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CHAPTER XXIV – A TREASURELESS TREASURER

During the week that followed Mignon’s fiery outburst against Veronica at the club meeting Muriel Harding received no welcome letter from the former announcing her resignation from the Lookouts. To all appearances such was not her intention. When the next Thursday evening rolled round, the Lookouts, including their latest addition, Veronica Browning, met at Gray Gables. To the secret disappointment of the majority Mignon was not among those present. With the exception of Irma, Marjorie and Constance, the others were impatient to see how the French girl would behave toward Veronica. The latter had been privately warned by Marjorie as to what might possibly occur and had agreed to meet Mignon’s probable discourtesy with silence.

It was not until the meeting had reached the point of “unfinished business” that the question relating to the absent rebel came up for discussion.

“Girls,” began Muriel, “you all know what comes under this head. Let me hear from you informally.”

“It looks as though we’d have to wait another week and see what happens,” observed Susan Atwell. With a faint giggle she added: “When is a test not a test?”

A ripple of ready laughter followed this suggestive question.

“Perhaps it is all for the best,” remarked Irma philosophically. “We may find after all that – ”

A reverberating peal of the door bell cut short her discourse. Every pair of bright eyes became questioningly directed toward the sound. Was it their graceless treasurer who now demanded admittance? Followed a moment of expectant waiting, then a maid appeared in the curtained doorway of the library in which the Lookouts were gathered.

“Here’s a note for you, Miss Muriel,” she announced as she stepped into the room. Delivering it into Muriel’s hand she promptly disappeared.

“Humph!” ejaculated Muriel as she stared at the tiny, pale gray envelope. “By your leave, Lookouts,” she added with a nod to her friends. Tearing open an end of the envelope she drew forth its contents. A frown of displeasure knitted her brows as she scanned the unexpected message. Raising her eyes from it she said: “This note is from Mignon La Salle. I will read it to you. She writes:

“‘Miss Harding:

“‘I have decided not to attend the further meetings of the club. I shall still hold my office as treasurer. If you wish to consult me on business matters or desire to draw upon the treasury for checks with which to meet the various current expenses, kindly write me at my home. From time to time, I shall send you my official report.

“‘Yours truly,

“‘Mignon La Salle.’”

“This is the last straw,” declared Muriel grimly. “It seems to me that our duty is plain.”

“I am of the same mind.” Marjorie Dean’s decided tones sent a little thrill over her listeners. It was evident to all that her limit of endurance had been reached. “I move,” she continued with calm finality, “that Irma write Mignon La Salle stating that we accept her note as a resignation from the Lookouts and request her to turn over the club’s books, now in her possession, to our president Muriel Harding.”

Constance Stevens instantly seconded the motion. It was voted upon and carried with an alacrity that bespoke the intense approval of those assembled.

Again Marjorie was heard. “I nominate Susan Atwell to fill the now vacant office of treasurer.”

It is needless to say that this motion was also promptly seconded, voted upon and carried. The unbelievable had come to pass. Marjorie Dean had at last renounced the difficult responsibility she had shouldered so long. As a result of this revelation the dignity of the meeting collapsed into a babble of excited opinions. Muriel made no effort to restore order but drew her chair into the circle and entered willingly into the spirited discussion that centered around Mignon La Salle.

“I’m glad you’ve come to your senses, Marjorie Dean,” stoutly asserted Daisy Griggs. “I must say I was surprised when you made that first motion.”

“I have just one thing to say.” Marjorie’s brown eyes were filled with purposeful light. “Then I wish to drop the subject of Mignon. She has defied the club and so forfeited her right to membership. When the books of the club have been placed in Muriel’s hands, I shall go to Mr. La Salle and insist on being released from my promise. That’s all.”

Rising, she walked to a window, half ready to cry. It had been very hard for her to contemplate the idea of seeking kindly Mr. La Salle with such unpleasant information. She felt keenly the humiliation of being obliged to admit to him her failure. Yet as Muriel had said it was, indeed, “the last straw.” As she stood looking out at the white, moonlit night she was driven to believe that Mignon La Salle’s better self would ever remain a minus quantity.

