DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS

“DON’T BE AFRAID,” TAVIA CALLED TO THE ONE IN THE WATER. “IT CAN’T SINK.”
Dorothy Dale’s School Rivals Page [79]

DOROTHY DALE’S
SCHOOL RIVALS

BY
MARGARET PENROSE

AUTHOR OF “DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY,” “DOROTHY
DALE’S GREAT SECRET,” “DOROTHY DALE’S CAMPING
DAYS,” “THE MOTOR GIRLS,” “THE MOTOR
GIRLS AT LOOKOUT BEACH,” “THE
MOTOR GIRLS THROUGH NEW
ENGLAND,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

BOOKS BY MARGARET PENROSE

THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES

Cloth. Illustrated.

• DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY
• DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL
• DOROTHY DALE’S GREAT SECRET
• DOROTHY DALE AND HER CHUMS
• DOROTHY DALE’S QUEER HOLIDAYS
• DOROTHY DALE’S CAMPING DAYS
• DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS

THE MOTOR GIRLS SERIES

Cloth. Illustrated.

• THE MOTOR GIRLS
  Or A Mystery of the Road
• THE MOTOR GIRLS ON A TOUR
  Or Keeping a Strange Promise
• THE MOTOR GIRLS AT LOOKOUT BEACH
  Or In Quest of the Runaways
• THE MOTOR GIRLS THROUGH NEW ENGLAND
  Or Held by the Gypsies
• THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CEDAR LAKE
  Or The Hermit of the Fern Island

Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York

Copyright, 1912, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS

Printed in U. S. A.

CONTENTS

DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL
RIVALS

CHAPTER I
THE START

Dorothy’s blue eyes looked out of the car window, but she saw nothing. All her faculties were bent upon thinking—thinking of something that evidently was not pleasant. Tavia fussed around in the next seat, scattering books, candy boxes, wraps, gloves and such “trifles.” She finally left the things to their fate and climbed in with Dorothy.

“We’ll soon be back to the old Glen, Doro,” she said, “and I know you’ll be glad. As for me, I count this my last hour of freedom, and feel as if I were going to——”

“Now, Tavia, you know perfectly well that you are just as fond of Glenwood as I am,” replied Dorothy, with something akin to a smile. “But of course, you have to get your fun out of growling. Really, I think this time you won’t be able to get it out of me. I am—glum!”

“That will be the best fun ever. To have you glum! Have you been to a fortune teller, or anything like that, Doro?”

Dorothy looked harder than ever out of the window, and did not bother to reply.

“Because, Doro,” went on Tavia, “if she told you a friend is going to be married it’s me. If she said you would get a letter, asking for money, that’s from me. If she said a very dear friend was going to get in some new kind of trouble, that will also be me, and last, if she said you were going to cross water, it will be on account of my health. I love fortune tellers, they pick out such good news,” and Tavia glanced across the aisle at a rather good-looking young man, who was reading a theatrical paper.

Dorothy touched Tavia’s hand. “There,” she said, “I am not going to have any more blues. I can’t manage well with them, and I have to manage you, Tavia.”

“Now, have you only just discovered that? Well, all I can say is that I am glad the other girls did not get these seats. They are—ahem—so convenient!”

“But there is one vacant place just back of the young man whom you are watching,” said Dorothy, teasingly.

“And there comes one of our girls,” exclaimed Tavia. “I wager she flops into it.”

The prediction was correct. A new girl, with very up-to-date apparel, and very flashy jewelry, had taken the vacant seat. The book she carried showed its title plainly, and was, of course, one of “the best sellers.”

“Next she’ll drop the book under his seat, and he’ll have to speak to her in returning it,” said Tavia. “Now, why didn’t I think of trying that? Such a chance!”

Dorothy was interested in the new girl and paid little attention to the talk that Tavia was making for her benefit, for, though Tavia always loved to do absurd things, she would not have spoken to the stranger.

“She is the young lady we were introduced to on the depot platform,” Dorothy remarked. “Her name is Jean Faval.”

“Ought to be Bean Flavor,” said Tavia, trying to pun on the name. “She looks sort of—canned.”

“I think her very stylish, but that skirt is tight. I wouldn’t wear one like it myself,” Dorothy replied.

“And a Dutch neck on the train,” continued Tavia, looking at the very white neck of the new girl, who wore no collar. “I believe she wears slippers, and the very thinnest silk hose.”

“It’s warm enough for both, and I shouldn’t mind having forgotten my heavy walking shoes,” Dorothy said.

Just then the book dropped. Tavia almost jumped out of her seat. She actually gasped. The young lady across moved her foot, and the book came out in the aisle.

In an instant Tavia had it in her hands, and was passing it back.

“Oh, thank you so much!” spoke the owner, in a suspicious tone. “I could have gotten it.”

“It was not the least bit of trouble,” and Tavia uttered a false note that caused the young man to turn and observe her.

