The Girls of Central High at Basketball: or, The Great Gymnasium Mystery

CHAPTER XVIII – MOTHER WIT TO THE RESCUE

The young ruffian who was so notorious about the Four Corners was really in a serious predicament. In making a long cast the boulder had rolled under him and, being precipitated into the pond, he was pinned to the bottom by his legs. The two boys with him had sprung into the pond, and were now wet to their necks; but they could not roll back the heavy boulder.

Just as Laura and Chet, with their school mates, arrived Hebe sank back with a gurgle, and the water went over his head. He had been barely able to keep his mouth and nostrils out of water until that moment.

“Hebe’s gettin’ drowned! Hebe’s gettin’ drowned!” yelled Mike, the victim’s young brother, dancing up and down on the shore.

“Get in there at once and hold his head up!” commanded Laura Belding. “Then we’ll roll away the stone. But he will drown if you don’t hold him up.”

Mike did as he was bid. When Hebe got his breath again he began to use language that was unfit for the girls to hear, at least.

“Say!” exclaimed Chet, his eyes blazing, “you stop that or I’ll hold your head under the water myself. What kind of a fellow are you, anyway?”

Hebe gasped and kept still. Perhaps he had scarcely realized who the people were about him. Laura said:

“Can’t you boys, all together, roll away that stone?”

“We’ll try,” said Lance, already beginning to strip off his shoes and stockings. “Come ahead, Chet.”

They made even Purt Sweet join them, bare-footed and with their trousers rolled up as far as they would go. They waded in and got around the rock. Hebe was in a sitting posture, and the weight of the stone bore both his legs down into the muddy bottom. But there was hard-pan under the mud, and it was impossible to drag the victim from beneath the huge rock.

But the boys couldn’t even jar the rock. It had slipped from the bank and rolled a little, and now it was settling slowly into the ooze, bearing Hebe’s legs down under it.

The situation was serious in the extreme. Slowly, as Hebe settled beneath the rock, the water was creeping up about his lips and nose. Although he held his head back the water would, in time, rise above his mouth. And the rise was as steady as a tide.

Again and again Chet Belding and his comrades tried to push the huge rock over. But, as at first, they could not even budge it. Mike began to cry again. Hebe said, gruffly:

“I reckon I gotter croak, eh? This ain’t no nice way to die, you bet!”

“Die – nothing!” cried Laura.

She ran back to the car and tore the piece of rubber pipe away from the bulb of the horn. Handing this to Hebe, she showed him how he could lie back in a more comfortable position, if he wished, and breathe through the tube. She produced some cotton, too, so that he could stop his ears and nostrils.

“Now, you keep up your courage,” Mother Wit told him. “We’ll soon find a way of getting you out of this. You’re not dead yet.”

Hebe said nothing, but he watched her, when his eyes were above water, with a grateful air.

“But I tell you, Laura, we can’t begin to start this stone even,” growled Chet, in her ear. “You will have to think of something better than this.”

“So I will,” cried Laura. “I’ll think of a rope.”

“A rope?”

“Yes. A good, strong one. One that will go around that rock and then be plenty long enough to hitch to one of the cars – the big car. I believe we can start the rock that way.”

“Hurrah!” cried Lance. “She’s got the idea! What do you say, Chet?”

“Looks like it. But how about the rope? Where’ll we get it?”

“We got a goot one at our house,” said Otto, who was sitting down, puffing, after having strained at the rock. “Dot hay rope, he be juist de t’ing.”

“The hay rope for ours, then,” cried Chet. “Come on, Otto. We’ll go after it!”

He started for the machines, the Swiss youth after him. They got in the Belding car immediately and started the engine. Purt Sweet sprang up with a yell and ran along the shore of the pond after the car.

“Oh, oh! Stop!” he shrieked.

But Chet did not hear him. Lance caught Pretty by the arm and demanded to know what he was yelling about.

“Why,” gasped Purt, “they’ve driven off with a whole lot of the lunch the girls spread on the seats. And look at them go! Why! it’ll all be joggled onto the floor of the tonneau before they get back.”

“Oh —you!” exclaimed Lance, balked for words with which to express his contempt.

The Belding car was quickly out of sight. The boys and girls gathered around the spot where Hebe Pocock had met with his accident. Nobody could help him, and he began to be in extreme pain. His head was under water a good deal of the time; but the piece of rubber pipe allowed him to breathe, and Mike, or the other smaller boy from the Four Corners, held Hebe’s face above water as much as possible.

