The Girl Scout's Triumph; or, Rosanna's Sacrifice

by Burt L. Standish

  CHAPTER VI

  While eating a not too satisfactory supper on the corner of the kitchentable, Mabel was blissfully unaware of the fact that her venture intothe world was being discussed at two dinner tables at least.

  Rosanna, filled with misgivings, had repeated all that Mabel had saidand she was distressed to see that Uncle Bob regarded it as a good joke,while his wife, the little Scout Captain, was convinced that the outcomewould be exactly what she desired. And when Rosanna asked what that was,she laughed and said, "Wait and see."

  Claire Maslin, telling her father about it, was met with shouts oflaughter.

  "The girl is crazy!" he merely said. "That fat little Brewster girl thatate so much candy here the other day? She will be sick of her bargainsoon."

  "I would like it myself," said Claire sullenly. "She can do exactly asshe pleases. I wish _I_ could."

  "My poor little girl," said Colonel Maslin, "that is all in the worldthat ails you! I can run a regiment, but I don't seem able to run onegirl. I wish you would try to see, my dear, that you are a lucky, verylucky young person, and act accordingly."

  "_Lucky?_" said Claire bitterly. "You call _me_ lucky? Oh, it is notyour fault, daddy! I am as sorry for you as I am for myself, but it isso funny to hear you use that word."

  "Well, I call _myself_ lucky," said Colonel Maslin, staring at theflowers that decorated the table.

  "Do you? Why?" demanded Claire, her lip curling. She too stared at theflowers. She would not look at her father.

  "I have your dear mother and I have you," he said after a long pause.

  "I _am_ a comfort to you, I am sure," she said in low, tense tone, "andmother must be a comfort too. You would be glad if we both--"

  "Stop!" said Colonel Maslin sharply. "You remember you are never tospeak unkindly of your poor mother. You are wrong, all wrong, and Iwould give my right hand if I could set you right, if I could make youunderstand what is honestly in my heart. When you are older you willperhaps understand."

  "When I am older!" cried Claire. "When I am older--" She sat staring ather father, rigid and pale, then suddenly all her self-control desertedher. She leaned forward, burst into a storm of sobs, and poundedfuriously on the table. Her voice tore out in a shrill scream. "When Iam older--_you_ know what I will be then!" she panted, and her sobs rosehigher.

  With a muttered exclamation Colonel Maslin rose from the table, dashedto his daughter's side, lifted her in his arms, and as though she wasstill a little child he carried her to her room and laid her strugglingand writhing, on her bed. Her maid entered hurriedly.

  "Take care of her," he begged, and left the room.

  An hour later he sat in little Mrs. Horton's own sitting-room and talkedwhile she watched him with eyes made soft by unshed tears of sympathy.

  "It is the first time I have asked for help," he said brokenly afterawhile, and she sighed to see the gallant soldier bowed by grief. "But Ihave pinned my hope on the Girl Scouts, and now that I know you, on you.Save my little girl for me, dear lady, save her for her mother's sake! Ineed Claire so! And her coldness, her wild fits of temper, and hergloomy black moods are so unlike the sunny little tot she used to bethat there are times when it seems as though I could never bear it. Isit always to be so, Mrs. Horton?"

  "No!" cried the tiny Captain in quite a fierce voice. "_No indeed!_Something shall be done to help you. Claire has just made a wrong start,and her terrible sorrow, instead of making her more loving and moretender, has made her cold and hard. Don't worry, Colonel Maslin.Something shall be done."

  Colonel Maslin shook his head. "I have about given up hope," he saidsadly. "These fits of excitement are growing on her. At first I thoughtthat they were plain temper, but it is not possible. Why, Claire is inher teens, and her whole life has been a lesson in self-control! OurChinaman is a living sermon on it. And she has been guarded againstanything nerve racking or exciting or disagreeable."

  "Let me think it over for a little," said Mrs. Horton, wrinkling hersmooth brow. "I will find some way of reaching the poor child, I amsure. It may take a little time. Urge her to come to the Girl Scoutmeetings and I will watch her."

  "You are more than good," and the Colonel bowed over the tiny hand thathad met his in a firm, comforting grip.

  She shook her head and said, "The Scouts themselves, one of them or all,will do it, I feel positive. That is one thing the Order is for, youknow; to help one another."

  "I trust you," said Colonel Maslin.

