[Illustration: THE "SHOW" WAS A TREMENDOUS SUCCESS]

BETTY WALES, SOPHOMOREA STORY FOR GIRLS

BY MARGARET WARDE

Author of"Betty Wales, Freshman""Betty Wales, Junior""Betty Wales, Senior""Betty Wales, B. A. "

Illustrated byEVA M. NAGEL

1905

CONTENTS

CHAP INTRODUCTION I MOVING IN II ELEANOR'S FRESHMAN III PARADES AND PARTIES IV ELEANOR WATSON, AUTHORESS V POINTS OF VIEW VI ON AMBITION VII ON TO MIDYEARS VIII THE "FIRST FOUR" IX THE COMPLICATIONS OF LIFE X IN THE "ARGUS" SANCTUM XI A PROBLEM IN ETHICS XII A BRIEF FOR THE DEFENSE XIII VICTORY OR DEFEAT XIV A DISTINGUISHED GUEST XV DISAPPOINTMENTS XVI DORA CARLSON'S "SUGARING-OFF" XVII A MAY-DAY RESOLUTIONXVIII TRIUMPHS AND TROUBLES XIX GOOD-BYES

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE "SHOW" WAS A TREMENDOUS SUCCESS

"DON'T PUT THAT GREEN VASE THERE"

"WELL, " SAID MISS FERRIS, "THAT WON'T BENEW WORK"

"LET US MAKE A FAIR START, " HE SAID

THE GREEN LINE WAS SHOUTING ITSELF HOARSE

ELEANOR DID NOT ANSWER

"NEVER MIND THAT NOW, " SAID BETTY

INTRODUCTION

Readers who did not make the acquaintance of Betty Wales and her friendswhile they were freshmen may like to know that there were nine girls inall who spent their first year together at Mrs. Chapin's. Two of them, however, took very little part in the life of the house and left collegeat the end of the year. Katherine Kittredge, "of Kankakee, " was the fly-away of the group, Rachel Morrison its steadiest, strongest member. Shy, sensitive Roberta Lewis found her complement in a volatile littlesophomore, the only one in the house, named Mary Brooks. Mary had atalent for practical jokes and original methods of entertainment, andsupplied much of the fun and frolic at the Chapin house. It was she whoput Betty's picture into the sophomore "grind book, " who let out thesecret of the Mountain Day mishap, and who frightened not only the Chapinhouse freshmen but the whole class with an absurd "rumor" of her owninvention. Helen Adams, Betty's roommate, was a forlorn, awkward littlebody, who came to college expecting to study all the time, and was amazedand disappointed at what she considered the frivolity of her companions. Betty Wales, in particular, with her fascinating, merry ways, her love offun, and her easygoing fashion of getting through her work, was arevelation to Helen. She began by placing her roommate rather scornfullyin the category of pretty girls, who, being pretty, can afford to bestupid, and ended by loving her dearly, and fully appreciating what Bettyhad done to make her more like other girls and so happier in herenvironment. 

In spite of her beauty and cleverness, Eleanor Watson was not a favoritewith the Chapin house girls. She was snobbish and overbearing, intentupon making herself prominent in class and college affairs, and utterlyregardless of the happiness of other people, as well as of the rules andmoral standards of Harding. Betty, who was unreasonably fond of Eleanor, though she recognized her faults, unconsciously exerted a great deal ofinfluence over her. How she finally managed at the instigation of herupper-class friend, Dorothy King, and with the help of Miss Ferris, avery lovable member of the faculty, to extricate Eleanor Watson from anextremely unpleasant position, and finally to make her willing and eveneager to finish her course at Harding, is told at length in "Betty Wales, Freshman. " There are also recorded many of the good times that she andher house-mates and a few other friends had during the first of theirfour happy years at Harding College. 

The story of what Betty did at Harding and elsewhere will be foundcontinued in "Betty Wales, Junior, " "Betty Wales, Senior, " and "BettyWales, B. A. "

Margaret Warde. 

CHAPTER I

MOVING IN

Betty Wales sat down on the one small bare spot on the floor of her newroom at the Belden House, and looked about her with a sigh of mingledrelief and weariness. 

"Well, " she remarked to the little green lizard, who was perched jauntilyon a pile of pillows, "anyhow the things are all out of the trunks andboxes, and I suppose after a while they'll get into their right places. "

She looked at her watch. Quarter to eight, --that left just about twohours before ten o'clock. Somebody rapped on the door. 

"Come in, " sang Betty. 

It was Eleanor Watson. Betty leaped over a motley collection of cups andsaucers, knocked down a Japanese screen--which fortunately landed againsta bed, instead of on the cups and saucers--and caught Eleanor in herarms. 

"Isn't it great to be back?" she said when she could speak, meanwhilesetting up the screen again, and moving trunk-trays so they might sitdown on the bed. "Are you settled, Eleanor?"

"A little, " said Eleanor, surveying Betty's quarters with amusement. "Quite settled compared to this, I should say. Why do you take everythingout at once, Betty?"

"Oh, then they're all right where I can get at them, " returned Bettyeasily. "I hate to keep stopping to fish something out of the bottom of abox that I haven't unpacked. "

"I see, " laughed Eleanor. "Did you have a lovely summer?"

"Perfectly lovely. I can swim like a fish, Eleanor, and so can EmilyDavis. You don't know her much, do you? But you must. She's lots of fun. Did you have a good time too?"

"Beautiful, " said Eleanor, eagerly. "Father is coming east before long tosee Jim and me, and he and Jim are coming on together from Cornell. You'll help me entertain them, won't you, Betty?"

"I should think I would, " Betty was saying heartily, when there wasanother bang on the door and Rachel and Katherine appeared. Then therewas more leaping over teacups, more ecstatic greetings, and morereadjustment of Betty's belongings to make room for the newcomers. 

"Where's Helen?" demanded Rachel, when everybody was seated. 

"Coming the first thing to-morrow morning, " explained Betty. "You see shelives so near that she can come down at the last minute. "

"It's lucky she's not here now, " laughed Katherine. "There's no room forher, to say nothing of her things. "

"I should think not, " agreed Betty, tragically. "Girls, these campusrooms are certainly the smallest places! This isn't half as big as oursat Mrs. Chapin's. And see the closet!" She picked her way across theroom, and threw open a door, disclosing a five-by-three cupboard. "I askyou how we're going to get all our clothes into that. "

"Helen hasn't many clothes, " suggested Katherine, cheerfully. 

"She has plenty to put on half those hooks, " answered Betty, withfinality, closing the door on the subject, and coming back to sit betweenEleanor and Rachel. 

"Isn't the Chapin house crowd scattered this year?" said Katherine. "Letme see. You and Helen and Mary Brooks are here. Has Mary come yet?"

Betty shook her head. "Her steamer isn't due till to-morrow morning. Didn't you know she'd been in Ireland all summer?"

"Won't it be fun to hear her tell about it?" put in Rachel. 

"You three here, " went on Katherine, intent on her census, "and you're atthe Hilton, aren't you, Eleanor?"

"Yes, " answered Eleanor with a grimace. "I wanted to be here, of course, but Miss Stuart wouldn't manage it. Which house are you in, Rachel?"

"I'm off the campus, " answered Rachel, quietly, "at the little whitehouse just outside the gate. It's a dear, quaint place, and delightfullyquiet. Of course, I'd rather have been on the campus, but father couldn'tafford it this year. "

"Make way, make way for us!" sang a noisy chorus out in the hall. Therewere shouts and shrieks and bangs and more shrieks, and then the din diedaway suddenly into an ominous stillness that evidently heralded theapproach of some dreaded power. 

"It's lucky one of us lives in a quiet place, where the rest of us cantake refuge occasionally, " said Eleanor. 

"Isn't it?" chimed in Katherine. "I'm at the Westcott myself, and I neverheard anything like the racket there was, when the girls began to come infrom the eight o'clock train. "

"Our crowd seems to have been on hand early, " said Rachel. 

"You know Betty's father doesn't like her to travel alone, " jeeredKatherine, "especially after dark. Did he telegraph the registrar againthis year, Betty?"

"Please don't, " begged Betty, blushing prettily. "Weren't we green littlefreshmen though, at this time last fall?"

"And isn't it fun to be coming back as sophomores?" asked Rachel. 

"We haven't quite finished with the residences of the Chapin housegirls, " said Eleanor. "How about Roberta?"

"She's going to stay on at Mrs. Chapin's, I think, " answered Katherine. "She couldn't get in here at the Belden, and she and Mary want to betogether. "

"And the Riches aren't coming back, I believe, " added Rachel. "And now I, for one, must go back and finish unpacking. "

Katherine and Eleanor rose too, astonished to find how fast the eveninghad slipped away, and how little time there was left in which to getready for the busy "first day" ahead of them. When they had all threegone, Betty lay back on the bed, her head pillowed on her arms, to restfor a moment longer. She was tired. The journey from Rockport had beenhot and disagreeable, and some of her box covers had been nailed on withdisheartening thoroughness. But besides being tired, she was also veryhappy--too happy to turn her attention again at once to the tryingbusiness of getting settled. In spite of the "perfectly lovely" summer atthe seashore, she was glad to be back at Harding. She was passionatelyfond of the life there. There had been only one little blot to mar herperfect enjoyment of freshman year, and that was Eleanor's unexplainabledefection. And now Eleanor had come back, fascinating as ever, butwonderfully softened and sweetened. The old hauteur had not left herface, but it was in the background, veiled, as it were, by adetermination to be different, --to meet life in a more friendly spirit, and to make the most of it and of herself. Betty could have hugged herfor her cordial greetings to Katherine and Rachel, and for the kindlylittle speech about Rachel's boarding-place. The other girls had beentactful too, ready to meet Eleanor half-way and to let bygones bebygones. It was all "just lovely. "

Betty was picking herself up, intent upon clearing Helen's half of theroom at least, before she went to bed, when another tap sounded on thedoor. "Come in, " she called eagerly, expecting to see Roberta, or perhapsAlice Waite, or even Dorothy King. Instead, a tall, stately strangeropened the door, and entering, closed it again after her. 

"May I come in and talk to you?" she asked. "I live next door--that is, my trunks aren't here, so I haven't begun living there to any greatextent as yet. Don't stop working. I'll sit and watch; or I'll help, if Ican. There seems to be plenty doing. "

And she sat down calmly in the place that Betty had just vacated. 

Betty was not easily embarrassed, but the strange girl's perfectcomposure and ease of manner disconcerted her. She did not know manyupper classmen in the Belden House, and she could not remember everhaving seen this one before. And yet she surely was not a freshman. 

"Yes, I--I am busy, " she stammered. "I mean, I ought to be. But I've hadcallers all the evening long. Oh, dear! I didn't mean that. I'm trulyglad to have you come, and I will keep on working, if you don't mind. "

The stranger's eyes twinkled. "Which class are you?" she asked. 

"Sophomore, " answered Betty promptly. "And you're an upper-class girl, aren't you?"

The stranger shook her head. 

"No?" questioned Betty in bewilderment. "Why, I'm sure you're not asophomore--I know all the girls in my class at least by sight, --and ofcourse you're not a freshman. "

"Why not?" demanded the new girl gaily. 

Betty laughed. "I know, " she said, "but I don't believe I can explain. You seem too much at home, and too sure of yourself somehow. Now, are youa freshman?"

The stranger laughed in her turn. "Technically, yes, " she said, "really, no. This is my first year here, but I've passed up all the French andSpanish and Italian that the institution offers, and some of the German. I think myself that I ought to rank as a graduate student, but it seemsthere are some little preliminaries in the way of Math, and Latin andLogic that I have to take before I can have my sheepskin, and there'salso some history and some English literature which the family demandthat I take. So I don't know just how long I may hang on here. "

"How--how funny!" gasped Betty. "Where do you live?"

"Bohemia, New York, " answered the new girl promptly. 

Betty looked puzzled. 

"Why, you see, " explained her mysterious friend, "it's no use saying onelives in New York. Everybody--all sorts and conditions of people--live inNew York. So I always add Bohemia. "

"Bohemia?" repeated Betty helplessly. 

"Yes, Bohemia--the artistic New York. We have a studio and some otherrooms up at the top of one of those queer old houses on WashingtonSquare--you know it, --funny, ramshackle old place. Father has afternoons, and mother and I feed the lions and the lesser animals with tea andstrawberry jam. It's very good fun, living in Bohemia. "

"And how did you learn so many languages?"

"Oh, a little from tutors, but mostly from living abroad. We're not inBohemia, New York, very much. We have a villa near Sorrento--awfully out-at-elbows, but still a villa; and we've been in Spain a good deal, andonce father illustrated a book on Vienna--that was where I learned myGerman. Let me see--oh, it's French that I haven't accounted for. Well, wehave some French relatives. They love to have us visit them at theirfunny old chateau, because mother mends their moth-eaten tapestriesbeautifully, and father paints the family portraits. "

"And what do you do?" inquired Betty, much impressed. 

"I? Oh, I teach the girls American slang. It doesn't amount to much, teaching French girls slang, because they never have any chance to get itoff on the men. But they always like it. "

"Don't you know any other languages?"

"No--why, yes I do, too. I know Bengali. When Mademoiselle asked me thatvery question this noon I forgot Bengali. I learned one winter in India. I guess I'll telephone her--or no--I'd rather see her august face when Iremind her of my humble linguistic existence. My name is Madeline Ayres. Now it's your turn, " ended the new girl suddenly. 

"But I haven't anything to tell, " objected Betty, "except that I'm BettyWales, in the sophomore class, and live in Cleveland. Please go on. Itsounds exactly like a fairy tale. "

Madeline Ayres shook her head. "It may now, " she said, "but when you cometo think it over, you'll decide that I talk too much. Don't put thatgreen vase there. It belongs on the bookcase. It just litters your deskand spoils the effect of that lovely water-color. Do you mind my tellingyou?"

It was ten o'clock when Miss Ayres took her departure. Between them, sheand Betty had made astonishing progress toward bringing order out of thechaos that had reigned supreme an hour earlier. 

"It's so pretty, too, " declared Betty, alone once more with the littlegreen lizard. "Whatever she touches goes right into place. I supposethat's because she's always lived with artists. Oh, dear, I wish I coulddo something interesting!"

There was a tap on the door, and Betty sprang for her light, for she hadthe new girl's terror of breaking the ten-o'clock rule, which is supposedby outsiders to be kept to the letter on the campus. However, it wasn'tthe matron, but only Nita Reese, who had a single room on the fourth floorand had come to say that the three B's were spending the night with her, and that they wished Betty to hurry right along and help eat up the food. 

[Illustration: "Don't put that green vase there. "]

"Lights don't count on the first night, they say, " explained Nita, who, like Betty, had spent her freshman year off the campus. "So we've got tomake the most of it. "

"But what are the B's doing over here?" demanded Betty in perplexity. "Have they moved away from the Westcott?"

Nita laughed. "No indeed, but the rest of their floor hadn't come, andthey felt lonely and came over to see me. They say their matron won'tmiss them the first night, and I'm sure I hope ours won't find them here. They seem to think it's all right. "

Betty pulled on her gray kimono, brushed the hair out of her eyes, andfollowed Nita through the hall and up-stairs to the fourth floor. Therewas a wilderness of trunks in the narrow passages. Every girl must havethree at least, Betty thought. And their owners appeared to be in nohaste about unpacking; the serious business of the hour was conversation. They stopped to talk with their neighbors to greet newcomers, to help orhinder other workers with questions and suggestions. Betty and Nita feltlost and rather friendless in the big house, and were strangely glad tosee one familiar face down the corridor and to get a brisk little nodfrom a senior hurrying past them on the stairs. But on the fourth floorthe B's pranced gaily out to meet them. 

"Poor little lambs, just come on the campus, " sang Babe. 

"'Fraid to death of the matron, " jeered Bob. 

"We've come to cheer you up, " ended Babbie. 

"Girls, " said Betty, when the five-pound box of chocolates that Bob'sfather had thoughtfully provided was nearly empty, "wouldn't it bedreadful if we didn't know each other or anybody? How did we ever managelast fall?"

"Oh, you can always do what you have to, " returned Bob practically. 

"One mattress is too narrow for four, though, " announced Babbie, somewhatirrelevantly. "I'm going down to sleep with you, Betty. Come along. "

Thus ended Betty's first evening on the campus. 

CHAPTER II

ELEANOR'S FRESHMAN

It was early in the afternoon of the great day of the sophomore receptionthat Betty Wales ran up two flights of stairs at the Hilton House, andbursting into Eleanor's "extra-priced" corner single, flung herself, hotand breathless, into Eleanor's Morris chair. 

"Oh, but I'm tired, " she said, as soon as she could speak. "And dirty, "she added, looking ruefully at the green stains on the front of her pinklinen suit. 

"You also seem to be in a hurry, " observed Eleanor, who was always vastlyentertained by Betty's impetuous, haphazard methods. 

"I am, " said Betty. "We're awfully behind with the decorating, and Iought to rush back to the gym. This very minute, but I--" she paused, thenfinished quickly. "I wanted to see you. "

"That was nice of you, " said Eleanor absently, sorting over the pages ofa theme she had just finished copying. "I helped wind the balconyrailings with yellow cheese-cloth all the morning, and I thought I'dbetter finish this before I went back. I'm bound not to get behind withmy work this year. "

"Good for you, " returned Betty, cheerfully. "But I'm glad you're throughnow. I was hoping you would be. "

"Did the chairman send you after me?" asked Eleanor, fastening her sheetstogether, and writing her name on the first one. 

"Oh, no, " said Betty, quickly. "She didn't at all. I wanted to see youmyself. "

Eleanor was too preoccupied to notice Betty's embarrassment. "Who is itthat you're going to take to-night?" she asked. "You told me, but I'veforgotten, and I want to put her name on my card. "

"I asked Madeline Ayres--" began Betty. 

"You lucky thing!" broke in Eleanor. "She's the most interesting girl inher class, I think, and she's going to be terribly popular. She's a classofficer already, isn't she?"

"Yes, secretary. I'm glad you like her, because I came over to see if youwouldn't take her, in my place. "

"I?" said Eleanor, in perplexity. "Why, I'm going to take Polly Eastman, --Jean's freshman cousin, you know. Do you mean you want me to take MissAyres too? Are you sick, Betty?"

"No, " said Betty, hastily, "but Polly Eastman is. She's got the mumps orthe measles or something. Jean told me about it, and an A. D. T. Boy wasjust leaving a note for you--from Polly, I suppose--when I came up. She's gone to the infirmary. "

"Poor child, " said Eleanor. "She missed the freshman frolic, and she'sbeen counting on to-night. I had such a lovely card for her, too. Pityit's got to go to waste. Well, she can have her violets all the same. I'll go down and telephone Clarke's to send them to the infirmary. But Idon't see yet why you want me to take Miss Ayres, Betty. "

"Because, " said Betty, "we've just discovered a left-over freshman. Shelives way down at the end of Market Street, and she entered late, andsomehow her name wasn't put on the official list. But this morning shewas talking to a girl in her Math. Division, and when the other girlspoke about the reception this one--her name is Dora Carlson--hadn'theard of it. So the other freshmen very sensibly went in and told theregistrar about it, and the registrar sent word to the gym. And then Jeansaid that her cousin was ill, so I came over to see if you'd takeMadeline, and let me take Miss Carlson. Now please say 'yes' right off, so that I can go and change my dress and hurry down and ask the poorlittle thing. "

Eleanor got up and came over to sit on the arm of the Morris chair. "Betty Wales, " she said, with mock severity, but with an undertone ofvery real compunction in her voice, "do you think I'd do that? Have Iever been quite so mean as you make me out? Did you really think I'd takeMiss Ayres and let you take Miss Carlson? You're absurd, Betty, --you areabsurd sometimes, you know. "

"Yes, I suppose I am, " began Betty, "but--"

"It's perfectly simple, " broke in Eleanor. "You go straight back to thegym. And work for the two of us, while I go and invite Miss Carlson to gowith me to the reception. Where did you say she lives?"

"Number 50 Market Street. Oh, Eleanor, will you really take her? She'sprobably--oh, not a bit your kind, you know, " ended Betty, doubtfully. 

"Trust me to give her the time of her life all the same, " said Eleanor, decidedly, putting on her hat. 

"Oh, Eleanor, you are a gem, " declared Betty, excitedly. "I'll go and getHelen to take your place at the gym. Good-bye. " And she was off. 

As Eleanor went down the steps of the Hilton House, she lookedregretfully over at the gymnasium. They were dumping another load ofevergreen boughs at the door. The horse was restless. It took three girlsto hold him, and three more, with much shouting and laughter, to unloadthe boughs. Through one window she could see Rachel and Alice Waitestringing incandescent lights into Japanese lanterns. Katherine Kittredgewas standing behind them in her gym suit. She had evidently been hanginglanterns along the rafters. It had been bad enough to stay at home andcopy her theme. Now the decorating would be finished and the fun almostover, before she could get back. Eleanor shrugged her shoulders andturned resolutely away, trying to remember whether Market Street was justabove or just below the station. 

Before she had reached the campus gate, she heard some one calling hername. It was Jean Eastman. 

"What's your hurry?" panted Jean. "Did you get Polly's note? And whyaren't you at the gym. ?"

"Yes, I got the note, " answered Eleanor. "I'm more than sorry for Polly, and for myself, too. I shall get back to the gym. As soon as I can, but Ihave to ask another freshman to the reception first. "

"Who?" demanded Jean. 

"Miss Carlson, " answered Eleanor simply. 

"Oh, that! Don't you think, Eleanor, that you're getting a littlequixotic in your old age?"

Her scornful tone was very exasperating, and Eleanor straightenedhaughtily. "I don't think either of us need worry about being toocharitable just yet awhile, " she began. Then she caught herself upsharply. "Don't let's get to bickering, Jean. You know I ought to askher, and you know how much I want to. But I'm going to do it, and Iexpect every girl on my program to help make her have just as good a timeas if she were one of us. " And Eleanor was off down the hill, leavingJean gazing amazedly after her. 

Jean had no clue to the new Eleanor, whose strange toleration of theworld in general annoyed the "Hill girls" (as those who had come from theHill School were called) more than her high-handed attempts to run herown set, and her eventual wrecking of its influence, had done the yearbefore. But the Hill girls appreciated Eleanor's ability, and they hadresolved among themselves to wait a little and see what happened, beforedeclaring open war. 

Somebody came to call just before dinner, and Betty was consequently latein dressing for the reception. But in the midst of her frantic efforts tomake her own toilette and help Helen with hers, she had time to wonderwhat Dora Carlson was like and how she and Eleanor would get on together. She knew that Eleanor was equal to any emergency, if she cared to exertherself, but the question was: would Dora Carlson in the concrete arousethe best--or the worst--of her nature? Betty loved Eleanor in spite ofeverything, but she had to admit to herself that a timid little freshmanmight infinitely prefer staying at home from the sophomore reception togoing in Eleanor's company, if she happened to be in a bad mood. Andfurthermore, as Betty lost her temper over Helen's girdle, which would goup in front and down behind, completely spoiling the effect of anotherwise pretty evening dress, she was in a position to realize thattrying to help is by no means the soul-inspiring thing that it sometimesseems in contemplation. 

But she need not have worried about Dora Carlson, who, having lived alonewith her father on a farm in the environs of a little village in Ohio, and kept house for him ever since she was twelve years old, wasabundantly able to take care of herself. She was not at all timid, thoughshe was not aggressive either, and she had a quaint way of expressingherself that would have interested almost any one. But it was the frankgood-nature with which she accepted her eleventh hour invitation thatappealed most to Eleanor, newly alive to the charm that lies incourageously making the best of a bad matter. For half an hour Eleanordevoted herself to finding out something about Miss Carlson and to makingher feel at ease and happy in her company. Then she went off to order acarriage and twice as many violets as she had sent to Polly Eastman, andto find a maid who would press out her white mull dress, --this in spiteof her decision, an hour earlier, that the white mull was much too prettyto waste on a promiscuous crush like the sophomore reception. 

As a result of all these preparations, Dora Carlson arrived at thegymnasium in a state of mind that she herself aptly compared toCinderella's on the night of her first ball. She had a keen appreciationof the beautiful, and she had never seen any one so absolutely lovely asEleanor in evening dress. It was pleasure enough just to watch her, tohear her talk to other people, and to feel that she--Dora Carlson--hadsome part and lot in this fascinating being, who had suddenly appeared toher as from another world. But Eleanor had no intention of keeping herfreshman in the background. All through the reception that preceded thedancing she took her from group to group, introducing her to sophomoreswhom she would dance with later and to prominent members of her ownclass. Eleanor Watson might be considered odd and freakish by the Hillgirls, and very snobbish by the rest of the college; but nobody of eitherpersuasion cared to ignore her, when she chose to make advances. Andthere was, besides, a good deal of curiosity about the short, dark littlefreshman, with the merry brown eyes, the big, humorous mouth, and theenormous bunch of Parma violets pinned to the front of her much-washed, tight-sleeved muslin. Why in the world had the "snob of snobs" chosen tobring her to the reception? Eleanor knew how to utilize this curiosityfor Miss Carlson's advantage. She took pains, too, to turn theconversation to topics in which the child could join. She was determinedthat, as far as this one evening went, the plucky little freshman fromOhio should have her chance. Afterward her place in the college worldwould of course depend largely on herself. 

