Marjorie Dean, High School Junior. Chase Josephine
problem in quadratic equations is a terror,” the girl at the desk suddenly remarked, her finger pointing to a row of algebraic symbols on the paper she was still clutching. “Algebra’s awfully hard, isn’t it?”
“I always liked it,” returned Marjorie, glad of a chance to break the silence. “What is the problem?”
“Come here,” ordered the other girl. “I don’t call that an easy problem. Do you?”
Marjorie rose and approached the desk. The stranger handed her the paper, indexing the vexatious problem.
“Oh, that’s not so very hard,” was Marjorie’s light response.
“Can you work it out?” came the short inquiry, a note of suppressed eagerness in the questioner’s voice.
“Why, I suppose so. Can’t you?”
“I was trying it before you came in just for fun. I’ve forgotten my algebra, I guess. I don’t believe I got the right result. It’s rather good practice to review, isn’t it?”
“She must be a senior,” sprang to Marjorie’s mind. Aloud, she agreed that it was. “I ought not to have forgotten my algebra,” she added. “It’s only a year since I finished it.”
“See if you think I did this right, will you? I’m curious to know.” The stranger thrust into her hand a second paper, covered with figures.
Marjorie inspected it, feeling only mildly interested. “No; you made a mistake here. It goes this way. Have you a pencil?”
The pencil promptly forthcoming, the obliging junior seated herself at a nearby table and diligently went to work. So busy was she that she failed to note the covert glances which her companion sent now and then toward the door. But, during the brief space of time in which Marjorie was engaged with the difficult equation, no one came. Altogether she had not been in the office longer than fifteen minutes. To her it seemed at least half an hour.
“Here you are.” She tendered the finished work to the other girl, who seized it eagerly with a brief, “Thank you. I can see where I made my mistake when I have time to compare the two.” With a smile, which Marjorie thought a trifle patronizing, she carelessly nodded her gratitude. Laying the printed examination sheet on a pile of similar papers, she placed a weight upon them and walked gracefully from the office, taking with her the two sheets of paper, bearing the results of her own and Marjorie’s labor.
Another fifteen minutes went by. Still no one came, except a student or two in quest of Miss Archer. Marjorie decided that she would wait no longer. She would come back again that afternoon, before the second session opened. It was almost noon. Were she to return to the study hall just then, it meant to court the caustic rebuke of Miss Merton. The locker room offered her a temporary refuge. Accordingly, she wended her steps toward it.
“Where were you that last period?” demanded Jerry Macy, coming up behind her as she stood at the mirror adjusting her rose-weighted hat.
“Oh, Jerry! How you startled me.” Marjorie swung about. “I was up in Miss Archer’s office.”
“So soon?” teased Jerry, putting on a shocked expression. “I am surprised.”
“Don’t be so suspicious,” responded Marjorie, adopting Jerry’s bantering tone. “I had a note, if you please, from Captain, to deliver to Miss Archer. I saw the new secretary, too.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Jerry. “You must have only thought you saw her. So far as I know Miss Archer hasn’t secured a secretary yet.”
“But she must have,” Marjorie insisted. “There was a tall girl in her office when I went there. She must surely be the girl to take Marcia’s place, for she was standing at Miss Archer’s desk, going over some papers.”
“That’s funny. What did she look like? You said she was tall?”
“Yes; tall and very pretty. She had big, black eyes and perfectly gorgeous auburn hair – ” Marjorie broke off with a puzzled frown. Her own words had a curious reminiscent ring. Someone else had said the very same thing about – Who had said it, and about whom had it been said?
“Now I know you didn’t see Miss Archer’s new secretary,” cried Jerry in triumph. “There’s only one person that can answer to your description. She’s that Rowena Farnham I told you about, Mignon’s side partner. I told you she was going to enter the sophomore class. She was probably waiting for Miss Archer herself. She has to try her exams, I suppose.”
“But what was she doing at Miss Archer’s desk?” asked Marjorie sharply. “Why did she answer me and make me think she was the secretary? She told several other girls that Miss Archer was out!”
“Search me,” replied Jerry inelegantly. “If she’s much like Mignon it’s hard to tell what she was up to. Believe me, they’re a precious pair of trouble-makers and don’t you forget it.”
“I ought to have recognized her,” faltered Marjorie. A curious sense of dread had stolen over her. “Don’t you remember Mary described her almost as I did just now, that day you came to see us, when first you got back to Sanford?”
“Well, nobody’s going to kill you because you didn’t, are they?” inquired Jerry with a grin. “What’s the matter? What makes you look so solemn?”
“Oh, I was just wondering,” evaded Marjorie. Outwardly only slightly ruffled, tumult raged within. She had begun to see clearly what had hitherto been obscure and the revelation was a severe shock. All she could hope was that what she now strongly suspected might not, after all, be true.
CHAPTER V – A STORMY INTERVIEW
Marjorie returned to school that afternoon in a most perturbed state of mind, occasioned by Jerry Macy’s identification of Rowena Farnham as the girl whom she had assisted in the working out of the problem in quadratic equations. She was now almost certain that she had unwittingly assisted in a most dishonest enterprise. If the papers on Miss Archer’s desk comprised the trial examination to sophomore estate, then Rowena had no doubt been guilty of tampering with what should concern her only at the moment when the test began. If they were the sophomore examination papers, why had Miss Archer left them thus exposed on her desk? And now what was she, Marjorie, to do about it? She felt that when she delivered her mother’s note to Miss Archer, she ought to inform the principal of what had occurred during her absence. Yet she hated to do this. It was tale bearing. Besides, her suspicions might prove unfounded.
She was still juggling the trying situation when she entered Miss Archer’s office to deliver her captain’s note. Should she speak of it or not? The fact that Miss Archer was now accessible but extremely busy, with several girls occupying the office benches, caused her to put off her decision for a time. She stopped only long enough to receive a kindly welcome from the principal and to perform her mission as messenger. Then she went dejectedly to her recitation in civil government, wondering resentfully if the event of the morning was the beginning of an unpleasant year.
By a determined effort of will, Marjorie put the whole thing aside to attend strictly to her recitations. But during the study hour that preceded dismissal for the day, a way of settling the difficulty presented itself to her. It was not an agreeable way, but her straightforward soul welcomed it as a means toward settlement. She was resolved to seek Rowena Farnham and learn the truth. The question of where to find her was next to be considered. She had not yet made an appearance into the study hall. Doubtless she was in the little recitation room on the second floor that was seldom used except in the case of pupils with special examinations to try. Marjorie mused darkly as to whether the problem she had obligingly solved would figure in Rowena’s algebra paper.
Half-past three saw Marjorie on her way to the locker room, keeping a sharp lookout for a tall figure crowned with luxuriant auburn hair. Her vigilance met with no reward, however, and she left the school building in company with Irma, Jerry, Constance and Susan, deliberating as to what she had best do next. Outside the high school she caught no glimpse of her quarry among the throng of girls that came trooping down the wide stone steps. Although she took part in her friends’