  "Treat her as though nothing has happened this evening," suggested Mrs.Horton.

  "I shall not see her again tonight. By the time I reach home (I shallhave to drive up to Camp from here) she will be asleep. In the morningnothing will be said. Claire will simply be a little more sullen andaloof."

  "Be of good cheer," smiled the little Captain, and Colonel Maslin wenton his lonely and sorrowful way wondering if the little lady couldreally find a way to help his poor child.

  In her own soft, luxurious bed, Claire was lying spent and shaken bythe storm she had just passed through. She tried to recall the talk atthe dinner table, but in her dazed condition she could not rememberanything that should have started such a dreadful scene. As she recalledher own actions, the cries and sobs, the tears and wild words, sheshuddered. Each time she gave way like that seemed to be worse than thelast. And Claire was proud. It shamed her to have her own father see heracting so, yet some dreadful Something within her seemed to make herexplode in that way once in awhile. And the times were growing closerand closer. No matter what happened, even the greatest pleasures thather father planned for her filled her with a sort of hard anger. Shehated everything and everybody. All she wanted was to be let alone, andthen she read book after book until she was dull and dizzy. Then camelong, sleepy rides in the limousine over smooth, uneventful roads.

  When at length her maid brought her a glass of hot milk, she did notknow that there was a sleeping powder in it, but sleep came quickly andmercifully and she did not waken until late the following morning.

  A note was on the chair by her bedside, just the usual affectionategreeting from her father, a pretty little custom of his whenever he wasobliged to leave before she was awake. No matter how hurried, he alwaystook time to write a line or two before he left. Any other girl wouldhave been so proud and pleased with his unfailing tenderness andattention, but Claire wrapped herself round with coldness and acceptedall he did for her without even the thanks she would have offered to astranger.

  She even hesitated to read the short, loving note. It bored her, shetold herself. But she opened it idly and skimmed the words that told herthat she must spend an easy day because he had planned a little surprisefor Rosanna and Mabel and herself. Claire lifted her eyebrows. She hadforgotten to tell her father that Mabel bored her to death. Rosanna wasnot quite so bad; in fact, she really liked the pretty, dark-eyed girlwho seemed so warm-hearted and so sincere. Then with scarcely a thoughtof curiosity as to the nature of the surprise, she touched the bell thatsummoned the maid with her breakfast, and idly picking up a copy of theHandbook for Girl Scouts, commenced to read.

  "A Girl Scout is loyal," she read, "to the President, to her country,and to her officers; to her father, to her mother--"

  Claire stopped there, at least something stopped her. She read the wordsrepeatedly, "Loyal to her father." What was loyalty anyway? She read on:"She remains true to them through thick and thin. In the face of thegreatest difficulties and calamities, her loyalty must remainuntarnished."

  Claire frowned. _She_ was faced with terrific difficulties, while afrightful calamity, like a black cloud, darkened all her future. Whatdid loyalty to her father mean in her case? She read on: "A Girl Scoutis cheerful under all circumstances." Claire thought of her wild ravingsthe night before, and frowned. She skipped down the page to a shortparagraph that her eyes seemed unable to avoid.

  "Kipling in _Kim_ says that there are two kinds of women,--one kind thatbuilds men up, and the other that pulls men down; and there is no dou
btas to where a Girl Scout should stand."

  Now Claire in her most selfish moods could not blind herself to the factthat her violent scenes were always followed by days of deepmournfulness on the part of her father. Lines appeared in his handsomeface and his hair seemed to grow grayer. Was she pulling her fatherdown? She refused to answer the question, and flirted the pages over toescape that part. She scanned the qualifications for the three grades ofGirl Scouts. She was only a Second-Class Scout, and she knew that shewas a poor one at that. She had been too indolent to try for the FirstClass. She read the necessary qualifications over.

  She could not set a table for any meal, and she could not sew. She hadnever tried to walk a mile in twenty minutes, and as for dressing orbathing a child, Claire wondered where she could borrow one to try on.She could not pass the First Aid or the International alphabet exam.She could not train a Tenderfoot; at least it was too much trouble, andwhile she could name ten trees, ten wild flowers, ten wild animals andten wild birds, they were all Chinese. She could swim; oh, _how_ shecould swim! A thrill of joy shook her as she thought of past hours spentin soft tropic waters. As for fifty cents in bank earned by herself,that was so funny that Claire laughed aloud. She could not imagineearning _five_ cents, let alone fifty.

