The Girls of Central High on the Stage: or, The Play That Took The Prize

CHAPTER XXI – MOTHER WIT PUTS TWO AND TWO TOGETHER

The snow still mantled the ground, and the coasting and ski running remained very popular sports with the girls and boys of Central High. But a day’s hard rain, with a sharp frost after it, had given the iceboating another lease of life, too. Lake Luna was a-glare from the mainland to Cavern Island, and the freight boats had given over running until the spring break-up.

Not that there were no open places in the ice – for there were, and dangerous holes, too. The current through the length of the lake was bound to make the ice weak in places. But near the Centerport shore was a long stretch of open ice that the authorities pronounced safe.

Chet and Lance got the Blue Streak out again and there wasn’t a girl in the junior class who was not envious of Laura and Jess. Skating was tame beside traveling at a mile a minute in an aero-iceboat; and the other ice yachts were not in the same class with the invention of Chet and Lance.

The date set for the production of Jess’s play in the big hall of the schoolhouse approached, however; and preparation for the event was neglected by none of the M. O. R.’s or the other girls and boys in the cast.

Friday evening would see the first production; but the intention was to give a matinee for the pupils of the three Centerport High Schools at a nominal price on Saturday morning, and then a final performance Saturday evening. From these three performances the committee hoped to gain at least a thousand dollars, and possibly half as much more. This would be a splendid addition to the somewhat slim building fund of the M. O. R.’s.

Lily Pendleton went about these days with a very self-satisfied expression of countenance and such a mysterious manner that Bobby said to her:

“Huh! you look like an old hen that’s hidden her nest and thinks nobody’s going to find it, What are you up to now?”

“Don’t you wish you knew?” returned Lily.

Even Hester Grimes admitted that she was not in Lil’s confidence. But the hints Lily dropped troubled Mother Wit.

Laura Belding had not forgotten the discovery her chum had made regarding the identity of the man who called himself “Pizotti.” The stage director would not again attend the performance of “The Spring Road” until the day of the first production. Yet Laura believed that Lily had an understanding of some sort with him.

Governor Street, where Griff told Jess the Plornish family lived, was one of the very poorest in that part of the city, being located at the foot of the Hill and below Market Street itself.

Laura and Jess went shopping one afternoon on Market Street; and despite the fact that it was nipping cold weather, and that the street was a mass of snow-ice, save on the car tracks, they walked home. The sidewalks were slippery, and it took some caution to keep one’s feet; but the chums were so sure of their balance that they stepped along quite briskly.

From Mr. Vandergriff’s store they saw a poorly dressed little girl – perhaps eight years old, or so – dragging a soap box on runners. The box had several packages of groceries in it, besides a bottle of milk.

Just as the child started across Market Street there came a heavy sleigh with plumes, great robes, a pair of dapple gray horses, and a great jingling of bells. The driver did not see the little girl with her box until it was almost too late to pull out.

It all happened in a flash! The peril was upon the child before she or anybody else realized it; and it had passed her, only smashing her sled and spilling her goods, in another moment.

The sleigh, with the horses prancing, swept on and did not even stop for its occupants to note the damage it had done. The child was left crying in the gutter, with the groceries scattered about and the milk making a white river upon the dirty ice.

Laura sprang to aid the little one in picking up her goods; but Jess exclaimed:

“Did you see that, Laura?”

“I should think I did! And they never stopped.”

“But did you see who was in the sleigh?”

“No.”

“It was Lil – and that man was riding with her again.”

“Pizotti?” gasped Laura.

“Yes. Here! give me that bottle. I’ll run across and get another bottle of milk from Mr. Vandergriff. We’ll have to help the little one carry her stuff home. The little sled is smashed to smithereens.”

“All right, Jess. Now, don’t cry, child!” exclaimed Mother Wit, kindly, hovering over the little girl. “You won’t be blamed for this, I know.”

But the child was staring after the sleigh instead of picking up her goods, and with such a wondering look on her face that Laura asked:

“What is the matter with you? What did you see?”

The child still remained dumb, and Laura took her by the shoulder and shook her a little.

“What is your name?” she demanded.

“Maggie,” said the little one, gulping down a sob.