“Anything I can do?” he asked, politely. “Have you lost anything?”

Both girls answered in the same words.

“Oh, no; thank you.”

He glanced over at Dorothy, then resumed his paper. Miss Faval found her place in her book, and Tavia turned to her chum.

“Didn’t I tell you? Am I not a prophet? But I spoiled it, and I am dying laughing from head to foot.”

“She will think you rude,” cautioned Dorothy.

“I hope she thinks me the entire conjugation, and the worse ones on the last page. I can see some fun with her at Glen.”

“Please, Tavia,” begged Dorothy, “don’t try to get into trouble before we arrive there. You have plenty of time during the term,” and she looked bored—quite unlike the real Dorothy.

“Say, Doro,” exclaimed Tavia, “I actually believe you want to get rid of me. I’ll run off and leave you to your dismals. I know Dick and Ned have a brand of chocolates I am particularly fond of, and your own Cologne always tips the porter for ice water. So be good, and,” she added in a whisper, “don’t miss any of the circus,” nodding her head toward the other side of the aisle. “Be sure to render me a satisfactory and full report.”

Tavia flaunted off, and Dorothy again pressed her pale face to the window pane. The hills and vales were rolling away, and of course the fast train seemed to be standing still. The wonderful changes of scenery, that had never failed before to interest her, she now scarcely saw.

In the rear of the car were a number of her companions, but she was really glad to be alone. There was Rose-Mary Markin, known as Cologne; Edna Black, called Ned Ebony; Molly Richards, titled just Dick, and others picked up along the route to Glenwood School, in the mountains of New England.

Dorothy was not sick. She was gloomy, and whatever caused this gloom had occurred just before the girls left for school, for up to that time she had been the same vivacious, sprightly girl who had ever been a favorite with her acquaintances and companions. The change in her manner was, therefore, so marked that even the reckless Tavia noticed it instantly, as did the other girls, who were wise enough (on advice of Cologne, Dorothy’s most intimate friend after Tavia) to let Dorothy alone, and not bother her.

The sun was fading into shadows, and soon the train would pull into the familiar little Glenwood station. Then what a time there would be! Dorothy thought of it, and again determined to be cheerful. Tavia would be, as Tavia herself had declared, “on top of the heap,” for while there was no hazing allowed, something that made a splendid imitation was ever practiced on the first night, the “fun” not being confined to new scholars, either.

The car attendant came through the train, and turned on the lights. The strange gentleman with the paper across the aisle asked him if they would get in on schedule and he replied they had lost a little time, but were making it up now.

“Thought you had an extra clip on,” commented the stranger.

Scarcely were the words uttered than Dorothy and everyone else was thrown from their seats, and then there was a terrific crash.

Instantly there followed screams and commotion. The lights went out, and many passengers rushed for the doors. Dorothy realized she was not hurt. Next, the other girls from the rear of the car were hanging around her, displaying very little of the common sense that had been drilled into them at Glenwood.

“Oh, Dorothy, what is it?”

“Oh, Dorothy, my arm is broken!”

“Oh, Dorothy, I am sure we will all be killed!”

“Doro, are you all right?”

This last was from Tavia, while the other gasps came from various girls, too intermixed to separate.

It seemed a long time, but was, in reality, only a few seconds, until the conductor and porter made their way to the girls’ car, and assured them that nothing at all had happened, more than the rather too sudden stopping of the train, made necessary by a special and unexpected signal. The lights were again turned on, and everyone might see that there really had been no accident. The seats were as straight and as smooth as ever, and most of the frightened passengers were gathering up their trinkets from the floor, and replacing them in the holders and seats.

Edna Black was rubbing her arm, and wincing.

“Is your hand hurt?” Dorothy asked.

“I’m afraid it is. I got quite a jolt against the seat arm. But I guess it isn’t much,” Edna replied.

Tavia gazed across the aisle. The young man was looking at Edna. The new girl was groaning dramatically. She was also trying to get back into her skirt, that had, in the excitement sprung up like a deep girdle around her waist.

“Can’t flop nicely in a skirt tight as that!” Tavia whispered to Molly Richards. “I wish it had all ripped to pieces. Wouldn’t it be sport for her to have to get out in a buttoned raincoat?”

“She’s pretty,” Mollie said, simply.

“That’s why I hate her,” replied Tavia. “I always hate what I can’t have—even beauty.”

“Strange you get along so well with—well, with some people,” answered Molly, casting an appreciative glance at Tavia, with the hazel eyes, and the shade of hair every one loves—no color in particular but all combined in one glow. “Every one envies you, Tavia.”

Dorothy was examining Edna’s wrist.

Meanwhile the new girl kept exclaiming, “Oh, my!” Finally the young man turned to her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked kindly.

Tavia gripped Molly’s arm.