Chet and Otto were not gone an hour; but it seemed, as Lance said, “a creation of time.” Pocock was pretty weak when the rope was brought. Meanwhile the chauffeur had run the big car along the road and backed it near the rock and headed in the proper direction. They passed the heavy cable around the boulder and then wrapped it around the car so that the strain would not come in any one place and perhaps do the car damage.

“You bigger boys get in there,” said Laura, “and take Hebe under the arms. As soon as the rock moves pull him out. For the rope may slip and the rock slide back deeper into the water than it is now. That would kill him, perhaps.”

“You’re right, Laura,” said her brother, gravely. “We’ll take care.”

Chet and Lance went to the aid of the unfortunate youth. Otto managed the rope. The chauffeur started his engine and got into his seat.

“Ready! start easily,” called Laura, when the boys were placed directly behind Hebe.

The car lurched forward; the rope strained and creaked; then – slowly but surely – the rock began to move.

“Easy, boys!” commanded Laura.

Hebe shrieked with pain. The boulder rolled and the rope slipped. But the two boys darted back into deeper water, dragging the victim of the accident with them.

It was all over and Hebe was released in a few seconds. But he had lost consciousness and they carried him out and put him into the Belding car.

“Shall we take him home?” Chet demanded.

“He ought to have a doctor at once,” said Laura. “Better still, he ought to be taken to the hospital.”

“That’s what we’ll do,” said Chet, quickly. “Lance, you and Purt come with me. We’ll make him easy in the tonneau. And gee! here’s the luncheon all in a jumble.”

“What did I tell you?” wailed Prettyman.

“Oh, get in! get in!” exclaimed Chet. “You can stuff your face with all those goodies while we ride into town. And maybe this poor fellow will come to his senses and try Nellie’s lemon meringue pie – it’s a dandy, Nellie!”

By the shortest road they could take – through the Four Corners – the ride to the City Hospital was bound to occupy an hour – and another to return. Meanwhile the remainder of the party had their lunch and then went after the nut harvest. Despite the incident of the wounded Pocock, the day ended happily enough and they went home at dusk with stores of chestnuts and shellbarks.

The Beldings were late, of course, and Mammy Jinny, their old black cook, held back dinner for them, but with many complaints.

“It’s jest de beatenes’ what disher fambly is a-comin’ to,” she grumbled, as she helped wait at table when the family had gathered for the belated meal. “Gits so, anyhow, dat de hull on youse is out ’most all day long. Eberything comes onter Mammy’s shoulders.”

“That’s all right, Jinny. They’re good and broad,” said Mr. Belding, for she was a privileged character.

“Ya – as. Dat’s wot youse allus say, Mars’ Belding. Den dere was de watah man come ter bodder we-uns. Sech a combobberation I never do see. I tol’ him we nebber drink no tap watah, but has it bro’t in bottles, same as nice fo’ks does – ”

“The water man?” repeated Mrs. Belding, curiously. “I can’t imagine who that could be.”

“Ya – as, ma’am!” exclaimed Mammy Jinny, who certainly loved the sound of long words, and hard words. “He come yere enquiratin’ erbout de tuberculosis in de watah.”

“Crickey jacks!” gasped Chet, choking. “What’s that?”

“My son!” begged his mother. “Please do not use such awful expressions. You are worse than Jinny.”

“Ain’t nothin’ de matter wid wot I sez!” declared the old black woman. “Dat’s wot he wanted ter know erbout – de tuberculosis in de watah.”

Mr. Belding recovered his breath. “Was by chance the man asking about the consumption of water, Jinny?” he asked.

“Dat’s it,” said the black woman. “Same t‘ing, ain’t it? Miss Laura say so. ’Consumption’ an’ ‘tuberculosis’ jes de same – heh?”

“That’s one on you, Laura!” shouted Chet, as Mammy Jinny indignantly waddled out. “Shouldn’t teach Mammy words of more than one ‘syllabub.’ You’ve been warned before.

“By the way,” he added, for they had told their parents about the adventure of the afternoon, “that Pocock is in the ward with the man Hester Grimes saved from the forest fire – right in the next bed to Billson. Pocock had both legs broken, the doctors told me – one above the knee and the other below. He’s going to have a bad time of it.”