“Maggie what?”

“No, ma’am; Maggie Plornish,” stammered the other.

“My goodness me!” gasped Laura. “Did you see the man in that sleigh?”

“No, ma’am! No ma’am!” cried the little girl, in great haste, and shaking her head violently. “There warn’t no man in the sleigh.”

“Yes there was, child.”

“I didn’t see no man,” declared Maggie, energetically. “It was the lady I seen.”

“Do you know her?” asked Laura, slowly, convinced that the child was deceiving her – or, at least, attempting to do so.

“No, ma’am. I never seed her before.”

It was evidently useless to try to get anything more out of the child on that tack. But Laura was sure that there could not be two Plornish families in Centerport, and if Jess had seen the stage director in Lily Pendleton’s sleigh, it was plain that Maggie had seen him, too. And she had recognized him.

“Where do you live, little girl?” asked Laura, quietly, as she saw Jess returning with a fresh bottle of milk.

“Over ’ere on Governor Street. Number ninety-three, Miss.”

“Lead the way, then,” said Laura, promptly. “We’ll help you carry your things home and explain to mamma how you came to get them scattered. You surely have a mamma, haven’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am. And there’s a new baby. That’s who the milk’s for.”

“Say! how many of you Plornish children are there?” asked Jess, to whom Laura had immediately whispered the intelligence that this child was evidently one of Mr. Pizotti’s progeny.

“Seven, ma’am. But some’s older’n me and they’re workin’.”

“Don’t you go to school?” asked Laura.

“I can’t – not right now. We ain’t got good shoes to go ’round – nor petticoats. And then, the baby didn’t come along until a month ago and he has to be ’tended some while mamma washes and cleans up around.”

Laura looked at Jess meaningly and asked:

“Where’s your papa?”

“Oh! he’s home,” said the child, immediately losing her smart manner of speaking.

“Doesn’t he work?”

“Yes, ma’am. Sometimes.”

“What’s his trade?” asked Jess.

“Huh?”

Maggie Plornish had suddenly become very dull indeed!

“Doesn’t your father work regularly?” explained Laura, kindly. “Hasn’t he any particular work?”

Maggie considered this thoughtfully. Then she shook her head and with gravity replied: “I guess he’s an outa.”

“A what?” gasped Jess.

“An outa, Miss.”

“What under the sun’s an ‘outa’?” demanded Jess, looking at Laura.

But Mother Wit understood and smiled. “You mean he’s ’most always out of work?” she asked.

Maggie Plornish nodded vigorously.

“Yes, ma’am! He’s us’lly outa work. Most reg’larly. Yes, ma’am!”

“Well for mercy’s sake!” gasped Jess, gazing at her chum in wonder. “Can you beat that? If this is the same family – ”

Laura stayed her with a look. “We’ll see,” said Mother Wit. “Lead on, Maggie. We’ll see your mother, anyway.”

CHAPTER XXII – MRS. PLORNISH

Governor Street was just as dirty and squalid as any other tenement-house street in the poorer section of a middle-class city. The street-cleaning department had given up all hope before they reached Governor Street, and the middle of the way was a series of ridges and mountains of heaped-up, dirty, frozen snow.

The snow had been cleaned from the sidewalks, and the gutters freed so that the melting ice could run off by way of the sewers when the sun was kind; but the way to Number 93 was not a pleasant one to travel.

However, Laura and Jess, with little Maggie, reached the door in question in a few minutes, A puff of steamy air – the essence of countless washings – met the girls as the lower door was pushed open. That is the only way the long and barren halls were heated – by the steam from the wash-boilers. For Number 93 Governor Street was one of those tenement houses which seem always to be in a state of being washed, and laundered, and cleaned up; yet which never show many traces of cleanliness, after all.

“We live on the top floor,” said Maggie, volunteering her first remark since starting homeward.

“That doesn’t scare us,” said Laura, cheerfully. “Lead on, MacDuff!”

“No. My name’s Plornish,” said this very literal – and seemingly dull – little girl.

“Very well, Maggie MacDuff Plornish!” laughed Mother Wit. “We follow you.”