“Oh, I don’t know,” whimpered Miss Faval, “but I am so—nervous.”

It was the greatest wonder in the world that Tavia did not shout “hurrah” or something equally absurd.

“You are shaken up,” said the stranger, “but nerves soon adjust themselves, when there is not any real injury. I see some one else has trouble.” He crossed to Dorothy and Edna. “Can I help you?” he asked. “I know something of medicine.”

“And he was reading a theatrical paper!” Tavia managed to get in line with Molly’s ear. “I’ll wager he turns out to be a baseball player.”

“My friend has hurt her arm,” Dorothy told the young man, who had already taken the trembling hand of Edna in his own firm grasp. “She fell against the arm of the seat.”

All eyes were upon them. Of course Tavia was whispering: “Wouldn’t be my luck! Just like Ned! Do you suppose he will need help to set it? I’ll get a glass of water—that’s safe,” and off she raced, making jolly remarks to the frightened ones, as she made her way to the water cooler.

“I’m afraid it is sprained,” said the man, holding Edna’s hand, “but I have some bandages in my grip.”

Tavia had returned with the glass of water before he found the bandages.

“I’m so sorry, Ned dear,” said Tavia truthfully. “I’m so sorry it is not my arm. Isn’t he handsome!”

Edna smiled, and Dorothy held the water to her lips. As the young man with the antiseptic cloth crossed the aisle Dorothy motioned Tavia to stand back and make room for the work to be done. Tavia stepped back, and just then the train gave one, single jerk.

The contents of Tavia’s glass of water went over the “Dutch neck” of Jean Faval.

“Oh, mercy!” screamed the girl.

Tavia recovered herself from the jerk and was just about to apologize when Amy Brooks rushed up to them.

“Whatever do you think, girls?” she blurted out. “The railroad bridge is down, and we can’t leave this spot to-night!”

CHAPTER II
AT STRATHAWAY BRIDGE

“Not leave this spot to-night!”

The exclamation came in chorus from every Glenwood girl, and there was a low, moaning sort of echo-encore from the young man with the medicine case.

What should they do? They could not swim, that was certain, so they would have to wait.

To break the monotony of this wait we will tell our readers something of the other books of this series, and thus enable them to get a keener insight into the characters we are now following, as well as making a little bow of introduction to those we are meeting for the first time.

In the first book, entitled “Dorothy Dale; A Girl of To-Day,” we find the Dale family; the Major, an ideal, dear, kindly father; the two sons, Joe and little Roger, and Dorothy, the daughter. Tavia Travers, a girl of opposite temperament to that of Dorothy’s, is a great friend of the prettiest girl in Dalton, Dorothy Dale. Tavia is fearless and fearful; Dorothy is clear-minded, well balanced and capable. In this story is related how Dorothy gets a clew to the unlawful detention of a poor little girl, and in the parlance of those who use “quick” English—Tavia for instance—Dorothy “rounds up” the culprit and takes little Nellie away from a home of misery and poverty.

Our second volume was “Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School.” Glenwood School is situated in the mountains of New England, and the pupils there come from many parts of the country, even the South being represented. “Glen School” is not an asylum for the refuge of young girls whose mothers are “too busy” to bring them up. Neither are the girls there of the type who believe that boarding school life is a lark, with original slang at each end; and an attractive centre piece about mid-way, devoted to the composition of verbal putty-blowers, constructed to “get even” with teachers; nothing of the sort. But there is time for fun, as well as for work and for adventure, and a time for girlhood walks, and talks in the shady ways of the pretty school.

This second story deals with the peculiar complications that so readily arise when girls and boys get on well together, in the wholesome sports of youth, until that other element, “Jealousy” makes its grim appearance. Then the innocent nonsense of Tavia, and the deliberate, open-hearted ventures and adventures of Dorothy, are turned about so as to become almost a tragedy at Glenwood.

In “Dorothy Dale’s Great Secret,” our third volume, there is a real secret. Not a little kindergarten whisper, but a matter which so closely affects Tavia’s career that Dorothy takes all sorts of risks to hold that secret from others, until the opportune time for explanation arrives.

“Dorothy Dale and Her Chums,” is the title of the fourth book. This is a real story—a plot that deals in mystery and adventure, of a gypsy girl in a cave, stolen goods, and so many thrilling mysteries that Dorothy was kept busy solving them.

Then “Dorothy Dale’s Queer Holidays,” shows how very queer some holidays may be, indeed, when girls and boys unite to discover the mystery of an old castle, where they eventually find and rescue an aged and demented man. But this is not accomplished without stirring adventures, not the smallest of which was the night spent in the old mansion, when the young folks had been overtaken by so heavy a snowstorm that their automobile could not make its way back to North Birchland. The two cousins of Dorothy, Nat and Ned, with other boy friends, protected the frightened girls until rescue finally came at almost daybreak.