Mignon’s astounding stand having been sufficiently discussed, the Lookouts devoted the rest of the evening strictly to enjoyment. Constance sang, Veronica danced, the others also contributing various entertaining stunts. A most delectable little supper was disposed of to the accompaniment of sprightly conversation and merry laughter, thereby proving that the loss of a faithless treasurer was small loss indeed.

It had been a simple matter to accept Mignon’s note as a resignation and elect a new treasurer. It had been equally easy to inform Mignon to that effect by letter. When, at the end of the week, however, Muriel received neither the books of the club, nor any response whatever from Mignon, it was decided that Muriel and Irma should introduce Susan to the Vice-President of the First National Bank of Sanford and request that the Lookouts’ account be transferred to her guardianship. She would then receive a check and bankbook and thus be fitly equipped to perform her new duties.

Irma Linton had made a habit of incorporating into the minutes of the meetings the treasury reports which Mignon had read out to the club from time to time. This data would now prove invaluable to Susan in opening a new book, should Mignon obstinately delay the return of the one in her possession. Believing that she might do this, Muriel and Susan quietly agreed to take steps to attain complete independence of her.

Not desiring to act too hastily, they waited with commendable patience until it lacked but a day until the next meeting of the Lookouts. Although they daily saw Mignon at school, it was as though they had never known her. She haughtily ignored the Lookouts and they made no effort to change the state of marked hostility she had willed. Having notified her of their wishes through the proper channels of the club, they now maintained a dignified silence, refusing to act other than impersonally.

At the close of the Wednesday morning session, Susan and Irma set out for the First National Bank to put their mutual agreement into effect. Ushered into the vice-president’s office, they were coldly received by that august person. His very manner was such as to indicate personal injury to him on their part. Rather timidly Muriel introduced Susan and stated her request.

His air of distant courtesy relaxing he said in a mollified tone: “Ah, yes, I understand. It is your intention to re-deposit the funds of your club in this bank. We supposed them to have been permanently removed. It was unnecessary in your retiring treasurer, Miss La Salle, to draw them out. I shall be pleased to adjust matters.” Privately he was thinking the whole affair quite characteristic of a bevy of heedless school girls.

A united gasp of astonishment welled up from two throats.

“Draw them out?” Muriel’s voice rose on the last word. “But we didn’t – !”

“Why – what – ” stammered Susan.

Muriel drew a long breath. “When did Miss La Salle draw out this money, Mr. Wendell?” she asked, striving to speak casually.

“On Tuesday, I believe. Just a moment. I will ascertain positively if I am correct in my statement.” Rising, he bowed courteously to his young visitors and left the office.

“Mignon has taken the Lookouts’ money,” burst forth Susan, the instant the two were left to themselves. “What are we to do about it? We’d better explain everything to Mr. Wendell and ask his advice.”

Muriel stared at Susan, but made no reply. The enormity of Mignon’s latest misdeed fairly stunned her. Despite the shock, there now rose within her a curious impulse to protect rather than expose this lawless girl.

“I think we had better not explain things to him now,” she said slowly. “It’s like this. Mignon has drawn our money from the bank on purpose to spite us. She doesn’t want it for herself. What she intends to do is to hold it until her term is up as treasurer. She knows that we shall need a part of it to meet the monthly expenses of the day nursery, but she wants to make us send to her for it. She intended to do this money stunt when she wrote that letter. We can’t decide what we ought to do about her until we talk to the others.”

Mr. Wendell’s entrance into the office prevented further confidential talk between the two.

“I find my statement correct,” he announced. “The entire account, amounting to seven hundred and forty-six dollars, sixty-seven cents, was turned over to Miss La Salle on Monday. Since you wish to redeposit this sum of money in Miss Atwell’s name, I would advise that she and Miss La Salle come here together with it at their convenience. Then we can handle the matter satisfactorily, I assure you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wendell.” Muriel rose, with as much dignity as she could master. “As there has evidently been a mistake made about our account we will be obliged first to take it up with the club before redepositing the money. You will hear from me in regard to it within two or three days. We have no wish to place our funds in another bank.”