The little girl toiled up the stairs like an old woman. Laura and Jess caught glimpses of other tenements as they followed the child and saw that there was real poverty here. Jess began to compare her situation with that of these humble folk, and saw that she had much to be grateful for.

She was troubled over the lack of a new party dress, perhaps, or because there were times when she and her mother were pinched for money. But the bare floors and uncurtained windows of these “flats,” with the poor furniture and raggedly clothed children, spelled a degree of poverty deeper than Jess Morse had imagined before.

A sallow woman met them at the door of one of the top-floor flats. She was as faded as her calico dress. Her arms were lean and her hands wrinkled, and all the flesh about her finger nails was swollen and of a livid hue, from being so much in hot water.

Indeed, two steaming tubs stood in the kitchen into which the girls of Central High were ushered. A big wash was evidently under way, and Mrs. Plornish wiped her arms and hands from the suds, as she invited the girls in, staring in amazement at one and another meanwhile.

“Your little Maggie met with an accident, Mrs. Plornish,” said Laura, pleasantly, putting the packages she had carried upon the table. “And so we helped her home with her groceries.”

“And Mr. Vandergriff says never mind the bottle of milk that was spilled,” explained Jess, setting the second bottle on the table.

“You come from Mr. Vandergriff?” asked the woman, her faded cheek coloring a trifle.

Laura explained more fully. Mrs. Plornish seemed to have had her motherly instincts pretty well quenched by time and poverty.

“Yes’m. I expect Maggie’ll git runned over and killed some day on that there Market Street,” she complained. “But I ain’t got nobody else to send. Bob and Betty, and Charlemagne, air either at school or to work – ”

“Where is your husband?” asked Laura, briskly. “Is he working?”

“Off an’ on,” said the woman, but looking at the visitors a little doubtfully.

“Engaged just at present?” pursued Laura.

“Look here, Miss,” said Mrs. Plornish, “air you charity visitors? Though you be young.”

“We have nothing to do with charities,” Laura said. “We just came to help Maggie. I didn’t know but I might know of something for your husband to do if he is out of work.”

“He ain’t. He’s got a job right now. And I guess it will turn out to be a good one,” spoke Mrs. Plornish, and she smiled with sudden satisfaction.

“It seems to please you, Mrs. Plornish,” said Jess, quickly. “I hope you will not be disappointed. Where is he working?”

“Oh, this job o’ work is goin’ to take him out o’ town for a while,” returned the woman, doubtfully.

“Indeed? To Lumberport?” asked the insistent Jess.

“No.”

“To Keyport, then?”

“I can’t tell you. It – it’s a secret – that is, it’s sort of a private affair. Abel is a very smart man in his way – and this – er – this job will bring him considerable money, I expect. I hope we’ll all be better off soon.”

She seemed excited by the prospect of her husband’s secret employment, yet she was doubtful, too. Laura and Jess looked at each other and they both came to the same conclusion. If Abel Plornish, alias “Mr. Pizotti,” was scheming to get some money from the Pendletons, Mrs. Plornish knew at least a little something about it.

But Laura did not know how to get this information from the woman; nor did the girl believe that it was really right for her to do so. But Mother Wit thought it would do no harm to help the family if she could do so without offending. She drew forth her purse and looked gently at Mrs. Plornish.

“You won’t mind if I give you something to spend on Maggie?” asked Mother Wit, in her most winning way. “Do let me help her, Mrs. Plornish! I really mean no offense.”

“Why, you look an honest enough young lady,” said the woman.

“Maggie says she needs shoes so that she can go to school. Don’t you think you can spare her for at least a part of the time?”

“Mebbe I’d better, Miss. The truant officer’s been around once,” said Mrs. Plornish. “But the baby’s so small – ”

“If your husband is as successful as you think he’ll be,” interposed Jess, sharply, “you’ll be able to afford to let her go, eh? Then you will not have to work so hard yourself.”

“That’s right, Miss!” cried Mrs. Plornish, briskly.

Laura put the money for Maggie’s shoes into her hand. “I hope we may come and see Maggie again?” she said, pinching the thin cheek of the little girl, who had been staring at them all this time, without winking, and without a word.