The story of a mistaken identity is told of in the sixth volume of the series, “Dorothy Dale’s Camping Days.” To be mistaken for a demented girl, captured and held in the hot, blistering attic of a farmhouse, then taken to a sanitarium, where Dorothy is really believed to be the girl who escaped from that institution, was surely an ordeal for Dorothy. But not less is the latter part of that story, where the real sick girl is found by our friends, Dorothy and Tavia, and the joyous conclusion of her complete recovery, and the opening of a new life to this girl, so dear to her mother’s heart, and so loved by her friends, make up for all the suffering.

So Dorothy Dale has had some experience, and we hope, in the present volume, she will sustain her reputation, as that of the up-to-date girl, with will power and ambition, “tied with a little blue bow of sentiment.”

We left them at Strathaway Bridge, and night is coming, as it always does come, just when there are so many daylight things to be done.

In the excitement that followed the announcement that the bridge was down, and the train could not cross the river until morning, all the water that Tavia had inadvertently poured down Jean Faval’s neck was dried up in the heat of gulped exclamations. Even Jean left her seat and joined the conversation on ways and means that were being held in the seats on the opposite side of the car. There were so many suggestions—some wanted to bribe the porter for sleeping quarters, as the trip to Glenwood did not originally require such a luxury; Rose-Mary wanted to get permission to “run” one car for the “Glens,” and camp out in it; Tavia wanted to get up a committee on food-quest, with time-table drinking cups apiece. Dorothy thought it might be a good idea to consult the conductor and have an official statement. The gentleman (“King” they called him now) excused himself, and left the girls so forlorn, all alone there, in a heaped-up convention, that Tavia declared he was a card sharp, and that Ned would get blood poison from the bandages he had put on her wrist. Moreover, Tavia also declared that he had gone forth to “trim” the scared car people at that minute. “For,” she said, her bronze hair fairly showing electrical sparks, “any one would do anything in a case like this. No place to sleep, nothing to eat, just a bunch of loony girls, and—me,” and she wound up with coming down on Ned’s box of butter cups (the candy kind), that happened to be under the lame arm.

It was strange how much that one man had been to the Glenwood contingent. They had fairly stopped talking since his departure. A night on that train now seemed impossible. Tavia went to the last seat in the car, and dared any one to follow her until she had thought it out. This did not take long, for “out” must have been very near the surface.

“I have it!” she shouted, going back to seat seven.

“Where?” asked Dorothy.

“What?” demanded Dick.

“Havies!” begged Ned.

“Corkies!” joked Cologne.

“We may go!” announced Tavia, now standing on Jean’s pretty dress that happened to spread itself over the seat from which she decided to orate. “We may go. We may walk. It is only three miles over the cove bridge and I pity Glen to-night when jelly-round comes. We’ll lick the plates!”

“Whatever do you mean, Tavia?” asked Dorothy. “The bridge cannot be repaired to-night.”

“The bridge may sink or swim, but there won’t be one of us ‘waiting at the bridge,’” and she hummed a tune gaily.

“But what shall we do?” asked little Amy Brooks. “We can’t fly?”

“More’s the pity,” answered Tavia. “Next time I take this trip I’ll carry a box kite over the green flag. No, but this is what you can do, my dears. Take up your things—every mussed paper bag of them, and hurry with me across the meadow. The road comes out just at the Green Edge trolley line, and that line is wound around Glenwood tower! It crosses Strathaway River on a small bridge below this railroad one. Come on!”

Everyone gasped. That Tavia should have thought of this!

“But, Tavia,” objected Dorothy, “how are we to know that we can cross the meadow? It is almost dark!”

“More reason why we should hurry to find out,” answered the daring one. “Come on, or I’m gone.”

“But our tickets, and the conductor, and all that?” inquired Nita Brant, with ambiguous precision.

“We will all make over a total assignment to you—you may stay with the ship, Nita, but we run!”

It was funny to see how those girls did scamper from the last car of that train. The dainty travelling bags, gifts of “friends on departing,” were now all tangled up in the scant skirts, that did double service of being a part of wearing apparel—small part—and also answering for a carryall of the old time conception. It was the quickest way, and that was what counted. Jean Faval did drop her gold purse just as she was alighting (she did not “get off”) but Tavia was so anxious that all should escape that she crawled under the oily wheels and dragged out the golden trinket. The new girl thanked her, and, for the time, an armistice was established.

“Are we all here?” called Dorothy, who was assisting Edna because of the lame arm.

“All but King, and he is cleaning out the other cars,” replied Tavia. “There, look out, Dick! Land sakes alive! We won’t have thread and needles enough in the tower to sew our tears, if this keeps up. Dick, you have ruined your flounce on that brake.”

Molly Richards (otherwise Dick) looked hopelessly at the torn needlework skirt. “Oh, well,” she said, making the ground, “I never liked that anyway. The pattern was true-lover’s-knot, and I’m just glad I——”

“Broke the knot,” put in Dorothy. “Tavia, wherever are you leading us to? This must be a turf bog!”