With a brief farewell to the nonplussed bank official, Muriel and Susan made their escape into the street, where they could unburden themselves undisturbed. Before school closed that afternoon Marjorie, Constance and Irma had been put in possession of the full news. That evening at the Deans’, five girls met in solemn conclave. Long and earnestly they discussed the unpleasant situation. The fruit of that discussion took shape in a letter to Mignon requesting the immediate turning over of the Lookouts’ bank account to Susan Atwell. Under the circumstances it was an exceedingly mild letter. It was mailed special delivery in the hope that the wrongdoer would receive it in time to repair her error before the club met on the following evening.

Mignon, however, had no intention of thus yielding so easily. Her letter to Rowena Farnham had brought her an immediate reply from the latter which pleased her immensely. Acting upon Rowena’s unscrupulous advice she had boldly marched to the bank, and withdrawn in actual cash the club’s entire capital. Furthermore, she had locked it away in a secret drawer of her writing desk and vowed to leave it there until the expiration of her term as treasurer.

CHAPTER XXV – THE TREACHEROUS TREASURER AND THE SLIPPERY SLEUTH

Indignation ran rife among the Lookouts when on Thursday evening they came into the dismaying knowledge that thanks to Mignon, Susan Atwell had become a treasureless treasurer. Irma was instructed to write the culprit a letter, considerably sharper than had been the one of the previous day. As a last touch every member of the club affixed her name to it. It failed completely in its purpose. Neither by word nor sign did Mignon show any indication that she had received it.

Next a committee, composed of Muriel, Susan, Irma and Marjorie, waylaid her on the road home from school. She met their reproaches with scorn, expressed uncomplimentary opinion of them and snapped derisive fingers in their faces. Frequent mischievous letters from Rowena Farnham had greatly influenced her to continue in her bold stand. The fact that her father had left Sanford on a protracted business trip had also much to do with it. Though far from the scene of action, Rowena was enjoying hugely the triumphant progress of the affair as reported faithfully to her by Mignon.

The one way open to the Lookouts, they magnanimously refused to take. Though they were in sore need of money to meet their expenses it had been agreed after much rueful discussion that they would not call upon outsiders to adjust their difficulties. Though she did not deserve consideration, nevertheless Mignon received it at their hands. Very loyally they guarded their secret cross lest the misdeed of their faithless schoolmate should become known and she herself branded as a thief. As Marjorie had argued, Mignon was after all just a schoolgirl and her reputation for honesty must be protected. Even Marjorie’s beloved Captain and General did not share the secret. She had long since vowed within herself, however, some day to tell them everything.

March roared and blustered out the remainder of his days. April smiled and wept her changeable course toward May, yet the secret drawer in Mignon’s writing desk still hoarded its unlawful contents. By dint of great personal sacrifice on the part of the Lookouts, the expenses of the day nursery had been thus far met. They were greatly troubled, however, regarding how they might continue to meet them until such time as Mignon should see fit to deliver unto the club its own.

Meanwhile Jerry Macy still pursued her lonely way. Immediately after Mignon’s note to the club had been accepted as a resignation, Muriel Harding boldly accosted Jerry to inform her of it. “Now stop being a goose, Jerry, and come back to the club,” had been her somewhat tactless invitation.

Although long since convinced of her goose-like qualities, Jerry was not ready to hear of them from others. She gruffly declined Muriel’s invitation with, “I’ll wait until I’m good and ready before I come back, if ever I do.” A note from Marjorie would undoubtedly have met with a more amiable response. Marjorie longed to write it, yet a certain stubborn pride of her own stayed her hand. She wished Jerry to return to the Lookouts of her own volition. Due also to the fact that Mr. La Salle was still out of town, Marjorie had had no opportunity to seek release from her promise.