"Do you dance?" asked Eleanor, when the music for the first waltz began. And when Miss Carlson answered with a delighted "yes, " Eleanor, who alwaysrefused to lead, and detested both crowds and "girl dances, " resolutelypicked up her train and started off. 

Betty Wales and Jean Eastman, who had taken their freshmen up into thegallery, where they could look down at the dancers, saw her and exchangedglances. 

"More than she's ever done for me, " said Jean, resignedly. 

"Isn't it nice of her?" returned Betty, with enthusiasm. 

And Jean, meditating on the matter later, decided shrewdly that BettyWales was somehow at the bottom of Eleanor's unexplainable change ofheart, and advised the Hill girls to make a determined effort tomonopolize Eleanor's time and interest, before she had become hopelesslyestranged from their counsels. But to all their attentions Eleanor paidas little heed as she did to the persistent appeals of Paul West, afriend at Winsted College, a few miles away, that she should give up"slaving over something you don't care about and come over to our nextdance. " To the Hill girls Eleanor gave courteous but firm denials, andshe wrote Paul West that once in three weeks was as often as she had timefor callers. 

"And you really had a good time?" said Eleanor, riding down to MarketStreet to see Miss Carlson home. 

"Splendid!" said Miss Carlson, heartily. "I'm sorry your first partnerwas sick, but I guess I enjoyed it fully as much as she would. Yourfriends were all so nice to me. "

"I'm glad of that, " said Eleanor, relieved to find that Dora had notapparently noticed Jean Eastman's insolent manner, nor the careless self-absorption of one or two of her other partners. "And now that you've metthe girls, " she added practically, "you mustn't let them forget you. Making friends is one of the nicest things about college. "

"Yes, isn't it?" responded the little freshman, quickly. "I quite agreewith you, but I don't expect to make any. I guess it's like other gifts. It doesn't come natural to some people. But, " she added, brightening, "Icame here to learn Greek and Latin, so that I can teach and support myfather in his old age. And the good time I've had to-night is enough tolast me for one while, I guess. "

Eleanor put out a slim, white hand and caught Miss Carlson's hard, brownone impetuously in hers, "Don't, " she said. "That isn't the way thingsare here. Good times don't have to last, because one always leads toanother. Why, I know another that's coming to you very soon. I've had agood deal of company for dinner lately and I can't ask for a place againright away, but the first Sunday that I can arrange it, you're coming upto have dinner with me at the Hilton House. Will you?"

Jean Eastman had a great deal to say about Eleanor's freshman crush, asshe called Dora Carlson. It was foolish, she said, and not in good taste, to send a bunch of violets as big as your head to a perfect stranger, whom you never expected to see again. Later, after Dora's appearance atthe Hilton for Sunday dinner, Jean declared that it was a shame forEleanor to invite her up there and make her think she really liked her, when it was only done for effect, and she would drop the poor child likea hot coal the minute she felt inclined to. 

Even Betty Wales failed to understand Eleanor's interest in the quaintlittle freshman, and she and the other Chapin house girls rallied herheartily about Miss Carlson's open and unbounded adoration. 

"Please don't encourage the poor thing so, " laughed Katherine, one daynot long after the reception. "Why, yesterday morning at chapel I lookedup in the gallery and there she was in the front row, hanging over therailing as far as she dared, with her eyes glued to you. Some day she'llfall off, and then think how you'll feel, when the president talks aboutthe terrible evils of the crush system, and stares straight at you. "

Eleanor took their banter with perfect good-nature, and seemed ratherpleased than otherwise at Miss Carlson's devotion. 

"I like her, " she said stoutly. "That's why I encourage her, as you callit. Now, Helen Adams doesn't interest me at all. She keeps herself toherself too much. But Dora Carlson is so absolutely frank andstraightforward, and so competent and quick to see through things. Sheought to have been a man. Then she could go west and make her fortune. Asit is--" Eleanor shrugged her shoulders, in token that she had nofeasible suggestion ready in regard to Dora Carlson's future. 

To Betty, in private, she went much further. "You don't know what you didfor me, Betty, when you made me ask that child to the reception. Nobodyever cared for me, or trusted me, as she does--or for the reasons thatshe does. I hope I can show her that I'm worth it, but it's going to behard work. And it will be a bad thing for her, and a worse thing for me, if I fail. "

CHAPTER III

PARADES AND PARTIES

It was surprising how well the girl from Bohemia fitted into the life atHarding. She had never experienced an examination or even a formalrecitation until the beginning of her freshman term. She had seldom livedthree months in any one place, and she had grown up absolutely withoutreference to the rules and regulations and conventions that meant so muchto the majority of her fellow-students. But she did not find therecitations frightful, nor the simple routine of life irksome. She waswilling to tell everybody who cared to listen what she had seen of Frenchpensions, Italian beggars, or Spanish bullfights. It astonished her tofind that her experiences were unique, because she had always acceptedthem as comparatively commonplace; but her pity for the girls who hadnever been east of Cape Cod nor west of Harding, --there were two of themat the Belden, --was quite untinged with self-congratulation. 

She was very much amused and not a little pleased, by her election to thepost of class secretary. 

"They did it because I passed up four languages, " she explained to Betty. "Somehow it got around--I'm sure I never meant to boast of it--and theyseemed to think they ought to show their appreciation. Nice of them, wasn't it? But I fancy I shan't have a large internationalcorrespondence. It would have been more to the point if they'd found outwhether I can write plainly. " And the girl from Bohemia chuckled softly. 

"What's the joke?" inquired Betty. 

"Nothing, " answered Madeline, "only I can't. Miss Felton made me spelloff every word of my Spanish examination paper, because she couldn't readit, and I can't read my last theme myself, " and she laughed againmerrily. 

"Let's see it, " demanded Betty, reaching for the paper at the top of thepile on Madeline's desk. 

"That's next week's, " said Madeline. "I thought I'd do them both while Iwas at it. But this week's is funnier. "

"This week's" proved to be an absurd incident founded upon theillegibility of Henry Ward Beecher's handwriting. It was cleverly told, but the cream of its humor lay in the fact that Madeline's writing, ifnot so bad as Mr. Beecher's, was certainly bad enough. 

"Maybe Miss Raymond can make out what he really wrote, but I've forgottennow, and I can't, " said Madeline, tossing the theme back on the pile. "And I didn't try to write badly either. It just happened. "

Everything "just happened" with Madeline Ayres. Betty had said thatthings fell into place for her, and people seemed to have a good deal thesame pleasant tendency. But if they did not, Madeline seldom exertedherself to make them do her bidding. She admired hard work, and did agood deal of it by fits and starts. But she detested wire-pulling, andtook an instant dislike to Eleanor Watson because some injudicious persontold her that Eleanor had said she was sure to be popular and prominentat Harding. 

"What nonsense!" she said, with a flash of scorn in her slumberous hazeleyes. "How it spoils life to count up the chances like that! How it takesthe fun out of everything! The right way is to go ahead and enjoyyourself, and work your prettiest, and take things when they come. Theyalways come--if you give them a little time, " she added with a return ofher usual serenity. 

So it was wholly a matter of chance that Madeline Ayres should havesucceeded in turning Helen Chase Adams into an athlete. Helen had come tocollege with several very definite theories about life, most of which hadbeen shattered at the start. She had promptly revised her idea of acollege in conformity with what she found--and loved--at Harding. She haddecided, with some reluctance, that she had been mistaken in supposingthat all pretty girls were stupid. But she still believed that genius isan infinite capacity for taking pains--laying no very stringent emphasison the "infinite"; and she was determined to prove the truth of thatbold, if somewhat elusive, assertion, at least to the extent of showingthat she, Helen Chase Adams, could make a thoroughgoing success of hercollege course. 

Success may mean anything. To Helen Adams it had meant, ever since theday of the sophomore-freshman basket-ball game, the ability to writesomething that would interest her classmates. It might be a song thatthey would care to sing, or a little verse or a story that Miss Raymondwould read in her theme class, as she had Mary Brooks's version of theChapin house freshmen's letters home, and that the girls would listen toand laugh over, and later discuss and compliment her upon. It was notthat she wanted the compliments, but they would measure her success. 

Helen admired the girl from Bohemia because she could write--Betty hadtold her about the Henry Ward Beecher theme, --also because she was quickand keen, seldom hurried or worried out of her habitual serenity, andfinally because Betty admired her. Madeline Ayres, for her part, thoughtof Helen chiefly as Betty's roommate, noticed the awkward little forwardtilt of her head just as she had noticed the inharmonious arrangement ofBetty's green vase, and commented upon the one in exactly the same spiritthat she had called attention to the other. 

"You ought to go in for gym, " she said one afternoon when she hadstrolled into Betty's room and found only Helen. "It would straighten youup, and make you look like a different person. I'm going in for itmyself, hard. I'm hoping that it will cure my slouchy walk, and turn meout 'a marvel of grace and beauty, ' as the physical cultureadvertisements always say. Let's be in the same class, so that we canpractice things together at home. "

"But I should take sophomore gym and you'd be with the freshmen, "objected Helen. 

"Why don't you take freshman gym too? You can't do the exercises any toowell, can you?"

"No, " admitted Helen, frankly. "I cut a lot last year, and I couldn't dothem anyway. "

"Don't you hate to struggle along when you're not ready to go?" asked thegirl from Bohemia. 

Helen agreed that she did, and a moment later they were comparingschedules and deciding upon a class which they could both join. It camedirectly in the middle of the afternoon, and Helen Adams had alwaysconsidered gym at any hour a flagrant waste of time; but she did not sayso. There had been something in Madeline's outspoken reference to herawkward carriage that, without hurting her, had struck home. Helen ChaseAdams aspired to literary honors at Harding; to this desire was suddenlyadded a violent ambition to be what Madeline had termed "a marvel ofgrace. "

Betty was amazed, when she came in a little later, to find Helen tryingon her gym suit. 

"What in the world are you doing?" she demanded. "Gym doesn't begin fortwo weeks yet. "

"I know it, " said Helen, "but the neck of my suit never was right. It'sawfully unbecoming. How would you fix it?"

"You frivolous thing!" laughed Betty, squinting at the unbecoming neckfor a moment. "It's too high behind, that's all. Rip off the collar andI'll cut it down. And I have an extra blue tie that you can have--itneeds a tie. But I thought you'd manage to get an excuse from gym, whenyou hate it so. "

"Perhaps I shan't hate it this year, " ventured Helen, and neither thennor later did Betty exactly understand her roommate's sudden devotion toparallel bars, ropes, the running track, and breathing exercises. But intime she did thoroughly appreciate the results of this physical training. Helen Chase Adams was never exactly "a marvel of grace"; but she waserect and supple, with considerable poise and dignity of bearing, whenshe left Harding. 

Another thing that Madeline Ayres "happened upon" was the Republicanparade. Presidential elections had been celebrated in various ways atHarding. There had been banners spread to the breeze, songs and bells inthe night-watches, mock caucuses and conventions, campaign speeches, andAustralian balloting, before election time. But the parade was ofMadeline's invention. 

It was about eight o'clock on the evening after election day that sheappeared in Mary Brooks's door--she had made friends with Mary almost aseasily as Betty had. 

"I say, " she said, dropping off her rain-coat and displaying a suit ofmanly black beneath, to match the short brown wig above. "Let's have aRepublican parade. Who'll be the defeated candidate, in chains?"

Then she smiled broadly, displaying rows of even white teeth, and Marygrasped the situation in a moment. 

"I'm with you, Roosevelt, " she said. "Nita Reese can be the defeated one. I'll go and get her. "

"And you be leader of the band, " said Madeline. "You get combs and I'llget tin pans. "

"Let's take up a collection and have ice-cream later, " proposed Mary. 

"All right. I'll tell Betty to see to that. I've got to lead a strenuouslife finding clothes for Fairbanks, " and "President Roosevelt"disappeared down the hall. 

Promptly at nine the parade assembled on the third floor corridor. Thepresident elect was drawn in an express wagon, except down the stairsbetween floors. Out of consideration for the weight of his chains thedefeated candidate was allowed to ride in a barouche, alias a rocking-chair. But he objected to riding backward, and the barouche would notmove the other way round, so he accepted the arm of the leader of theband and walked, chains and all. The vice-president walked from thestart. At intervals of five minutes one or both of the successfulcandidates made speeches. The defeated candidate wished to do likewise, but the other two drowned him out. Between times the band, composed ofall the Belden House who could play on combs or who could find tin pans, discoursed sweet music. Those who could not do either formed what MaryBrooks called "a female delegation of the G. O. P. From Colorado, " andclosed in the rear of the procession in a most imposing manner. 

The vice-president elect wanted to make a tour of the campus houses, butthe twenty minutes to ten bell rang, and there was only time to eat theice cream. 

The fact that Roberta Lewis, who happened to be in Mary's room when thepresident made his first call, laughed herself into hysterics over theparade, proves that it was funny. The further fact that she had firmlydecided to leave college at Christmas time, but changed her mind aftershe had seen the parade, shows that even "impromptu stunts" are notalways as silly and futile as they seem. 

But before the Republican parade came Hallowe'en, and Hallowe'en on thecampus is not a thing to pass over lightly. Each house has some sort ofparty, generally in costume. There is a good deal of rivalry, and asevery house wishes to see and judge of the achievements of its neighbors, the most interesting encounters are likely to take place midway betweenhouses, on the journeys from one party to another. 

In Betty's sophomore year the Belden had a masquerade ball, under thedirection of Mary Brooks and the girl from Bohemia. The Hilton Houseindulged in an old-fashioned country Hallowe'en, with a spelling match, dancing to "Roger de Coverley" and "Money Musk, " apple-bobbing and allthe other traditional methods of finding out about your lover on AllSaints' Eve. The Westcott gave a "spook" party, one of the other houses aplay, still another a goblin dance, to which everybody carried jack-o'-lanterns, and the rest celebrated the holiday in other characteristic andamusing ways. The campus resembled a cross between the midway at aWorld's Fair and the grand finale of a comic opera; for ghosts consortedthere with ballet dancers and Egyptian princesses, spooks and goblinslinked arms with pirates in top-boots and rosy farmers' daughters incalico, and nuns and Puritan maidens chatted familiarly with villainousand fascinating gentlemen, who twirled black mustaches and threatened tokiss them. 

By nine o'clock everybody had seen everybody else, and congratulationsfor successful costumes, clever acting, and thrilling ghost stories werenearly all distributed. Toward the end of the evening there were a goodmany small gatherings, met to talk over the fun in detail and enjoy thenumerous "spreads" that had been sent on from home, --for the collegegirl's family becomes almost as expert in detecting a festival afar offas is the girl herself. 

Nan never let the Wales household forget its duty in such matters, and amerry party was assembled in Betty's room to eat the salad, sandwiches, jelly, olives, cake, candy, nuts, and fruit that her mother had provided. 

"How time flies, " observed Mary Brooks sagely, helping herself to anothersandwich. "I suppose you gay young sophomores don't realize it, but it'salmost Christmas time. "

"And after Christmas, midyears, " wailed a freshman from her corner. 

"And after midyears what?

"'To be or not to be, that is the question, '" quoted KatherineKittredge loudly. 

"But for sophomores who survive the midyears, " went on Mary, "the nextthing of importance is the society elections. "

"That's so, " said Betty eagerly. "We can get into your wonderfulsocieties after midyears, if we're brainy enough. I'd forgotten all aboutthem. "

"Then I'll wager you're about the only sophomore who hasn't thought ofthem occasionally this fall, " announced Mary. "And now I'm ready for somecandy. "

"Tell us how to go to work to get into those societies, can't you?" askedBob from her place beside the salad bowl. 

"Work hard and write themes, " said Mary briefly, and the subject wasdropped. 

Betty thought no more about Mary's remark then, but when she and Helenwere alone it came back to her. 

"I suppose some girls do think about the societies a lot, and plan andhope to get in, " she said. 

"I suppose so, " returned Helen. "I shan't have to. I am perfectly safe tostay out. "

"Oh, so am I, as far as that goes, " said Betty carelessly. 

Helen, watching her closely, wondered how any popular girl could be asunconscious as Betty seemed. She had overheard a Belden House seniortelling Mary Brooks that Betty Wales was sure to go into a society theminute she became eligible. Helen opened her mouth to convey thisinformation to Betty, but stopped just in time. 

"For she's not unhappy about it, " thought Helen, "and it would bedreadful if they should be mistaken. But they can't be, " concluded Helenloyally, watching Betty's face as she read a note that her mother hadtucked in among the nuts. Most pretty girls might be stupid, but the bestof everything was none too good for Betty Wales, so thought her roommate. 

CHAPTER IV

ELEANOR WATSON, AUTHORESS

Eleanor Watson leaned back in her Morris chair, her eyes fixed absentlyon the opposite wall, her forehead knit in deep thought. "Somehow thereisn't enough of me to go round, " she reflected. "I don't see why, --theother girls, no quicker or brighter than I, seem to get on all right. Iwonder why I can't. I can't give up everything in the way of recreation. "

It was easy enough for an outsider to analyze her difficulty. Neverbefore had Eleanor tried to "go round, " as she put it. She had alwaysdone what she pleased, and let alone the things that did not appeal toher. Now she had suddenly assumed responsibilities. She really wanted todo her college work, all of it, as it deserved to be done, and to do ithonestly, without resort to any of the various methods of deception thatshe had employed almost unconsciously hitherto. She wanted to make lifepleasanter for Dora Carlson. She wanted to write the long, newsy lettersto Jim and to Judge Watson; letters that brought characteristic replies, confidential from Jim, genially humorous from her father, but bothequally appreciative and as different as possible from their cold, formalnotes of the year before. On the other hand, she wanted, both for selfishand unselfish reasons, to enter into the social life of the college. Shehad not lost her worldly ambitions in one summer; and she had not gained, at a bound, the concentration of mind that enabled other girls to getthrough an amazing amount of work and fun with perfect ease. She knewinfinitely less of the value of time than Betty Wales; she had less senseof proportion than Helen Adams; and she was intensely eager to win allsorts of honors. 

So it was natural that she should stare at the wall opposite for somelittle time before she came to the conclusion that sitting empty-handed, thinking about her troubles, while the morning took to itself wings, wasnot the best way to mend matters. And when she did finally come back toearth, it was only to give an angry little exclamation, pick up amagazine from the table at her elbow, and go to reading it. At the end ofhalf an hour, however, she tossed it aside, and sitting resolutely downat her desk, wrote diligently until lunch time. 

"Have you done your theme, Eleanor?" asked Alice Waite, overtaking her onthe way down to the dining-room. 

Eleanor nodded curtly. "Did it between twelve and one. "

"Really?" Alice's brown eyes grew big with admiration. "Oh, dear, ittakes me days to do mine, and when they're done they're nothing, andyours are just fine. I do think it's queer--"

"Nonsense, " interrupted Eleanor crossly. "You don't know anything aboutmy themes. You never saw one. "

"Oh, but Betty Wales says--" began Alice eagerly. 

"Now what does Betty Wales really know about it either?" inquired Eleanora trifle more amiably. 

"Why, I don't know, " returned Alice helplessly, "but I'm sure she'sright. Is your theme a story?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, and is it about a man and a girl? Betty says your man-and-girlstories are great, specially the love parts. Now I could no more writelove-making--"

"Well, there's no love-making in this one, " interrupted Eleanor crossly, "and it's not great at all. It's so poor that I'm not even sure I shallhand it in. So please don't say any more about it. "

All through luncheon Eleanor sat silent, wearing the absent, harassedexpression which meant that she was deciding something--something aboutwhich her better and her worse selves disagreed. 

Just as she was leaving the lunch-table, Christy Mason rushed up to herin great excitement. 

"Now, Eleanor, " she began, "don't say you can't come, for we simply won'tlet you off. It's a construction car ride. Meet at the Main Street cornerat four--right after Lab. , if you have it. It's positively the last rideof the season and an awfully jolly crowd's going, --Betty and Jean andKate Denise and the three B's, and Katherine Kittredge and Nita Reese, --oh, the whole sophomore push, you know. Now, say you'll come, and give metwenty cents for the supper. "

"Give me time to breathe, " laughed Eleanor. "Now seriously, Christy, whyshould I go off on one of those dirty, hard, bumping flat-cars, on afreezing night in November--"

"It's moonlight, " interrupted Christy, "and we must have your guitar tohelp with the singing. "

"We shall nickname you dig, if you don't come, " declared Bob, who haddanced up in the midst of the colloquy. "Now, how will you like that--DigWatson?"

Eleanor laughed good-naturedly. "Don't be ironical, " she said. "I'llcome. I hadn't any intention of not coming. I only wanted to know why youwill persist in lugging those horrid flat-cars into all your fun. "

"Stunty, " explained Christy. 

"Different, " added Bob. 

"But since you're coming, we can argue about it to-night, " concludedChristy, decidedly. "What I want now is your twenty cents. "

It was half past three when Eleanor started over to the main building todeposit her theme in one of the tin boxes which Miss Raymond and herassistants opened at specified hours on specified days, --not, as MaryBrooks explained, because they wanted what was in the boxes, but becausethey wished to discover what was not in them, in order that they mightmake life a burden for those whose themes were late. 

Just ahead of Eleanor a little freshman walked up to the box and slippedin a stamped envelope. 

"Pardon me, but this isn't a mail-box, " explained Eleanor. 

"Why, it says 'Collections made at 6 P. M. Tuesdays and Thursdays, '"gasped the little freshman. Then she glanced at the heading, "'Themes ofSecond Class, L to Z. ' Oh, I thought of course that said United StatesMail. "

"Evidently you're fortunate enough not to have elected themes. When youdo, remember that the collections are as prompt as the postman's, " saidEleanor. "Come back at six, and you can get out your letter. "

But the freshman, blushing as red as her scarlet cap, had vanished downthe hall. 

Then, instead of dropping in her theme and hurrying home, as she hadintended, to get into an old skirt and a heavy shirt-waist before fouro'clock, Eleanor sat down on the lowest step of the broad stairway, as ifshe had decided to wait there until six o'clock and rescue the freshman'sletter herself. Five--ten--fifteen minutes, she sat there. Girl aftergirl came through the hall to deposit themes, or consult the bulletinboards. Among them were one or two of the "sophomore push, " as Christyhad called them. 

"Aren't you a lady of leisure, though, " called Christy, dashing throughthe hall at quarter to four. "I have to go ahead and see about the icecream. Don't you be late, Eleanor. "

Eleanor looked after her wistfully; Christy was one of the girls whoalways "went round. " Then she shrugged her shoulders, got up, and droppedher theme into the box. 

"What's the odds, anyhow?" she muttered, as it fell with a soft littleswish on the top of the pile inside. "It's too late to write anothernow. " And she hurried after Christy down the hill. 

The construction car ride was a great success. The night was decidedlybalmy for November, and the moon rode, full and glorious, in a cloudlesssky. If the car bottom made a hard seat, the passengers' spirits wereelastic enough to endure all the bumps and jolts with equanimity. Hatless, though bundled in ulsters and sweaters, they laughed and sangand shouted in the indefatigably light-hearted fashion that ischaracteristic only of babies and collegians off on a frolic. 

Eleanor's story of the absent-minded freshman was the hit of the evening, and the tinkle of her guitar added the crowning touch to the festivity ofthe occasion. As they rounded the last corner on the homeward stretch, she turned to Betty Wales, her eyes shining softly and her hair blowninto distracting waves under her fluffy white tam. 

"It is fun, Betty, " she said. "Flat-car and all, --though why it shouldbe, I'm sure I don't see, and last year it wasn't--for me. "

Then her face grew suddenly sombre, and she settled back in her corner, dropping into a moody silence that lasted until the car had dumped itsmerry load, and the "sophomore push" was making its way in noisy twos andthrees up the hill to the campus. 

"Come over for a minute, can't you, Eleanor?" asked Betty, when theyreached the Belden House gate. 

"Why, yes--no, I can't, either. I'm sorry, " said Eleanor, and wasstarting across the grass toward home, when Jean Eastman overtook her. 

"Come over to the Westcott and warm up with coffee, " said Jean. 

Eleanor repeated her refusal. 