“Leadin’ on to vict’ry,” replied the girl who was almost running ahead. “I have been over this bog before.”

“But not at this season, when the water comes in,” cautioned Dorothy. “However, girls, I am willing to take the same risk that you all take—sink or swim,” and she ran along after Tavia, while the others followed, like American soldiers taking their initial trip through a rice field.

Every step was uncertain—every foot was put in the bog with a shudder or groan, and pulled out with a shout.

“I can’t do it,” declared Nita Brant. “These are my best silk hose.”

“Hose,” yelled back Tavia, “we’ll take up a collection on repairs when we get to Glen.”

“And my—velvet—ties!” exclaimed Jean Faval. “They feel like wooden shoes!”

“We’ll put them up at auction,” suggested Dorothy, good humoredly. “The only thing that really worries me is Edna’s sprained arm.”

“Why didn’t you fetch the doc then?” asked Tavia, but before an answer could be ventured there was a scream, and even the happy girls of Glenwood stopped.

What had happened?

CHAPTER III
THE GET-AWAY

Amy Brooks had sunk in the bog!

The weight of the soggy earth had dragged her down, until she lay helpless, clinging to some underbrush!

And how dark it was now!

“Quick! Quick!” called Dorothy. “This may be a bog hole!”

“Team play! Team play!” shouted Tavia, and instantly every girl, whether leading or following, was making for the spot from which Amy’s cries came.

The girl was imbedded in the black, wet bog as if she had been cemented there!

Even Tavia had no suggestion to offer, but stood gazing in hopeless amazement.

Dorothy was running about, trying to find a firm footing from which to reach out to the imperilled girl.

Although it was September, the late afternoons were damp and chilly, and as the girls, almost feverish from the over-excitement, ran this way and that, in hope of finding some sort of board or plank to make a way to Amy, their shouts of fright and cries for help, rent the air, and turned the scene, so lately one of merriment, into terror and danger for everyone of them.

“Oh, it’s all my fault!” wailed Tavia. “I should not have risked it so near dark.”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” replied Dorothy, “but this is the time to act. Come Tavia, we may get a fence rail. I see some old black stuff, like wood, over there,” and she did her best to hurry over the wet ground, that threatened to hold her fast at every step.

In the meantime the other girls were trying to get Amy out. Molly Richards was the oldest and strongest, and she ventured near the spring until the others called to her that she would presently be worse off than Amy. A pile of light travelling coats were tossed over to Amy and she kept herself from going deeper in the bog by making these fast to the brushwood near her.

“Here we are!” called Dorothy, and with one end of the old moss-covered fence rail on her shoulder, and the other end upon Tavia’s, the two girls made their way to the brink of the bog hole.

It took but a few minutes to get the rail over the swamp-like pit, where a spring sluggishly bubbled.

“There,” called Dorothy, “now see if it will hold you, Amy.”

But there was no need to direct Amy. Her rescue was too welcome to wait for orders. Throwing her arms firmly over the rail she dragged herself out of the mud until she was sitting on the long piece of wood.

“Be careful,” called Tavia. “Hold tight, and we will all pull the rail over to this side.”

In spite of the peril the situation was almost comical, and the girls lost no opportunity of cheering and otherwise dispelling the fast settling gloam.

“We ought to carry you to the road this way,” suggested Nita Brant, “you are so soaking wet, and horribly muddy——”

“Thank you, but I am too anxious to walk. I doubt if I shall get the use of my ankles for a month,” replied Amy. “My! but that was awful! I was saying my prayers, I tell you.”

“But what shall we do now?” inquired Ned, who, on account of her injured arm, could not help in the rail ride.

“Go directly back to the train,” said Dorothy. “Listen! That was a train whistle! Oh, if it should start——”

“A train sure enough!” declared Jean, who had held back. “That’s what we get for following—a leader.”

Her tone was full of contempt, and everyone noticed it.

“Too bad you came,” replied Tavia, who never cared for good manners, when there was a chance for sarcasm, “for that is the wrecking train, I think, and they might have taken you on the hand car. Wouldn’t it have been fun?”

The idea of that fashionably dressed girl riding on a hand car with train men!

“Now let me down,” insisted Amy. “I’m going to run after that whistle even if it proves to be a fog horn!”

“Oh, don’t—go near—the water!” shouted Tavia, and, as she spoke, a big touring automobile dashed by.

“Another life-saver lost!” declared Dorothy. “If only we could have made them see us!”

“Oh, mercy!” gasped Nita, “There come two men with guns on their shoulders!”

“Just snipe hunters, likely,” said Dorothy, but she was noticed to hurry toward the road.

It was not a great distance back to the standing train, and, as the girls came within hearing of some passengers on the rear platform, someone called:

“Oh you Glenwood girls! You have missed it. The touring car came from your school to get you, and is now driving all over the country looking for strayed, lost or stolen girls.”