“Pocock, eh?” said Mr. Belding. “Hebron Pocock is the name of the person who applied to the Board of Education for the job of watchman at the girls’ gymnasium. I believe he gave Henry Grimes as reference. But I think we shall keep Jackway. He’s a faithful soul and, whoever got into the gym. and did that damage, I am convinced that it was not Jackway’s fault.”

“No; it wasn’t Jackway’s fault,” muttered Chet to Laura. “But I guess we could find the person at fault pretty easily, eh?”

CHAPTER XIX – AT LUMBERPORT

The girls of Central High were not neglecting other athletic work through their interest in basketball; but just as the boys were giving most of their spare time to football, so their sisters, during the fall weather, were mainly interested in their own game.

As a whole, the girls’ classes of Central High were given practice at the game at least twice a week; and of course the representative team, to which our particular friends belonged, was on the court almost daily. There were games between the less advanced teams, too, which brought the parents of the girls to the athletic field; and as the season advanced the courts were marked out in the large upper room of the gymnasium building, so that the game could be played under cover on stormy days.

With the handicap against it at the beginning, of having been roughly played in the city clubs, and the record of several girls having been hurt who played without the oversight of a proper instructor, the game gradually grew in favor at Central High until even such old-fashioned folk as Mrs. Belding spoke approvingly of the exercise.

The girls themselves, even the “squabs” and “broilers,” as Bobby Hargrew called the freshmen and sophomores, were more and more enthusiastic over basketball as the days passed. Although their champion team was being beaten or tied in the trophy inter-school series, they went to see each game, from week to week, and cheered the Central High team with unflagging loyalty.

The very next week Laura’s team went to Lumberport, a small steamboat being chartered. It was filled with Central High girls and their friends, and they went over to the game, intending to have a collation aboard after the game and return down the lake by moonlight.

“Whether you girls beat the Lumberport girls, or not,” chuckled Chet, “we’re bound to have a fine time. But I do hope you’ll lead your team to victory at least once this season, Laura. It looks as if you girls couldn’t beat an addled egg!”

“Nor anybody else, Mr. Smartie!” snapped Jess Morse. “You don’t know much about eggs, I guess.”

“Nor you girls don’t seem to know much about basketball,” chuckled Chet.

“What’s the fight about?” demanded Bobby, coming up to the group on the upper deck of the steamer.

“We ought to all pitch into him,” said Jess, pointing to Chet. “He is maligning the team.”

“All right I’ll help – if it’s to be ‘battle, murder, and sudden death,’” chuckled Bobby. “We ought to get our hands in, anyway, for to-morrow.”

“What’s to-morrow?” cried the girls.

“Didn’t you hear what Gee Gee said to the English class to-day when the gong rang?”

“Go on, Bobby. What’s the joke?” urged Dora Lockwood.

“Why, Gee Gee said, ‘Now, young ladies, that we have finished this present subject, to-morrow we shall take the life of Carlyle. Come prepared.’ If Jess really wants us to help her draw and quarter Chet, it might be good practice for what we’re going to do to Mr. Carlyle.”

“Poor Gee Gee,” said Nellie, shaking her head. “She has her hands full just now. Some of the squabs are as bad as ever you were, Bobby, when you were a freshie.”

“I like that!” exclaimed the irrepressible. “Me bad!”

“But what’s happened to Miss Carrington?” asked Laura.

“She’s got some mighty smart scholars in the freshman class,” said Nellie. “The other day she asked them what two very famous men were boys together, and what do you suppose was the answer she got?”

“Give it up!” exclaimed Jess. “What was it?”

“One of those fresh squabs put up her hand and when Gee Gee nodded to her, she squeals: ‘Oh, I know, Miss Carrington! The Siamese Twins!’”

There were enough old folk aboard the steamboat to keep the exuberance of the boys and girls within bounds. Short and Long had brought with him his famous piratical wig and whiskers, and with these in place and an old red sash-curtain draped about him, he looked more like a gnome than ever, he was so little. The girls dressed up a stateroom for him, into which he retired and told fortunes. And as Billy Long did not lack in wit he told some funny ones.

This was one of the few occasions when Alice Long, Billy’s busy sister, had escaped from her manifold home duties to join in the “high jinks” of her schoolmates. When they were all laughing at Billy’s antics and prophecies, Laura said to Alice:

“How do you ever manage to get along with those children, Alice? Tommy is as full of mischief as Billy, isn’t he?”