"Why not?" demanded Jean with her usual directness. 

"Because I want to see Miss Raymond a minute, " returned Eleanor, coolly. 

"Well, you can't do that to-night, " said Jean. "She's entertainingProfessor Morris of New York. I don't suppose you care to break intothat, do you? She's probably having a select party of faculty stars infor a chafing-dish supper. "

"Oh, dear!" There was genuine distress in Eleanor's voice. "Then I'mgoing home, Jean. You're perfectly certain that she'll be engaged? You'resure this is the night he was coming?"

Having duly assured Eleanor that Professor Morris and Miss Raymond hadtaken lunch at the Westcott House and that Miss Mills had been invitedout to dinner with them, Jean went home to inform her roommate thatEleanor Watson was in more trouble over her English work--that she wasrushing around the campus at nine in the evening, trying to find MissRaymond. 

Eleanor, left to herself at last, turned and went slowly back to theBelden House. 

Betty looked up in astonishment when she appeared in the door. "How'd youhappen to change your mind?" she asked. 

"Fate was against me, " said Eleanor shortly. "I wanted to see MissRaymond about a theme, but she's busy. "

"Won't morning do?" asked Betty, sympathetically. 

"Yes, I suppose so, only I wanted to have it off my hands. "

"I don't wonder, " agreed Betty. "She's none too agreeable about latethemes. "

"It's not a late theme. I want to get back the one I handed in to-day. Itought never to have gone in. "

Betty stared at Eleanor for a moment in speechless amazement, then shedanced across the room and pulling Eleanor after her, tumbled back amongthe couch cushions. "Oh, Eleanor, you are the funniest thing, " she said. "Last year you didn't care about anything, and now I believe you're aworse fusser than Helen Chase Adams. The idea of worrying over a themethat is done and copied and in on time! Come and tell Madeline Ayres. She'll appreciate the joke, and she'll give us some of her lovely sweetchocolate that her cousins sent her from Paris. "

But Eleanor hung back. "Please don't say anything about it to Miss Ayres. I'd really rather you didn't. It may be a joke to you, but it's a seriousmatter to me, Betty. "

So more people than Eleanor were surprised the next afternoon to findthat the clever story which Miss Raymond read with great gusto to herprize theme class, and commented upon as "extraordinary work for anundergraduate, " should prove to be Eleanor Watson's. 

As early in the morning as she dared Eleanor had gone over to get backher theme "that should never have gone in, " and to ask permission to tryagain. But Miss Raymond had been up betimes, working over her new batchof papers, and she met Eleanor's apologies with amused approval ofsophomores, who, contrary to the popular tradition about their cock-sureness, were inclined to underestimate their abilities, and imagine, like freshmen before midyears, that their work was below grade. So therewas nothing for Eleanor to do but submit gracefully and leave the theme. It did not occur to her to caution Miss Raymond against reading it to herclass. 

In spite of hard struggles and little disappointments like Helen Adams's, it really takes very little to make a college reputation. One brilliantrecitation may turn an unassuming student into a "prod. "; and on thestrength of one clever bit of writing another is given the title of"genius. " This last distinction was at once bestowed on Eleanor. She wasshowered with congratulations and compliments. Her old school friendslike Lilian Day and Jean Eastman hastened to declare that they had alwaysknown Eleanor Watson could write. Solid, dependable students like DorothyKing and Marion Lawrence regarded her with new respect; awed littlefreshmen pointed her out to one another as "that awfully pretty MissWatson, who is a perfect star in themes, you know"; and her own class, who had cordially disliked her the year before, and not known what tothink of her recent friendliness, immediately prepared to make a classheroine of her and lauded her performance to the skies. 

But Eleanor would have none of all this "pleasant fuss, " as Mary Brookscalled it. Suddenly and most inexplicably she reverted to her sarcastic, ungracious manner of the year before. She either ignored the prettyspeeches that people made to her, or received them with a stare and ahaughty "I really don't know what you mean, " which fairly frightened heradmirers into silence. 

"I hope, " said Mary Brooks to Betty, after having received a particularlyscathing retort, "that hereafter Miss Raymond can be induced not toapprove of the lady Eleanor's themes. I've heard that prosperity turnspeople's heads, but I never knew it made them into bears. She's actuallymore unpleasant than she was before she reformed. And the moral of thatis, don't reform, " added Mary sententiously. 

Betty Wales was completely mystified and bitterly disappointed byEleanor's strange behavior. 

"Eleanor dear, " she ventured timidly, "don't be so queer and--anddisagreeable about your theme. Why, you even hurt my feelings when Ispoke to you about it, and the other girls think it's awfully funny thatyou shouldn't be pleased, and like to have them congratulate you. Thetheme must have been good, you see. Miss Raymond knows, and she liked itever so much. She told the class about your rushing over to get it thatmorning, and she thought it was such a good joke. Do cheer up, Eleanor. Why, I should be so proud if I were you!"

Eleanor was silent for a moment, then she smiled suddenly, her flashing, radiant smile. "Well, I'll try to be pleasant, Betty, if you want me to, "she said. "There's no use crying over spilt milk. I am queer--you knowthat--but I hadn't meant to hurt people's feelings. You're going to thelibrary, aren't you? Well, Dora Carlson's up there. Tell her, please, that I was tired when she came in just now--that I didn't intend to bedisagreeable, and that I love her just the same. Will you?"

So when, just after Betty had left, Dorothy King came in and plunged atonce into the familiar "I want to congratulate you on that story, MissWatson, " Eleanor smiled pleasantly and murmured, "It's nothing, --just astupid little tale, " in conventional college fashion. 

"And of course, " went on Dorothy briskly, "we want it for the 'Argus. 'I'm not a literary editor myself, --just business manager, --but FrancesWest is so busy that she asked me to stop in and see you on my way to ameeting of the Editorial board. Frances is the editor-in-chief, youknow. "

A dull red flush spread itself over Eleanor's pale face. "I'm sorry, MissKing, very sorry, but--but--I can't let the 'Argus' use my story. "

Dorothy stared. "We can't have it? Why--well, of course it's very good. Were you going to try to sell it to a regular magazine?"

Eleanor shook her head. "No, " she said with an odd little laugh. "No, I'mnot going to try to sell it. "

Dorothy looked puzzled. "Most people are very glad to get into the'Argus. ' We don't often have to ask twice for contributions. And we wantthis very, very much. Miss Raymond likes it so well and all. Can't Ipersuade you to change your mind?"

"No, " said Eleanor curtly. 

In spite of her poise and her apparently even temper, Dorothy King was arather spoiled young person, used to having her own way and irritablewhen other people insisted, without reason, upon having theirs. Shedisliked Eleanor Watson, and now Eleanor's manner nettled her beyondendurance. She rose suddenly. 

"Oh, very well, Miss Watson, " she said. "But I really don't understandwhy you should raise such a tempest in a teapot over a theme. You make mequite curious to see it, I assure you. It must be a very strange piece ofwork. "

Eleanor's face went white instantly. "I beg your pardon, Miss King. Ididn't mean to be either rude or disobliging or even--queer. Here is thestory, and if the 'Argus' can really use it, I shall be delighted, ofcourse. "

On the campus Dorothy met Betty Wales. "I've got it, " she cried, wavingthe theme aloft in triumph. "She didn't want to give it to me at first, and I lost my temper--she is so trying--but later she was lovely, and Iapologized, and now we're fast friends. "

Betty was on her way to gym, but she stole five minutes in which to runup and see Eleanor. 

"Hurrah for you!" she cried. "I saw Dorothy and she told me the greatnews. Eleanor, you'll be on the Argus board yourself, if you're notcareful. "

"Would you mind not staying now, Betty?" asked Eleanor, who was lyingburied among her pillows. "I have a dreadful headache, and talking makesit worse. "

CHAPTER V

POINTS OF VIEW

During the first part of their year at the Chapin house Betty and herfriends had taken very little interest in the Harding Aid Society. It hadbeen to them only a name, about which Mary Brooks, who was a member ofthe aid committee of her class, talked glibly, and in behalf of which sheexacted onerous contributions, whenever the spirit moved her. But at thetime of the valentine episode, when Emily Davis and her two friendssuddenly appeared upon Betty's horizon, Betty and Katherine realized allat once what the Aid Society must mean to some of their classmates. During the rest of the year they seconded Mary's efforts warmly, and thewhole house got interested and plied Mary with questions about the workof the society, until, in sheer desperation, she admitted that she knewvery little about it, and set herself to get some definite information. The head of the committee, pleased with Mary's sudden enthusiasm, senther to one of the faculty trustees, and for a few days Mary, who wasentirely a creature of impulse, could talk of nothing but the splendidwork of the Harding Aid Society in helping the poorer members of thecollege to meet their expenses. 

It was perfectly marvelous how little some girls got along on. To many ofthem a loan of twenty-five dollars actually meant the difference betweengoing home and staying in college a year longer. 

"Now fancy that!" interpolated Mary. "It would mean just about the priceof a new hat to me. "

And each dollar helped an endless chain of girls; for the society madeloans, not gifts; and the girls always paid up the moment they could getthe money together. 

"One girl paid back two hundred dollars out of a five hundred dollarsalary that she got for teaching, the year after she graduated. Imaginethat if you can!" said Mary. 

The Aid Society managed the bulletin boards in the gymnasium basement. Itran an employment agency, a blue-print shop, and a second-hand book-store. It was astonishing, said Mary, with a mysterious shake of herhead, how many splendid girls--the very finest at Harding--the societywas helping. Confidentially, she whispered to the valentine coterie thatEmily Davis and her two friends had just been placed on the list ofbeneficiaries. Her eloquence extorted a ten dollar contribution fromRoberta, and smaller amounts from the rest of the girls. But then camespring term, and the Harding Aid Society was forgotten for golf, bicycling, the bird club, and the other absorbing joys of the season. 

But it was only natural that Mary, casting about for a "Cause, " in behalfof which to exercise her dramatic talent, should remember the AidSociety, and the effort it was making to complete its ten-thousand-dollarloan fund before Christmas. Mary was no longer on the aid committee, butthat was no reason why she should not help complete the fund, for whicheverybody, --alumnae, friends of the college, and undergraduates, --wereexpected to work. Mary was a born entertainer, never so happy as when shewas getting up what in college-girl parlance is called a "show. " She haddiscovered how to utilize her talent at Harding, at the time of theSherlock Holmes dramatization. It had lain dormant again until theHallowe'en party brought it once more to light, and the election paradekindled it into fresh vigor. 

In all her enterprises Mary found a kindred spirit in Madeline Ayres. Madeline had taken part in amateur theatricals ever since she could talk. 

"And I've always been wild to do men's parts, " she said. "I hope I can uphere. "

"Of course you can, " returned Mary, promptly. "Do you know any actors oractresses?"

"Oh, two or three, " answered Madeline, carelessly. "Or at least fatherdoes--he knows everybody that's interesting--and I've talked to them. Andonce I 'suped. ' It was a week when I'd been to the theatre three times, and I didn't want to ask father for any more money. So I went to themanager and got a chance to be in the mob--that's the crowd that don'thave speaking parts, you know. And the people who'd promised to take mehome forgot and went off to supper without me, and the leading lady heardabout it and took me home in her carriage. So mother asked her to tea, and she came, and was a dear, though she couldn't act at all. I forgether name. But the family wouldn't let me go on again. They said itwouldn't do, even in Bohemia. "

"Goodness!" exclaimed Mary, excitedly. "Wasn't that a lark! Madeline, dolet's get up a play. "

"But how can we?" objected Madeline, lazily. "Hallowe'en is over, therearen't any more elections or holidays coming, and we're not either of uson the committee for house plays. We can't just walk in and offer ourservices, can we?"

Mary stared at her absently. "That's so, " she said. "That's the bother ofbeing on the campus, where they have committees for everything. Oh, dear!Isn't there something we can have a play for?" Then her face lightedsuddenly. "The Harding Aid! The very thing!" she shrieked, and seizingthe stately Madeline around the waist, she twirled her violently acrossthe room. 

"I haven't the ghost of an idea what you are talking about, " saidMadeline, gravely, when she had at last succeeded in disentanglingherself from Mary's bearish embraces. "But I'm with you, anyway. Whatshall it be?"

"Why, a--a play. "

"Don't you like vaudeville shows better?" inquired Madeline, "andcircuses, and nice little stunts? Girls can do that sort of thing a lotbetter than they can act regular plays. And besides it brings in a biggercast and takes fewer bothering old rehearsals. "

This time Mary danced a jig all by herself. 

"Come over to Marion Lawrence's, " she commanded, breathlessly. "She'schairman of the big Loan Fund Committee. She'll make us two a specialentertainment committee, and tell the rest to let us go ahead and do whatwe please. "

But Madeline shook her head. "I loathe committees, " she explained. "Yougo along and see Miss Lawrence and be on your committee, if you like. Andwhen you want some help with the stunts or the costumes--I have a lot ofdrapery and jewelry and such stuff--why, come and tell me, and I'll dowhat I can. "

And no amount of persuasion on the part of Mary, Marion Lawrence, or theLoan Fund Committee _en masse_, could induce Madeline to change hermind. "Why, I can't be on a committee, " she said. "I get around torecitations and meals and class meetings, and that's all I can possiblymanage. You don't realize that I'd never had to be on time for anythingin all my life till I came here, except for trains sometimes, --and youcan generally count on their being a little late. No, I can't and won'tcome to committee meetings and be bored. But all that I have is yours, "and Madeline tossed a long and beautifully curled mustache at Mary, and aroll of Persian silk at Marion. "For the circus barker, " she explained, "and the Indian juggler's turban. I'll make the turban, if the jugglerdoesn't know how. They're apt to come apart, if you don't get the righttwist. And I'll see about that little show of my own, if you really thinkit's worth having. "

So, though her name did not appear on the list of the committee or on theposters, it was largely due to Madeline Ayres that the Harding Aid "Show"was such a tremendous success. 

"The way to get up a good thing, " she declared, "is to let each personsee to her own stunt. Then it's no trouble to any one else. And you'dbetter have the show next week, before we all get bored to death with theidea. "

These theories were exactly in accordance with Harding sentiment, so nextweek the "Show" was, --in the gymnasium, for it rapidly outgrew the BeldenHouse parlors, where Mary and Madeline had at first thought of holdingit. It was amazing how much talent Madeline and the committee, betweenthem, managed to unearth. The little dressing-rooms at the ends of thebig hall had to be called into requisition, and the college doctor'soffice, and Miss Andrews' room, and even the swimming tank in thebasement (it leaked and so the water had all been drained off), with animprovised roof made by pinning Bagdad couch-covers together. All alongthe sides of the gymnasium hall there were little curtained booths, whilethe four corners of the gallery were turned respectively into a gypsytent, a witch's den, the grotesque abode of an Egyptian sorceress, andthe businesslike offices of a dapper little French medium, just over fromParis. 

You could have your fortune told in whichever corner you preferred, --orin all four if your money lasted. Then you could descend to the floorbelow, and eat and drink as many concoctions as your digestion couldstand, sandwiching between your "rabbits, " Japanese or Russian tea, fudges, chocolate, and creamed oysters, visits to the circus, themenagerie, the vaudeville, and the multitude of side-shows. "Side-show, "so the posters announced, was the designation of "a bewildering varietyof elegant one-act specialties. " Mary Brooks was very proud of thatphrasing. 

Mary herself was in charge of the menagerie. "Not to be compared for asingle instant with the animals of the biggest show on earth, " sheshouted through her megaphone, accompanying her remarks with impressivewaves of her riding-whip. 

Then the white baby elephant walked forth from its lair. It was composedof one piece of white cheese-cloth and two of Mary's most ardent freshmanadmirers. There was a certain wobbly buoyancy in its gait and ajauntiness about its waving white trunk, --which was locked at the end, asMary explained, to guard against the ferocious assaults of this terribleman-eater, --which never failed to convulse the audience and put them inthe proper humor for the rest of the performance. The snake-charmerexhibited her paper pets. The lion, made up on the principle of the onein "Midsummer Night's Dream" pawed and roared and assured timid ladiesthat she was not a lion at all, but only that far more awful creature, aHarding senior. And finally Mary opened the cage containing the HappyFamily, and there filed out a quartette of strange beasts which noHarding girl in the audience failed to recognize as the four "classanimals, "--the seniors' red lion, the juniors' purple cow, the greendragon beloved by the sophomores, and the freshmen's yellow chicken. 

"They dance" announced Mary in beatific tones, and the three four-leggedcreatures stood on their hind legs and, joining paws and wings with thechicken, went through a solemn Alice-in-Wonderland-like dance. This wasalways terminated abruptly by some animal or another's being overcome bymirth or suffocation, and rushing unceremoniously back into the cage torecuperate. When the Happy Family was again reunited, Mary announced thatthey could also sing, and, each in a different key, the creatures burstforth with the "Animal Song, " dear to the hearts of all Harding girls:

 "I went to the Animal Fair; the great Red Lion was there. The Purple Cow was telling how She'd come to take the air. The Dragon he looked sick, and the little Yellow Chick, Looked awfully blue, and I think, don't you, He'd better clear out quick--quick!"

At the end of this ditty, the chick hopped solemnly forward, gave vent toa most realistic cluck, scratched vigorously for worms, and the HappyFamily vanished amid an uproar of applause, while Mary piloted heraudience into the circus proper, managed by Emily Davis. 

Here Mlle. Zita, beautiful in pink tarleton, --only her skirt had beenmislaid at the last moment and she had been compelled to substitute theWestcott House lamp shade, --Mlle. Zita balanced herself on a chair, andgave so vivid an imitation of wire-walking, on solid ground all the time, that the audience was actually fooled into holding its breath. Then Bob'spet collie did an act, and the juggler juggled, in his turban, and somegym "stars" did turns on bars and swings. And there was an abundance ofpeanuts and pink lemonade, and a clown and a band; and Emily'sintroductions were alone well worth the price of admission. 

At the end of her performance Emily stated that this circus, being modernand up-to-date in all respects, had substituted for the conventionalafter-concert, "a side-splitting farce which would appeal to allintelligent and literary persons and make them laugh and cry with mirth. "So everybody, wishing to appear intelligent and literary, went in to seethe little play which Madeline Ayres had written. It was called "TheAnimal Fair, " and three of the class animals appeared in it. But the mis-en-scene was an artist's studio, the great red lion was a red-facedEnglish dramatist, the chick a modest young lady novelist attired in yellowchiffon, and the dragon a Scotch dialect writer. The repartee wasclever, the action absurd, and there were local hits in plenty for thoseunliterary persons who did not catch the essential parody. Everybody wasenthusiastic over it, and there were frequent calls for "Author!" Butnobody responded. 

"Who wrote it? Oh, some of the committee, I suppose, " said thedoorkeeper, carelessly. "Perhaps Marion Lustig helped--they didn't tellme. No, the actors don't know either. Did you give me fifty cents or aquarter? Please don't crowd so. You'll all get in in a minute. "

Meanwhile Madeline, having seen through the first performance of herfarce, in her capacity of stage manager, had left the actors to their owndevices, and wandered off to explore the other attractions. Betty met herat the vaudeville. 

"Come and get some fudge and see the sleight-of-hand stunts in theswimming tank, " whispered Madeline. "These songs are all too much alike. "

It was half-past nine. The sleight-of-hand performance was being givenfor the tenth and last time to an audience that packed the house. When itwas over Betty, who had been a ticket-taker at the circus all theafternoon and evening, hurried Madeline back to see how much money Emilyhad made. 

"Fifty dollars, " said Emily, with shining eyes. "Think of it! I've helpedto make fifty dollars for the Aid Society that's helping me throughcollege. "

"Splendid!" said Betty, too tired to be very enthusiastic over anythingthat night. 

Madeline led her to a deserted corner of the gallery, and they sank downon a heap of pillows that had composed the gypsy queen's throne. 

"I suppose I ought to care about the money, " said Madeline, when theywere seated, "but I don't much. I care because it's all been so funny andjolly and so little trouble. We can help to make money for good causesall our lives, but most of us will forget how to make such good times outof so little fuss and feathers when we leave here. "

Betty looked at her wonderingly. Madeline's philosophy was a constantsource of interest and amazement to all her friends. She had a way ofsaying the things that they had always thought, but never put into words. 

"That's so, " she agreed at last, "but I don't see how you knew it. Youhaven't been here a term yet. How do you find out so much aboutcollege?"

Madeline laughed merrily. "Oh, I came from Bohemia, " she said, "and thereason I like it up here is because this place isn't so very differentfrom Bohemia. Money doesn't matter here, and talent does, and brains; andfun is easy to come by, and trouble easy to get away from. But not foreverybody, " she ended quickly. 

Eleanor Watson, still in her gypsy fortune-teller's costume, was hurryingup to the big pile of pillows, six devoted freshmen following close ather heels. 

"Hop up, girls, " she called gaily to Betty and Madeline. "My faithfulslaves have come to empty the throne room. "

"Aren't you tired, Eleanor?" asked Betty. "You've been at it since threeo'clock, haven't you? I should think you'd be dead. "

Eleanor shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, I'm a bit tired, " she answered, indifferently, "But I couldn't stop. The girls simply wouldn't let me, though Blanche Norton was willing to take my place. I was a goose to tellthem that I could read palms. Look out for that white satin pillow, Maudie. Yes, the yellow one is mine, but I can't carry it. I'm too doneup to carry anything but myself. "

"Now that, " said Madeline, decidedly, as soon as Eleanor was out ofhearing, "that is all wrong, --every bit of it. It's not the fun shewants. She doesn't even care about the money for the good cause. It's thehonor and the chance to show off her own cleverness that she's after. "Madeline waited a moment. "Is she so clever, Betty?"

"Oh, yes, " cried Betty eagerly. "Don't you remember her theme?"

"To be sure. " Madeline's eyes twinkled. "I'd forgotten her wonderfultheme. Oh, well, then I suppose she is clever--but I'm sorry for her. "

"Why?" asked Betty quickly. Surely Madeline could not know anything aboutEleanor's stepmother, and nowadays her career at Harding was a series ofdelightful triumphs. More reason why Madeline should envy, than pity her, Betty thought. 

"Oh, for lots of reasons, " answered Madeline easily, "but chiefly becauseshe's so anxious about getting things for herself that she can't enjoythem when she's got them; and secondly because something worries her. Watch her face when she isn't smiling, and when she thinks nobody isnoticing her. It's so wonderfully sad and so perfectly beautiful that itmakes me pity her in spite of myself, " ended Madeline with a sudden rushof feeling. "But I can't love her, even for you, you funny child, " sheadded playfully, pulling one of Betty's curls. 

"I'm not a child, " retorted Betty, with great dignity. "I'm a sophomoreand you're only a little freshman, please remember, and you have nobusiness pulling my hair. "

"Lights out in two minutes, young ladies, " called the night-watchman frombelow, and freshman and sophomore raced for the stairs. 

CHAPTER VI

ON AMBITION

"It was awfully good of you to come and take me out for a walk, littlesister. My head ached and I knew I ought to get some fresh air, but Ihadn't the resolution to start off alone. "

Betty and Miss Hale, the "faculty" who was an intimate friend of Betty'solder sister, had been for a long, brisk tramp through the woods. Nowthey were swinging home in the frosty December dusk, tired and windblown, and yet refreshed by the keen air and the vigorous exercise. 

Betty turned off the path to scuffle through a tempting bed of dryleaves. "I think it's you who are awfully good to let me come for you, "she said, stopping to wait for Miss Hale at the end of her run. "I do getso tired sometimes of seeing nobody but girls, and such crowds of them. It's a great relief to have a walk and a talk with you. It seems almostlike going home. "

"But you still like college, don't you, Betty?"

"Oh, yes!" assented Betty eagerly. "I just love it. " Then she laughedmerrily. "You and Nan told me the summer before I came here that all nicegirls liked college, so it's hardly polite of you to ask me now if I likeit, Ethel. "

Then Miss Hale laughed in her turn. "And who are your friends this year?"she pursued. "Has your last year's crowd broken up?"

"Oh, no! We're all too fond of one another for that. Of course we're indifferent houses now, some of us, and we've all made lots of new friendsdown on the campus. Do you know Madeline Ayres?"

Miss Hale nodded. "I'm glad you know her, Betty; she's a splendid girl. And how is your protege, Miss Watson, getting on nowadays?"

"Beautifully. " Betty launched into an enthusiastic account of Eleanor'sliterary triumph, her softened manner, her sudden popularity, and herimproved scholarship. 

Miss Hale listened attentively. "That's very interesting, " she said. "Ihad no idea that Miss Watson would ever make anything out of her collegecourse. And do you see as much of her as ever, or has she dropped her oldfriends now that she has so many new ones?"