“The Glenwood machine! Oh, do let me cry!” begged Tavia. “If I don’t cry within the next three minutes, I’ll die of internal deluge.”

She stepped to the platform. Dorothy was the next to mount, but she paused to help Edna.

“Back safely?” asked the man who had bandaged the strained arm. “We were greatly worried. I could scarcely keep mother from going after you,” and the handsome elderly lady who had been standing aside with him, came forward and extended her hand to Dorothy.

“My baseball player!” groaned Tavia into Molly’s ear. “Lost again, but I think he’s an artist. I’ll get him to paint me.”

By this time the young ladies were passing into the car. When the other passengers heard of the accident, and beheld Amy’s almost solidly bog-cemented garments, there was no end to the excitement.

“I think,” said the young man, “that I can arrange to get this car, or half of it, for you young ladies for the night. As there are no chairs nor sleepers to be had it may be well to make sure of something.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” said Dorothy, who was still acting as leader, although she hardly knew what to do or say. “This is awful! And to think that we missed the car! The school principal, Mrs. Pangborn, will be ill of anxiety.”

“There is no possible way of getting a message away from here,” replied the other. “But at least they know the train is safe.”

“But they also know that we were not in it,” objected Dorothy. “Mrs. Pangborn probably heard of the delay caused by the broken bridge, and sent for us.”

“There’s just one way, and perhaps I can make it. May I leave mother with you?” and the young man quickly picked up his cap, leaving the car before anyone had time to know what he was going to do.

“I’ll be back in about an hour,” he called, and then the girls were once more conscious of the loneliness of being “just girls.” Men know so much better what ought to be done in emergencies.

CHAPTER IV
RIVAL RUNS

“Now young ladies,” began the elderly woman with the wonderful snowy hair. “Of course you know I am David’s mother. I am Mrs. Armstrong, and David is my only child. I wanted to come out here to a convention and he insisted on accompanying me. Though it did take him from his business.”

“His business?” Tavia repeated as nicely as she could, handing to Mrs. Armstrong the little lace cape that had just fallen from her shoulders.

“Oh, yes indeed, his business,” repeated the lady, while Dorothy and Edna smiled wisely at Tavia, who had not even yet found out what that young man’s “business” might be. “And,” said the lady, “I never depend upon dining cars when I travel, so if you can manage to put up some sort of table here between the seats, we may have a little meal, for my bag is pretty well stocked, I can well guess. Mabel put it up for me.”

“Splendid!” exclaimed Molly, not realizing that her remark was prompt to greediness.

“I am sure you must all be starved, for it is past tea-time,” said Mrs. Armstrong, getting from under the seat a good sized, matting traveling bag. “We use this when we go auto riding, it opens up so nicely.”

Again Tavia nudged the girl nearest her, for the lady with the bag of refreshments was becoming more interesting at every new remark she made.

“Do you suppose your son will be back in time to eat with us?” asked Dorothy, as the girls were spreading out newspapers on the seats, and arranging a sort of place to eat.

“I don’t know,” and the elderly lady looked very thoughtful for a moment. Then she removed her glasses, put them on again and whispered to Dorothy. “My son is always doing queer things—that is they are queer from my view point. Where did he say he was going?”

“He did not say, as I understood. But it seemed as if it was something about getting a message to town,” replied Dorothy.

The lady shook her head. “Now here are the refreshments,” she told the girls. Tavia had procured water in an old earthen pitcher, that she declared was perfectly clean, and that for the use of it she was personally indebted to the brakeman, who turned on the lights. Molly had “raided” a store-room somewhere, and from it had actually gotten out such a splendid piece of white cardboard that with the aid of Edna’s case knife square “dishes” were cut and served nicely for the chicken sandwiches. Then the pickles!

“We call them School Girls’ Delight,” explained Mrs. Armstrong, “although I had no idea I was going to fall in with such a happy crowd of young ladies.”

“We are the ones to be grateful,” declared Dorothy. “But where is Miss Faval!”

“Where is she?” asked more than one girl, jumping up, and glancing about the car.

“She certainly got on the train with us,” declared Edna.

“She should have remained with us,” said Dorothy, showing some anxiety. “That was the rule—always when we traveled this way.”

“And there are so many people about, with nothing to do,” Mrs. Armstrong remarked. “It is not like regular traveling, when everybody and everything is in place. We had better inquire at once.”

Dorothy had finished her sandwich, but objected to Mrs. Armstrong leaving her lunch untouched.

“It doesn’t make a bit of difference, child,” said that lady. “David will likely come back with more things to eat than would provide a dinner.” She brushed the crumbs from her skirt. “I am for finding the lost sheep.”

It must be said that those who remained to finish the feast did not look a bit worried about Jean Faval; in fact there was something of a scramble directly Dorothy and Mrs. Armstrong were safely out of sight.

