The Camp Fire Girls at School by Hildegard G. Frey

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A desire to be enveloped in this solitude came over Migwan; to get her
feet off the earth altogether. She half slid and half climbed down the
cliff and walked out on the ice. Before her the grey horizon line
stretched vast and unbroken, and she walked out toward it, lost in
dreaming. Sometimes the floor under her feet was smooth and polished as
a pane of glass, and sometimes it was rough and covered with hummocks
where the water had frozen in the wind. In Migwan's fancy this was not
the lake she was walking on; it was one of the great Swiss glaciers.
Those grey clouds there, standing out against the black ones, they were
the mountains, and she was taking her perilous journey through the
mountain pass. The ice cracked slightly under her feet, but she did not
notice. She was a Swiss guide, taking a party of tourists across the
glacier. Underneath this floor of ice were the bodies of those travelers
who had fallen into the crevices. She was telling the tourists the
stories of the famous disasters and they were shuddering at her tale.
The ice cracked again under her feet, but her mind, soaring in flights
of fancy, took no heed.

Her imagination took another turn. Now she was Mrs. Knollys, in the
famous story, waiting for the body of her husband to be given up by the
glacier. The long years of waiting passed and she stood at the foot of
the glacier watching the miracle unfold before her eyes. The glacier was
making queer cracking noises as it descended, and it sounded as though
there was water underneath it. She could hear it lapping.

C-R-A-C-K! A sound rang out on the still air that startled Migwan like
the report of a pistol, followed immediately by another. She came to her
senses with a rush. With hardly a moment's warning the ice on which she
was standing broke away from the main mass and began to move. Struck
motionless by fright, she had not the presence of mind to jump back to
the larger field. A wave washed in between, separating her by several
feet from the solid ice. The cake she was on began to heave and fall
sickeningly. There was another cracking sound and the edge of the solid
body of ice broke up into dozens of floating cakes, that ground and
pounded each other as the waves set them in motion. Every drop of blood
receded from Migwan's heart as she realized what had happened. She
screamed aloud, once, and then knew the futility of it. Her voice could
not reach to the shore. Lake and sky and horizon line now mocked her
with their silence. The cake of ice, lurching and tipping, began
floating out to sea.

On this wintry afternoon Sahwah left the house in a far different mood
from that which had carried Migwan blindly over the ground. Her eyes
were sparkling with the joy of life and her cheeks were glowing in the
cold. She wore a heavy reefer sweater and a knitted cap. Under her arm
was her latest plaything--a pair of skis. By her side walked Dick
Albright, one of the boys in her class, whom she considered especially
good fun. Dick also had a pair of skis. The two of them were bound for
the park to practice "making descents" from the hillsides. Sahwah was
absolutely happy, and chattered like one of the sparrows that were
flocking on the lawns and streets. Her chief interest in life just now
was the school basketball team, of which she was a member. Soon, very
soon, would come the big game with the Carnegie Mechanics, which would
decide the championship of the city. Sahwah was the star forward for the
Washington High team, and it was no secret that the winning of that game
depended upon her to a great extent. Sahwah was the idol of the
athletically inclined portion of the school. Dick thought there never
was such a player--for a girl.

Sahwah was full of basketball talk now, and made shrewd comments on the
good and bad points of both teams, weighing the chances of each with
great care. "Mechanicals' center is shorter than ours; we have the
advantage there. One of their forwards is good and the other isn't, and
one of our guards is weak. On the whole, we're about evenly matched."

"Fine chance Mechanicals'll have with you in the game," said Dick.

"The only thing I'm afraid of," said Sahwah, with a thoughtful pucker,
"is Marie Lanning; you know, Joe Lanning's cousin. She's to guard me and
she's a head taller."

"Don't worry, you'll manage all right," said Dick. Sahwah laughed. It
was pleasant to be looked up to as the hope of the school. "If you only
don't get sick," said Dick.

"Don't be afraid," answered Sahwah. "I won't get sick. But if I don't
get my Physics notebook finished by the First of February I'll not be
eligible for the game, and that's no joke. Fizzy said nobody would get a
passing grade this month who didn't have that old notebook finished, and
you know what that means."

"There really isn't any danger of your not getting it in, is there?"
asked Dick breathlessly.

"Not if I keep at it," answered Sahwah, and Dick breathed easy again. To
allow yourself to be declared ineligible for a game on account of
studies when the school was depending on you to win that game would have
been a crime too awful to contemplate.

