to the high office. But Mrs. Lake and Annette, bosom friends for years, had had a falling out. At first merely a disagreement, it had been aggravated and developed into a bitter quarrel. The two ladies did not speak to each other. Annette announced her candidacy in meeting, and the very next day Mrs. Lake came to Serena with an amazing proposition.
The proposition was this: Mrs. Lake, it seemed, wished to become secretary of the National Legion. In order to do this--or to become even a prominent candidate--it was necessary for her to have the support of the officers of her own Chapter. If Mrs. Black was elected president she most decidedly would not have this support.
"That woman is a cat," she declared, "a spiteful underhanded cat. After all I have done for her! Why, she never would have been vice-president if it had not been for me! And just because she heard that I said something--something about her that was perfectly true, even if I did not say it--she broke out in committee and said things to me that--that I never shall forget, never! She shan't be president. I have as many friends as she has and I'll see to that. Now, my dear Mrs. Dott, I am counting on you--and your daughter, of course--as among those friends. We must select some woman for the presidency who will command the respect and get the votes of all disinterested members. Miss Canby wants the office, but she is too closely identified with me to be perfectly safe. But our party--I and my friends, I mean--have been considering the matter and we have decided that a dark horse--that is what the politicians call it--a dark horse is bound to win. We must get the right kind of dark horse. And we think we have it--him--her, I mean. YOU shall be our candidate. YOU shall be president of Scarford Chapter."
Serena gasped.
"Me?" she cried, forgetful, for once, of her carefully nurtured correctness of speech. "Me? President?"
"Yes, you. You are liked and respected by every member. You are known to be rich--I mean cultured and progressive and broad-minded. We can elect you and we will. Isn't it splendid? I'm SO proud to be the one to bring you the news!"
There was one strong qualification possessed by Mrs. Dott which the bearer of good news omitted to mention. Serena was supposed to be Annette Black's most devoted friend. Announcement of her candidacy would have the effect of splitting the Black party in twain. Mrs. Lake and her followers were very much aware of this, although their spokeswoman said nothing about it.
"You'll accept, of course," gushed Mrs. Lake. "Of course you will. I shall be so proud to vote and work for you."
Serena hesitated. The honor of being president of her beloved Chapter was a dazzling prospect. And yet--and yet--
"You will, won't you?" begged the caller.
"No," said Serena. "No, Mrs. Lake, I can't. I could not run against Annette Black. She is my best and dearest friend. If it were not for her I should not have come to Scarford at all. It would be treachery of the meanest kind. No, Mrs. Lake, I am not that kind of a friend. No."
"But--"
"Please don't speak of it again. I am ashamed even to hear you. Let's talk of something else."
But Mrs. Lake did not want to talk of anything else. She urged and argued and pleaded in vain. Then she began to lose her temper. The parting was not cordial.
And then came Mrs. Black, herself. She, somehow or other, had learned of the offer to be made Serena. When she found that the latter had refused that offer because of loyalty to her, she fairly bubbled over.
"You dear!" she cried, embracing her hostess. "You dear, splendid thing! It was what I expected; I knew you'd do it; but I'm SO happy and SO grateful. I never shall forget it--never. And whenever I can prove my loyalty and devotion to you, be sure I shall do it."
Serena was touched and gratified, but there was just a shade of disappointment in her tone as she answered.
"I know you will," she said. "Of course, I had rather be president of Scarford Chapter than anything else in the world, but--"
And then Annette had an idea. She clasped her hands.
"You shall be," she cried. "You shall be. Not this term, but the next--the very next. This term I shall be president, and you--YOU shall be vice-president. With you as our candidate we can beat that Canby creature to death. Oh, lovely! It is an inspiration."
And on that basis it was settled. The opposing tickets were Black and Dott against Canby and a lady by the name of Saunderson, another of Mrs. Lake's "dear friends." The Chapter was racked from end to end. Politics became the daily food of its members.
For Serena it was almost the only food. She was too busy to eat, except at odd times and hurriedly, and she slept less than ever. Her nervousness increased and she lost weight. Daniel was worried concerning her health and would have mentioned his worriment to Gertrude had not that young lady's mental state and behavior worried him almost as much.
Gertrude, for the first week after John Doane's departure, was depressed and silent and solemn. Once, her father found her in her room, crying and when he anxiously asked the reason she bade him go away and leave her, so sharply and in a tone so unlike her, that he went without further protestation. He did, however, go to Serena for advice.
"Oh, I don't know," said Serena impatiently. "She misses John, I suppose. She thought he was going to stay and he didn't, and she was disappointed. Don't bother me! Don't! I've checked this voting list over three times already and it has come out different each time. I'm so tired and headachy and nervous I think I shall die. Sometimes I don't care if I do. Go away."
"But, Serena, there's--there's somethin' queer about Gertie and John. I don't believe she's heard from him since he left. I don't believe she has."
"Then, why doesn't she write and find out what is the matter? Perhaps he's sick."
"Maybe so, but perhaps she don't want to write. Perhaps she's waitin' for him to do it."
"He can't write if he's sick, can he? Why don't she telegraph him?"
"That would be just the same, the way she may look at it."
"Then wire him yourself, why don't you? Oh, please go away--PLEASE. I'll speak to her, Daniel, when I get time; I was going to. But just now I--oh, my POOR head!"
Daniel made up his mind to telegraph Doane that very afternoon, but he did not. A happening in the household prevented him. Mr. Hapgood was summarily discharged.
Azuba was responsible for the affair. Serena was out--"committeeing" as usual--Gertrude was with her. Mr. Hungerford, also, was absent. Captain Dan, in the library, dolefully musing in an arm chair, heard a violent altercation in the kitchen. As it did not cease, but became more violent, he hastened to the scene.
Azuba was standing in the middle of the kitchen, her back against the table, facing the butler. Mr. Hapgood's face was red, his fists were clenched, and he was shaking one of them under the housekeeper's nose.
"Give it to me!" he ordered. "'And it over now, or I'll bash you good and 'ard."
Azuba merely smiled. "You'll bash nobody," she declared. "You're a thief, that's what you are--a low-down thief. I've always cal'lated you was one, ever since I laid eyes on you; now I know it. Don't you dare shake your fist at me. If my husband was here he'd--"
Hapgood interrupted, savagely consigning the Ginns, both male and female, to a much hotter place than the kitchen. Captain Dan strode into the room.
"Here!" he said sharply. "What's all this? You," addressing Hapgood, "what, do you mean by shakin' your fist at a woman?"
Mr. Hapgood's bluster collapsed, like a punctured toy balloon. He cringed instead.
"W'y, sir," he pleaded, "it wasn't anything. I lost my temper a bit, sir, that's all. She"--with a malignant snarl at Azuba--"she's got a letter of mine. She stole it and won't give it up. I was angry, sir, same as