“Where do you suppose——” began Molly.

“Don’t suppose,” interrupted Edna. “I don’t like that girl, and I hope she got on a train that—backed up.”

“Hope she tried to walk the bridge,” put in Tavia, between a pickle and a lady finger.

“You’re mean,” spoke Nita Brant. “She’s got lots of money, and will be splendid at school. She even has a check book of her own.”

“We prefer cash,” said Molly, “it’s lots handier.”

“What would we have done if it had not been for what ‘Mabel’ put in the bag?” asked Cologne, who was in a seat back of the four girls, who were just now threatening to eat the crumbs from the cracks in the newspaper table-cloth. “This meal has been my salvation.”

“But where do you suppose David has gone?” inquired Tavia. “I am worried about him. I like David!”

“Here come Dorothy and Mrs. Armstrong. They evidently have not found Lady Jean.” It was Edna who spoke.

Dorothy was very pale. Even in the uncertain light that flickered from the gas lamp in the car center, it was plain to everyone looking at her that Dorothy had received a shock.

“Such a girl!” said Mrs. Armstrong. “Actually refused to come with us. Sitting in a car talking to—well, of course, I couldn’t just say who they might be, but they looked like a small part of a big circus.”

Her eyes flashed, and she fanned herself nervously.

Dorothy quietly sat down beside Cologne.

“What has happened, Doro?” asked her friend—for next to Tavia, Cologne ranked first in favor with the little leader.

“Nothing much. But I was so surprised. I suppose I should not have shown how I felt,” replied Dorothy, biting her lip.

“She was positively rude,” went on Mrs. Armstrong, “and if I get a chance to find your Glenwood school I shall report her conduct.”

“What did she say?” demanded Tavia.

“She said—that she would not tag around with a parcel of kindergarten babies,” responded the indignant lady, “and I felt that it was I who had exposed Miss Dale to that insult.”

“Oh, she was not insulting,” interposed Dorothy. “Of course, I was surprised, because I usually have——”

“Been our policeman,” finished Tavia. “Well don’t you worry. I’ll be a whole police force when I get there—meaning to Glen.” She swung around to Dorothy. “What is it, dear?” she demanded. “You have that same worried look you wore when we left home. Can’t I help you?”

“Perhaps you can, Tavia,” replied Dorothy, “and I promise to tell you all about it when we get to school. It was really not what the girl said to me that—made me feel so. It was what I overheard her saying to someone else. There, don’t let them see us talking. I thought I heard——”

“Why, David!” exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong, “Wherever have you been?”

David had just entered the car, with all the bags and bundles that his mother had promised he would fetch.

“Had the time of my life,” he exclaimed quite breathlessly, “riding on a hand car into town. But I came back de luxe a la auto. I got the message to Glenwood School, and the big car is here again.”

“Oh, glorious!” declared Tavia, but she was interrupted in her effusion by the conductor’s cry:

“Special car for Glenwood School!”

Then the grand scramble commenced.

CHAPTER V
SCHOOL AT LAST

“We just should have left her there,” growled Edna. “I can’t understand why any girl would prefer staying up all night in a stuffy car, to getting this grand ride, and a night’s sleep in bed to boot. Dorothy is too—conscientious.”

“That’s just what I say,” chimed in Tavia, who was next to Edna in the rear of the big three-seated closed touring car, that flaunted the Glenwood flag. “And that she would deliberately refuse to come until the conductor read the list; like a funeral!”

“I was so sorry Mrs. Armstrong couldn’t come with us,” continued Edna. “But her son had the little runabout for her, of course.”

“I should not have minded so much if the son could have come,” teased Tavia. “This is a lovely ride, but fancy talking to Jacob! He’s been the Glenwood runner ever since cars came in, and he thinks he just knows all there is about machines.”

“Glad he does, for it’s some dark,” reflected Molly. “I suppose that Jean girl took the outside seat, thinking she could make Jake talk.”

“Or that she would avoid talking to us,” Edna moved her injured arm carefully. “Well, I can see that Nita and Lena, and some of the others are talking to Jean. We’ll have some trouble keeping our club up even. But Tavia, what is the matter with Dorothy? She is not a bit like herself.”

“No, she isn’t. But I think her father is not well, and he is getting old—prematurely old, for his hair is white as snow. You see, it must worry Dorothy to leave him and the two boys alone. Seems to me that veterans always get old—young,” said Tavia evasively.

“Do you really think that is all that is the matter with her?” went on Edna. “It seems to me that it is something more serious.”

“Well, maybe it is,” replied Tavia. “But I’m sure I hope not. Dear Doro does so much for every one else that it would be almost a shame to have her have troubles.”