"Oh, dear!" said Betty sadly. "You don't like her one bit, do you, Ethel?I'm so sorry. Nan didn't like her either. Of course I know she has herfaults, but I do love her so--"

"I'm glad of that, " broke in Miss Hale heartily. "She would have leftHarding in disgrace last June, if she hadn't had such a loyal friend inyou. We can't help people unless we care for them, Betty, --and sometimesnot then, " added Ethel soberly. "The only way is to take all youropportunities, and then if you fail with one, as I did with Miss Watson, you may succeed with some one else. And it's the finest thing in college, Betty, or in life, --the feeling that you really mean something tosomebody. I wish I'd learned to appreciate it sooner. "

They walked on for a while in silence, Betty wondering if she did "reallymean something" to Eleanor or to Helen Adams, Miss Hale harking back toher own college days and questioning whether she and her set had everspared a thought for anything beyond their own fun and ambitions andsuccesses. She blushed guiltily in the dark, as she remembered how theyhad snubbed Nan Wales, until Nan actually forced them to recognize herability, and later to discover that they all wanted her for a friend. 

"I wonder if Nan's forgotten, " she thought. "I wonder if she's told Bettyanything about it, and if that's why Betty is so different. "

Thinking of Nan finally brought Miss Hale out of her reverie. "Littlesister, " she said, "I mustn't forget to ask you about Nan. Isn't thatEuropean trip of hers almost over? She wrote me that she should surely beback in time for Christmas. "

"Yes, " assented Betty, "she will. Her steamer is due on the eighth. "

"The eighth--why that's to-day, " said Miss Hale. "Isn't she going to stophere on her way west?"

"I'm afraid not, " answered Betty, sadly. "Will is going to meet her inNew York, and when I wrote home and wanted them to stop, he wrote backthat he didn't propose to come up here to be the only man among athousand girls. And I suppose Nan will be so tired of traveling aroundsight-seeing that she won't care about stopping, either. "

They had reached Miss Hale's boarding-place by this time, and Betty saidgood-night and hurried back to the campus, full of excitement over Nan'sreturn. 

"Just think, " she told Helen, as she dressed for the Hilton House danceto which Alice Waite had invited her that evening, "Nan's ship came into-day, and I pretty nearly forgot all about it. Oh, dear! it seems as ifI must see her right off, and it's two whole weeks to vacation. "

Just as she spoke, there was a knock at the door, and a maid held out atelegram. "For Miss Wales, " she said. 

"Oh, it's from Nan, " cried Betty, snatching at the bit of yellow paper. "And she's coming to-night, " she shrieked so loudly that the whole thirdfloor heard her and flocked out into the corridor to see what in theworld was the matter. 

The message was provokingly short:--

"Meet the 7:10 to-night. "WILL. "

"Oh, I wonder if he's going to stop too, " said Betty, dropping thetelegram into the wash-bowl and diving under the bed for her gold chain, which she had tossed there in her excitement. "How long do you supposethey'll stay?"

"I don't see that you can tell about that till they come, " said Helen, practically. "Are you going to wear that dress to the station to meetthem?"

Betty stopped short in her frantic efforts to fasten her belt, and staredblankly at her filmy white gown and high-heeled satin slippers. Then shedropped down on the bed and gave a long despairing sigh. "I haven't a bitof sense left, " she said. "Tell me what else I've forgotten. "

"Well, where are they going to sleep?"

"Goodness!" ejaculated Betty. "I ought to go out this minute and hunt forrooms. "

"And what about the Hilton House dance? Oughtn't you to send word ifyou're not going?"

"Gracious!" exclaimed Betty. "Of course I ought. Alice has a card allmade out for me. "

Just then Mary Brooks and Madeline Ayres sauntered in. "Don't worry, child. You've got oceans of time, " said Mary, when she had heard thegreat news. "We'll get you some rooms. I know a place just around thecorner. And Helen can go and tell the gentle Alice Waite that you'll bealong later in the evening with your family. If you want your brother tofall in love with Harding, you must be sure to have him see that dance. Men always go crazy over girl dances. And if I was offered sufficientinducement, " added Mary, demurely, "I might possibly go over to thegallery myself, and help you amuse him--since none of my Hilton Housefriends have invited me to adorn the floor with my presence. "

So Mary and Madeline departed in one direction and Helen in another, while an obliging senior who roomed across the hall put Betty's half ofthe room to rights--Helen's was always in order, --a freshman next doorhelped Betty into a white linen suit, which is the Harding girl's regularcompromise between street and evening dress, and somebody else telephonedto Miss Hale that Nan was coming. And the pleasant thing about it wasthat everybody took exactly the same interest in the situation as if theguests and the hurry and excitement had belonged to her instead of toBetty Wales. It is thus that things are done at Harding. 

As a matter of fact, Will did not wait until he had seen the Hilton Housedance to become enamored of Harding College. When he and Nan arrived theyannounced that they had only stopped over for the evening, and should gowest on the sleeper that same night. But as they were sitting in theBelden House parlor, while Nan and Betty discussed plans for showing Willas much as possible of the college in one evening, Mary Brooks saunteredthrough the hall, ostensibly on her way to do an errand at the WestcottHouse. Of course Betty called her in, and five minutes later Willannounced that he couldn't think of not occupying the room which MissBrooks had been good enough to engage for him; and he and Mary went offto the gymnasium gallery, which is as near as man may come to the joys ofa "girl dance" at Harding. There Betty promised to join them as soon asMiss Hale arrived to spend the evening with Nan. And Miss Hale had nosooner appeared than Nan telephoned for her trunks and made a dinnerengagement that would keep her until the next night at least. In themorning Will remembered that John Parsons was still at Winsted, andannounced that he should spend the following day on an exploring tourover there. And Mr. Parsons insisted that you could not see Winstedproperly unless you had some Harding girls along, and as the first snowof the season had just fallen, he organized a sleighing party, with Nanand Miss Hale as chaperons. Then Will gave a return dinner at Cuyler's, which took another day, so that a week sped by before Betty's guestscould possibly get away from Harding. 

"And now, " said Betty to Will on the afternoon before the one set fortheir departure, "I think you'd better stay another week and see me. "

"Wish we could, " said Will absently. "I haven't had time to call on MissWaite. I've only been snow-shoeing once with Miss Ayres, and I've got tohave another skate with Miss Kittredge. She's a stunner on the ice. Isay, Betty, you don't suppose she'd get up and go before breakfast, doyou? I'd ask her to cut chapel, only I promised to take Miss Brooks. "

"Indeed!" said Betty, with feigned indignation. "I guess that on thewhole it's a good thing you're going to-morrow. "

"Now why do you say that? Haven't I behaved like a scholar and agentleman?" demanded Will gaily. 

"It's your conduct as a brother that I object to, " returned Bettyseverely. "Nobody pays any attention to me. Nan's gone off sleighing withRoberta, and you're only enduring my society until Dorothy King finishesher Lab, and you can go off walking with her. Then I shall be left to myown devices. "

"To your studies you mean, my child, " corrected Will. "Do you think thatNan and I would be so inconsiderate as to come down here and break up theregular routine of your college work?"

"How about the regular routine of Dorothy King's work?" inquired Bettysaucily. "And Mary Brooks's?"

Will took out a card from his pocket and consulted its entriesindustriously. "I have only one date with Miss Brooks to-morrow, and noneat all with Miss King, more's the pity. "

"It's queer, " said Betty reflectively. "You never can prophesy what girlsmen will take to. Now I should have supposed that you'd like Nita Reeseand Eleanor Watson best of all the ones you've met. They're both sopretty. "

"That's all right, " said Will severely. "We men don't go so much by looksas some of you think we do. And anyhow Miss Brooks and Miss King aregood-lookers too. Miss Reese is a nice girl, but she's a little too quietfor me, and Miss Watson--let's see, she was at that dance the firstnight, wasn't she? I didn't see much of her, but I remember she's astunner. "

"She's one of my best friends, " said Betty, proudly. "Oh, here comesDorothy, " she added, glancing out the window. "I hope you'll have a nicewalk. "

"See here, little sister, " began Will, blocking Betty's progress to thedoor. "You weren't in earnest about my having run off and left you somuch?"

Betty laughed merrily. "I should think not, " she said. "If you must knowit, I'm awfully proud of my popular family. I hope you understand thatMary Brooks and Dorothy King don't take the trouble to entertaineverybody's brother. Now hurry up, or she'll get way into the housebefore you can catch her. "

"Wait a minute, " commanded Will. "Have we anything on for to-night?"

"Nan has, but you and I haven't. "

"Then let's eat a nice little dinner at Cuyler's, " suggested Will. "Justyou and I and one more for variety. You ask any one you like, and I'llcall for you at six. "

"Lovely! Don't you really care whom I ask?"

"Pick out a good-looker, " called Will, striding off to meet Dorothy. 

Betty had no trouble in choosing the third person to make up the dinnerparty. It should be Eleanor Watson, of course. Will would like her--menalways did. She had been tired and not in a mood to exert herself thenight of the Hilton House dance; and one thing or another had interferedwith her joining in any of the festivities since. 

"But she'll be all ready for a celebration to-day, with her story justout in the 'Argus, '" reflected Betty, and started at once for the HiltonHouse. 

Eleanor was curled up in her easy chair by the window, poring over a massof type-written sheets. "Studying my part for a little play we're givingnext Saturday night, " she announced gaily, as Betty came in. "Soremember, you're not to stay long. "

"I don't believe there's anything you can't do, Eleanor, " declared Betty, admiringly. "I'm awfully proud of knowing such a star. I read your storyin the 'Argus' the first thing after lunch, and I thought it wasperfectly splendid. "

"Did you?" said Eleanor, carelessly. "Well, I suppose it must be good forsomething, to have so much said about it; but I for one am thoroughlytired of it. I'm going to try to act so well on Saturday that people willhave something else to talk to me about. "

"You will, " said Betty, with decision. "You made a splendid leading ladylast year in Sherlock Holmes, and you didn't try at all then. Well, " sheadded quickly, "you said I mustn't stay long, so I must hurry and tellyou what I came for. I want you to have dinner with Will and me to-nightat Cuyler's. "

"That's very good of you, " said Eleanor formally, "and I'm sorry that Ican't come. But it's quite impossible. "

"Oh dear!" There was nothing perfunctory about Betty's regret. "Couldn'tyou learn your part this evening? It won't take you any longer to eat atCuyler's than it would here, and you can come right back. "

"Oh, it's not the play, " said Eleanor. "I could manage that; but BeatriceEgerton is going to be here for dinner. "

"Oh, of course if you've asked any one to dinner--" began Betty. 

"No, " broke in Eleanor, impatiently, "I haven't asked her, but Lil Dayhas. She's invited me to sit with them, and she'd be awfully vexed if Iran off. You know, " went on Eleanor, impressively, "Beatrice Egerton isthe most prominent girl in the senior class. "

"Oh!" said Betty, blankly. 

"And I barely know her, " continued Eleanor, "so this is my opportunity, you see. Lil thinks she'll like me. She's very influential, and shedoesn't seem to have any particular friends in our class. Do you know herat all?"

Betty shook her head. 

"But you're so solid with Dorothy King, " said Eleanor. "She's just aboutas prominent as Bess Egerton. We have to look out for those things, don'twe, Betty?"

"If you mean, " began Betty, slowly, "that I like Dorothy King becauseshe's an influential senior, why, please never think so again, Eleanor. Ilike her just as I like any one else, because she's so dear and sweet andsuch a fine, all-around girl. "

Eleanor laughed scornfully. "Oh, of course, " she said, "but you have yourlittle plans, I suppose, like all the rest of the world. Anyhow, if youhaven't, I have; and I put future honors ahead of present bliss, so Ican't go with you to Cuyler's. Please tell your brother that I'm verysorry. "

"Yes, " said Betty. "He will be sorry, too. Good-bye, Eleanor. "

It seemed a long walk back to the Belden House. The snow had turned toslush, and Betty sank into it at every step. The raw wind blew her hairinto her eyes. The world looked dull and uninteresting all of a sudden. When she reached home, Helen was getting ready for gym. 

"Helen Chase Adams, " began Betty, savagely. "Do you see any use inambition?"

"Why, yes, " gasped Helen. 

"What?" demanded Betty. 

"Why--it helps you to get things, " ventured Helen. 

"May be they're not worth getting, " snapped Betty. 

"Well, isn't it better to try to get foolish things than just to sitaround and do nothing?"

"No, " answered Betty with emphasis. "People who just sit around and donothing, as you call it, have friends and like them, and aren't all thetime thinking what they can get out of them. "

"I'm sorry, but I have to go to gym, " said Helen. "I don't thinkambitious people always depend on their friends. "

Left to herself, Betty came to a more judicial state of mind. "Isuppose, " she said to the green lizard, "I suppose I'm the kind that justsits around and does nothing. I suppose we're irritating too. It makesHelen mad when I write my papers any old way, while she's toiling along, trying to do her best. And she makes me cross by fussing so. She has onekind of ambition and Eleanor has another. I haven't any, and I supposethey both wish I'd have some kind. Oh, dear! I don't believe MadelineAyres is ambitious either, and Ethel Hale called her a splendid girl. I'll go and ask her to come to dinner with us. "

CHAPTER VII

ON TO MIDYEARS

Exactly a week after Nan and Will left Harding, Betty herself wasspeeding west, with Roberta Lewis as traveling companion. Nan haddiscovered that Roberta's father was in California, and that she wasplanning to spend her Christmas vacation in solitary state at Mrs. Chapin's, without letting even her adored Mary Brooks know how mattersstood. But Nan's arguments, backed by Betty's powers of persuasion, wereirresistible; and Roberta finally consented to come to Cleveland instead. 

It was amusing, and a little pathetic too, to watch the shy Robertaexpand in the genial, happy-go-lucky atmosphere of the Wales household. Alonely, motherless child brought up by a father who loved her dearly, treated her as an equal, and was too absorbed in his own affairs torealize that she needed any companionship but his own, she had beenabsolutely swept off her feet by the rush of young life at Harding. Theonly close friend she had made there was Mary Brooks; and, though Maryfully reciprocated Roberta's fondness for her, she was a person of somany ideas and interests that Roberta was necessarily left a good deal toherself. During her first year, the sociable atmosphere of the Chapinhouse had helped to break down her reserve and bring her, in spite ofherself, into touch with the college world. But now, in a house full ofnoisy, rollicking freshmen, who thought her queer and "stuck-up, " she wasbitterly unhappy. So she shut herself in with her books and her thoughts, wondered whether being on the campus would really make any difference inher feelings about college, and stayed on only because of her devotion toMary and her unwillingness to disappoint her father, who was very proudof "my daughter at Harding. "

Roberta loved children, and she and the smallest sister instantly becamefast friends. Will frightened her dreadfully at first, but before theweek was out she found herself chatting with him just as familiarly asshe did with her Boston cousin, who was the only young man she knew well. And after she had helped Mrs. Wales to trim the smallest sister'sChristmas tree, and been down town with Mr. Wales to pick out some booksfor him to give Nan, --"Because you and Nan seem to be cut out of the samepiece of cloth, you see, " explained Mr. Wales genially, --Roberta feltexactly like one of the family, and hoarded the days, and then the hours, that remained of this blissful vacation. 

"It seems as if I couldn't go back, " she told Betty, when the good-byeshad all been said, and the long train was rumbling through the darknesstoward Harding. 

"I'm sorry to leave too, " said Betty dreamily. "It's been a jolly oldvacation. But think how we should feel if we couldn't go back at all--ifthe family fortune was swept away all of a sudden, or if we were sick oranything, and had to drop out of dear old 19--. "

"Yes, " said Roberta briefly. 

Betty looked at her curiously. "Don't you like college, Roberta?" sheasked. 

"Betty, I can't bear it, " declared Roberta in an unwonted burst ofconfidence. "I stay on because I hate people who give things up justbecause they don't like doing them. But it seems sometimes as if Icouldn't stand it much longer. "

"Too bad you didn't get on the campus. Perhaps you will this term. "suggested Betty hopefully, "and then I know you'll fall absolutely inlove with college. "

"I don't believe that will make a bit of difference, and anyway MissStuart said I hadn't the least chance of getting on this year. "

"Then, " returned Betty cheerfully, "you'll just have to make the best ofit where you are. Some of the Chapin house freshmen are dear. I love thatcunning little Sara Westervelt. "

"Isn't she pretty?" Roberta's drawl was almost enthusiastic. "But shenever speaks to me, " she added sadly. 

"Speak to her, " said Betty promptly. "You probably frighten her to death, and freeze her all up. Treat her as you did the smallest sister. "

Roberta laughed merrily. "It's funny, isn't it, that I can get on withchildren and most older people, but not at all with those of my own age. "

"Oh, you only need practice, " said Betty easily. "Go at it just as you goat your chemistry problems. Figure out what those freshmen like and giveit to them. Have a party and do the Jabberwock for them. They'd be yourslaves for life. "

"Oh, I couldn't, " protested Roberta. "It would seem so like showing off. "

"Don't think about yourself; think about them. And now, " added Bettyyawning, "as we were up till two last night, I think we'd better go tobed, don't you?"

"Yes, " said Roberta, "and--and thank you for telling me that I'm offish, Betty. Could you come to the Jabberwock party Monday night, if I shoulddecide to have it?"

Though Rachel was off the campus, her room was far and away the mostpopular meeting place for the Chapin house crowd. Perhaps it was becausethe quiet of the little white house round the corner was a relief afterthe noisy bustle of the big campus dormitories. But besides, there wassomething about Rachel that made her quite indispensable to allgatherings of the clan. Katherine was fun when you were in the mood forher; Roberta, if she was in the mood for you. Betty was alwaysfascinating, always responsive, but in many ways she was only a prettychild. Helen and Eleanor, unlike in almost everything else, were at onein being self-centred. Rachel was as jolly as Katherine, as sympatheticas Betty, and far more mature than either of her friends. As Katherineput it, "you could always bank on Rachel to know what was what. "

So it was no unusual thing to find two or three of the "old guard" asRachel dubbed them, and perhaps two or three outsiders as well, gatheredin her tiny room, in the dark of the afternoon, talking over thehappenings of the day and drinking tea out of the cups which were thepride of Rachel's heart, because they were all pretty and none of themhad cost more than ten cents. 

One snowy afternoon in January Betty walked home with Rachel from theirfour o'clock class in history. 

"Come in, children" called a merry voice, as they opened Rachel's door. "Take off your things and make yourselves at home. The tea will be readyin about five minutes. "

"Hello, Katherine, " said Betty, cheerfully, tossing her note-book on thebed and shaking the snow off her fuzzy gray tam. 

"Isn't it nice to come in and find the duties of hostess taken off yourshoulders in this pleasant fashion!" laughed Rachel. "I hope you'vewashed the cups, " she added, settling herself cozily on the window seat. "They haven't been dusted for three weeks. "

"Indeed I haven't washed them, " answered Katherine loftily. "I'm thehostess. You can be guest, and Betty can be dish-washer. "

"Not unless I can wiggle the tea-ball afterward, " announced Betty firmly. 

Katherine examined a blue and white cup critically. "I think you must bemistaken, Rachel, " she said. "These cups don't need washing. They'reperfectly clean, but I'll dust them off if you insist. "

Then there was a grand scramble, in the course of which Betty capturedthe tea-ball and the lemons, and Katherine the teakettle, while Rachelsecured two cups and retired from the scene of action to wash them forBetty and herself. Finally Katherine agreed that Betty might "wiggle thetea-ball" provided that she--Katherine--should be allowed two pieces oflemon in every cup; and the three lively damsels settled down into asedate group of tea-drinkers. 

"Do you know, girls, " said Katherine, after they had compared programsfor midyears, and each decided sadly that her particular arrangement ofexaminations was a great deal more onerous than the schedules of herfriends, --"Do you know, I was just beginning to like Eleanor Watson, butI wash my hands of her now. "

"Why? What's she done lately?" inquired Rachel. 

"Oh, she hasn't done anything in particular, " said Katherine. "It's hermanner that I object to. It was bad enough last year, but now--"Katherine's gesture suggested indescribable insolence. 

Betty said nothing. She was thinking of her last interview with Eleanor, whom she had not seen for more than a casual moment since the day ofWill's dinner, and wondering whether after all Ethel Hale was right abouther, and she was wrong. It did seem amazingly as if Eleanor was giving upher old friends for the new ones. 

"But Katherine, " began Rachel soothingly, "you must remember that herrather dropping us now doesn't really mean much. We should never haveknown her at all if we hadn't happened to be in the house with her lastyear. It was only chance that threw us together, so there really isn'tany reason why she should keep up the acquaintance unless she wants to. "

"Oh, no, not the slightest reason, " agreed Katherine, wrathfully. "And onthe same principle let us all proceed to cut Helen Chase Adams. She isn'texactly our kind. We should never have known her if we hadn't happened tobe in the house with her last year. So let's drop her. "

"Oh, you silly child, " laughed Rachel. "Of course I don't approve ofEleanor Watson's way of doing things. I only wanted to explain what isprobably her point of view. I can understand it, but it doesn't followthat I'm going to adopt it. "

"I should hope not, " snorted Katherine. "I met my lady this afternoon atCuyler's. I was buying molasses candy for this function--by the way, Iforgot to pass it around. Do have some. And she was in there with thathigh and mighty senior, Beatrice Egerton, ordering a dinner for to-morrownight. I had on my green sweater and an old skirt, and I don't suppose Ilooked exactly like a Fifth Avenue swell. But that didn't matter; thelady Eleanor didn't see me. "

Rachel laughed merrily. "So that was it, " she said. "I knew there wassomething personal behind your wrath, and I was waiting for it to comeout. Never mind, K. ; Betty and I won't cut you, even in your greensweater. "

"That's good of you, " said Katherine, spearing a thick slice of lemon forher third cup. "Seriously though, my green sweater aside, I do hate suchsnobbishness. "

"But Eleanor Watson isn't exactly a snob, " objected Rachel. "There's DoraCarlson. "

"Dora Carlson!" repeated Katherine, scornfully. "You don't mean thatshe's taken you in with that, Rachel? Why, it's nothing but the mosttransparent sort of grand-stand play. I suppose the lady Eleanor had moresense than to think that the Dora Carlson episode would take in any one. "

Betty had been sitting quietly in her corner of the window seat, nottaking any part in the discussion, because there was nothing that shecared to say on either side of it. Now she leaned forward suddenly. "Oh, Katherine, please don't say that, " she begged. "Indeed it isn't so! Iknow--Eleanor told me herself that she is awfully fond of Dora Carlson, --that she appreciates the way Dora feels toward her, and means to beworthy of it if she possibly can. "

"Then I'm sure I beg her pardon, " said Katherine heartily. "Only--whendid she tell you that, Betty?"

"Oh, back in the fall, just a little while after the sophomorereception. "

"I thought so, and I don't doubt that she meant it when she said it. Butshe's completely changed since then. Don't you remember how we used tocount on her for all our little reunions? Why, she was quite one of theold guard for a month or two. But ever since that wonderful story of herscame out in the 'Argus, ' she's gone in for the prominent sophomore actwith such a vengeance--" Katherine stopped suddenly, noticing Betty'sdistressed expression. "Oh, well, " she said, "there's no use going overit again. I suppose you and Rachel are right, and I'm wrong. "

"Only you do resent the injustice done your green sweater, " said Rachel, hoping to close the discussion with a laugh. 

But Katherine was in deadly earnest. "I don't care how the lady Eleanortreats me and my green sweater, " she said, "but there are some peoplewho've done too much for her--Well, what I mean is, I hope she'll nevergo back on her real friends, " she finished lamely. 

"Well, if one prominent sophomore snubs us, we can always comfortourselves with the thought that another is going to love us to the end, "said Rachel, reaching over a mound of pillows to squeeze Betty's hand. "Did you know you're a prominent sophomore, Betty?"

"I'm not, " said Betty, indignantly. "I wouldn't be such a thing for theworld. I hate the word prominent, the way we use it here. "

Katherine exchanged rapid glances with Rachel. "Something personal behindthat, too, " she reflected. "If the lady Eleanor dares to go back onBetty, I shall start out after her scalp. "

So it was fortunate that Betty and Eleanor did not meet on theirrespective homeward ways until Katherine was well inside the WestcottHouse, out of hearing of their colloquy. Between the darkness and theflying snow the two girls were close together before they recognized eachother. Then Eleanor was hurrying on with some commonplace about "thebeastly weather, " when Betty stopped her. 

"We were just talking about you, " she said, "Rachel and Katherine and I, over in Rachel's room, wondering why you never meet with the old guardany more. "

"Why, I'm busy, " said Eleanor, shortly. "Didn't you know that it's lessthan a week to midyears?"