On seeking Jerry, Muriel had briefly acquainted her with the details of the occurrence that had led to an acceptance of Mignon’s note as a resignation by the Lookouts. Jerry knew nothing, however, of what had transpired later until, by a curious freak of chance, she came into possession of the news. It came about through Muriel Harding’s rash promise to Mr. Wendell that the funds of the Lookouts would be redeposited in his bank within two or three days. Unable to keep her word, she had gained the united consent of the club to offer him a full explanation of the matter. Privately disapproving of Mignon’s part in the affair he had unburdened himself of his views to Mr. Macy, an important stockholder in the bank. Knowing the latter’s daughter to be president of the club he had briefly suggested to her father a course of action that might prove efficacious. Ignorant of the fact that Jerry had quarreled with the Lookouts, Mr. Macy mentioned to her Mr. Wendell’s practical suggestion.

Betraying no outward sign of the astonishment which her father’s revelation afforded her, Jerry accepted the advice with the solemnity of an owl, asked a few astute questions and calmly betook herself one fine afternoon in early May to the office of a rising Sanford lawyer, who happened to be a first cousin of hers. When, after an earnest consultation with the young man, she took her leave, her broadly-smiling features registered the signal success of her call.

On the evening of the same day, an alert, self-possessed young man rang the La Salles’ doorbell and politely inquired for Mr. La Salle. Informed of his absence he expressed a further wish to see “Miss La Salle,” presented a calling card and was ushered into the drawing room. A single glance at the sinister bit of pasteboard and Mignon began to quake inwardly. Knowing the professional reputation of her caller she could draw but one ominous conclusion. To defy the Lookouts was one thing; to defy the Law another. Undoubtedly he had been engaged by the club to force her to deliver up the cachéd money. Perhaps she would be arrested and tried in court for her crime!

Her sharp face very pale, knees trembling, she entered the drawing room, feeling like a criminal on the way to punishment. Greatly to her surprise her caller greeted her with courteous impersonality. She did not share, however, his suave expression of regret at her father’s absence. To her it was an undisguised blessing.

Her fears diminished a trifle as he proceeded to engage her in pleasant conversation which had no bearing on the, to her, dangerous subject. Deciding that he had merely dropped in to pay her father a social call, Mignon recovered her courage and promptly set out to make herself agreeable. Very tactfully he directed the discourse toward himself and his profession. He related several incidents of peculiar cases, carefully avoiding all mention of names, that had come under his jurisdiction. He ended his law reminiscences with the tale of a young man who, having quarreled with his mother, rifled a safe in his mother’s room and hid the contents out of pure spite, thus hoping to bring her to his own terms. Contrary to all expectations his mother promptly had him arrested for burglary, despite his frantic assurances that he had cherished no thought of not returning the money, but had hidden it merely for revenge.

“And – was – he – sent to prison?” Mignon’s tones were decidedly shaky.

“No. His mother did not carry it further. She decided that he had learned a lesson and withdrew the charge. It was a very severe lesson, however. He did not relish the idea of being regarded by the public as a thief. His mother felt the publicity to be necessary, I suppose. He had been a sore trial to her. It must have hurt her pride. Still, you know, desperate diseases require desperate remedies.”

Shortly after delivering this Parthian shot, the disturbing advocate of the law smilingly took his departure, leaving a thoroughly miserable and frightened girl to digest his remarks at her leisure. It may be said that the tragic tale of the too-vengeful young man was absolutely true. It had been carefully culled from among records in the young lawyer’s possession as bearing directly upon Mignon’s case.

At the next regular meeting of the Lookouts, held at Harriet’s home, the members of that worthy organization received the surprise of their young lives. Deep in anxious conference regarding the ways and means of raising money to meet their steadily-mounting expenses, they were startled by a loud ringing of the doorbell that caused each mind to revert to another occasion when precisely the same thing had happened.

It was Muriel herself who answered the door. When she reappeared among her companions her pretty face wore a somewhat dazed expression. In one hand she bore an oblong package, the outlines of which suggested a book.