The snow on the hills in the park had a hard crust, which made it just
right for skiing. Sahwah and Dick made one descent after another,
sometimes tripping over the point of a ski and landing in a sprawling
heap, but more often sailing down in perfect form with a breathless
rush. "That last leap of yours was a beauty," said Sahwah admiringly.

"I think I'm learning," said Dick modestly.

"I 'stump' you to go down the big hill on the lake front," said Sahwah,
her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Dick knew what that particular hill was like, but, boylike, he could not
refuse a dare given by a girl. "Do you want to see me do it?" he said
stoutly. "All right, I will."

"Don't," said Sahwah, frightened at what she had driven him to do;
"you'll break your neck. I didn't really mean to dare you to do it." But
Dick had made up his mind to go down that cliff hill just to show Sahwah
that he could, and nothing could turn him aside now.

"Come along," he said; "I can make it." And he started off toward the
lake front at a brisk pace.

But when he had reached the top of the hill in question he stood still
and stared out over the lake. "Hello," he said in surprise, "there's
somebody having trouble out there on the ice." Sahwah came and stood
beside him, shading her eyes with her hand to see what was happening. At
that distance she did not recognize Migwan. "The ice is breaking!" cried
Dick, who was far-sighted and saw the girl on the floating ice cake.
Like a whirlwind he sped down the hillside, dropped over the edge of the
cliff like a plummet and shot nearly a hundred feet out over the glassy
surface of the lake. Without pausing an instant Sahwah was after him.
She had a dizzy sensation of falling off the earth when she made the
jump from the hillside, which was a greater distance than she had ever
dropped before, but it was over so quickly that she had no time to lose
her breath before she was on solid ground again and taking the long
slide over the lake. In a short time they reached the edge of the broken
ice.

"Migwan!" gasped Sahwah when she saw who the girl on the floating cake
was. They could not get very near her, as the edge of the solid mass was
continually breaking away, and there was a strip of moving pieces
between them and her. "Fasten the skis together and make a long pole,"
said Sahwah, "and then she can take hold of one end of it and we can
pull her toward us," said Sahwah.

"Good idea," said Dick, and proceeded to lash the long strips together
with the straps, aided by sundry strings and handkerchiefs.

Then there were several moments of suspense until Migwan came within
reach of the pole. She simply had to wait until she floated near enough
to grasp it, which the perverse ice cake seemed to have no intention of
doing. The right combination of wind and wave came at last, however, and
drove her in toward the shore. She was still beyond the end of the pole.
"Jump onto the next cake," called Sahwah. Migwan obeyed in fear and
trembling. It took still another jump before she could reach the
lifesaver. She was now separated from the broken mass at the edge of the
solid ice by about six feet. With Migwan clinging fast to the pole Dick
began to pull in gently, so as not to pull her off the ice, and the cake
began to move across this open space until it was close beside the
nearer mass of broken pieces. Then, supported by the improvised hand
rail, Migwan leaped from one cake to the next, and so made her way back
to the solid part. It was an exciting process, for the pieces tipped and
heaved when she stepped on them, and bobbed up and down, and some turned
over just as her feet left them.

"Eliza crossing the ice," said Sahwah, giggling nervously.

Migwan sank down exhausted when she felt the solid mass under her feet
and knew that the danger was over. She was chilled through and through,
and more than one wave had splashed over the floating ice while she was
on it and soaked her shoes and stockings. Sahwah took this in at a
glance. "Get up," she said sharply, "and run. Run all the way home if
you don't want to get pneumonia. It's your only chance." Taking hold of
her hands, Dick and Sahwah ran along beside her, making her keep up the
pace when she pleaded fatigue. More dead than alive she reached home,
but warm from head to foot. Sahwah rolled her in hot blankets and
administered hot drinks with a practiced hand. Neither Mrs. Gardiner nor
Betty were at home. Migwan soon dropped off to sleep, and woke feeling
entirely well. Thanks to Sahwah's taking her in hand she emerged from
the experience without even a sign of a cold.

With heroic patience and courage she began again the weary task of
typing and burning all the pages of Professor Green's book and finished
it this time without mishap. The money she received for it all went into
the family purse. Not a cent did she spend on herself.