“Sure you can, Miss! And thank you. Thank the young lady, Maggie,” ordered Mrs. Plornish.

Maggie gave a funny, bobbing little courtesy as the older girls went out. Laura and Jess said nothing to each other until they reached the street. Then the latter declared:

“She knows something about it.”

“About what?” asked Laura.

“Whatever it is that’s going on. Whatever it is ‘Pizotti’ is doing.”

“And we know he is staging your play for the M. O. R.’s,” said Laura, quietly. “That’s all we do know at present.”

“But there’s something else.”

“That we don’t know. I wish we did.”

“And he’s going out of town!”

“Perhaps that is not so,” returned Laura, thoughtfully. “Of course his wife knows that he works under an assumed name. That is no crime, of course – ”

“But there’s something odd about it all,” cried Jess.

“All right. How are we going to find out? Lil won’t tell us – ”

“And it is her business – or her mother’s,” said Jess. “And that’s a fact.”

“She’s one of us – she’s a Central High girl,” repeated Laura. “If we can save her from the result of her own awful folly, we should do so.”

“Huh! And we don’t know what she’s to be saved from as yet!” cried Jess, which ended the discussion for the time being.

But that evening Bobby Hargrew hailed Jess in her father’s store.

“Say, Eminent Author! what do you know about this?”

“About what, Bobby?” returned Jess.

Bobby was unfurling some sort of a folded paper which she had drawn from that inexhaustible pocket of hers.

“See! it’s a show bill. My cousin, Ed Pembroke, sent it to me from Keyport. He says the town is plastered with them. Does it remind you of anything?” and she began to read in a loud voice:

“‘Coming! Coming! Coming! North Street Orpheum – ’ same date as your show here on Friday night, Jess.”

“I see,” said Jess, peering over her shoulder as Bobby unctuously read on:

“‘High Class Entertainment for High Class people!’ Ha! that’s good,” sniffed Bobby. “‘The Lady of the Castle’ played by a capable cast of professional Thespians, who will assist the Talented Young Amateur, GREBA PENDENNIS. ‘Her portrayal of the Duchess is a Work of Art.’ Wow, wow! Listen to that now!” cried Bobby, in great delight. “Wouldn’t you think that was Lil Pendleton?”

Jess stared at the bill, and whispered: “I would indeed.”

“But of course it isn’t!” gasped Bobby, looking at Jess, in sudden curiosity.

“What is Lil’s middle name?” demanded Jess, suddenly.

“Why – I – Ah! she has got a middle name, hasn’t she? She signs it ‘Lillian G. Pendleton!’”

“That is it,” said Jess.

“But of course this can’t be Lil?” cried Bobby, aghast. “‘The Lady of the Castle’ might be another name for ‘The Duchess of Doosenberry’; though. What do you think, Jess?”

“I don’t know what to think,” said Jess. “But you give me that bill, Bobby, and I’ll show it to Mother Wit.”

CHAPTER XXIII – “CAUGHT ON THE FLY”

The last few days before the first performance of “The Spring Road” was a whirl of excitement for most of the girls of Central High, and all those belonging to the M. O. R.’s. or who were to take part in the play. Mr. Sharp, on his own responsibility, announced a general holiday for Friday, with certain lessons to be made up to pay for the deducted time.

“It is my opinion that little work can be expected from either the young ladies or young gentlemen on the momentous day,” he said. “Besides, I understand that Miss Gould desires to have a final rehearsal of the play on Friday morning on the stage upstairs. Therefore, mere matters of education may be put aside.”

He was quite good natured about it, however, and entirely approved of the attempt of Central High pupils to do something upon the stage that was really “worth while.” And Jess Morse’s play was indeed far above the average of amateur attempts.

“You girls are invited to a dash on the Blue Streak after the rehearsal to-morrow, Sis,” Chet Belding said to Laura at dinner Thursday evening. “Lance and I will show you some sport.”

Mrs. Belding looked doubtfully at her husband. “Do you think that iceboat Chet has built is really safe for the girls, James?” she asked.

“Bless your heart, Mother!” returned the jeweler, his eyes twinkling, “it’s quite as safe for Laura and Jess as it is for the boys.”