  That brought her thoughts around to Mabel Brewster, and Claire saw herin a new light.

  There was a lucky girl even if she _was_ silly and conceited. Shebelieved in herself and had gone off alone to fight the world, with allher banners flying. Yet there was that loyalty law cropping up again.What if Mabel _could_ write as splendidly as she said, wasn't her placereally at home with her mother and brother? Claire was sure theBrewsters were not rich, and in that case Mrs. Brewster certainly neededhelp. Loyalty; always loyalty! A new and disturbing thought flashed overClaire. Perhaps she owed her own mother some loyalty too, even thoughshe was away in a sanitarium. Wasn't it loyalty to her to keep hertroubled, lonely and unhappy father "built up" so far as it lay in herpower?

  Claire closed the little offending blue book and flung it across theroom and when her maid entered she was lying petulantly with her head onher arm, her glorious red hair streaming over her like a glitteringveil.

  The little book, so helpful and so uplifting, had not helped Claire atall. But that was because in her heart she did not want to be helped.She had lived for herself so long in her queer, cold, brooding fashionthat the thought of anything different actually hurt her just as ithurts to stand on one's foot when it is asleep. Claire had held oneposition of thought for so long that it made her hurt and sting andprickle even to think of moving. So she buried her face in her arm andhid under her shining red hair and studied her queer jade ring and triedto forget the feeling that she might be in the wrong.

  Mabel Brewster's awakening was even more disagreeable, although shereally deserved it less. She was not accustomed to pickles and cold hamand cheese for supper, as Mrs. Brewster was a careful mother. AlsoMabel, to celebrate her great step, had found a light novel, andsnapping on a perfectly fascinating reading light at the head of herbed, had proceeded to read until after one o'clock. Then she dreamed!She dreamed that she tried to get out of bed and couldn't because therewas a sour green pickle as large as a street car right in the way, andthe City Editor sat on top and looked at her from under his green shadeand told her that the only way that she could get out was by eating herway through the pickle. So she commenced, while all the society ladiesin Louisville looked on and said, "Dear me, isn't it wonderful what agirl can accomplish if she will only leave home, and _live forherself_?" And the pickle was so sour that it made Mabel shudder withcold and she shuddered herself awake, to find all the bed-clothes on thefloor. She got up and made the bed over, and found it was only threeo'clock, although she had been hours and hours trying to eat thatfrightful pickle. The bed was too soft or too hard or something, and shecould not get to sleep again for a long while. She was glad to wakenagain and find that it was morning. Unfortunately, after all theadventures of the night Mabel had over-slept and was obliged to startoff to school without breakfast and with her hair ribbon badly tied.Also there was no time to put the apartment in order, and Mabel wasrather shocked to find how badly one person could tumble things up.

  She half hoped her mother would run around during the morning and putthings in shape, but when she unlocked her door at one o'clock, whenschool was over for the day, she found her bed still unmade, her clothestumbling out of the suitcase, and the soiled dishes on the kitchentable.

  She had cold boiled ham for luncheon, and but little of that becausejust as she commenced to eat, a telephone call interrupted her. It wasMiss Gere asking how soon she would be down with her items and to takeup some other work. The items were not written up, and Mabel had togive up her luncheon time to writing them. There was no time to tidy up,and Mabel hurried down town hoping now with all her heart and soul thather mother would not get time to use the duplicate key that Mabel hadinsisted on her taking. She felt her cheeks burn as she thought of hermother seeing the mess and cleaning it up in her kind way.

  Mabel had no cause to worry. When her mother dropped in about fouro'clock she merely looked the place over, then sat down and laughed inthe strangest manner. Then she carefully went out without disturbinganything, and took a covered basket into the apartment below where shetalked for awhile with Mabel's grandmother, who laughed too; laughedhard and long, and who then said mysteriously, "Well, thank you for therolls, my dear! I think they will do me more good than they would Mabel.And I think I shall not be 'at home' for the next week or so."

  Mabel did not get home until six o'clock. She had forgotten to stop atthe market, so she had only shredded wheat and milk and pickle forsupper. She ate shredded wheat and milk. It was a modern apartment withthin walls. Somebody was having chops and baked apples for supper, and afew minutes later there was a smell of fried chicken. Mabel helpedherself to another shredded wheat biscuit.