“He’s worse,” sighed the big sister; yet she smiled, too. “Tommy’s pretty cute, just the same. He had a birthday last week, and Dr. Agnew came through our street going to see Johnny Doyle.

“‘Hullo, Doctor!’ Tommy called to him. ‘I gotter birfday.’

“‘You have!’ exclaimed the doctor, apparently very much astonished.‘How many birthdays does that make?’

“‘I’m five, I am,’ says Tommy.

“‘Five years old! Well,’ ruminated the doctor, stopping at the gate as though he contemplated coming in, ‘what had I better do to a boy that’s got a birthday?’

“And Tommy speaks right up promptly: ‘You can’t! I’m sitting on it!’”

They had a lot of fun on the boat; but when the basketball team of Central High got into their gymnasium suits in the Lumberport High School dressing-room, they came down to serious thoughts again.

“We really must beat these girls,” said Laura, Mrs. Case being out of the room. “It’s all right to talk about being ‘good losers’ and all that. But we don’t want to be either good, or bad, losers all the time. We’ve lost enough in the past. It’s up to us to put Lumberport on the shelf!”

“Hear! hear!” cried Bobby. “That’s the talk.”

“We have usually been able to handle Lumberport at basketball,” continued Laura. “Let’s not make this an exception to a good rule.”

Even Roberta felt the inspiration of coming success before the game. The team had been practicing faithfully and there was no real reason why every member of it should not make a good showing. Mrs. Case encouraged them as they went on to the court, and the Central High crowd lined out the “yell” to greet them. There was a big audience, for the Lumberport school had a good field and the parents of the girls engaged were enthusiastic over basketball.

The ball was tossed up and Laura shot it over to Lily. Lily was a pretty sure player when she was not excited. It was safe to trust her during the first of any game. She now passed it quickly according to her captain’s signal, and to the right girl. The girls of Central High kept the ball in play for a couple of minutes, and entirely away from their opponents. Then Nellie got it for a good throw and – pop! the ball went into the basket.

“First goal – hurrah!” yelled the boys from Central High.

For despite the insistence of the League rules, and the advice and preachments of physical instructors, there was bound to be a spirit of rivalry in the games. How else would the interest be kept up? Playing for the sake of the game is all right; but the personal desire to win is, after all, what inspires any player to do his, or her, best.

There was no ugly playing, however; tense as was the interest, the opposing teams played fair and there was not an unpleasant word or look indulged in by a member of either. With Hester Grimes off the team from Central High there could be no complaint that they played too hard, or unfairly. The whistle in this first half sounded very seldom for fouls. And the game was played with a snap and vigor that was delightful.

Central High had somewhat the best of it from that very first goal. They won point after point. Half way through the first half Central High was three points in the lead. When there were five minutes still to go they made another clean goal, putting them up two more points.

But the Lumberport girls played well, too; they did not “go to pieces” because the visitors’ efforts were crowned with success. They fought steadily and made a goal during that last five minutes.

Then the girls of Central High got the ball and made a run with it down the field. Nellie seized it again and turned swiftly to throw. As she did so her ankle turned under her and she came down upon one knee with a little cry. The umpire was about to sound the whistle for time; but the doctor’s daughter sprang up instantly and threw the ball straight into the basket. As she did so the timekeeper sounded her whistle. The half was over.

Two of the girls ran to help Nellie, who stood, as Bobby said, “on one leg like a stork!” She hobbled to the dressing-room between them.

“Oh, dear me! who’ll we put in, Laura?” wailed Jess.

“You sha’n’t put in anybody,” cried Nellie, gritting her teeth to keep back a cry of pain as she set the injured foot to the floor again. “This will be all right in a moment.”

“Looks like it!” cried Dorothy.

“You’re knocked out, Miss,” said Dora. “You know you are.”

“I’m not!” replied Nellie.

Mrs. Case came hurriedly in. “You’ll have to rest that ankle, child” she said. “Captain Belding will have to put in a substitute.”

“No, Mrs. Case. I’m going to play out the game,” declared Nellie. “You must not forbid it. I’ve only twisted my ankle. It will be all right to-morrow. I’ll show you!” she cried, and began stripping off her shoe and stocking.