Not long after this Migwan had a taste of fame. She had a poem printed
in the paper! It happened in this way. At the Sunbeam Nursery one
morning Nyoda saw her surrounded by a group of breathlessly listening
children and joined the circle to hear the story Migwan was telling. She
had apparently just finished, and the childish voices were calling out
from all sides, "Tell it again!" Nyoda listened with interest as Migwan,
with a solemn expression and impressive voice, recited the tragic tale
of the "Goop Who Wouldn't Wash":

Gunther Augustus Agricola Gunn,
He was a Goop if there ever was one!
Slapped his small sister whene'er he could reach her,
Muddied the carpet, made mouths at the preacher,
Talked back to his mother whenever she chid,
Always did otherwise than he was bid;
Gunther Augustus Agricola Gunn,
Manners he certainly had not a one!

O bad little Goops, wheresoe'er you may be,
Take heed what befell young Agricola G!
For Gunther Augustus (unlike you, I hope),
Had an inborn aversion to water and soap;
He fought when they washed him, he squirmed and he twisted,
He shrieked, scratched and wriggled until they desisted;
He would not be combed--it was no use to try--
O he was a Goop, they could all testify!

So Gunther went dirty--unwashed and uncombed,
With hands black as pitch through the garden he roamed;
When suddenly a monstrous black shadow fell o'er him,
And the Woman Who Scrubs Dirty Goops stood before him!

Her waist was a washcloth, her skirt was a towel,
She looked down at him with a horrible scowl;
One hand was a brush and the other a comb,
Her forehead was soap and her pompadour foam!
Her foot was a shoebrush, and on it did grow
A shiny steel nail file in place of a toe!
Gunther Augustus Agricola Gunn,
He had a fright if he ever had one!

In a twinkling she seized him--Oh, how he did shriek!
And threw him headforemost right into the creek!
Rubbed soap in his eyes (Dirty Goops, O beware!),
And in combing the snarls pulled out handfuls of hair!
Scrubbed the skin off his nose, brushed his teeth till they bled,
Tweaked his ears, rapped his knuckles, and gleefully said,
"Gunther Augustus Agricola Gunn,
There'll be a difference when I get done!"

After that young Agricola strove hard to see
How very, how heavenly good he could be!
Wiped his feet at the door, tipped his hat to the preacher,
Caressed his small sister whene'er he could reach her!
Stood still while they washed him and combed out his hair,
His garments he folded and laid on a chair!
Gunter Augustus Agricola Gunn,
He was a saint if there ever was one!

"Where did you get that poem?" asked Nyoda.

"I wrote it myself," answered Migwan.

"Good work!" said Nyoda; "will you give me a copy?"

Nyoda showed the poem to Professor Green and Professor Green showed it
to a friend who was column editor of one of the big dailies, and one
fine morning the poem appeared in the paper, with Migwan's full name and
address at the bottom, "Elsie Gardiner, Adams Ave." The Gardiners did
not happen to take that particular paper and Migwan knew nothing of it
until she reached school and was congratulated on all sides. Professor
Green, who had taken a great interest in Migwan since she had worked up
his hunting notes in such a striking style, and regarded her as his
special protege, was anxious to have the whole school know what a gifted
girl she was. He had a conference with the principal, and as a result
Migwan was asked to read her poem at the rhetorical exercises in the
auditorium that day. When she finished the applause was deafening, and
with blushing cheeks and downcast eyes she ran from the stage. There
were distinguished visitors at school that day, representatives of a
national organization who had come to address the scholars, and they
came up to Migwan after she had read her poem to be introduced and offer
congratulations. Teachers stopped her in the hall to tell her how bright
she was, and the other pupils regarded her with great respect. Migwan
was the lion of the hour.

She hurried home on flying feet and danced into the house waving the
paper. "Oh, mother," she called, as soon as she was inside the door,
"guess what I've got to show you!" Her mother was not in the kitchen and
she ran through the house looking for her. "Oh, mother," she called,
"oh, moth--why, what's the matter?" she asked, stopping in surprise in
the sitting room door. Mrs. Gardiner lay on the couch, and beside her
sat the family doctor. Betty stood by looking very much frightened. Mrs.
Gardiner looked up as Migwan came in. "It's nothing," she said, trying
to speak lightly; "just a little spell."

"Mother has to go to the hospital," said Betty in a scared voice.

"Just a little operation," said Mrs. Gardiner hastily, as Migwan looked
ready to drop. "Nothing serious--very."

