  Janet remained awake for some time that night, wondering what the significance of Henry Thorne’s decision to have her and Helen learn to ride, and ride well, could be. Finally she gave it up as a bad job, realizing that he would tell them in his own good time. Graduation week passed in a mixed whirl of events, with the junior-senior banquet and actual graduation exercises interspersed between the long hours passed at Hill and Dale farm where Janet and Helen underwent an intensive series of lessons on horsemanship. Both girls were agile and anxious to learn, and both soon came to enjoy the riding thoroughly. Their instructor, an older man, found them eager pupils and Helen’s father encouraged them at each lesson, for he went with them on every trip to the farm. Like the senior class play, the graduation exercises were held in the gymnasium and Helen stopped for Janet. They were going on ahead of their parents for they had to be at school half an hour before the start of the program. “I hope I don’t smell like a stable,” smiled Helen, radiant in her crisp, white organdie dress. “We’ve been at the farm so much I almost say ‘Giddap’ every time I start to do anything.” “I feel almost the same way. One good thing, though, I can sit down comfortably now and I couldn’t after the first two days.” When they came down from Janet’s room, Helen’s father and mother were there. “We’re early, but I want to talk to your folks,” Henry Thorne told Janet. “You youngsters run along and we’ll be there in plenty of time.” When they were on their way to school, Helen spoke. “Dad’s been acting so mysteriously the last two days and mother seems to be unusually happy about something. This morning Dad put in a call for Hollywood, but he wouldn’t talk from home; went down to a pay station. I asked mother what was up, but she said not for me to worry as long as she wasn’t.” “Perhaps he isn’t going back west,” suggested Janet. “You don’t know Dad. I heard him mumbling just this afternoon about some kind of a story idea. You know he usually sits in on the final drafting of all of the stories he produces. I expect that as soon as graduation is over he’ll start back.” “Has he said anything more about taking you with him?” “Not a word lately and that’s what I’m puzzled about. Neither Dad nor mother have talked about what I’m to do next fall. You know I’d like to go to school with you.” “And I’d like to have you, Helen. I’ll be lost if we aren’t able to hit it off together. We’ve had such good times through high school and especially this last year.” The final meeting of the seniors, as a class, was held in the assembly, the girls in their snow-white dresses and the boys all in their dark suits made a pleasing contrast. Some of them were visibly nervous while others remained unusually calm. To some it was a momentous event while others took it as the last step in a tiresome school career. Margie Blake, still white and feeling none too strong, was near the door when Janet and Helen entered. Janet started to speak, but Margie deliberately turned her back, and Janet, shocked and hurt, looked at her sharply. “Now why do you suppose she did that?” she asked Helen. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but you might as well know,” said Helen. “Margie is hinting around that she suspects you had something to do with the injury she suffered.” “You mean that I contrived to have that piece of scenery fall on her just so I could get her part in the play?” “That’s exactly what Margie’s hinting. Of course she isn’t saying that openly, but she doesn’t give you much room to guess what she means.” “Then I’m going to have a word with Margie right now. That’s one thing I won’t stand for.” Janet’s face was flushed and she was furiously angry when she confronted Margie. Margie’s eyes widened and Helen thought she saw her hands tremble just a little. Perhaps she surmised that Janet was on the warpath and that she was the cause of it. “Margie, I’ve been told that you are insinuating I was responsible for the accident which forced you out of the play and gave me your place. Is that so?” Janet’s words were low enough so that only Margie and Helen could hear, but there was a compelling force in them that would not be denied. “Why, no, that’s not so. I never said you caused the accident.” Margie stammered and flushed hotly. “You’ve no right to accuse me of this thing,” she added defiantly. “I’ve a very good right if you are dropping hints about me and the accident the night of the play. If you’ve been doing that all I’ve got to say is that you’re smaller than I ever dreamed you could be. You’re simply below contempt.” Janet whirled and left Margie with tears in her eyes. Helen paused a moment for Margie seemed about to