“Girls,” she said in an awed voice, “the unbelievable has come to pass. Someone please take this package and open it. I’m simply flabbergasted.” Marjorie, springing from her chair to relieve Muriel of it, the latter dropped down on the davenport with a half-hysterical chuckle.

“Oh!” Marjorie uttered a faint cry, as the concealing wrapping torn away, the contents of the package burst upon her amazed eyes. Her exclamation was echoed in concert by the eager on-lookers. Clutched firmly in Marjorie’s hands, they beheld a familiar black-covered book that had long been missing. On top of it was a neat pile of bank notes held together by an elastic band. Crowning the notes was a small, gray envelope.

“What – why – it’s our money!” almost shouted Daisy Griggs.

A confused outcry followed her loud exclamation as each girl attempted an individual remark.

“Open the envelope! Hurry, Marjorie! I wonder what made her send it back! It’s a miracle!”

All this was directed to Marjorie, as she obediently ripped open the envelope. Exploring it for a note, a shower of small change fell from it to the floor. Stooping, she hastily gathered it together. “There is nothing else in the envelope,” she said, her lips curving in a whimsical smile. “Susan, you are no longer a treasureless treasurer. Please assume the duties of your office and count this money. As for me, I can’t really make it seem true.” Turning the money over to Susan, Marjorie dropped into a nearby chair, a prey to mingled emotions.

“What do you suppose happened to Mignon to make her send – ” began Muriel wonderingly. A second peal of the doorbell sent her speeding again to the door, her question half-asked. A moment and the alert listeners heard her voice raised in a little ecstatic cry of “Jerry!”

Hearing it, the Lookouts made for the wide doorway of the living room in a body. On the threshold their rush was checked. Her arm about Muriel’s waist, Jerry Macy stood surveying them, her round face wreathed in smiles.

“Well, Lookouts, I’ve come back,” she announced sheepishly. “I’ve been hanging around outside the house for the last hour waiting to see if anything would happen. Of course I wasn’t sure, but I had an idea Mignon would send that money here to-night. I thoughtfully sent her an unsigned typewritten notice stating where the meeting was to be. I see the money’s here, all right enough.” Her shrewd gaze had singled out the bundle of banknotes on the library table. “I saw the La Salles’ chauffeur stop his car at the gate, so I guessed things were O. K.”

These remarkable statements were received by a volley of curious, exclamatory questions, all hurled at Jerry in the same moment.

“Jerry,” entreated Marjorie, when she could make herself heard, “won’t you please take your old place and explain a few things? We can never get to the bottom of this miracle unless you tell us.” Stepping forward, she stretched forth two impulsive hands. Jerry’s own hands shot out and caught them in a tight clasp. All the pain of separation and joy of reconciliation went into that meeting of hands.

Affectionately escorted by Marjorie to the president’s chair, Jerry dropped into it with a sigh. “Maybe it isn’t good to be back,” she said, a suspicious quaver in her usually matter-of-fact tones. “Now draw up your chairs, children, and I’ll tell you the whole terrible tale of the treacherous treasurer and the slippery sleuth. But before I begin it, I want to say right here that I’ve been every variety of goose that ever happened. I’m only going to hold down the presidential chair until I tell my story: Then Muriel is going to take it again and I’m going to be just a member of the club.”

So saying, Jerry launched forth with an account of her exploits as a sleuth which held her hearers’ divided between laughter at her artful methods and pity for the girl who had never learned to rule her own spirit. “That’s all,” she ended. “Now I’m going to beat it – I mean vacate this chair.”

“You mean you’re going to sit right where you are,” asserted Muriel with decision. “Lookouts,” she turned to the little company who were now on their feet to protest against Jerry’s avowed intention, “there can never be but one president for us; Jerry, Geraldine Jeremiah Macy!”

And thus in her moment of penitent renunciation, too-hasty but valiant-hearted Jerry received a never-to-be-forgotten lesson in loyalty.