Migwan's hour of triumph was completely forgotten in the anxiety of the
next few days. Her mother rallied slowly from the operation, and it
looked as though she would have to remain in the hospital a long time.
It was impossible to meet this added expense from their little income,
and Migwan, setting her teeth bravely, drew the remainder of her college
money from the bank to pay the hospital and surgeon's bills. Then she
set to work with redoubled zeal to write something which would sell. So
far everything she had sent out had come back promptly. For a long time
certain advertisements in the magazines had been holding her attention.
They read something like this: "Write Moving Picture Plays. Bring $50 to
$100 each. We teach you how by an infallible method. Anybody can do it.
Full particulars sent for a postage stamp." Migwan had seen quite a few
picture plays, many of them miserably poor, and felt that she could
write better ones than some, or at least just as good. She wrote to the
address given in one of the advertisements, asking for "full
particulars." Back came a letter couched in the most glowing terms,
which Migwan was not experienced enough to recognize as a multigraphed
copy, which stated that the writer had noticed in her letter of inquiry
a literary ability well worth cultivating, and he would feel himself
highly honored to be allowed to teach her to write moving picture plays,
a field in which she would speedily gain fame and fortune. He would
throw open the gates of success for her for the nominal fee of thirty
dollars, with five dollars extra for "stationery, etc." His regular fee
was thirty-five dollars, but it was not often that he came across so
much ability as she had, and he considered the pleasure he would derive
from the correspondence course worth five dollars to him. Would she not
send the first payment of five dollars by return mail so that his
enjoyment might begin as soon as possible?

Migwan read the letter through with a beating heart until she came to
the price, when her heart sank into her shoes. To pay thirty dollars was
entirely out of the question. She wrote to several more advertisements
and received much the same answer from all of them. There was only one
which she could consider at all. This one offered no correspondence
course, but advertised a book giving all the details of scenario
writing, "history of the picture play, form, where to sell your plays,
etc., all in one comprehensive volume." The price of the book was three
dollars. Migwan hesitated a long time over this last one, but the subtle
language of the advertisement drew her back again and again like a
magnet, and finally overcame her doubts. "It will pay for itself many
times when I have learned to write plays," she reflected. So she took
three precious dollars from the housekeeping money and sent for the
book. She did not ask Nyoda's advice this time; somehow she shrank from
telling her about it.

In three days the book arrived. The "comprehensive volume" was a
paper-covered pamphlet containing exactly twenty-nine pages. It could
not have sold for more than ten or fifteen cents in a book store. The
first five pages were devoted to a description of the phenomenal sale of
the first edition of the book, two more enlarged upon the "unfillable
demand" of the motion picture companies for scenarios, while the
remainder of the book was given over to the "technique" of scenario
writing. Migwan read it through eagerly, and did gain an idea of the
form in which a play should be cast, although the information was meagre
enough. Three dollars was an outrageous price to pay for the book,
thought Migwan, but she comforted herself with the thought that by means
of it she would soon lift the family out of their difficulties. She set
to work with a cheery heart. Writing picture plays was easier than
writing stories on account of the skeleton form in which they were cast,
which made it unnecessary to strive for excellence of literary style.
She finished the first one in two nights and sent it off with high
hopes. The company she sent it to was listed in the book as "greatly in
need of one-reel scenarios, and taking about everything sent to them."
She was filled with a secret elation and went about the house singing
like a lark, until Betty, who had been moping like an owl since her
mother went to the hospital, was quite cheered up. "What are you so
happy about?" she asked curiously. "You act as if somebody had left you
a fortune."

"Maybe they have," replied Migwan mysteriously; "wait and see!"

Her joy was short-lived, however, for the play came back even more
promptly than the stories had. Undaunted, she sent it out again and
again. The reasons given for rejection would have been amusing if Migwan
had not felt so disappointed. One said there was insufficient plot; one
said the plot was too complicated; one said it was too long for a
one-reel, and the next said it was too short even for a split-reel. Two
places kept the return postage she had enclosed and sent the manuscript
back collect. Scenario writing became a rather expensive amusement,
instead of a bringer of fortune. In spite of all this, she kept on
writing scenarios, for the fascination of the game had her in its grip,
and she would never be satisfied until she succeeded. Lessons were
thrust into the background of her mind by the throng of "scene-plots,"
"leaders," "bust-scenes," "inserts," "synopses," etc., that flashed
through her head continually.

