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

“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.