Part 25 (2/2)
”I know it,” sighed Marjorie. ”Still, I feel so sorry for her that I can't bear to stand by and not try to help her. I think I'll go to Mr.
La Salle's office after school is over for the day.”
In order not to arouse her friends' curiosity, she strolled home from school with them as usual. Stopping merely to salute her captain, she faced about and hurried toward the main street of the little city on which his office was situated. To her deep disappointment she found his office locked. It meant a trip to his residence after dinner that evening. She must lose no further time in obtaining an interview with him, else it might be too late. He had written that Mignon was to be sent away immediately.
When she started out for the office the sky had looked threatening.
Before she reached home it had begun to rain, and by dinner time a heavy downpour had set in that bade fair to keep up steadily all evening. Not to be thus easily disheartened, Marjorie waited until almost eight o'clock, then announced her determination to go at any rate.
”Then I shall go with you,” decided her mother. ”You shall not go alone to Mignon's house. We will drive in the automobile. There is a poor woman who lives near the La Salles on whom I ought to call. I will stop at her home and wait for you there while you make your plea to Mr. La Salle.”
This was highly satisfactory to Marjorie. A few minutes later, prepared to face the storm, Marjorie and her captain had repaired to the Deans'
small garage at the back of the house for the automobile, and were soon driving through the rain on their double errand of mercy.
”You needn't bother to take me the rest of the way, Captain,” a.s.sured Marjorie, as they neared the shabby little house where Mrs. Dean was to make her call. ”It's only a block. I'll run fast and hardly get wet. My hat and raincoat will stand the bad weather.”
”Suit yourself,” smiled her mother as Marjorie skipped lightly out of the car. ”Don't be too long, dear. I will wait for you, but try to come back within the half hour.”
”Always obey your superior officer.” Her hand to her soft felt hat, Marjorie made jaunty salute. Then she flitted on up the street and was soon lost in the blackness of the night.
Her mind on her errand, she hurried along, paying small attention to the discomfort of the falling rain. The La Salle estate, which occupied half a block, lay just around a corner from the place where she had alighted.
Her head bent, she made the turn just in time to collide sharply with a pedestrian who was approaching on a run from the opposite direction. The force of the collision sent a suitcase that the latter was carrying to the sidewalk.
”I beg your pardon,” began Marjorie. ”Did I--”
”Why don't you look where you're going?” demanded an angry voice, as the owner of the suitcase stooped to recover it.
At sound of the familiar tones, Marjorie cried out: ”Mignon La Salle!
Why, Mignon, you are the last person I expected to see on such a night.”
Pausing, she regarded the still stooping girl in pure astonishment. To meet Mignon hurrying along on foot through the rain, minus an umbrella and burdened with a suitcase struck her as being decidedly peculiar.
Mignon straightened up with an angry jerk. ”You've made me lose my handbag,” she accused furiously. ”I let go of it with my suitcase when _you_ came blundering along and crashed against me. You've always brought me bad luck, Marjorie Dean. I wish you'd never came to Sanford to live. I'll miss my train and it will be _your_ fault. Don't stand there like a dummy. Help me hunt for my bag. I've got to make my train.
Do you hear me?”
Already Marjorie was bending low, her anxious hands groping about on the sidewalk in search of the lost bag. Mignon, too, was hunting frantically for it, keeping up a continuous fire of half-sarcastic, half-lamenting remark.
”Here it is,” cried Marjorie, as her searching fingers came in contact with the leather of the bag. ”I'm glad I found it and I'm sorry I made you drop it.” Privately she was wondering at Mignon's apparent agitation. It was far more intense than her anger.
Both girls straightening up simultaneously, Marjorie caught full sight of Mignon's face under the flickering gleam of a neighboring arc light.
It was white and set and her black eyes held a hunted, desperate look.
Without a word of thanks she s.n.a.t.c.hed the bag from Marjorie's hand, picked up her suitcase and started on.
Yet in that revealing instant under the arc light a sudden, terrifying apprehension laid hold on Marjorie. Mignon's pale, tense features, her evident haste, the suitcase, her frenzied determination to make the train, the fact that she was rus.h.i.+ng through the rain on foot to the station-all seemed to tally with the dreadful suspicion that gripped Marjorie. Could it be that Mignon was running away from home?
To think was to act with Marjorie. In a flash she was speeding to overtake the fleeing girl, now a few yards ahead of her. Catching up with Mignon, she cried out on impulse, ”You mustn't run away from home, Mignon! Please, _please_ go back with me! When I met you I was on my way to your house to ask your father if you couldn't stay in Sanford High and graduate with our cla.s.s.”
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