"But all this term--" protested Betty, wishing she had said nothing, yetreluctant now to let the opportunity slip through her hands. 

"Well, to tell the truth, " broke in Eleanor, impatiently, "our interestsare different, Betty, --they have been from the first. You like to befriends with everybody. I like to pick and choose. I don't really careanything about the rest of the Chapin house girls, and I can't see youwithout seeing them too. "

"But this fall, " began Betty. 

"Well--the truth is this fall--" said Eleanor, fiercely, "this fall Iforgot who I was and what I was. Now I've come to my senses again. " Andwithout giving Betty time to reply she swept off into the darkness. 

Betty wasn't very hungry for dinner. As soon as possible she slipped outof the noisy dining-room, up to the silence of the deserted third floor. 

"What I can't understand, " she told the green lizard, "is the way hervoice sounded. It certainly broke just as if she was trying not to cry. Now, why should that be? Is she sorry to have come to her senses, Iwonder?"

The green lizard had no suggestions to offer, so Betty put on her newkimono with butterflies in the border and a bewitching pink sash--it wasreal Japanese and the envy of all her friends--and prepared to spend theevening cramming for her history exam, with Nita Reese. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE "FIRST FOUR"

Midyears were safely over, and schedules for the new term more or lesssatisfactorily arranged. It was Saturday night--the gayest in all theweek--and up on the fourth floor of the Belden House Nita Reese wasgiving a birthday spread. Until she came to Harding, Nita's birthday hadalways been in August. At the beginning of her sophomore year sheannounced that she had changed it to February ninth. 

"I told the family, " explained Nita, "that just because I happened to beborn in August they needn't think they could get out of sending me abirthday box. Father wanted to know if that let him off from giving me asailing party next August, and I said that I'd leave it to him. I knew hewouldn't miss that sailing party for anything. "

Nita disappeared behind a screen, where, on the wash-stand, in lieu of abuffet, the good things from the birthday box were arranged on tin-boxcovers and wooden plates. There were nine china plates for the twelveguests, and a cup and a sherbet glass apiece, which is an abundance forany three-course supper, however elaborate. 

"Girls, do you realize what's happening to-night?" said Nita, emergingfrom behind the screen with a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a trayof cake in the other. "Here, Betty Wales, have some cake. Or are youstill on salad and sandwiches?"

"I'm still on salad and sandwiches, but I do want that big piece ofchocolate cake before Madeline Ay--Oh, Madeline, aren't you ashamed?You've made me spill coffee on Nita's Bagdad. "

"I can't help that, " said Madeline Ayres, composedly. "You were implyingthat I'm a pig. I'm not; I'm only devoted to chocolate. "

"What's happening to-night, Nita?" demanded Bob, popping up like a Jack-in-the-box from behind Madeline's back. 

"There!" exclaimed Betty, resignedly. "I've spilled it again! Where haveyou been, Bob?"

"Oh, I've just been resting back there between the courses, " said Bob, edging herself to the front of the couch and beginning on the nearestdish of strawberry ice. (The strawberry ice was not, strictly speaking, apart of the birthday box. ) "I feel quite hungry again now. What's to-night, Nita?"

"Why, society elections, of course, goosie, " answered Christy Mason fromthe window where she was cooling a pan of fudge. "Girls, this fudge isgoing to be elegant and creamy. Reach me the marsh-mallows, Babe, that'sa dear. Shall I make it all over marsh-mallows, Nita?"

"Yes!" chorused the occupants of the couch, vociferously. 

"To hear the animals roar, you wouldn't think they'd been eating steadilyfor an hour, would you, Nita?" laughed Christy, sticking in the marsh-mallows in neat, even rows, like white tents pitched across the creamybrown field of chocolate. 

"It's not that we're hungry, Nita, dear, but we all like it better thatway, because it's newer, " explained Alice Waite, who never took a jokeand couldn't bear to have Nita's feelings hurt. 

"Hungry!" groaned Rachel, from her corner. "I don't believe I shall everbe hungry again. Who do you suppose will go in tonight?"

"Go in where, Rachel?" asked Bob, dropping back again on the pillowsbehind Madeline and Betty. 

"Aren't you a sweet little innocent, Bob Parker?" mocked Babe, derisively. "As if you hadn't betted me six strawberry ices and threedinners at Cuyler's that you go into the Dramatic Club to-night, yourownself. "

"When I get you alone, " began Bob, wrathfully. Then her tone changedinstantly to one of honeyed sweetness. "No, " she said, "you're such anartistic prevaricator that I'll give you one dinner at Cuyler's as yourwell-earned reward. "

Christy Mason dropped her pan of fudge, seized a candle from thechiffonier and held it close to Bob's prostrate form. "Girls, " sheshrieked, "it's true. Bob's blushing. She hasn't blushed since thepresident spoke to her about spilling salad all over the night watchman. "

Then there was a scene of wild commotion. Shouts and laughter drowned outBob's angry protests, until in despair she turned her attention to Babe, who took refuge on the fire-escape and refused to come further in thanthe window-seat even when order was partially restored. 

"Girls, " shouted Katherine Kittredge, as soon as she could make herselfheard, "let's drink to the success of Bob's bet!"

There were clamorous demands for hot coffee, and then the toast was drunkstanding, amid riotous enthusiasm. 

"Speech!" called somebody. 

"Speech! Speech!" chorused everybody. 

"I never bet any such thing, " responded Bob, sulkily. "You all know Ididn't--and if I did, it was in fun. "

"Never mind, Bob, " said Nita, consolingly. "We won't tell any of theDramatic Club girls about it. We're all sophomores here, but MadelineAyres, and she's as good as a sophomore; so don't worry. You can trustus. "

"What I object to, " put in Katherine Kittredge, solemnly, "is theprinciple of the thing. It's not true sport to bet on a certainty, Bob. You know that you're sure to go in to-night, and it's a mean trick todeprive Babe of her hard-won earnings. "

This sally was greeted with shrieks of laughter, for it was a standingjoke with 19-- that Babe was supposed by her adoring mother to be keepinga French maid at Harding. In October of her freshman year she had packedthe maid off to New York and engaged Emily Davis to do her mending. Butthe maid's board and wages were paid unquestioningly by her mother, wholamented every vacation that she could get no such excellent seamstressesas her daughter was always able to find at Harding. Meanwhile Babe renteda riding horse by the term, reveled in dinners at Cuyler's, and stilledher conscience with the thought that Emily Davis needed the money morethan any maid. 

"I wish, " said Madeline Ayres, when the tumult had subsided again, "thatyou'd explain something to a poor, benighted little freshman. There'sjust one thing about Harding that I don't understand. Why should Bob mindhaving you know that she hopes she's going into the Dramatic Club?"

"Suppose she doesn't go?" suggested Christy. "Of course there's always achance that she won't. "

"Seems so nervy, anyhow, " muttered Bob, who was still in the sulks. 

"I don't see why, " persisted Madeline. "When you all say that she'sperfectly certain to go in. But in general, I mean, why will you neveradmit that you want a certain thing, or hope to get a certain thing?"

"It is funny, isn't it?" said Rachel. "Wild horses couldn't drag it outof any junior that she hopes for a place on the 'Argus' board, or theSenior Play committee. "

"Nor out of any sophomore that she hopes to make a society, " addedChristy Mason. 

"I suppose, " said Babbie, "that it's because nothing is competitive here. You just take what people think you ought to have. You stand or fall bypublic opinion, and of course you are never sure how it will gauge you. "

"College men aren't that way, " said Katherine. "They talk about suchthings, and discuss their chances and agree to help one another alongwhere they can. And if they lose they never seem to care; they joke aboutit. "

"But we never admit we've lost, because we never admit we were trying foranything, " put in Nita. 

"I like the men's way best then, " said Madeline decidedly. 

"Let's try it, " suggested Christy. "Girls, who of us here do you thinkwill make Dramatic Club in the first two elections?"

There was an awkward silence, then a general laugh. 

"It won't work, you see, " said Christy. "Well, of those who aren't here, Marion Lustig will go in to-night of course, --she's our bright particularliterary star. And what do you think about Eleanor Watson?"

"Wouldn't she be more likely to go into the Clio Club next week?" askedNita Reese. 

"Oh, no, " objected Christy. "Didn't you know that Beatrice Egerton isrushing her? And she's the president of the Dramatic Club. "

"I don't care, " insisted Nita. "I think Eleanor Watson is more the ClioClub kind. "

"That's another thing I want to know about, " broke in Madeline Ayres. "What is the Clio Club kind? You say the Dramatic Club isn't particularlydramatic nowadays, but just amusing and literary, and the Clio Club isthe same. Why aren't the members the same sort too?"

"They're not, exactly, " answered Christy. "I can't describe thedifference, but you'll notice it by the time you're a sophomore. The Cliogirls--oh, they have more executive ability. They're the kind that knowhow to run things--all-around, capable, splendid girls. The Dramatic Clubis more for the stunty, talented, artistic sort. "

"But Dorothy King is vice-president of the Dramatic Club, " objectedBetty. 

"She's the exception. "

"Well, I still think, " insisted Christy, "that which society a girl goesinto simply depends on where her friends are. Both societies wantexecutive ability, and they both want people who can write and act andsing and do parlor stunts. I don't know Eleanor Watson very well, but Ihave an idea that after her story in the 'Argus' the Dramatic Club willbe afraid of losing her to Clio, and so they'll take her to-night. "

"Oh, I hope so, " said Betty Wales under her breath to Madeline. 

Later in the evening she told Helen all about the spread. 

"It was so exciting, " she began. 

"How can a spread be exciting?" demanded Helen, sceptically. 

"Oh, in lots of ways, " responded Betty. "There's excitement about whetherthe fudge will be done in time, and whether it will be good, and who'sgoing to be there, and how much of a box it is. But the most excitementto-night was about society elections. "

"Were they to-night?"

"Dramatic Club's was. It has first choice of the sophomores this year, you know, and Clio Club has second; and we were guessing who would go into-night among the first four. "

"Well, you know now, don't you?"

"Know? I should think not, " said Betty impressively. "Helen Chase Adams, haven't you noticed that society elections aren't announced till the nextMonday morning? Don't you remember last year how all that crowd of girlscame up to Mrs. Chapin's after Mary Brooks, and she'd gone down-town tobreakfast with Roberta, and was going to cut chapel; and how we allrushed down after her, and how I stayed at the Main Street corner, incase she'd left Cuyler's before the girls got there and come up the backway? And she did just that, and what a time I had keeping her till thegirls got back!" Betty laughed heartily at the recollection. 

"I didn't go down, but I do remember about it, " admitted Helen. "Do theyalways do it that way?"

"Always, only the four girls who go into each society first--they electonly four at a time, you know--have about sixty times as much fuss madeover them as the ones who go in later. "

"Then you'd better put your part of the room in order to-morrow, " saidHelen significantly, glancing at the disorderly pile of books and paperson Betty's desk, and at the pictures which she had brought back atChristmas time and which still lay on the floor beside her couch, waitingfor her to find time to hang them. 

Betty's glance followed Helen's to the desk and down to the floor. "I'llhang those pictures this minute, " she said, jumping up and rummagingenergetically through her desk drawer. "That is, if I can borrow somepicture wire" she added. "I remember now that mine is all gone. That'swhy I've left them on the floor so long. But somebody must have some. "At the door she turned back suddenly. "But, Helen, " she said, "I'm notfixing up for society elections. I shan't go in this time--not for along while, if I ever do. And Helen--you know the girls never talk aboutgoing in themselves. "

"All right, " said Helen submissively. "Who do you think was taken into-night?"

"Oh, the girls with one big talent. Didn't I tell you last year thatevery Harding girl has to find out her one talent before she can amountto anything? We think Bob will go in; she can do such beautifulpantomimes, and she's such a prod. And such jolly fun too. Then MarionLustig because of her writing. Writing counts more than anything else, and so I'm hoping for Eleanor Watson. I can't even guess who the fourthone will be. "

All day Sunday Mary Brooks and the other Dramatic Club juniors andseniors in the Belden House went about wearing a tantalizing, don't-you-wish-you-knew air, and after dinner when the whole house assembled in theparlors as usual for coffee and music, they gathered in mysterious littlegroups, which instantly dissolved at the approach of curious sophomores. 

It seemed to Betty and Nita, interested on account of Eleanor and Bob, that Monday morning would never come. But it did dawn at last, and afteran unconscionable delay--for the announcement committee went up toMarion Lustig's first, and she boarded away off on the edge of themeadows, and then to Emily Davis's, which was half a mile from thecollege in quite another direction--the committee and its escort finallyreached the campus, and, gaining recruits at every step, made itspicturesque and musical way to the Westcott House after Bob. At thispoint Betty and Nita joined it, and they had the exquisite pleasure ofseeing Bob blush so red that there was no need for a candle this time, then turn very white, and clinging to the chairman's arm insist thatthere must be some blunder--it couldn't be she that they wanted. Finally, assured that the honor had indeed fallen to her, she broke into a war-whoop which shook the house to its foundation and brought the matron onthe run to her door. 

"Now Mrs. Alison, aren't you proud of your holy terror?" cried Bob intremulous, happy tones, holding out her tie with the Dramatic Club pin onit. And in spite of the lateness of the hour and the wild desire of theprocession to know where it was going next, Mrs. Alison's delight overthe honor done her "holy terror" was well worth waiting to see. 

And then--Betty squeezed Nita's hand till it ached. No--yes--they weregoing to the Hilton! They weren't stopping on the second floor. Then itmust--oh, it must be Eleanor! And it was. 

Margaret Payson was chairman of the announcement committee, but almostbefore she could give Eleanor her note of invitation to the societyBeatrice Egerton had pressed forward and fastened her pin on Eleanor'sshirtwaist. 

After seeing Bob's frenzied excitement it was amusing to watch EleanorWatson. She was perfectly composed. "Just as if she'd been expecting it, "said little Alice Waite, who had joined the procession as it passedthrough her corridor. "But she was pleased--I never saw her so pleasedbefore--and didn't it make her look lovely!"

As soon as the pin was safely fastened and the note read, there wasanother tumult of congratulations. Then Beatrice Egerton took off thegreat bunch of violets she was wearing, --"just till I could bring themto you, " she explained, --and carried Eleanor off to sit among theseniors at chapel. Just opposite them was Emily Davis, with Dorothy King. Emily was also wearing violets, and her plain face was almost pretty, itwas so full of happiness. 

"Just to think, " she whispered to Dorothy, "that you picked out me, whenyou could have any one in 19--. I can't realize it!" She glanced at hershabby coat, made over from Babe's discarded golf cape, and then atEleanor Watson's irreproachable blue walking suit and braided toque tomatch. "Here all girls are really created free and equal, aren't they, Miss King?"

"Of course. Don't be silly, " said Dorothy, with a queer little catch inher voice. Dorothy King was not at all sentimental, but the splendidlydemocratic spirit of her college sometimes brought a lump into herthroat. 

Only once that morning did the radiant smiles leave Eleanor Watson'slovely face. That was when Katherine Kittredge, on the way out of chapel, rallied her about her famous theme. 

"Now aren't you glad Miss Raymond got up early that morning?" she said. 

It was the first time that any one had referred to the story inconnection with her election to the Dramatic Club. Eleanor frowned andturned to Beatrice Egerton, who was standing close beside her. 

"Bess, " she said, pouting, "did you run me in because of that footlesslittle story? Wasn't it for myself that you wanted me? Do say that itwas. "

Miss Egerton smiled her lazy, enigmatical smile, which her admirersconsidered the secret of her tremendous popularity. "Of course we wantedyou for yourself, " she said, "but that footless little story, as you callit, is a rather important asset. We expect you to keep on writingfootless little stories, remember. "

"How tiresome!" said Eleanor, with a shrug of her shoulders. "That's thebother of doing anything up here. What you do once, you are expected torepeat indefinitely. Now my method is to do one thing as well as I can, and then go on to something else. "

"Just do them all as well as you did the story, and we shan't complain, "said Miss Egerton. "And now, Eleanor, I must be off to Psychology One. Doyou suppose anybody will give a dinner for you to-night?"

"Yes, Miss Egerton, " called Jean Eastman, appearing around the corner. "Kate and I are giving one, and we want you to come, of course. AndEleanor, " she went on, after Miss Egerton had left them, "we want you toanswer to a toast--'My Story and How I Wrote It. ' Now be just as cleverand amusing as you can. I thought I wouldn't spring it on you--"

"Jean, " Eleanor broke in suddenly, "I won't answer to anything of thesort. And if you have that story mentioned--even mentioned, remember--to-night, I shall get up and leave. Give me your word that I shan't hear ofit in any way, --or give up the dinner. "

Jean stared in astonishment. "Why certainly, Eleanor, " she said, "but Ithought you had given up being so absurd. Is there any one in particularthat you want asked tonight?"

"Dora Carlson, " flashed Eleanor, and hurried off, murmuring somethingabout a nine o'clock recitation at the other end of the main building. 

Jean looked after her for a moment, her mouth twisted into a funnygrimace, and then pursued her way to the college library. At the door shemet Betty Wales. "Your face is one big smile, " she said. 

"Of course, " laughed Betty. "Isn't it perfectly splendid about Eleanorand Emily?"

Jean grinned cheerfully. "Considering last year I thought it was more orless amusing to see the two of them sitting up there together on thefront row at chapel. I wonder if Eleanor remembers any of the remarks sheused to let drop about the genius of 19--. See here, Betty, " she addedquickly, "have you any idea why Eleanor is so touchy about that story?She won't even have it toasted tonight at the supper. "

"No, " said Betty. "I asked her, but she didn't tell me anything exceptthat she didn't care for it. "

"Well, most people would begin to care for it a little, after it hadpulled them into the Dramatic Club among the first four, " said Jean, opening the library door and tiptoeing over to the anthropologicalalcove. There she spent the hour, busily engaged in making out a new listof toasts, that should avoid all mention of the objectionable story. 

"But they must have some point, " reflected Jean, sadly, as she ran herpen through "My Story and How I Wrote It, " and "The Rewards ofLiterature" and "Our Rising Young Novelist, " which she had intended forherself and Kate Denise. 

"Bother Eleanor's tantrums!" muttered Jean, as the ten o'clock gong rang, and she picked up her books and hurried off to recite a French lessonthat, because of Eleanor's "tantrums, " she had not learned. 

And for Betty Wales Eleanor's election to the Dramatic Club also broughtdisappointment. She had hoped that once Eleanor's ambition was gratifiedand all her hard work and careful planning rewarded, the anxious lineswould leave her face and the sweeter, softer expression that she had wornin September would come back. But though Eleanor professed the greatestpleasure in the election, it did not seem to make her any less haughty orcapricious, or any better content with life. She still snubbed orpatronized her train of adoring freshmen by turns, according to her mood. She was still a devoted admirer of Beatrice Egerton, and a member of hervery exclusive set. She received Betty's congratulations just ascordially as she had every one's else, --it was one of Beatrice'sprinciples to treat everybody well "up to a certain point, "--but she didnot come to the third floor of the Belden House except on errands. 

CHAPTER IX

THE COMPLICATIONS OF LIFE

By the middle of February basket-ball practice was in full swing again. The class teams had not yet been chosen, but every Wednesday and Saturdayafternoon l9--'s last year's "regulars" and "subs" met in the gymnasiumto play exciting matches. Of course there were some changes in the make-up of the teams. Two of the "sub" centres and a "regular" home had leftcollege; the guard who sprained her ankle in the great game of the yearbefore and whose place Katherine Kittredge had taken in the second half, was not allowed to risk another such injury; and one or two other playershad lost interest in basket-ball and were devoting their energies tosomething else. So there was a chance for outsiders, and Betty Wales, whohad almost "made" the freshman sub-team, was one of the new girls invitedto play in the practice matches. 

Helen Adams had cut basket-ball all her freshman year, because MissAndrews never called the roll on basket-ball days. Now she could not getenough of it, nor of regular gym. On Wednesday and Saturday afternoonsthere were no classes, so she used to put on her gym. Suit and go over towatch the teams. And if some player failed to appear or was late inarriving, T. Reed or Betty would suggest calling Helen down to take theabsentee's place. Helen was painfully awkward and not very strong, butshe had acquired T. Reed's habit of slipping under the outstretched armsof the enemy and T. Reed's fashion of setting her teeth and getting theball in spite of opposition; and some of her plays were remarkablyeffective. 

"I believe, " Betty said to her one day, as they lay side by side in asunny spot on the gym. Floor, resting between the halves, "I believe, ifyou'd begun last year when the rest of us did, you might have been on oneof the teams yourself. "

Helen laughed a pleased little laugh. "Oh, no!" she said. "But I love toplay with you sometimes, and I love to watch Theresa. "

"Isn't she a wonder?" said Betty dreamily. "Do you remember that game, Helen? Wasn't it the most exciting thing? And this year it will be ourturn to win. Bob Parker has seen the picked freshman teams play, and shethinks they haven't a chance against us. "

"I hope you can be on the sub-team, Betty, " said Helen. 

"And I hope you can write your song for 19-- to sing to its team, "returned Betty gaily. "You haven't forgotten about our talk the day ofthe game, have you, Helen?"

"Oh, no!" said Helen, quickly. Not for worlds would she have let Bettyknow how much she counted on that song. She had written another littleverse for her theme class, and that very morning it had come back with"Good work--charming lilt, " scrawled across the margin. So Helen had highhopes for the song. 

Just then the door of the gym. Opened, and Lucy Merrifield, the presidentof 19--, came in. 

"Hello, Lucy, " chorused the group of sprawling figures nearest the door. 

"You're just in time to see us do up the regular team, " called ElizabethWest, who captained the "subs. "

"Thank you, " returned Lucy, "but I can't stay to see you do any suchunbecoming thing. I came on an errand to Betty Wales. Isn't she here?"

"Here I am, " called Betty, scrambling upright and brushing the hair outof her eyes. 

"I came to tell you that you've been appointed to the Students'Commission, to serve until Christy Mason gets back, " explained Lucy. 

"Till Christy gets back?" repeated Betty in bewilderment. 

"Yes, she's been called home very suddenly. Her mother is ill, andChristy is going to keep house and see to the children. She'll be away amonth anyhow and perhaps all this term. And as there are a lot ofimportant matters coming up just now, we decided that we would betterappoint a substitute on the commission. "

"I'm afraid I can't be much help, " began Betty, doubtfully. 

"Oh, yes, you can, " declared Lucy. "Come to the meeting to-morrow at two, and we'll give you plenty to help about. "

"Time's up, " called the captain of the regulars, and Lucy ran for thedoor, leaving Betty in a state of pleased excitement. Dorothy King waspresident of her class this year, and therefore also president of theStudents' Commission. Marion Lawrence was a representative from thejunior class. To be even a temporary member of so august an assemblyseemed to Betty a very great privilege. She was so busy wondering who hadchosen her, --whether Lucy or the whole commission, --and what to-morrow'smeeting would be like, that she deliberately threw the ball twice towardthe wrong basket and never discovered her mistake until Elizabeth Westbegged her please to "come to" and help her own side a little just forvariety. 

On the way home Betty met Miss Ferris. "Come and have tea with me, littlegirl, " she said. 

"Could I, like this?" asked Betty wistfully, pulling back her rain-coatto show her gym. Suit and the tightly braided pig-tails tucked inside. 

Miss Ferris laughed. "I shouldn't mind, but some one else might drop in. It takes me ten minutes to make tea. Now run!"

Exactly nine minutes and a half later. Betty, looking very slender andstately in a clinging blue gown and a big plumed hat, her cheeks pinkwith excitement and her hair blown into fascinating ringlets from herbrisk run across the campus, knocked timidly on Miss Ferris's door. 

"Come in, " called Miss Ferris. "You're early. The water hasn't boiled. "

"It used to take me half an hour to dress, at the very fastest, " saidBetty, slipping into a low chair by the fire, where she could watch MissFerris making tea in a fat little silver pot, and pouring it into cups sothin and beautiful that Betty hardly dared touch hers, and breathed adeep sigh of relief when it was safely emptied and out of her hands. 

Just as she was leaving, she told Miss Ferris about her appointment tothe Students' Commission. 

"Well, " said Miss Ferris, "that won't be new work for you. You were anex-officio member last year. "

Betty looked puzzled. 

"What you did for Miss Watson was Students' Commission work, " explainedMiss Ferris. "And judging by the position Miss Watson seems to be takingthis year, I should call it very good work indeed. "

[Illustration: "WELL, " SAID MISS FERRIS, "THAT WON'T BE NEW WORK"]

"But you did it, not I, " protested Betty. 