CHAPTER XX – WINNING ALL ALONG THE LINE

“I Can’t allow you to take risks, Nellie Agnew,” cried the physical instructor. “What would the doctor say to me?”

“I’ll tell you what Daddy Doctor would say,” returned Nellie, grinning grimly to answer the shoot of pain that went through the injured ankle.

“And what is that, Miss?”

“He‘d say: ’Grin and bear it! Play up!’” laughed Nellie, yet with a choke in her voice. “Bring me my bag, Bobby. I want my ‘first-aid’ kit.”

“Nellie!” gasped Laura, amazed to see the gentle girl so firm. “We can find somebody else to put in instead of you – ”

“Yes, but you’re not going to,” cried Nellie. “Give me that bandage, Bobby. There, Mrs. Case! you know how it ought to be used. Tight – tight, now! That will hold me up. And, really, half an hour’s rest would cure the ache, anyway. Daddy Doctor admires pluck. He admires Hester’s bravery. I guess I wouldn’t be his daughter if I didn’t have just a bit of pluck myself.”

“Hurrah for Nell!” squealed Bobby, waving a second bandage over her head, and the pin coming out, the strip of muslin soon became a tangle of ribbon-like cloth.

“Can she do it, Mrs. Case?” asked the doubtful Laura.

“She shall do it!” returned the instructor. “It won’t hurt the ankle – bound up like that. Now, on with her stocking – and her shoe. Does it hurt, Nellie?”

“It’s all right,” declared the doctor’s daughter.

“Does the shoe hurt it?”

“It’s all right, I tell you,” insisted Nellie, standing up.

Then the gong rang. The girls started for the door. Nellie was not the last one to reach her position. At first the audience was amazed to see her in place after she had hobbled off the field between two of her mates. Then, understanding, they cheered her – the boys deafeningly.

“You’re all right, Nellie Agnew!” yelled Chet from where the boys of Central High were massed.

And how those girls of Central High played! Perhaps it was the inspiration of Nellie’s courage. Perhaps it was the inspiration of the cheering spectators. But never before had Laura and her team-mates played better basketball than in that second half with the Lumberport team.

Nor did the latter team “go to pieces.” Every point was fought for.

Suddenly the ball reached Nellie’s hands again. Her guard was in front of her. She dashed quickly back, as light of foot as she had been before her injury. Her guard was after her, but Nellie dodged to the right and then caged the ball from almost the center line!

“Good for you, Nell Agnew!” shouted the spectators.

Again the ball was at center and was tossed up.

“Shoot it to Nell, Laura!” advised some boy in the audience. “She’ll know what to do with it!”

“Quick, there, center! don’t be all night!” yelled another.

But the girls of Central High kept their heads about them. They watched their captain’s signals. The Lumberport jumping center threw the ball the wrong way. Again Nellie jumped for it, and almost fell again; but she shot the ball true and fair to the basket.

By this time Nell was the heroine of the whole crowd. Her opposing guard was putting up a splendid game, but she was always just a breath too late. Laura saw that the doctor’s daughter was keyed up for fine work, and she let her have the ball once more.

Nell dashed first to the left, then to the right; she completely lost her guard, and the guard from the other side ran in to intercept her. This is not altogether good basketball, and it gave Nell a splendid opening.

“Shoot it here, Nell!” cried Laura.

The ball passed through the hands of three Central High girls – a triple play often practiced on their own court – and then – plop! into the basket! Another goal to their score.

Time and again the Lumberport team came near to making a goal; but at the end the tally stood with the visitors eight points ahead of their opponents, after a fifteen-minute session that abounded in good plays and vigorous action.

The crowd from Central High certainly were in fine fettle when they marched down to the dock and went aboard their steamer. There was a fine spread in the cabin and Chet Belding made a speech. That was arranged for beforehand and most of Chet’s speech dealt with “Why Prettyman Sweet Eats So Much.” Pretty was used to being joked, and didn’t mind it much as long as Chet was talking and he could continue to graze at his pleasure upon the good things on the table.

“Only, I say!” he exclaimed, when Chet’s speech was concluded, “I don’t see why I am always selected to point a mowal and adorn a tale. Weally, I don’t eat so much more than anybody else – according to my height.”

“That’s right, Purt!” cried Lance. “There’s a lot of you – lengthwise!”

“And just think what a thin shell you’ve got,” cackled Billy Long. “That’s why it takes so much to fill you up, old boy.”