“Ye – es, I suppose so,” admitted the good woman. “But it doesn’t seem so safe. Girls are different from boys.”

“Not so different, nowadays,” grumbled Chet. “You ought to see some of those husky Central High girls going off with Mrs. Case on their skis. And ski running is as dangerous as iceboating – believe me!”

“I do believe you, my son. I have no reason to doubt your word,” returned Mother Belding, quietly.

“Oh, Mum! that’s only an expression – ”

“Please stick to English – and facts, Chetwood,” advised his mother.

“I declare!” grumpily remarked her son. “A meal of victuals at this house has got to be just like attending one of Old Dimple’s lectures.”

“Chet!” spoke his father, sternly.

“Well! I guess I didn’t mean it just that way – not the way it sounded,” the boy said hastily. “But mother does pick a fellow up so – ”

“I have been doing that all your life, my son,” said his mother. “Whenever you stub your toe, mother has been there to comfort you.”

“Got you there, Chet,” laughed Laura. “And you used to be a terrible ‘stumble heels,’ too.”

“Say! you’re all down on me,” declared her brother, but in a milder tone. “I reckon I’m not so popular in this house as I thought I was. But that isn’t the answer to my question, Laura. Do you and Jess want to fly with us to-morrow just after lunch?”

“Of course we do,” replied his sister. “I don’t suppose mother has any real objection?”

“My objections to your sports and athletics seem to have very little reality about them, children,” said Mrs. Belding. “Even my husband will not give me backing.”

“When I see Chet and Laura anemic, or otherwise sickly, as the result of their out-of-door sports or gym. work, you will find me up in arms with you against such activities, Mother,” declared Mr. Belding, jovially. “I’d a good deal rather have little Mother Wit here half a Tom-boy – ”

“Which I’m not, I hope, Papa Belding!” cried Laura, quickly.

“I should hope not,” said her mother.

“All right,” laughed Mr. Belding. “But I would rather you were than like a few of the girls who attend your school. Some of them are growing up to womanhood too quickly to suit me. There’s that Pendleton girl – ”

“What do you know about Lily Pendleton, Father?” asked Laura, quickly.

“Why, she dresses like a girl of twenty-five – and acts that grown up, too,” observed the jeweler. “She was in the store a week or so ago. Now! there’s another bad thing. Her mother lets her do just about as she pleases, I guess.”

“Mrs. Pendleton has always been very lenient with Lillian,” agreed his wife.

“The girl brought into my store a jewel box in which were things valued at more than a thousand dollars, I believe. Old-fashioned jewels left her by her grandmother. She thought of having some re-set And she really wanted me to buy some of them. She said her mother wouldn’t care what she did with them.”

“Of course, James, you did not give the girl money?” exclaimed Mrs. Belding.

“Of course I did not! I am not a pawnbroker. But I valued the stones for her, and she took them away. I wonder what she really meant by trying to sell them?”

Laura listened and flushed; but she remained silent. Since her visit to the Plornish tenement, and since she had read the playbill from Keyport that Jess had brought her, Laura had been very gravely exercised in her mind regarding Lily Pendleton. But she could not bring herself to the point of taking either her father or mother into her confidence. It was not her own secret; it was Lily’s.

The following morning the rehearsal of “The Spring Road” went with a snap and vim that delighted everybody. Miss Gould could not praise the girls and boys too highly. Even Mr. Pizotti signified his satisfaction with the way in which the play proceeded. Really, the actual production of the piece would go on well without his presence, although the sum they had agreed to pay the stage manager covered the three performances of the play already arranged for.

Laura and Jess went down to the lake after luncheon to meet the two boys. The Blue Streak, fresh in a new coat of paint, and with every part of the mechanism guaranteed in perfect order, was already hauled out upon the ice.

The surface of the lake was not as it had been when the girls had taken their first ride on the aero-iceboat. Then the ice was like glass; but now it was pebbly, broken in spots, and not a little “hummocky.” There was a stiff wind blowing, too, and this broke up the thinner ice around the water-holes. The course for sleighs and for iceboats was fairly safe, however, all the way to Keyport.