"I did my part, you did yours, " corrected Miss Ferris. "To be successfulnowadays, you know, you must not only work yourself, but you must getother people to work for you. "

"Yes, " said Betty, vaguely. Then she laughed. "I'm afraid that I do thesecond more than the first, Miss Ferris. My roommate thinks that I get agreat deal too much out of other people. And when I was at home Nan usedto tell me to be more independent and see how I could get along if I wereleft on a desert island. "

Miss Ferris smiled across the fire at her dainty little guest. "The bestthings in the world, --which fortunately isn't a desert island, --comeabout by cooperation, " she said. "Be independent; think for yourself, ofcourse, but get all the help you can from other people in carrying outyour thoughts. "

The dinner-bell began to jangle noisily in the hall and Betty rosehastily. "I've stayed too long, " she said, "but I always do that when Icome to see you. I shall tell my roommate what you said. Do you suppose Ishall ever learn to think up arguments for myself?"

"Of course, " said Miss Ferris, encouragingly. "That's one thing you'rehere for--to learn to argue and to dress in a hurry and to work onStudents' Commissions. You'll master them all in time. Good-bye. "

When Betty got back to the Belden House the bell had rung there too, andas the girls stood about in the halls and parlors waiting for Mrs. Cass, the matron, to lead them in to dinner, they were all discussing what MaryBrooks could mean by a "hair-raising. "

"It sounds like a house-raising, " said a girl from Nebraska. "I mean thesort of thing they have away out west, where laborers are scarce and thewhole town turns out to help a man get up the timbers of his house. "

"But there's no sense to that kind of a hair-raising, " objected theNebraskan's roommate, who was from Boston. "I think that Mary hasinvented a hair tonic and is going to try it on us before she has itpatented. "

"I'm sure I hope so, " said Madeline Ayres, patting her diminutive twistof hair tenderly. 

"Why, it's some kind of party she's giving for her mother, " announced astately senior, authoritatively. 

"I don't see how that tells what it is, though, " said Betty. "Am Iinvited?"

"Yes, " explained Helen Adams. "Mary came in while you were out and askedus. "

"But she hasn't said anything about expecting her mother. "

At this everybody laughed and Marion Lawrence explained that Mary, beinga very busy person, had a habit of putting away her letters unopened, until she found time to read them. 

"And somehow she thought this was a book-bill from Longstreet's--you knowhow near-sighted she is--so she stuck it into her desk until she got hernext month's allowance. But to-day she found some money that she'd put inher collar-case for safe-keeping and forgotten about; so she got out thebill to pay it, and it turned out to be a letter from her mother, sayingshe was coming up tonight. Mary wouldn't have her know for anything, soshe decided to give a hair-raising to-night, as if she'd planned for itdays ahead. "

"But what is it?" demanded Betty. 

If Miss Lawrence was in Mary's confidence she had no intention ofbetraying it; and there was nothing to do but wait for eight o'clock, thehour which Mary had mentioned in her invitations. Promptly on the momentall those bidden to the hair-raising made a rush for Mary's room. 

"She hasn't come back from taking dinner with her mother, " said Helen. "Her transom is dark. "

But "come in, children, " called Mary, sociably, and opening the door justwide enough to admit one girl at a time she disclosed a room absolutelydark save for a gleam of light from a Turkish lantern in one corner. 

"Goodness!" cried Betty, who went in first. "What am I running into? Oh, it's a skeleton. "

"I'm all mixed up with a snake, " added Katherine. "I feel my hair risingalready. "

"Girls, I want you to meet my mother, " said Mary, briskly. 

"Here I am, " called a sweet voice from the shadows. "Wouldn't you betterturn on the lights for a moment, daughter?"

"No, indeed, " retorted Mary, firmly. "They're nothing to see, dear, Iassure you, but if you insist on seeing them you can all go across toLaurie's room and come back after you've had a general inspection. "

So everybody filed over to Marion Lawrence's room, where it wasdiscovered that Mary's mother was, as Betty Wales put it, "a perfectlittle darling. " She was small, like Mary, and she looked so young thatKatherine gravely asked Mary if she was quite sure she wasn't palming offa sister on them instead of a mother. She entered into all theabsurdities of the hair-raising, which proved to be only a particularlydiverting sort of ghost party, with as much zest as any of the girls, andher ghost stories were the feature of the evening. 

"You see, dear, " explained Mary, when the lights were finally turned onand the hair-raising had resolved itself into a spread, "you see I had ahair-raising because you tell ghost stories so well. Why, ever since Iread your letter I've been planning how I should show you off--Oh, mother, it's too good to keep. " And Mary regaled her mother with thestory of the neglected book-bill. 

"Speaking of lost letters, " said Marion Lawrence, "there's a letter forFrances West over on the zoology bulletin board in Science Hall. It'sbeen there for two weeks. "

"What a funny place for it!" said Mary. "Frances never as much as sticksher head inside Science Hall. She thinks it's wrong to cut up frogs andangle-worms. How did it get there, Laurie?"

"Postman dropped it, probably, and somebody who didn't know any betterstuck it up there--the janitor, maybe. "

"Perhaps Frances dropped it herself, " suggested Madeline Ayres. 

Marion shook her head. "Anyhow if she did, she hasn't read it. I noticedthat it hadn't been opened. "

"Perhaps it's a letter like Mary's, saying that her mother is coming, "suggested Helen Adams. 

"Guess again. It can't be that, because her mother wouldn't direct aletter to the editor-in-chief of the 'Argus. '"

"Hear that, Dottie, " called Mary Brooks to Dorothy King, who was sittingon the divan below the Turkish lantern, talking busily with Mrs. Brooks. "There's a letter for your chief over on the zoology bulletin board. You'd better stop in and get it for her. "

"Isn't it funny, " said Rachel Morrison, "that, as well as Frances West isknown in college and as many juniors and seniors as look at that bulletinboard, nobody has thought to take her the letter. "

"Why didn't you take it to her, Laurie?" asked Mary severely. 

"Oh, because I wanted to see how long it would stop there if I didn'ttake it, " returned Marion easily. "I'm writing a theme on 'What'severybody's business is nobody's business, ' and I want to get thepsychology right. Oh, Mrs. Brooks, " she called, getting up and going overto the divan, "did you know that Mary had set a fashion up here? Eversince her 'Rumor' story, we're all racking our brains to see if we can'tget up some psychological experiments that will make Professor Hinsdalethink we're clever too. "

"And most of you, " said Mary loftily, "just succeed in making yourfriends uncomfortable. I hope Frances' letter won't upset her the waymine did. "

"Oh, I guess it isn't a hair-raiser, " said Marion easily. "It's probablya bill for printer's ink or paper, or whatever they buy for the 'Argus. 'You get it to-morrow, Dottie, and then you can tell us what is in it. "

"I will, " said Dorothy. 

Just as she spoke the twenty-minute-to-ten bell clanged suggestively inthe corridors, and the hair-raising came to an abrupt end. 

"I don't think I care much for hair-raisings, " said Betty, as she andHelen made hasty preparations for bed. "I think you have enough to worryabout and be frightened over, without getting up a lot of extra things onpurpose. I can hear that blood-hound panting under the window this veryminute. Isn't Mrs. Brooks a wonderful story-teller?"

"Yes. I didn't suppose you were ever worried or frightened over things, "said Helen. 

"Well, I am, " returned Betty. "I'm worrying this very minute about my to-morrow's recitations. I'd planned to study tonight but how could I hurtMary's feelings by not going to the hair-raising? I suppose, " went onBetty, when Helen did not answer, "I suppose you want to ask why I don'tsit up to study? But if I did I should be breaking a rule, and besides, "concluded Betty, yawning prodigiously, "I am altogether too sleepy to situp, so I am just going to sleep and forget all my troubles. " And Bettysuited the action to the word. 

A few moments later she roused herself. "Life is just full of things todecide, isn't it, Helen? And so often you can't tell which one is best--like me going to the hair-raising to-night, or Marion Lawrence and thatletter. "

"I think she ought to have delivered the letter, " said Helen. 

"But it was such fun not to, " objected Betty. "And probably it was onlyan advertisement. Now I'm really going to sleep. "

CHAPTER X

IN THE "ARGUS" SANCTUM

Dorothy King hurried down the steps of Science Hall and across the campusto the main building, carrying Frances West's belated letter in her hand. She stopped for a moment in Miss Stuart's office to tell her that theStudents' Commission wanted to hold a mass-meeting of the whole collegeat the end of the month, and waited while Miss Stuart, who was anenthusiastic supporter of the commission, obligingly hunted up anavailable date for the meeting, and promised to hold it open until thefinal arrangements could be perfected. Outside the office door Dorothyhesitated and looked at her watch. Quarter past four; laboratory work wasover for the afternoon, and there would be ten girls to one copy ofWard's "Poets" in the library. 

"I'll go up there this evening, " she decided swiftly, "and now for askate before dinner, " and she swung off toward the Hilton House to gether skates and her sweater. As she put out her hand to open the door, shesuddenly noticed that she was still carrying Frances' letter, and gave animpatient little exclamation. "All out of my way, " she thought, "so Imight as well take it back now and get rid of it. "

The editorial office of the "Argus" was in the Students' Building, overbehind the gym. As she went, Dorothy congratulated herself that it wasthis errand, and not the one to Miss Stuart, which she had forgotten; forthe main building was twice as far away. She wondered idly whetherFrances would be in the "sanctum"; she often spent her free afternoonsthere, for the big building, which was used chiefly in the evening forclub meetings, plays, and other social and semi-social functions, wasgenerally silent and deserted earlier in the day; and the quiet and theview over Paradise river from the west windows of the sanctum appealed tothe poetic soul of the chief editor. Dorothy, who was a very practicalperson herself, had a vast admiration for Frances' dreamy, imaginativetemperament, and enjoyed her work as business manager of the "Argus"chiefly because it brought her into close contact with Frances; whileFrances in her turn admired Dorothy's executive ability, and depended onher to soften the hearts of obdurate printers, stir the consciences ofcareless assistant editors, and in short to stand as a sort of bufferbetween her beloved "Argus" and a careless world. Dorothy hoped thatFrances would be in the sanctum; it would be fun to tell her about theletter. But if not, all responsibility could be fulfilled by dropping itand a note of explanation into the editorial mail-box. 

But Frances was there, and also Beatrice Egerton, who, as exchange editorof the "Argus, " Dorothy had come to know well and to like for her quickwit and her daring, piquant ways, while she thoroughly disapproved of herworldly, self-seeking attitude toward college life. 

"Hello, Dottie, " called Beatrice, when Dorothy opened the door. "Wethought you weren't coming, Frances and I. "

"Why should I be coming?" inquired Dorothy curiously, tossing the letterinto Frances' lap. 

"Proof!" exclaimed Beatrice, with a funny little grimace. 

Dorothy sank down on the long window seat, which ran across two sides ofthe sanctum, with a groan and a gesture of despair. "I entirely forgot, "she said. "I was going skating. Could it possibly wait till to-morrow?"

Frances West looked helplessly at Beatrice. "I'm sure I don't know, " shesaid. "You told me that to-day was the time. I always depend on you tokeep track. "

Beatrice laughed gaily. "I'm so glad I happened in, " she said. "It's sucha lovely spectacle to see the methodical Dottie King trying to persuadethe poetical and always-behind-time Frances to put off till to-morrowwhat she ought to have done day before yesterday. Come, Dottie, take offyour coat and go to work. "

"I'm sorry I'm always late, " said Frances, sweetly. "I've decided to tryto be on time now that we've got our new rugs and these lovely greencurtains. So I bought a calendar pad and put down my date for readingproof with you last week, when you first reminded me of it. "

Dorothy had followed Beatrice's instruction to take off her coat. Now shesat down resignedly before the writing-table, pulled a long strip ofprinter's proof off the spindle, and dipped her pen in the ink, ready forwork. "How do you happen to be here, Bess?" she asked. 

"Came to read my mail, " said Beatrice. "Some of the best exchanges areout about this time in the month. When you didn't come, I tried tocorrect proof with Frances, but we couldn't either of us remember theprinters' marks; and our Webster's dictionary, that has them in the back, got lost in the shuffle of house-cleaning last vacation. "

"Then if the dictionary is lost, you must stay, " said Dorothy, "because Ican correct proof, but I can't spell, and neither can Frances. Come, Frances, here's the copy for you to read. "

Frances West's voice had a peculiarly charming quality, and her manner ofreading was so absorbed and sympathetic that she never failed to interesther auditors; so that even the mechanical drudgery of correcting proofwas endurable with her help. The work went on rapidly, Dorothy bendingover the long printers' galleys, adding mysterious little marks here andthere in the wide margins, Frances reading as expressively as though shewere doing her best to entertain Beatrice Egerton, who curled herself upon the window-seat, listened, made flippant comments, perused herexchanges when the "Argus" articles did not interest her, and whenappealed to by Dorothy, acted as substitute for the missing Webster'sdictionary. 

"Well, that's over, " said Dorothy, at last, straightening in her chairand stretching out her cramped arms over her head. "Next month will beLaura Dale's turn again. I wonder if she'll do it. "

"Poor Dottie!" mimicked Beatrice. "'Could you do it just once more? Ican't seem to learn the marks. ' That's what she'll say. You shouldn't beso capable, Dottie, and then you could go skating afternoons instead ofdoing your own work and the assistant business manager's too. "

"Oh, I don't mind, " said Dorothy, who was really very tired indeed, andso preferred not to talk about it. "Laura is a great deal of help withsome parts of the work, and I don't blame any one for not wanting tocorrect proof--though I don't mind doing it so long as Frances will readfor me. Aren't our new curtains lovely?"

"Such a cool, woodsy green, " said Frances. 

"Just right for poets to write behind, " supplemented Beatrice, who lovedto tease Frances, though in her heart she admired her as much as Dorothydid. 

"Girls, it's long after six, " said Dorothy, rising abruptly, "and I mustgo. I have an evening's work still before me. "

As she picked up her gloves, she noticed Frances' letter still lyingneglected on the window-seat. "Here, Frances, " she said, "do just openthis letter, and tell me that it's dreadfully important. I want to botherLaurie about it. She saw it on the zoology bulletin board last week anddidn't trouble herself to bring it to you. "

"Oh, I presume it's nothing, " said Frances, dreamily. She was watchingthe sunset glowing gold and scarlet between the green draperies. 

"Here, Frances, " laughed Beatrice, thrusting the letter into her hands. "Read it by the light of the dying sun, if you prefer that to good green-shaded electricity. You owe it to Dorothy to take an interest when shebothered herself to bring it to you, and so got caught and deprived ofher afternoon's fun. Poor Dottie! can't you go skating tomorrow?"

They were animatedly discussing the possibility of Miss Mills'sneglecting to call for a recitation on Ward's "Poets" the next day, whenFrances gave a little exclamation. 

"Why, girls, " she began, excitedly. "I don't understand. Isn't to-day thetwentieth of February?"

"Yes, dear, " said Beatrice. "You knew from that wonderful calendar pad, didn't you?"

Frances disregarded the question. "Then--Why, this letter is datedFebruary second. Where has it been all the time?"

"I just told you, " repeated Dorothy, "that Laurie saw it on the zoologybulletin board last week. Perhaps it was there a week or two before shesaw it. Is it really important, Frances? Laurie supposed from thedirection that it was just a bill or an advertisement. She'll be verysorry. "

"Oh, I don't know what it is, " declared Frances, in bewilderment. "Readit, " and she held out the letter to Dorothy. 

"Read it aloud, " suggested Beatrice. 

"Yes, do, " added Frances. "I haven't any idea what it means. "

 "'The Quiver' Offices, "--Fulton St. , New York, "Feb. 2, 19--. 

 "MISS FRANCES WEST, "Editor-in-Chief of Harding "College 'Argus':

"DEAR MADAME:--It always gives me great pleasure to see the merits of'The Quiver' recognized, particularly in haunts of high culture, likeyour alma mater. Nevertheless, you will readily understand that thelittle tribute to the genius of one of our contributors, contained inyour December number, which, owing to my prolonged absence from the city, has just now come under my observation, is, to speak bluntly, deservingof some return from me. I have no doubt that you will be glad to offerthe proper explanation. If, however, you insist upon leaving the matterin my hands, I assure you that I shall not mince matters. College honoris a point about which I am very sensitive. We go to press on thetwentieth inst. Until that time I am

"Yours confidentially, "RICHARD BLAKE. "

"Well, " said Dorothy, folding the letter carefully and putting it back inits envelope, "what do you make of that, Bess?"

"Nothing, " said Beatrice, "nothing at all. Who in the world is RichardBlake?"

"I don't know. Don't you, Frances?"

Frances shook her head. "But 'The Quiver' is a magazine. I've seen a copyonce or twice. "

"Then, " said Dorothy, promptly, "Richard Blake must be the editor, or oneof them. "

"Well, did we say anything about him in the December number?" pursuedBeatrice. "Or anything about his magazine?"

"No, " declared Dorothy, "of course not. 'The Quiver' isn't a collegemagazine, is it, Frances? It couldn't be on the list of exchanges?"

"Oh, no, " said Frances, wearily. "'The Quiver' is a real magazine, Dorothy. It's new, I think, but I know Miss Raymond considers it veryclever. I saw a copy once in her room. "

"Clever or not clever, " said Beatrice, calmly, "I'm sure this editor mustbe insane. There is absolutely no sense to his letter. "

Dorothy unfolded Mr. Richard Blake's missive, read it through once more, and passed it without comment to Beatrice. Meanwhile Frances wasrummaging through the files of the "Argus. "

"Here it is, " she said at last. "Didn't he say the January number?"

"No, December, " corrected Beatrice, joining-Frances in her search for themissing magazine. 

"There, " said Frances, at last, reading down the table of contents. "'TheSelf-government System at Harding'--he wouldn't be mentioned in that. Mypoem is next--he certainly isn't in that. Then that story of EleanorWatson's, and an essay on 'Sweetness and Light. '"

"Perhaps he's in that, " suggested Dorothy, hopefully. "It sounds as if itmight mean almost anything. "

Beatrice Egerton giggled. "You didn't take the course in nineteenthcentury essayists, I guess, Dottie. He's not in 'Sweetness and Light, 'unless Richard Blake is an alibi of Matthew Arnold's. "

"And he couldn't possibly be in any of these sketches, " went on Frances, anxiously, "nor in the editorials, nor in the alumnae notes. "

"Of course not, " agreed Beatrice, scornfully. "See here, girls, " sheadded, referring again to the note, "he doesn't tell us the name of hiscontributor--the simpleton! That's what we ought to look for. He says weprinted a tribute to the genius of one of his contributors. "

"I have it!" declared Dorothy, pulling the December "Argus" out ofFrances' hands. "The contributor is a member of the faculty, and thearticle is spoken of in the faculty notes. That's it, of course. "

But diligent search of the faculty notes failed to unearth any item aboutan article in "The Quiver. "

"Besides, " added Beatrice, who had returned to the note once more, "thatwouldn't explain what he says about college honor. And what is this about'offering the proper explanation'? Are people supposed to explaincompliments?"

"I don't know, " said Frances. "I suppose I've made some dreadful blunder, and he noticed it. And to-day is the twentieth; he evidently wanted ananswer by that time. Do you think I ought to telegraph?"

"No, " said Dorothy, after a moment's thought "It wouldn't be any use. Ifhe went to press--or 'The Quiver' went to press--to-day, it's gone hoursago. You'd better write him to-night. He'll get your letter in themorning, and then he'll understand. "

"But what am I to write?" asked Frances, helplessly. 

"Tell him to study Genung on clearness, " suggested Beatrice, flippantly. 

"Don't, Beatrice, " broke in Dorothy. "This is evidently a serious matter. I should tell him that you didn't know what he meant by his letter, Frances, and of course explain why you haven't written before. "

"Will you two stay while I write it?" asked Frances. "I should never dareto take the responsibility alone. "

Dorothy sat down on the window-seat in silence, and Beatrice followed herexample. There was no sound in the sanctum but the scratching of Frances'pen, moving swiftly over the paper. When the brief note was finished, theeditor-in-chief handed it to her colleagues. 

"That's all right, " said Dorothy, reading it through. 

"Infinitely better than his, " added Beatrice. "His reminds me of thatverse of Marion Lustig's that was more obscure than Browning--the one wepersuaded you not to print. "

"Don't you think, " began Dorothy hesitatingly, "that, until we knowexactly what Mr. Richard Blake means, it would be better not to mentionhis letter?"

"Not even to the rest of the 'Argus' board?" asked Beatrice, who had beenanticipating the sensation that the story of the mysterious letter wouldcreate. "Dottie, " she went on, looking keenly at Dorothy, "I believe youhave another idea about what that note means. "

"I know just as little about it as you do, " said Dorothy quietly, "but Ithink eight girls are too many to keep a secret and--it's Frances'letter. She must decide. "

"I think Dorothy is right, " agreed Frances. "I believe that we wouldbetter wait before telling the others. If it's some dreadful blunder thatI have made, perhaps I could correct it if only we three knew of it. Though I don't know whether that would be quite honest, " she added sadly. 

Beatrice put her arm around Frances' waist and led her to the door. 

"You old dear, " she said, "you're so proud of your beloved 'Argus. ' Ibelieve you worry over every word that goes into it. "

"And over every s that is upside-down and isn't detected by my eagleeye, " laughed Dorothy, locking the door and carefully hiding the key inthe place where half the college knew it was kept. 

It was seven o'clock--no use going home to dinner. Dorothy decided to getan early start with Ward's "Poets, " and to dine later in the evening onship's biscuit and a glass of milk. The library was very quiet. She readbusily, concentrating her attention upon the pages before her, obliviousof her surroundings, forgetful even of the mysterious letter and thetheory, which, despite her declaration to Beatrice Egerton, she hadformed concerning it. 

Presently some one tiptoed up behind her and clasped two hands tightlyacross her eyes. 

"Who is it?" whispered a laughing voice. 

"I don't know, " answered Dorothy a trifle irritably. 

"Did you give it to her?" demanded the voice imperturbably. 

"Give what to whom?"

"The letter to Frances West. "

"It's Mary Brooks, " said Dorothy, pulling away the hands and turning tofind Mary and Marion Lawrence standing behind her chair. 

"Aren't you nearly through with that book?" asked Marion. 

Dorothy nodded. "Leave me in peace for ten minutes and you may have it. "

"Well, tell us first about the letter, " demanded Mary. "Was it a hair-raiser?"

"Oh, no, " answered Dorothy calmly. "It was--oh, a note of thanks, orsomething of the sort from some magazine that the 'Argus' had spoken of. "

"Bother!" said Marion. "That's no good for an ending to my theme. "

"No good at all, " agreed Dorothy. "I shouldn't use it if I were you. "

"I certainly shan't, " said Marion. "I can invent a nicer ending thanthat. Come, Mary, leave her alone, so that I can have Ward. Oh, dear! I'mdreadfully disappointed about my theme. "

The reply to Mr. Richard Blake, presumably editor of "The Quiver, " hadbeen dispatched on the evening of the twentieth. Two days later Frances, looking as if she had seen a ghost, stopped Dorothy on her way frommorning chapel to her first recitation. 

"Can you come to the sanctum right after lunch?" she asked. "Beatrice cancome then. "

"Yes, " returned Dorothy. "You've got his answer?"

Frances nodded. "And oh, Dorothy, it's just dreadful!"

When Dorothy reached the sanctum that afternoon she found Beatrice andFrances there before her. Without a word Frances handed her the letter. 

"MY DEAR MISS WEST--" it ran:

"Your note is received and the delay in sending it fully explained. I amsorry you could make nothing of my first letter. I intended to be vague, for I wanted to test your knowledge of the episode in question; but itseems I overshot the mark. So let me say, please, since you and yourcolleagues evidently do not read 'The Quiver' that a story in yourDecember number by a Miss Eleanor Watson is practically a copy of onethat appeared in our November issue, which I am sending you underseparate cover. All I ask is that some public acknowledgment of the factshall be made, either by you or by me. I have delayed the notice Iintended to insert in our next number, until I hear from you. 

"Let me say that I blame neither you nor your associates in the matter. 'The Quiver' is young, and plagiarists will happen. 

"Yours very truly, "RICHARD BLAKE. "

"Has the magazine come?" asked Dorothy, without exhibiting the leastsurprise at Mr. Blake's startling announcement. 

"Yes, " said Frances. "There must be some dreadful mistake. "

"Can't you find the story he means?"

"Yes, but of course Eleanor Watson didn't copy it. No Harding girl woulddo such a thing. "

"Eleanor Watson is different, " said Dorothy. 