speak. “I’m sorry about what I’ve said,” Margie managed to say. “I guess I was a little indiscreet, but you tell Janet I won’t say anything else.” “I’ll tell her and I think you’ll be a very wise girl if you decide to let the whole thing drop,” advised Helen, turning to rejoin Janet, who had gone to the other side of the room. The principal was giving his final words of instruction. “As your names are called for the presentation of diplomas, each of you will come from your places to the platform, receive a tube of paper, and return. After the exercises are over come to me in this room and I will present your real diplomas. If you can not come here after the close of the exercises, call at my office tomorrow.” He paused a moment, then added, “and I should like to say that I am extremely proud of this class. I think it is the finest to graduate from Clarion High in the eight years I have been principal.” “Which,” whispered Helen, “is quite a compliment, if you ask me. It’s the first he ever paid this class.” “He sort of made up for the lack before by these last words,” smiled Janet. Again they went onto the stage of the gymnasium, but this time not as actors and actresses in a play of make believe, but in the very serious business of graduating from high school. The gymnasium was filled with parents and friends of the seniors. The air was close, portending the storm that was to break later. Fortunately the program was simple, the address by the superintendent of schools lasting only fifteen minutes. Then the names were called and one by one they went forward and when they came back their high school days were over. It had been grand, being in school, decided Janet, and now she felt just a little scared. Life was ahead and life was so vast and uncomprehending and she knew it could be cold and cruel and merciless. They bowed their heads at the benediction, there was a final swell of music from the orchestra and the lights in the gymnasium glared. It was over and Janet, in that moment, felt years older. She was a high school girl no longer.... Parents and friends of the graduates crowded around them and Janet saw her father beckoning. “Get your diplomas,” he called. “We’ll meet you outside.” Janet and Helen went up to the assembly where they turned in the paper scrolls which had been presented to them at the program. In return they received their real diplomas. Outside they found their parents. “We were tremendously proud of both of you,” said Janet’s mother. “You were by far the prettiest girls on the stage.” “I’ll cast my vote in support of that statement,” put in Helen’s father, “and that’s from someone who should know a pretty girl when he sees one.” They had planned a light supper at Thorne’s and all of them enjoyed the walk home for the air was close. Dark banks of clouds, illuminated once in a while by flashes of lightning, were mounting higher and higher in the west. “Looks like we’ll get a real one tonight,” said Janet’s father, and the others agreed. “Do you realize that the folks haven’t given us anything for graduation?” whispered Helen. “Well, not exactly any concrete gift just now, but they’ve given me a lot of character and a sense of realization of the finer and honest things of life.” “Oh, silly, of course I realize that, but Dad has been so mysterious today I know something is in the wind.” When they reached Helen’s home they sat down to an informal supper in the dining room. On two plates were envelopes, one marked “Janet” and the other “Helen.” Helen’s father was puffing rather furiously at his pipe as he watched the girls, their fingers clumsy from their haste, rip open the envelopes. Long green slips of paper, looking very much like railroad tickets, came out of the envelopes. Helen was the first to read hers. “Why, Dad,” she cried. “It’s a round trip ticket by airplane to Los Angeles.” “So is mine,” gasped Janet. “What does this mean?” Her father chuckling, nodded toward Henry Thorne. “I’d say that it meant a round trip to Los Angeles. Also, if you’ll dig a little further into your envelopes, you’ll find reservations for the westbound plane out of Rubio just one week from tonight.” “But Dad, we didn’t know anything about this,” gasped Helen. “Of course not. It wouldn’t have been a surprise,” chuckled her father. “Seriously though,” he added, “I liked your performances in the high school play and I’ve talked it all over with Janet’s folks and with mother here. You’re going back to Hollywood to spend the summer with me and this morning I contracted the production unit of our company which makes cowboy films and both of you are to have a chance in the cast of that picture. You’re Hollywood bound, girls.” |
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