Unwittingly, however, Miss Davis had blundered. In order to strengthen her case she had purposely complained of Marjorie to Ellen Seymour. Knowing nothing of Ellen’s devotion to the pretty junior, she had not dreamed that Ellen would set the wheels in motion to defeat her. She was in reality more to be pitied than blamed. Of a nature which accepted hearsay evidence, declining to go below the surface, it is not to be wondered at that Rowena’s clever persuasion, backed by Mignon’s and Charlotte’s able support, caused her to spring to the French girl’s aid. She was one of those aggravating persons who refuse to see whatever they do not wish to see. She was undoubtedly proficient in the business of physical culture. She was extremely inefficient in the art of reading girls. Sufficient unto herself, she, therefore, felt no compunction in sending forth the word that should summon Marjorie to the gymnasium, there to be deprived of that which she had rightfully earned.
Like many other days that had come to poor Marjorie since the beginning of her junior year, suspense became the ruling power. Two things she knew definitely. Ellen Seymour was for her. Miss Davis against her. The rest she could only guess at, losing herself in a maze of troubled conjecture. Judge her surprise when on reaching the locker room, she found not only Ellen awaiting her, but her teammates as well. They had made a most precipitate flight from the study hall in order to be in the locker room when she arrived.
“Why, Ellen! Why, girls!” she stammered. A deeper pink rushed to her cheeks; a mist gathered in her eyes as she realized the meaning of their presence. They had come in a body to help her.
“We’re here because we’re here,” trilled Captain Muriel Harding. “In a few minutes we’ll be in the gym. Then someone else will get a surprise. Are we ready to march? I rather think we are. Lead the procession, Ellen.”
“Come on, Marjorie, you and I will walk together. Fall in, girls. The invincible sextette will now take the trail.”
Amid much laughter on their part and openly curious glances from constantly arriving juniors who wondered what was on foot, the six girls had swung off down the corridor before the curious ones found opportunity to relieve their curiosity.
“She’s not here yet,” commented Susan, as they entered the place of tryst. “Isn’t that too bad. I hoped she’d be on hand to see the mighty host advancing.”
“Here she comes,” warned Rita Talbot. “Now, for it.”
CHAPTER XVIII—DOING BATTLE FOR MARJORIE
Two spots of angry color appeared high up on Miss Davis’s lean face as she viewed the waiting six. It came to her that she was in for a lively scene. Setting her mouth firmly, she approached them. Addressing herself to Marjorie, she opened with: “I sent for you, Miss Dean; not your friends.”