"You mean you think she did it?" asked Beatrice Egerton. "You don't thinkit was a coincidence? Frances knew of something like it happening once, entirely by chance. "

"This wasn't chance, " said Dorothy slowly. "Oh, Beatrice--you knowEleanor Watson better than I--I don't want to be uncharitable. That waswhy I didn't tell you girls the other day, when it occurred to me thatthis was what Mr. Blake meant. Can't you see that it explains everything?Don't you remember I told you how queer she was about giving me thestory; and before that, just after she handed it in, she went over to getit back. "

"Yes, " said Frances eagerly. "I remember. We thought it such a good joke. Oh, let us go and ask her how it was. She will surely be able toexplain. "

"But Frances, " began Dorothy and stopped, glancing uncertainly atBeatrice. 

"Oh, you needn't mind me, " said Beatrice calmly. "If this is true, I washmy hands of Eleanor Watson. " She turned to Frances, and her facesoftened. "You dear old idealist, " she said, pulling Frances down on theseat beside her. "Can't you see that appealing to Eleanor Watson wouldn'tdo at all? Can't you see that if she is mean enough to plagiarize 'TheQuiver's' story, she is probably capable of lying out of it? And howshould we know whether or not she told the truth?"

"Or suppose that she did convince us, " said Dorothy gently, "you seethere is still Mr. Blake. I don't believe Eleanor's denial would satisfyhim. "

"Well, " said Beatrice resignedly, "next to Eleanor Watson herself, Isuppose I am the person who would profit most by having this whole affairhushed up. It's going to be mighty unpleasant for me, what with my havingput her up for Dramatic Club and all that. But frankly, I don't see whatthere is to do but let Mr. Richard Blake go ahead and say what hepleases. Eleanor Watson will probably leave college. Some people willbelieve the story and some won't. Some won't even hear it--'The Quiver'seems to be a very obscure magazine. And in nine days every one willforget all about it. "

"But Eleanor Watson will never forget, " added Frances softly. To her artwas sacred and the idea of stealing it horrible. 

There was a silence broken at last by Dorothy. 

"Frances, " she said, "you're right, you always are. You divine thingsthat the rest of us have to reason out. This affair is unpleasant foreverybody concerned, but it isn't a vital matter to us or to Mr. Blake. The only person to be considered is Eleanor Watson. If the matter is madepublic--"

"It would serve her right, and it might be the best thing in the worldfor her, " broke in Beatrice, who was growing more angry with Eleanor thelonger she thought of the intimacy between them. 

"That, " said Dorothy, "is the question we have to decide. I for one amnot at all sure what to think. Being publicly humiliated might be a goodthing for her, or it might ruin her whole life. "

"Oh, I can't bear to have people know about it, " said Frances, her facewhite with horror. "Let us go home now and think it over, and let us beoh! so careful not even to hint at what has happened. We may have toconfide in some others, but let us not give up the chance of keeping oursecret by telling the wrong people now. And let us meet again tomorrowafternoon. "

"In your room, " suggested Beatrice. "This place is too conspicuous. "

The three editors crept down the stairs like so many conspirators, separated with soft good-byes in the lower hall, and went their severalways, each feeling that the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. To Beatrice the affair was a personal one, involving her judgment and herstatus in the college world; Frances mingled pity for Eleanor withjealousy for the fair name of the "Argus"; Dorothy was going over thecareer of Eleanor Watson since she entered Harding, wondering whether itwould be possible, by any method of treatment, to make her over into atrustworthy member of the student body, and whether she would ever beworth to the world what her evil influence had cost her college. All atonce a bitter thought flashed upon Dorothy. She herself was partlyresponsible for Eleanor's downfall; for had she not persuaded her, against her will, to give the story to the "Argus"?

CHAPTER XI

A PROBLEM IN ETHICS

Betty Wales sat in Dorothy King's big wicker easy chair, an expression ofmingled distress and perplexity on her usually merry face. Dorothy hadsent word that she was ill and wanted to see her little friend, and Bettyhad hurried over in her first free period, never guessing at the strangestory that Dorothy had summoned her to hear. The story was told now. Itremained only for Betty to decide what she should do about it. 

"It's the most annoying thing, " Dorothy was saying from the bed where shelay, pale and listless, among the pillows. "I've heard of girls being illfrom overwork, and I always thought they were good-for-nothings, glad ofan excuse to stay in bed for awhile. But I can't get up, Betty. I triedhard this morning before the doctor came, and it made me so sick andfaint--you can't imagine. So there was nothing to do but submit when sheinsisted upon my going to the infirmary for two weeks. "

"I'm so sorry, " murmured Betty sympathetically. 

"She tried to make me promise not to see any one except the matron beforeI was moved, " went on Dorothy, "but I told her I must talk to you forhalf an hour. I promised on my honor not to keep you longer than that, and we haven't but ten minutes left. Now won't you decide to go and seeMr. Blake?"

"Oh, I don't know what to decide!" cried Betty in despairing tones. "It'sso dreadful that Eleanor should have done it. That's all I can think of. "

"But listen to me, Betty, " began Dorothy patiently. "Let me show you justhow matters stand. Frances can't go down to New York alone--you can seethat. She doesn't know the city, and she'd get lost or run over, and tento one come home without even remembering to see Mr. Blake. You can'tbelieve how absent-minded she is, till you've worked with her as I have. Besides, she is too dreamy and imaginative to convince a man of Mr. Blake's type. 

"And Bess Egerton mustn't go; Frances and I are agreed about that. She'stoo flighty. She'd be angry if Mr. Blake didn't yield his pointimmediately, and say something outrageous to him. Then she'd go offshopping and come back here in the best of spirits, declaring that therewas nothing to be done because Mr. Blake was 'such a silly. ' And I can'tgo. "

"If you only could!" broke in Betty. "Then it would be all right. Isn'tthere any chance that you might be able to by the end of next week?"

Dorothy shook her head. "I couldn't get leave, on top of this two weeks'illness, without telling Miss Stuart exactly why I needed to go, and Idon't want to do that. Miss Raymond knows all about it and approves, andwe don't want to confide in any one else. Besides, I doubt if Mr. Blakewill wait so long. "

"Well then, Dorothy, why not write to him?"

Dorothy shook her head again. "We tried that. We wrote one letter, andwhen his answer came we tried again, but eight pages was the least wecould get our arguments into. No, it's a case where talking it out is theonly thing to do. You could take him unawares and I'm sure you'd bringhim round. "

"That's just it, " broke in Betty eagerly. "I know you're mistaken, Dorothy. I couldn't think of a thing to say to him--I never can. It wouldbe just a waste of time for me to try. "

Dorothy took a bulky envelope from under her pillows and held it out toBetty. "Here, " she said. "These are the letters we wrote. We all threetried. Here are arguments in plenty. "

"But I should forget them all when I got there. "

"You mustn't. "

"Besides, it would look so queer for me to go, when I'm not on the'Argus' board, and have nothing to do with the trouble. "

"Didn't I tell you why we chose you?" exclaimed Dorothy. "No? I am sostupid to-day; I put everything the wrong way around. Why, there were tworeasons. One is because you are so fond of Eleanor and understand her sowell. Nobody on the 'Argus' staff, except Beatrice and myself, has morethan a bowing acquaintance with her, whereas you can tell Mr. Blakeexactly what sort of girl she is, and why we want to save her from thisdisgrace. The other reason is that, while Christy is away, you are one ofthe two sophomores on the Students' Commission; Eleanor is a sophomoreand either you or Lucy Merrifield is the proper person to act in herinterests in a case of this kind. Because you know Eleanor best, we choseyou--and for some other reasons, " added Dorothy, truthfully, rememberingthe confidence they had all felt in Betty's peculiar combination ofengaging manner and indomitable pluck and perseverance, where a promiseor a friend was concerned. 

"Oh, Dorothy!" sighed Betty, feeling herself hopelessly entangled in theweb of Dorothy's logic. 

"There is a third reason, " went on Dorothy, inexorably, "just between youand me. Of course you understand that I feel personally to blame aboutthis trouble. If I hadn't lost my horrid temper and said somethingdisagreeable to force her hand, Eleanor Watson might never have allowedthe story to be printed and the worst complications would have beenavoided. Now I personally ask you, as the person I can best trust, to goto Mr. Blake for me. You know Eleanor. You agree with us that it is verylikely to spoil her whole life if this is made public--"

"But, Dorothy, I'm not sure it's right to keep it a secret, " broke inBetty. 

"I believe you will feel sure when you have had a chance to think overall sides of the question, " resumed Dorothy, "and to see how much toblame I am. Then you are a typical Harding girl, the right sort torepresent the college to Mr. Blake, who seems to be very much interestedin knowing what sort of girl Harding turns out. "

"Oh, no!" demurred Betty. "I'm not the right kind at all. "

"Besides, you have a way of getting around people and persuading them todo what you want, " concluded Dorothy. 

"Never, " declared Betty. 

Dorothy smiled faintly. "You have the reputation, " she said. "Of course Idon't know how you got it; but now that you have it you're bound to liveup to it, you know. And if you don't go, we shall have to risk writingand I am perfectly certain that no letter will keep Mr. Blake frompublishing his notice next month, whereas I think that if he were to talkover the matter with you, he might very easily be persuaded to give itup. "

Dorothy lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes. "It does certainlyseem like shirking to be ill just now, " she said. 

Betty rose hastily and came over to the bed. "Dorothy, " she began, "Imust go this minute. You are all tired out. I wish I could promise now, but I must think it over--whether I can do what you want of me andwhether I ought. I'll tell you what, " she went on eagerly, "I can't seeyou again, but I'll send you a bunch of violets the first thing in themorning, and I'll tuck in a note among the flowers, saying what I can do. And it will be the very best I can do, Dorothy. "

"I know it will, " said Dorothy. "Don't think that I don't realize howmuch we're asking of you. "

"I like to be trusted, " said Betty, ruefully, "but it seems to me thereare hundreds of girls in college who could do this better than I. Good-bye--and look out for the violets, Dorothy. "

A moment later she opened the door again. "Of course Eleanor doesn't knowthat you've found out?"

"No, " said Dorothy. "We've told no one but you and Miss Raymond. Wethought it would only complicate matters and hurt her needlessly to tellher now. I suppose she will have to know eventually, to guard against arepetition of the trouble, if for no other reason; but we haven't lookedso far ahead as that yet. "

It was fortunate that Betty was not called upon to recite in her nextclass. Refusing the seat that Bob Parker had saved for her betweenherself and Alice Waite, she found a place in the back row where a pillarprotected her from Bob's demonstrations, and leaning her head on her handshe set herself to work out the problem that Dorothy had given her. Butthe shame of Eleanor's act overcame her, as it had in Dorothy's room; shecould not think of anything else. She woke with a start at the end of thehour to find the girls pushing back their chairs and making their noisyexit from the room, and to realize that she might as well have learnedsomething about Napoleon's retreat from Moscow, since she had decidednothing about her trip to New York. 

"I say, " said Bob, joining her outside the door, "why are you sounsociable?"

"Headache, " returned Betty, laconically, and with some truth. 

"Too bad. " Owing to the fact that she had never had a headache in herlife, Bob's sympathy was somewhat perfunctory. 

"When you have the written lesson to study for, too, " mourned Alice. 

"Written lesson?" questioned Betty, in dismay. 

"Yes. Didn't you hear Professor White giving it out for to-morrow? All ofNapoleon--that's five hundred pages. "

Betty gasped. "I suppose he made a lot of new points to-day. I didn'thear a word. "

"Next time, " said Bob, severely, "perhaps you'll be willing to sit downamong people who can see that you keep awake. "

"Don't tease her, " begged Alice. "She must have an awful headache, not tohave heard about the written lesson. What did you think we were allgroaning so about, Betty?"

"I didn't hear that, either, " said Betty, meekly. "Will one of you lendme a notebook?"

Betty could have hugged Helen Adams when immediately after luncheon sheannounced that she was going down to study history with T. Reed andshould stay till dinner time. Betty hung a "Busy" sign on her door--thegirls would think that she too was studying history madly--and setherself to read over the original of Eleanor's story in "The Quiver" thatDorothy had lent her. It was the same and yet not the same. Plot andcharacters had been taken directly from the original, but the phrasing--Betty knew Eleanor's story almost by heart--was quite different, and astriking little episode at the end that Miss Raymond had particularlyadmired was Eleanor's own. 

"I like hers best, " thought Betty, stoutly. "I wonder if the resemblancecouldn't have happened by chance. Perhaps she read this story a longwhile before and forgot that she had not thought it up herself. "

Betty looked at the date of the magazine and then consulted her calendar. The November "Quiver" had come out just two days before the afternoon ofthe barge ride, which had also been "theme afternoon. " Betty rememberedbecause her monthly allowance always came on the third. She had borrowedher quarter for the ride of Helen and paid her out of the instalment thatarrived the very next morning. That settled it, --and as Dorothy hadpointed out, all Eleanor's seemingly inexplicable queerness about thestory was now explained. 

Betty threw the magazine on the table and going to the window gazeddrearily out at the snow-covered campus. The next thing to settle waswhether it were right to help Eleanor to cover up her deceit? Dorothyfelt, from the little she knew of Eleanor, that open disgrace would takeaway her last chance of being honest and upright. "She is terriblysensitive, " Dorothy argued, "and if she feels that nice people don'ttrust her, she will go as far as she dares to show them that they areright. Perhaps she can be led, but she certainly can't be driven. Sheisn't strong enough to meet disgrace and down it. " That might be true, but there was the mathematics examination of the year before. Miss Halehad argued as Dorothy did. In the hope of ultimately winning Eleanor bykindness, she had not let Miss Meredith know that Eleanor had told her anuntruth. For a while afterward Eleanor had been scrupulously honorable, but now she had done something infinitely more dishonest than thedeception of Miss Meredith. No doubt Dorothy regarded the affair of thestory as a first offense, and Betty could not tell her that it wasn't. She had been glad enough to help save Eleanor from the consequences ofher foolish bragging, the year before; but saving her from theconsequences of deliberate dishonesty was a different matter. Betty hadbeen taught to despise cheating in any form, and to avoid the leastsuspicion of it with scrupulous care. And now Dorothy wanted her to aidand abet a--a thief. Betty flushed hotly as she applied the hard name. 

All at once the memory of her last interview with Eleanor flashed uponher. "I was an idiot last fall. Now I have come to my senses--" that waswhat she had said. When her voice broke, it must have been because shewas sorry for the change--sorry that the old, shifty, unreliable self hadcome back to take the place of the strange new one whose ideals hadproved too hard and too high to live by. The sad, hunted look thatMadeline had spoken of was explained too. Eleanor was sorry. But was shesorry, as she had been in the case of the mathematics examination, onlybecause she was afraid of being found out, or did she honestly regrethaving taken what was not her own, and used it to gain honors that shehad not earned?

There was another point that Dorothy had not spoken of--perhaps had notthought of. What about the Dramatic Club election and the other collegehonors that had come or would come to Eleanor, one after another, allbecause, at the beginning of her sophomore year, she had made areputation for brilliant literary work? Eleanor had been right, when shewas a freshman, in insisting that it was the start which counted. Then, despite her first abject failure, she had compassed the difficultachievement of a second start. How proud Betty had been of her! And nowall her fair hopes and high ambitions had crumbled to dust and ashes. Wasit right to help her cover up the ruin? Was it fair to girls like HelenAdams, who worked hard and got no recognition, that Eleanor should getrecognition for work which was not her own?

Anyway, she was not going to New York. Those three editors could choosesome one else. And yet if she refused--oh, it was all dreadful! Bettyflung herself on the couch and buried her face in the pillows. A momentlater the door opened stealthily, and Madeline Ayres stuck her head in. In spite of her caution, Betty heard her and sat up with a nervous start. 

"I hope you weren't asleep, " said Madeline, settling herself comfortablyat the other end of the couch. "I didn't mean to wake you; that was why Icame in without knocking. "

"I wasn't asleep, " returned Betty faintly. "I was just resting. "

"You look as if you needed to, " said Madeline cheerfully. "Does your headache now?"

"Not--not very much, " stammered Betty. 

"Have you read over all this?" Madeline reached out a long arm for thelife of Napoleon that lay on the table. 

"No, hardly any of it, " confessed Betty, reddening as she remembered the"Busy" sign. 

But Madeline remarked briskly, "That's good. Neither have I. I don't feela bit like cramming, so I shall bluff. When father was studying art inParis, he knew a man who had been one of Napoleon's guards at St. Helena. He was old and lame and half blind and stunningly homely then, and anartist's model. He used to tell merry tales about what a tiger of a man--"Madeline stopped short in the act of replacing the life of Napoleon onthe table and stared at Betty in unfeigned admiration. 

"Betty Wales, " she said at last, "you are certainly a splendid actress. Inever dreamed that you knew. "

Betty's eyes followed Madeline's to the table, and then to "The Quiver, "lying in full view where she had dropped it an hour before. There was onechance in a thousand that Madeline meant something besides Eleanor'sstory, and Betty resolved to make sure. 

"Knew what, Madeline?" she asked steadily, trying not to blush butfeeling the tell-tale red spread over her cheeks in spite of all shecould do. 

It was no use. Madeline picked up the magazine and flipped over the pagescarelessly till she came to Eleanor's story. "That, " she said, holding itout for Betty to see. Their eyes met, and at sight of Betty's frightened, pleading face, Madeline's hand dropped to her side. 

"I beg your pardon, " she said quickly. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Betty. I see now how it is. You didn't know before; you've just found out, andwhen I came in you were mourning for your fallen idol. Shall I go?"

Betty stretched out a detaining hand. "No, " she said, "tell me, --quickbefore Helen comes, --how did you know?"

"Read it in 'The Quiver, ' away back last fall, before Miss Watson's storycame out in the 'Argus. ' It's been--oh, amusing, you know, to hear peoplerave over her wonderful theme. "

"Does any one else know?"

"I doubt it. 'The Quiver' isn't on sale up here. Father thinks it'sclever and he sends it to me. I suppose he knows the editor. He's alwaysknowing the editors of little, no-account magazines and having to sit upnights to do them cover-designs or something; and then they send himtheir magazines. "

"But--I mean--you haven't told any one?" stammered Betty. 

Madeline shook her head. "It wouldn't make a pretty story, do you think?"

"Madeline"--Betty's voice thrilled with earnestness--"did you ever thinkyou ought to tell?"

Madeline stared at Betty for a moment in silence. Then her gray eyestwinkled. "You absurd little Puritan, " she said, "is that what you'rebothering your head about? I know you don't want to tell. Why aren't yousatisfied to let matters take their course?"

"Because, " Betty hesitated, "because if they take their course, --suppose, Madeline, that somebody else knows and wants to tell? Ought I tointerfere with that?"

Madeline spread out her hands with a gesture that suggested helplessresignation. "My dear, how should I know? You see in Bohemia we're allhonest--poor, but honest. We never have anything like this to settlebecause we're all too busy enjoying life to have time to envy ourneighbors. But I think"--Madeline paused a minute--"I think if a manstole a design and got, say a medal at the water-color exhibit, or aprize at the Salon, I'd let him have it and I'd try to see that he keptit in a conspicuous place, where he'd be sure to see it every day. Ithink the sight of his medal would be his best medicine. If he wasanything of a man, he'd never want another of the same sort, and if hewas all cheat, he'd be found out soon enough without my help. So I'd givehim the benefit of the doubt. "

"And you think that would be fair to the one who ought to have had themedal?"

"If he was much of a man he didn't paint just for the medal, " returnedMadeline quickly. "He painted because he couldn't help it, --because hemeant to make the most of himself, --and a medal more or less--what's thatto him?" She turned upon Betty suddenly. "Don't you see that the greatfault with the life here is that we think too little about living and toomuch about getting? These societies and clubs and teams and committees--they're not the best things in life; they're nothing, except what theystand for in character and industry and talent. No, I shouldn't worrybecause Eleanor Watson got into Dramatic Club, if that's what you mean, and may get into other things because she cribbed a story. That very factwill take all the fun out of it, unless she's beneath caring, --but sheisn't beneath caring, " Madeline corrected herself swiftly. "No one with aface like hers is beyond caring. It's the most beautiful face I eversaw--and one of the saddest. "

"Thank you very much, Madeline, " said Betty, soberly. "I'm so glad Icould talk it over with you. "

Madeline was never serious for long at a time. "I've been preachingregular sermons, " she said with a laugh. "The thing I don't understand iswhy this editor of 'The Quiver' hasn't jumped on Miss Watson long ago. Editors are always reading college magazines--hoping to discover agenius, I suppose. "

"Are they?" said Betty. 

A tap sounded on the door. 

"Don't worry, whatever else you do, --and hide your magazine, " saidMadeline, and was off with a cheerful greeting for Helen Adams, who hadcome back from her afternoon at T. Reed's crammed full of Napoleonic loreand basket-ball news. 

"Theresa had made a table of dates and events, " said Helen eagerly. "Icopied it for you--it's lots of help. And Betty, she says the teams aregoing to be chosen soon, and she is almost sure you will be on. "

Madeline Ayres wondered idly, as she dressed for dinner, how Betty Waleshad come into possession of a four months' old magazine which was not tobe had at any library or book-store in Harding. Then, being a personborn, so she herself asserted, entirely without curiosity, she ceasedwondering. By the time dinner was over and she had related a budget ofher Napoleonic stories to a delighted group of anxious students, she hadactually forgotten all about Eleanor's affairs. 

CHAPTER XII

A BRIEF FOR THE DEFENSE

"DEAR DOROTHY-- "I have thought and thought all the afternoon and I can't do it. I shouldonly--"

"DEAR DOROTHY-- "If you are perfectly sure that there is nobody else to go--"

"DEAR DOROTHY-- "Don't you think that Mary Brooks or Marion Lawrence would be a lotbetter? Mary can always talk--"

"Oh, Dorothy, I don't know what to say--"

Betty had slipped up-stairs to her room the minute dinner was over. Therest of the Belden House girls still lingered in the parlors, talking ordancing, --enjoying the brief after-dinner respite that is a welcomefeature of each busy day at Harding. Ida Ludwig was playing for them. Shehad a way of dashing off waltzes and two-steps that gave them a perfectlyirresistible swing. As Betty wrote, her foot beat time to the music thatfloated up, faint and sweet and alluring, through her half-open door. Thefloor around her was strewn with sheets of paper which she had torn, oneafter another, from her pad, and tossed impatiently out of her way. 

"Such a goose as I am, trying to write before I've made up my mind whatto say!" she told the green lizard, as she sent the seventh attemptflying after the others. "And I can't make it up, " she addeddespondently, and shut her fountain pen with a vicious little snap. Shewould go down and have a two-step with Roberta, who had been Mary's guestat dinner. Roberta could lead beautifully--as well as a man--and themusic was too good to lose. Besides, Roberta might feel hurt at herhaving run off the minute dinner was over. 

A shadow suddenly darkened the door and Betty turned to find EleanorWatson standing there, smiling radiantly down at her. 

"Eleanor!" she gasped helplessly. Somehow the sight of the real Eleanor, smiling and lovely, made the deceit she had practiced seem so much moreconcrete and palpable, the penalty she must pay at best so much more realand dreadful. Betty had puzzled over the rights and wrongs of the matteruntil it had come to be almost an abstraction--a subject for formal, impersonal debate, like those they used to discuss in the junior Englishclasses, in high school days--"Resolved: that it is right to helpplagiarists to try again. " Now the reality of it all was forced upon her. In spite of her surprise at seeing Eleanor, who almost never came to herroom now, and her dismay that she should have come on this evening inparticular, she found time to be glad that she had not yet refusedDorothy's request--and time to be a little ashamed of herself for beingso glad. 

Her perturbation showed so plainly in her face and manner that Eleanorcould not fail to notice it. Her smile vanished and a troubled look stoleinto her gray eyes. "May I come in, Betty?" she asked. "Or are you toobusy?"

"No-o, " stammered Betty. "Come in, Eleanor, of course. I--I was justwriting a note. "

Eleanor glanced at the floor, littered with all Betty's futilebeginnings, and her smile came flashing back again. "I should think, " shesaid, "that you must be writing a love letter--if it isn't a sonnet--judging by the trouble it's making you. They told me downstairs that youwere cramming history, but I was sure it would take more than a merehistory cram to keep you away from that music. Isn't it lovely?"

"Yes, " said Betty. "Would you like--shan't we go down and dance?" Itwould surely be easier to talk down there, with plenty of people aboutwho did not know. 

Again her embarrassment and constraint were too evident to be ignored, and this time Eleanor went straight to the heart of the matter. 

"Betty, " she said, "don't tell me that you're not glad to see me backagain after all this time. I know I'm queer and horrid and not worthbothering about, but when you find it out, --when you give me up--you andJim--I shall stop trying to be different. "

For an instant Betty hesitated. Then the full import of Eleanor's wordsflashed upon her. There was no mistaking their sincerity. She knew atlast that she did "really mean something" to somebody. Ethel Hale hadbeen wrong. Eleanor had not forgotten her old friends--and Betty would goto New York. With a happy little cry she stretched out her arms andcaught Eleanor's hands in hers. 

