the basket we’d have tied the score. It’s a pity the game ended right there. Three or four minutes more were all we needed.”
“I was sure I’d make it,” declared Marjorie rather mournfully, “but a little before, in that big rush, I was shoved forward by someone and nearly fell. I made a slide but didn’t quite touch the floor. All my weight was on my right arm and I felt it afterward when I threw the ball.”
“Who shoved you forward? That’s what I’d like to know,” came suspiciously from Susan. “If——”
“Oh, it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Marjorie hastened to assure her. “It was just one of those provoking things that have to happen.”
“Listen to those shrieks of joy,” grumbled Muriel, as a fresh clamor began out in the gymnasium. “Oh, why didn’t we beat them?”
“Never mind,” consoled Marjorie. “There’d be just as much noise if we had won. You can’t blame them. Next time it will be our turn. We’ve still three more chances. Now that we’ve played the sophs once, we’ll know better what to do when we play them again. We really ought to go out there and congratulate them. Then they would know that we weren’t jealous of them.”
“I’d just as soon congratulate a big, striped tiger as that Rowena Farnham. She makes me think of one. She has that cruel, tigerish way about her. Ugh! I can’t endure that girl.” Muriel Harding made a gesture of abhorrence.
“Come in,” called Marjorie as four loud knocks beat upon the door. “It’s Jerry, Connie and Irma,” she explained, as the door opened to admit the trio.
“Better luck next time,” cheerfully saluted Jerry Macy. “You girls played a bang-up, I mean, a splendid game. I was sure you’d tie that score. You had a slight accident, didn’t you, Marjorie?”
“Yes. Did you notice it?” Marjorie glanced curiously at Jerry’s imperturbable face.