dded on emphatic assent.

"All right. Come on. We haven't much time left. How many minutes,
Jerry?"

"Eight," replied the stout girl. "Can Irma and Connie and I come, too?"

"No. I'd rather you wouldn't."

"We'll forgive you. Now beat it." Although Jerry was earnestly
endeavoring to eliminate slang from her vocabulary, she could not resist
this forceful advice.

"Suppose we go around through the corridor and use that side door
nearest Mignon's dressing room," suggested Marjorie. "Then we won't be
noticed. I'd rather we weren't. This is really private, you know."

Four black and scarlet figures gloomily followed their leader. There
were two doors to each dressing room. One led into the gymnasium, which
was situated in a wing of the school, the other led into the corridor.
Through the half-open door of Mignon's dressing room the sound of
exultant voices reached the advancing squad. She stood with her back
toward them.

"We were a little too much for them." Mignon's boasting tones brought
fresh resentment to her injured opponents. "I told you that----"

"Miss La Salle!" Marjorie's stern voice caused the French girl to whirl
about. "We heard what you were saying. We came over here to notify you
that we do not intend to play the second half of the game with you
unless you give us your promise to play fairly and without unnecessary
roughness."

Mignon's black eyes blazed. "What do you mean by stealing into our room
and listening to our private conversation?" she demanded passionately.

Marjorie faced the furious girl with calm, contemptuous eyes. Before
their steady gaze, Mignon quailed a trifle.

"We did not _steal_ into your room. If you had not been so busy boasting
over your own unfairness you could have heard our approach. However,
that doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is this. Come here, Muriel." She
beckoned Muriel to her side. "Show Miss La Salle your elbow," she
commanded.

Muriel rolled back her loose sleeve and showed the raw, red spot on her
soft, white arm.

Mignon laughed sarcastically and shrugged her scorn of the injury. "You
can't be a baby and play basket ball," she jeered.

"Neither can you behave like a savage and expect it to pass
unnoticed--by at least a few persons," retorted Marjorie. She was
fighting hard to control the rush of temper which this heartless girl
always brought to the surface. "Harriet was badly shaken up, because
someone purposely tripped her. Some one else kicked Su