“Don’t carp and criticise, Billy-boy,” said his sister, Alice. “I notice that a good deal goes onto your plate, too – and you haven’t arrived at Purt’s age yet.”

“Don’t talk to Billy about ages,” giggled Bobby. “He can’t remember anybody’s age. I bet he couldn’t tell how old Methuselah was.”

“Give it up! Didn’t know the gentleman. What team did he play on?” asked Billy, with his mouth full.

“Methuselah was 969 years old,” declared Purt, seriously.

“Pshaw, Purt! was that it?” demanded Billy.

“I always thought that was his telephone number.”

The moon was up in all her October glory when the young folk crowded upon the upper deck. There was a big gramophone on the boat and they had music, and singing, and the trip home was as enjoyable as it could be. The day, too, was a red letter one for the basketball team of Central High. From that time they began to win all along the line in the inter-school series.

They won from both East and West Highs during that month, and tied Keyport when that team came to the Hill to play them. The score of games played that fall showed Central High third on the list at the end of October, whereas they had been fifth. Keyport was in the lead and East High second; for in playing with other teams these two schools almost always won.

Chet Belding kept in touch with Hebe Pocock’s condition at the hospital and occasionally sent the injured fellow some fruit and other delicacies. Once when he went to ask after Hebe the doctor told the boy to go up to the accident ward and see him.

“He’s been asking after you. Wants to thank you for the stuff you’ve sent in. He’s a pretty tough citizen, is Hebe,” laughed the doctor. “But he has some gratitude in his make-up.”

Chet went up and found that Hebe and the man Billson were pretty good friends, being in neighboring beds. In fact, Billson was now up and about the ward and would soon be allowed to leave the hospital; but it would be some time yet before Hebe could walk.

“It jest dishes me about gittin’ that job at the young ladies’ gymnasium, heh?” said Hebe. “Did they put that Jackway out?”

“Why, no,” said Chet, puzzled a bit by the young man’s manner and look. “Why should they?”

“He warn’t no good,” grunted Hebe. “You bet, if I‘d had his job, nobody would have got in there and cut up all that stuff without my knowin’ who did it.”

“Perhaps he does know who did it,” said Chet, slowly.

Pocock flashed him a sudden look of interest. “He ain’t said so, has he?”

“Well – no.”

“And they ain’t give him the bounce?”

“My father says he doesn’t think Jackway is to blame.”

“Huh!” grumbled Hebe. “Maybe I’ll git that job yet.”

“How do you expect to do it?” demanded Chet.

“Never you mind. Henry Grimes has got some influence, I reckon, an’ he said I should have it.”

“I guess they’ll keep on Jackway. I wouldn’t think of it, if I was you,” said Chet, seriously.

“Say! that fellow’s a dub!” growled Hebe, and became silent.

Chet talked with the squatter, Billson, as they walked down the long ward together.

“He’s always goin’ on about that job at the gym.,” chuckled Billson, with a hitch of his shoulder toward Hebe’s bed. “He was talkin’ to Miss Grimes about it when she was in to see me the other day. That’s a fine gal – Miss Grimes.”

“I’m glad you find her so,” returned Chet, but with considerable surprise.

“Nobody really knows who did that mean job in the girls’ gymnasium, eh?”

“Well – some of us suspect pretty hard,” said Chet, slowly.

Billson looked at him, screwing up his eyes tight. “Mebbe I could find out, Mr. Belding.”

“How could you?” demanded Chet, quickly.

“That’s telling. Perhaps I know something. I’d do a good deal to clear Miss Grimes of all this suspicion. Oh, I’ve heard the doctors and nurses talking about it.”

“Say! do you think it would help clear her of suspicion if you found out the truth?” demanded Chet, in wonder.

“Huh! why not?” returned Billson. “I guess you’re one of these crazy folk that think she did it?”

“No. But I bet she knows who did do it,” blurted out Chet.

“Good-day, young man!” snapped Billson. “I guess you ain’t interested in what I know,” and he turned on his heel and limped away up the ward.

But Chet went out, feeling very much puzzled, and proceeded to take Mother Wit into his confidence. If Hester was innocent of even the smallest part in that affair, the whole school – and people outside the school, too – were treating Hester very unfairly.

For by this time Hester Grimes scarcely had a speaking acquaintance with the other girls of Central High, and she was welcome only at Lily Pendleton’s home.