“Say! we just saw Lily going driving with that sleek little foreigner,” said Lance, as the two girls appeared. “I should think Mrs. Pendleton would send a chaperone with her daughter. Old Mike, the coachman, is right under the girl’s thumb.”

“What do you mean, Lance?” asked Laura, quickly.

“Why, Lil Pendleton and the stage manager are out there in the Pendletons’ sleigh. They’re aiming for Keyport. And Lil has a big box in the sleigh. Guess they are taking lunch along.”

“Lunch!” ejaculated Chet. “Why, that yellow box would hold enough for an army.”

“My goodness me! A yellow box?” cried Jess. “Was it that box in which Lil has been bringing her costumes to and from the rehearsals?”

“Dunno,” said Chet, not much interested.

But Jess turned to her chum, eagerly.

“You know, Laura, she insisted in packing the dresses all into that box again this noon and taking them home with her as usual, although every other girl left her costume in the dressing-rooms. Did you notice it?”

“No,” said Laura, slowly.

“Maybe she doesn’t expect to get back until it’s time to go on for the evening performance,” suggested Lance.

“That’s not it,” returned Laura, quietly.

“What do you suppose that girl has got in her mind, Laura?” demanded Jess, as the boys were making the final preparations for their start.

“I do not know. But I believe she is the ‘talented young amateur’ advertised to appear at the Keyport Orpheum to-night,” said Laura, gravely.

“You don’t mean it!” gasped Jess. Then she added, with sudden excitement:

“Why, she’ll spoil my play!”

“If she is not here to play her part she will certainly interfere sadly with the success of ‘The Spring Road,’” admitted Laura.

“Oh, oh! That mean, mean thing!” cried Jess, under her breath.

“She is taking her costumes to wear in the production of her own play, which she has renamed ‘The Lady of the Castle,’” said Laura. “She will make a lovely ‘Duchess of Doosenberry,’ as Bobby nicknamed it, in those robes, Jess.”

“Why, Laura, I believe you are not sympathetic,” cried Jess.

“Don’t you be afraid, dear. Miss Lily will not appear as ‘the talented young amateur, Greba Pendennis,’ if that is what she really intends to attempt. I have fixed that.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Jess. But just then the boys shouted to them and they had to hurry to take their places in the iceboat

“Chet,” said Laura, to her brother, as she settled herself aboard, “run down near the Pendleton sleigh if you can. I want to speak to Lil.”

“Just as you say, Sis,” returned her brother. “All ready? Let her go, Lance! We’ll show these girls some traveling, eh?”

The Blue Streak was off in a moment and the way she tore over the ice always gave the two girls, at first, a feeling as though a wreck were imminent. But in a minute or two the feeling subsided, and through the automobile goggles they both wore they dared look ahead.

On this cold afternoon there were not many sleighs or iceboats on the racing course between Centerport and Keyport. But suddenly Lance looked around, grinned through his mask, and waved his hand toward the shore. The girls immediately knew that he had sighted the Pendleton sleigh.

Laura turned to look at her brother, and he nodded at her reassuringly. Lance reduced the speed, and the Blue Streak began to move shoreward.

The girls could now see the sleigh plainly. The yellow box in which Lil carried her costumes was a splotch of color against the white fur robes. And there was Lil herself and the black figure of the little stage director.

The Blue Streak ran closer and of a sudden the young folks aboard the iceboat saw that something was amiss with the Pendletons’ horses. The dapple grays were fat, well fed beasts, and the coachman was old and rheumatic. Perhaps the appearance of another iceboat that had just passed the sleigh had startled the horses.

However that might be, old Mike was suddenly flung from his seat, and the horses charged down the lake at a gallop, swinging the sleigh behind them at a pace that threatened to overturn it at any moment!

The four friends on the aero-iceboat could hear Lil scream. And up sprang the little black figure of Pizotti, alias Plornish, and the next moment he had leaped to the ice!

The horses tore on, and Lil was really in peril. But Chet guided the Blue Streak right down to the runaway, coming so close that Lance Darby was able to leap into the driver’s seat from the running iceboat.

It was a feat that called for agility and coolness; but the boy did it bravely. The next moment he was out on the tongue, had recovered the trailing lines, and the dapple grays were soon brought to an abrupt stop.