To write steadily night after night, after the lessons had been gotten
out of the way, was a great tax on her young strength. Nyoda was
inflexible about her stopping typewriting at nine o'clock, but she went
home and wrote by hand until midnight. Nyoda was over at the house one
afternoon when Migwan was settling down to get her lessons, and saw her
take a dose from a phial.

"What are you taking medicine for?" she asked.

"Oh, this is just something to tone me up," replied Migwan.

"What is it?" insisted Nyoda.

"It's strychnine," said Migwan.

"Strychnine!" said Nyoda in a horrified voice. "Who taught you to take
strychnine as a stimulant?"

"Mabel Collins did," answered Migwan. "She said she always took it when
she had a dance on for every night in the week and couldn't keep up any
other way, and it made her feel fine." Mabel Collins belonged to what
the class called the "fast bunch."

"I'll have a talk with Mabel Collins," said Nyoda with a resolute gleam
in her eye. "And, remember, no more of this 'tonic' for you. I knew
girls in college who took strychnine to keep themselves going through
examinations or other occasions of great physical strain, and they have
suffered for it ever since. If you are doing so much that you can't
'keep up' any other way than by taking powerful medicines, it is time
you 'kept down.' Fresh air and regular sleep are all the tonic you need.
You stay away from that typewriter for a whole week and go to bed at
nine o'clock every night. I'm coming down to tuck you in. Now remember!"
And with this solemn warning Nyoda left her.

CHAPTER VIII.

SAHWAH MAKES A BASKET.

The game between the Washington High School and the Carnegie Mechanics
Institute, which was to decide the girls' basketball championship of the
city, was scheduled for the 15th of February. Up until this year
Washington High had never come within sight of the championship. Then
this season something had happened to the Varsity team which had made it
a power to be reckoned with among the schools of the city. That
something was Sahwah. Thanks to her playing, Washington High had not
lost a single game so far. Her being put on the team was purely due to
chance. Sahwah was a Junior and the Varsity team were all Seniors. She
was a member of the "scrub" or practice team and an ardent devotee of
the sport. During one of the early games of the season Sahwah was
sitting on the side lines attentively watching every bit of play.

The game was going against the Washington, due to the fact that their
forwards were too slow to break through the guarding of the rival team.
Sahwah saw the weakness and tingled with a desire to get into the game
and do some speed work. As by a miracle the chance was given her. One of
the forwards strained her finger slightly and was taken from the game.
Her substitute, who had been sitting next to Sahwah, had left her seat
and gone to the other end of the gymnasium. The instructor, who was
acting as referee, in her excitement mistook Sahwah for the substitute
and called her out on the floor. Sahwah wondered but obeyed instantly
and went into the game as forward. Then the spectators began to sit up
and take notice. Sahwah had not been two minutes on the floor when she
made a basket right between the arms of the tall guard. The ripple of
surprise had hardly died away before she had made another. Then the
baskets followed thick and fast. In five minutes of play she had tied
the score. The guards could hardly believe their eyes when they saw this
lithe girl slipping like an eel through their defense and caging the
ball with a sure hand every time. The game ended with an overwhelming
victory for the Washingtons and there was a new star forward on the
horizon. Sahwah was changed from the practice team to the Varsity.

From that time forward Washington High forged steadily ahead in the race
for the championship and as yet had no defeat on its record. However,
Washington had a formidable rival in the Carnegie Mechanics Institute,
which was also undefeated so far. The Mechanicals were slightly older
girls and were known as a whirlwind team. Sahwah, who foresaw long ago
that the supreme struggle would be between the Washingtons and the
Mechanicals, attended the games played by the Mechanicals whenever she
could and studied their style of playing. "Star players, every one," was
her deduction, "but weak on team work." Sahwah was not so dazzled by her
own excellence as a player that she could not recognize greatness in a
rival, and she readily admitted that one of the girls who guarded for
the Mechanicals was the best guard she had ever seen. This was Marie
Lanning, whose cousin Joe was in Sahwah's class at Washington High.
Sahwah knew instinctively that when the struggle came she would go up
against this girl. The game would really be between these two.
Washington's hope lay in Sahwah's ability to make baskets, and the hope
of the Mechanicals was Marie's ability to keep her from making them. So
she studied Marie's guarding until she knew the places where she could
break through.

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