“It surely would,” came from the other. “Do you suppose she would mind if I asked her?” and Edna looked back to where Dorothy was talking to Cologne. “Or perhaps you had better do it, Tavia. You know her so much better than the rest of us, and she won’t mind it—coming from you.”

“That’s right!” cried Tavia with a little laugh. “Blame it all on me! No one minds what I do. I’m the goat, of course. If there’s something unpleasant to be done, let Tavia do it.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way at all!” exclaimed Edna. “You took me up so short——”

“Better be short than long!” went on Tavia, laughing. They could talk rather louder now, as the machine, chugging along, made so much noise that there was no danger of Dorothy hearing.

“No, but seriously,” proceeded Edna. “I do think Doro has some secret trouble. She isn’t at all like her jolly self, and though she has been just as nice as she could be in this trouble, still——”

“Still waters run deep!” interrupted Tavia. “I’m sure I can’t say what it is.”

“Then why don’t you ask?”

“Simply because if Dorothy wanted me to know she’d tell me.”

“She might not. She might be too sensitive. It would be just like her to hold back and not want to tell anyone. Oh, Tavia, I’m almost going to ask her myself if you won’t.”

“Well, I won’t, that’s all there is to it. Let’s start a song. I’m getting dry and lonesome.”

“Oh, Tavia, there’s no use trying to do anything with you,” sighed her companion. “Why can’t you be serious for once?”

“I just can’t—that’s all. It isn’t in me. I’m a hopeless case, I’m afraid. But don’t worry so much. Let Doro alone and if she wants help she’ll ask for it. Then we’ll all pitch in, and do all we can for her.”

“Indeed yes,” agreed Edna heartily. “Dear Doro does so much for others that it would be a pity if we could not aid her in some way. Oh dear!”

“What is it now?” asked Tavia, glancing out into the gathering darkness. “Something hurt you? Is it the arm?”

“Yes, a little. I wish Jake wouldn’t drive so fast. It makes me nervous. I’m all unstrung, anyhow, I guess, over what has happened. He seems quite reckless, I think.”

“Nonsense,” retorted Tavia. “This is great, I say! I like to go fast. The faster the better.”

“You always did,” commented Edna, “but I think——”

She did not finish the sentence, for the auto gave a sudden jolt, and came to a quick stop, while Jake, the driver, uttered an exclamation of annoyance.

“What is it?” called out Dorothy. “Has anything happened?”

“Something surely has,” voiced Tavia. “This trip is a hoodoo from the start.”

There were a few half-suppressed screams, many alarmed inquiries, and any numbers of “Ohs!”

“What is it, Jake?” asked Dorothy again.

“Tire’s gone back on me,” replied the driver with characteristic brevity. “I was afraid it would play out, and I wanted to stop and put on a new one, but Mrs. Pangborn told me to hurry, and I did. Now I’ve got to go slow. Hum! No fun, either, putting on one of these tires.”

“More haste the less speed,” commented Tavia. “Pile out, girls, and we’ll walk in the woods while Jake puts a new rubber shoe on this duck of an auto. It can’t go out without rubbers you know, or it might catch cold in its gasolene tank!”

“What talk!” cried Molly Richards, with pretended horror to Dorothy.

“Yes, I’m afraid she’ll never get over it,” agreed our heroine. “Still, it’s like most of what Tavia does—harmless, for she really has a kind heart.”

“Which is more than a coronet or even a violin,” commented Molly with a laugh. “But she is getting out.”

“Come on!” cried Tavia again. “No use sitting still and waiting for Jake. Besides, we’ll make the machine lighter if we get out; won’t we Jake?”

“Oh, well, I’ve got to jack the wheel up anyhow,” spoke the driver, “and one or more young ladies like you, Miss Travers, won’t make much difference. Stay in if you like.”

“Thank you! Glad to know I’m light!” cried the irrepressible Tavia. “Hope it wasn’t my head you referred to.”

“No—er—not exactly—that is—Oh, well, get out if you like, miss,” said the puzzled Jake, who did not exactly understand Tavia’s chattering.

“I’m going to,” she retorted, “come on, girls.”

“In those dark woods, with horrid, creepy, crawling things!” cried Edna. “Never. I can almost see a snake now! Oh!”

“Silly!” snapped Tavia, as she made her way out of the car. She stood watching Jake make his preparations for replacing the damaged tire, and even offered to help him work the lifting jack.

“I wonder why she likes to do that?” asked Nita of Dorothy.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” was the answer, while Tavia actually did work the handle of the implement that raised the auto wheel clear from the ground.

“I guess it’s because ‘Jake’ is a boy’s name, and Tavia is so fond of the boys—in a nice way, of course,” Nita made haste to add. “You know what I mean, Doro.”

“Yes, of course,” laughed Dorothy. “You needn’t have explained. Tavia is such a—problem.”

“I fancy we all are—in different ways,” came the remark. “I know my people say I am. But Tavia!”

“There is only one!” laughed Dorothy softly.