The final game was set for the thirteenth of March. Doggedly bent on escaping a whitewashing, the sophomores devoted themselves to zealous practice. So insistently frequent were their demands for the use of the gymnasium that the junior team were obliged to make equally insistent protest against their encroachment.
“I am really glad that this next game is to be the last,” remarked Marjorie to her teammates one afternoon as they were preparing to leave the dressing room after practice. “Basket ball hasn’t seemed the same old game this year. Perhaps I’m outgrowing my liking for it, but really we’ve had so much trouble about it that I long for victory and peace.”
“It’s not the game,” contested Muriel. “It’s those sophs with Rowena Farnham leading them on. Why, even when Mignon was continually fussing with us we never had any trouble about getting the gym for practice. Oh, well, one week from to-morrow will tell the story. If we win it will be a three to one victory. We can’t lose now. All the sophs can do is to tie the score.”
“Where were our subs to-day?” demanded Daisy Griggs. “I didn’t see either of them.”
“Harriet couldn’t stay for practice. She was going to a tea with her mother,” informed Susan. “I don’t know where Lucy Warner was. I didn’t see her in school, either.”
“She must be sick. She hasn’t been in school for almost a week,” commented Muriel. “She is the queerest-acting girl. You’d think to look at her that she hated herself and everybody. She makes me think of a picture of an anarchist I once saw in a newspaper. When she does come to practice she just sits with her chin in her hands and glowers. I can’t understand how she ever happened to come out of her grouch long enough to make the team.”
“She’s awfully distant,” agreed Marjorie dispiritedly. “I have tried to be nice to her, but it’s no use. My, how the wind howls! Listen.” Going to the window of the dressing room, she peered out. “It’s a dreadful day. The walks are solid sheets of ice. The wind blew so hard I could scarcely keep on my feet this noon.”
“I fell down twice,” giggled Susan Atwell. “It didn’t hurt me much. I scraped one hand on a piece of sharp ice, but I’m still alive.”
“Be careful going down the steps,” warned Daisy Griggs, ever a youthful calamity howler.
“Don’t croak, Daisy. If you keep on someone will take a tumble just because you mentioned it,” laughed Muriel. “We can’t afford that with the game so near.”