"I'm so glad you feel that way, " she said, "and I shall never stop caringwhat you do, Eleanor, and neither will Jim. I know he won't. "

"He gave me up once before, and if you knew something--" She broke offsuddenly. "Betty, Jim is coming Friday night. That's one reason why I'mhere. I didn't want him to miss seeing you just because I'd beendisagreeable and was too proud to come and say I'm sorry. I am sorry, Betty, --I'm always sorry when it's just too late. "

"Oh, that's all right. I knew you didn't mean anything, " said Betty, hastily. Apologies always made her nervous, and this particular one wasfraught with unpleasant suggestions little guessed at by its maker. "You'll be awfully glad to see your brother, won't you?"

Eleanor's assent was half-hearted. "To tell the truth, I'm too tired tocare much what happens. "

"Oh, you won't feel tired when he gets here, " suggested Betty, cheerfully. 

Eleanor shook her head. "I'm tired all through, " she said. "I don'tbelieve I shall ever be rested again. "

"What are you going to do to entertain him?" asked Betty, wishing tochange the current of Eleanor's thoughts, since she did not dare tosympathize with them. 

Eleanor detailed her plans, explained that Judge Watson had suddenly beencalled home from Cornell and so was not coming with Jim, according to thesummer plan that Betty remembered, and rose to go. "I know you'll likeJim, Betty, " she said, "and he'll like you. He's your kind. "

The moment she was left alone, Betty sat down again at her desk anddashed off her note to Dorothy. 

"Dear Dorothy:

"I have thought it over and seen Eleanor. I am the one to go, and I'll domy best. 

"Yours ever, "Betty. 

"P. S. --I can't start till Wednesday. "

She twisted the note into a neat little roll, and slipping out the backway went down to leave it at the florist's, to be sent to Dorothy--securely hidden in a big bunch of English violets, lest any martinet of anurse should see fit to suppress it--the very first thing in the morning. On the way back to her room she danced up the stairs in her most joyousfashion, and when Mary Brooks, coming up from escorting Roberta to thedoor, intercepted her and demanded where she had been all the evening, she chanted, "Curiosity killed a cat, " and fled from Mary's wrath with alittle shriek of delight, exactly as if there were no such things in theworld as plagiarism and hard-hearted editors. For had not Eleanor comeback to her, and was not the difficult decision made at last?

And yet, when Betty was a senior and took the course in Elizabethantragedies, she always thought of the visit of Jim Watson as a perfectexample in real life of the comic interlude, by which the king ofElizabethan dramatists is wont to lighten, and at the same time toaccentuate, his analyses of the bitter consequences of wrong-doing. Forclose upon her first great relief at finding her decision made, followeda sudden realization that the incident was not yet closed. Madeline hadread the November "Quiver"; some less charitable person might have donelikewise. If she had been careless in leaving her magazine in sight, somight one of the three editors have been careless, with disastrousresults. Mr. Blake might write to the college authorities. Everything, inshort, might come out before Jim Watson had finished his week-end visitto Harding. Helping to entertain him seemed therefore a good deal likeamusing oneself on the verge of a crackling volcano. 

Jim's personality made it all the harder; he was so boyishly light-hearted, so tremendously proud of Eleanor, so splendid and downrighthimself, with a flash in his fine eyes--the only feature in which heresembled Eleanor--and a quiver about his sensitive mouth, that suggestedhow deep would be his grief and how unappeasable his anger, if he everfound out with what coin his sister had bought her college honors. 

He "blew in, " to use his own phrase for it, on an earlier train thanEleanor had expected, and marched up to the Hilton House with a jauntyair of perfect ease and assurance. But really, he confided to Eleanor, hewas in a "blooming blue funk" all the way. 

"And what do you think?" he added ruefully, "somehow I got mixed up withthe matron or whatever you call her. I thought, you see, that this waslike a boarding-school, and that I'd got to have some gorgon or othervouch for me before I could see you. So I asked for her first, and she'sinvited me to dinner. Did you say there were thirty girls in this house?Sixty! I see my finish!" concluded Jim, dolefully. 

Nevertheless he rose to the occasion and, ensconced between Eleanor andthe matron he entertained the latter, and incidentally the whole table, with tales of mountain-climbing, broncho-busting and bear-hunting, thatmade him at once a hero in the eyes of the girls. But Jim disclaimed allintention of following up his conquest, just as he had, thoughineffectually, disclaimed any part in the thrilling escapades of hisstories. 

"I can talk to a bunch of girls if I have to, but if you leave me alonewith one, I shall do the scared rabbit act straight back to Cornell, " hewarned Eleanor. "I came to see you. Dad and I compared notes and wedecided that something was up. "

"Nonsense!" laughed Eleanor, but her eyes fell under Jim's steady gaze, and her cheeks flushed. "Well then, I'm tired, " she admitted. "I supposeI've done too much. "

"I should think so, " retorted Jim, savagely. "Quit it, Eleanor. If youbreak down, what good will it do you to have written a fine story? Isay"--his tone was reproachful--"one of those girls at the dinner yougave last night said your story was printed somewhere, and you never sentit to dad and me. You never even told us about it. "

"It wasn't worth while. "

"You might let us decide about that. The girl at the dinner said it was acorker, and got you into some swell club or other. That's another thingyou didn't write us about. "

"No, " said Eleanor, wearily. "You can't expect me to write every littlething that happens, Jim. "

Jim, who remembered exactly what his fair informant had said regardingthe importance of a Dramatic Club "first election, " knit his brows andwondered which of them was right. Finally he gave up the perplexingquestion and went off to order a farewell box of roses for his sister. 

It was at about this time that Betty Wales, going sorrowfully to pay abook bill that was twice as large as she had anticipated, heard swift, determined steps behind her, and turned to find Jim Watson swinging afterher down Main Street. 

"I say, Miss Wales, " he began, blushing hotly at his own temerity, "Eleanor is off at a class this hour. I'm such a duffer with girls--is itall right for me to ask you to go for a walk?"

"Of course, " said Betty, laughing. "And if you ask me, I'll go. "

"Then, " said Jim, "I do ask you. You'll have to pick out a trail, for Idon't know the country. "

"Let's walk out to the river, " suggested Betty. "It's not so very prettyat this season of the year, but it's our prize walk, so you ought to seeit anyhow. "

Silently Jim fell into step beside her. 

"Have you had a good time?" inquired Betty, who had decided by this timethat Jim really enjoyed talking, only he couldn't manage it without agood deal of help. She had seen more of him in the three days of hisvisit than any one else but Eleanor, but this was their first tete-a-tete. Hitherto, when Eleanor was busy Jim had gone on solitary tramps orsought the friendly shelter of his hotel. 

"Great, " replied Jim, enthusiastically. "Harding College is all right. I'm mighty glad Eleanor wanted to stay on here. "

"You're very fond of Eleanor, aren't you?" asked Betty, sure that thistopic would draw him out. 

"You bet. " Jim's eyes shone with pleasure. "Eleanor's a trump when shegets started. She was splendid at home this summer. Of course you know"--Jim flushed again under his tan--"my mother--I'm awfully fond of her too, but of course her being so young makes it queer for Eleanor. But Eleanorfixed everything all right. She made dad and me, and mother too, justfall dead in love with her. You know the way she can. "

Betty nodded. "I know. "

"And I guess she's made good here, too, " said Jim, proudly, "though you'dnever find it out from her. Do you know, Miss Wales, she never wrote us aword about her story that came out in the college magazine. "

"Didn't she?" said Betty, faintly. 

"Nor about getting into some club, " continued Jim, earnestly. "I forgetthe name, but you'll know. Isn't it considered quite an honor?"

"Why, yes, " said Betty, in despair, "that is, some people consider it--Oh, Mr. Watson, here's the bridge!"

Poor Jim, unhesitatingly attributing Betty's embarrassment to someblunder on his part, was covered with mortification. "It's evidently asecret society, " he decided, "and that other fool girl didn't know it, and got me into this mess. "

So he listened with deferential attention while Betty tried to tell himhow lovely the snowy meadows and the bleak, ice-bound river looked on abright June day, and carefully followed her lead as she turned theconversation from river scenery to skating and canoeing; so that theyreached home without a second approach to the dangerous topics. 

Jim was going back to his work that evening. As he said good-bye, hecrushed Betty's hand in a bear-like grip that fairly brought tears to hereyes. 

"I'm awfully glad to have met you, " he said, "though I don't supposeyou'd ever guess it--I'm such a duffer with girls. Eleanor told me howyou stuck by her last year and helped her get her start. I tell you weappreciate anything that's done for Eleanor, dad and I do. "

As Betty watched him stride off to the Hilton House, she rememberedMadeline's advice. "I guess she isn't enjoying her honors very much, " shethought. "Imagine getting into Dramatic Club and not writing home aboutit! Why, I should telegraph! And if I had a thing in the 'Argus'"--Bettysmiled at the absurdity of the idea--"half the fun would be to see Nan'sface. And if I was ashamed to see her face!"

Betty gave a sigh of relief that the comic interlude was over. Underordinary circumstances the entertaining of Jim would have been the heightof bliss. Just now all she wanted was to go to New York and get backagain, with her errand done and one source of danger to Eleanor, ifpossible, eliminated. 

Jim left Harding on Tuesday evening. Wednesday morning bright and early, Betty started for New York. She went by the early train for two reasons. It was easier to slip away unquestioned during chapel-time, andfurthermore she meant to reach New York in time to see Mr. Blake thatsame afternoon and take the sleeper back to Harding. She thought thatspending the night with any of her New York cousins would involve toomuch explanation, and besides she could sleep beautifully on the train, and she wanted to be back in time for the Thursday basket-ball practice. The girls played every day now, and very often Miss Andrews dropped in towatch them and take the measure of the various aspirants for a place onthe official teams, which it would soon be her duty to appoint. 

CHAPTER XIII

VICTORY OR DEFEAT

During the first part of her journey Betty busied herself with readingover Mr. Blake's two letters and the lengthy replies that the editors hadcomposed. These last were as totally unlike as their writers, and Bettythought that none of them hit the point so well as Madeline'ssuggestions, and none was so cogent as the plea that Eleanor and Jimbetween them had unconsciously made; but they might all help. From Mr. Blake's two letters she decided that he must be a very queer sort ofperson, and she devoutly hoped that his conversational style would beless obscure than that of his first letter to Frances West; for it wouldbe dreadful, she thought, if she had to keep asking him what he meant. 

"Well, I guess I shall just have to trust to luck and do the best I canwhen the time comes, " she decided, putting the letters back into hersuit-case with a little sigh. She admired Helen Adams's way ofdeliberately preparing for a crisis, but in her own case it somehow neverseemed to work. For example, how could she plan what to say to Mr. Blakeuntil she knew what Mr. Blake would say to her? It would be bad enough totry to answer him when the time came, without worrying about it now. 

After a brief survey of the flying landscape, which looked uniformly coldand uninviting under a leaden sky, and of her fellow-travelers, none ofwhom promised any possibilities of amusement, Betty remembered that shehad intended to study all the way to New York, and accordingly extractedChaucer's "Canterbury Tales" from her bag. For half an hour she read theKnight's tale busily. But the adventures of Palamon and Arcite, deciphered by means of assiduous reference to the glossary, were notexciting; at the end of the half hour Betty's head drooped back againstthe plush cushions, her eyes closed, and her book slid unheeded to thefloor. Regardless of all the elegant leisure that she had meant to secureby a diligent five-hour attack upon "The Canterbury Tales, " Betty hadfallen fast asleep. 

Some time later the jolt of the halting train woke her. She glanced ather watch--it was twelve o'clock--and looked out for the station sign. But there was no station sign and no station; only snowy fieldsstretching off to meet wooded hills on one side and the gorge of a frozenriver on the other. It had been a gray, sunless morning; now the air wasthick with snow, falling in big, lazily-moving flakes which seemedundecided whether or not the journey they were making was worth theirwhile. All this Betty saw through small bare spots on the heavily frostedcar windows. She picked up "The Canterbury Tales" from the floor wherethey had fallen, found her place and sat with her finger in the book, anxiously waiting for the train to go on. But it did not start. The otherpassengers also grew restless, and asked one another what could be thetrouble. There were plenty of guesses, but nobody knew until Bettymanaged to stop a passing brakeman and asked him if they were going to belate into New York. 

"Oh, my, yes, ma'am, " he assured her affably. "We're about an hour latenow, and there's no tellin' how long we'll stand here. There's been a bigblizzard and an awful freeze-up in the west--" he waved his hand at thefrosty window. "We do be gettin' a bit of it now ourselves, you see--andthe connections is all out of whack. "

This was a cheerful prospect. The train was due in New York at half pastone. Allow half an hour for the present delay and it would be fully halfpast three before Betty could reach Mr. Blake's office. Besides, she hadbrought nothing to eat except some sweet chocolate, for she had plannedto get lunch in New York. It was most provoking. She settled herself oncemore, a cake of chocolate to nibble in one hand and her book in theother, resolved to endure the rest of the journey with what stoicism shemight. 

Finally, after having exhausted the entire half hour that she had allowedit, the train started with a puff and a wheeze, and ambled on toward itsdestination, with frequent brief pauses to get its breath or toaccommodate the connections that were "all out of whack, " and a finallong and agonizing wait in the yards. That was the last straw--to be sonear the goal and yet helplessly stranded just out of reach. Wishing toverify her own calculations, Betty leaned forward and asked afriendly-looking, gray-haired woman in the seat ahead if she knew justhow long it would take to go from the Forty-second Street station toFulton Street. 

The woman considered. "Not less than three-quarters of an hour, I shouldsay, unless you took a Subway express to the bridge, and changed there. Then perhaps you might do it in half an hour. "

Betty thanked her and sat back, watch in hand, counting the minutes andwondering what she would better do if she had to stay in New York allnight. In spite of some disadvantages, it would be much the best plan, she decided, to go to her cousins. But never thinking of any suchcontingency as the one that had arisen, she had left her address book atHarding, and she had a very poor memory for numbers. She rememberedvaguely one hundred twenty-one, and was sure that cousin Will Banninglived on East Seventy-second Street. But was his number one twenty-one, or was it three hundred forty-something, and Cousin Alice's one twenty-one on One Hundred and Second Street? Was that east or west, and was itCousin Alice's address before or after she moved last? The more Bettythought, and the more certain it seemed that she could not reach Mr. Blake's office by any route before five o'clock, the more confused shebecame. She had never been about in New York alone, and she had a horrorof going in the rapidly falling dusk from one number to another in astrange city, and then perhaps not finding her cousins in the end. Thenthere was nothing to do but stay at a hotel. Luckily Betty did remembervery distinctly the name of the one that Nan often stopped at alone. Sheleaned forward again and asked the lady in front to direct her to it. 

"Yes, I can do that, " said the lady brightly, "or if you like I can takeyou to it. I'm going there myself. Aren't you a Harding girl?"

Betty assented. 

"And I'm the matron at the Davidson, " said the gray-haired lady. 

"You are!" Betty's tone expressed infinite relief. "And I may really comewith you? I'm so glad. I never went to a hotel alone. " And she explainedbriefly why she was obliged to do so now. 

The snow was still falling softly when they finally reached New York andboarded a crowded car to ride the few blocks to their hotel. It seemedthat Betty's new friend had come down to visit her son, who was ill at ahospital. She helped Betty through the trying ordeal of registering andgetting a room, and they went to the cafe together for a little supper. Then she hurried off to her son, and Betty was left to her own devices. She despatched a special-delivery letter to Helen, explaining why shecould not take the sleeper--Helen had the impression that Betty had goneto New York to have her hair waved and was ashamed to confess to suchfrivolity. Then she yawned for a while over "The Canterbury Tales, " andwent to bed early, so as to be in perfect trim for the next day'sinterview. She intended to see Mr. Blake as early as possible in themorning and take a noon train for Harding. 

"And I do hope there isn't going to be a blizzard here, " she thought, asshe fell asleep to the angry howling of the wind, which dashed the snow, now frozen, into tiny, icy globules, against her window panes. 

But her hope was not destined to be realized. When she woke later thanusual the next morning, with a queer feeling of not knowing where she wasnor what had happened, the storm was still raging furiously. The streetbeneath her windows was piled high with impassable drifts, which weregetting higher every minute, while on the opposite side a narrow strip ofroadway was as clean as if it had been swept with the proverbial newbroom. It was snowing so hard that Betty could not see to the corner ofthe street, and the wind was blowing a gale. 

"I don't care, " said Betty philosophically. "Here goes for seeing NewYork in a blizzard. I've always wanted to know what it was like. " And shebegan making energetic preparations for breakfast. 

When she got down-stairs she found a hasty note from her friend of theday before, explaining that her son was worse and she had gone as earlyas possible to the hospital. So Betty breakfasted in solitary state onrolls and coffee, --for her exchequer was beginning to suffer from theunexpected demands that she had made upon it, --paid her bill, and bag inhand sallied forth to meet the storm. Before she had plowed her way tothe nearest corner, she decided that a blizzard in New York was no joke. While she waited there in the teeth of the wind, bracing herself againstit as it blew her hair in her eyes, whipped her skirt about her ankles, and swept the snow, sharp and cutting as needle-points, pitilesslyagainst her cheeks, she was more than half minded to give up seeing Mr. Blake altogether and go straight to the station. But it was not Betty'sway to give up. She brushed back her flying hair, held up her muff asprotection against the wind, and when her car finally arrived, tumbled onwith a sigh of relief and then a laugh all to herself at the absurdity ofthe whole situation. 

"Mr. Blake will want to laugh too when he sees me, " she thought, "andperhaps that will be a good beginning. "

In this cheerful mood Betty presently arrived at the door of "The Quiver"office. She made a wry face as she shook the snow out of her furs, straightened her hat and smoothed her hair. It was too bad to have to goin looking like a fright, after all the pains she had taken to wear hermost becoming clothes, so as to look, and to feel, as impressive aspossible. As a matter of fact, she had never looked prettier than when, having done her best to repair the ravages of the wind, she stood waitinga moment longer to get her breath and decide how she should ask for Mr. Blake and what she should say when she was summoned into his awfulpresence. Her cheeks were glowing with the cold, her eyes bright withexcitement, and her hair blown into damp little curls that were far morebecoming than any more studied arrangement would have been. Mr. RichardBlake would indeed be difficult to please if he failed to find hercharming. 

She gave a final pat to her hair, loosened her furs, and knocked boldlyon the office door. There was no answer. Betty had reached out her handto knock again when it occurred to her that people who came to herfather's office walked right in. So she carefully opened the door andstepping just inside, closed it again after her. She found herself in abig, bare room, with three or four desks near the long windows and atable by the door. Only one desk was occupied--the one in the farthestcorner of the room. The young man sitting behind it--he was very youngindeed, smooth-shaven, with expressionless, heavy-lidded eyes, and amouth that drooped cynically at the corners, --barely glanced at hisvisitor, and then dropped his eyes once more to the papers on his desk. Betty waited a moment, while he wrote rapidly on the margin of one sheetwith a blue pencil, and then, seeing that he apparently intended to go onreading and writing indefinitely, she gave a deprecating little cough. 

"Is Mr. Richard Blake in?" she asked. 

"Yes, " answered the young man behind the desk, without so much asglancing in her direction. 

"Can--may I see him, please?"

"You can, " returned the young man, emphasizing the word can in what Bettythought an extremely disagreeable way. 

He made no move to go and get Mr. Blake, and Betty, knowing nothing elseto do, awaited his pleasure in silence. 

"Is it so very important as all this?" asked the young man at last, tossing aside his papers and coming toward Betty with disconcertingsuddenness. "You know, " he went on, "I can't possibly read it to-day. I'mdesperately busy. I shall put it in a pigeon-hole and I shan't look at itfor weeks perhaps. So I can't see that it was worth your while to comeout in a storm like this to bring it to me. "

"Are you Mr. Richard Blake?" demanded Betty, wishing to get at least onething definitely settled. 

The young man nodded. "I am, " he said, "but pray how did you arrive atyour conclusion--so late?"

"Because, " said Betty promptly, "you talk exactly as your letters sound. ""That's interesting, " said the young man. "How do they sound?"

"I mean, " said Betty, blushing at her own temerity, "that they are hardto understand. "

The young man appeared to be considering this remark with greatseriousness. "That implies, " he began at last very slowly, "that you musthave had either a letter of acceptance or a personal note of refusal from'The Quiver. ' So perhaps your story is worth coming out in a blizzard tobring after all. Anyway, since you have brought it out in a blizzard, I'll just glance over it, if you care to wait. "

Betty stared at Mr. Richard Blake in growing bewilderment. "I think youmust have mistaken me for some one else, " she said at last. "You don'tknow me at all, Mr. Blake, and you never wrote to me. The letter that Isaw was written to some one else. "

"Indeed! And am I also mistaken in supposing that you have brought me astory for 'The Quiver'?"

"I brought you a story for 'The Quiver'!" gasped Betty. Then all at onceshe took in the situation and laughed so merrily that even the blase, young editor of "The Quiver" was forced to smile a little in sympathy. "Isee now, " she said, when she could speak. "You thought I was a writer--anauthoress. I suppose that most of the people who come to see an editorare authors, aren't they?"

"Yes, " said the young man gravely. "The only possible reason that hasever brought a pretty young woman to 'The Quiver' office is the vain hopethat because I have seen that she is pretty, I shall like her storybetter than I otherwise would. "

"Well, " said Betty, too intent upon coming to the point to be eitherannoyed or amused by Mr. Blake's frank implication, "I haven't come abouta story. Or--that is, I have too. I came to see you about EleanorWatson's story--the one that is so like 'The Lost Hope' in the November'Quiver. '"

"Indeed!" The young man's face grew suddenly sombre again. "Won't youhave a seat?" He led the way back to his desk, placing a chair for Bettybeside his own. "Let us make a fair start, " he said, as he took his seat. "You mean the story that was copied from 'The Quiver, ' I suppose. "

"Yes. " Betty hesitated, wondering if she was being led into some damagingconfession. But she had not come to palter with the truth. "I'm afraidthere is no doubt that it was copied from 'The Quiver, ' Mr. Blake. "

"Did you know that it was a better story than the one in 'The Quiver'?"

[Illustration: "LET US MAKE A FAIR START, " HE SAID]

Betty's eyes sparkled with pleasure. "Do you really think so?" she askedeagerly. "I'm so glad, because I did, too, only I was afraid I might beprejudiced. But you wouldn't be. " Betty stopped in confusion, for Mr. Blake had abruptly turned his back upon her, and was staring out thenearest window at the mist of flying snow. 

There was a long pause, or at least it seemed oppressively long to Betty, who had no idea what it meant. Then "To whom have I the honor ofspeaking?" asked Mr. Blake in the queer, sarcastic tone that had annoyedBetty earlier in the interview. 

As briefly as possible Betty explained who she was, and why she had comeas special envoy from the editors. She was relieved when Mr. Blake turnedback from his survey of the landscape with another faint suggestion of asmile flickering about his grim mouth. 

"You relieve me immensely, Miss Wales, " he said. "I was quite sure youwere not an editor of the 'Argus, ' because you seemed so totallyunfamiliar with the machinery of literary ventures; and so I supposed, orat least I feared, that Miss Watson had come to speak for herself. "

Betty flushed angrily. "Why, Mr. Blake, do I look--"

"No, you don't in the least, " Mr. Blake interrupted her hastily. "Butunfortunately, you must admit, appearances are sometimes deceitful. Nowsuppose that your friend Miss Watson had come herself. Does she look oract like the sort of person that she has shown herself to be?"

Betty smiled brightly. "Of course not, " she said. "She doesn't at all. But then she isn't that sort of person. I mean she never will be again. If she was, I can tell you that I shouldn't be here. It's just becauseshe's so splendid when she thinks in time and tries to be nice, andbecause she hasn't any mother and never had half a chance that I'm sorryfor her now. And besides, it's certainly punishment enough to see thatstory in the 'Argus, ' and know she didn't write it, and to get intoDramatic Club partly because of it, and so have that spoiled for her too, and not to be able to let her family be one bit proud of her. Don't yousee that an open disgrace wouldn't mean any more punishment? It wouldonly make it harder for her to be fair and square again. It isn't as ifshe didn't care. She hates herself for it, Mr. Blake, I know she does. "

Betty paused for breath and Mr. Richard Blake took the opportunity tospeak. "What, may I ask, is the Dramatic Club?"

"Oh, a splendid literary club that some of the nicest girls in collegebelong to, " explained Betty impatiently, feeling that the question wasnot much to the point. 

"Do you belong to it?" demanded Mr. Blake. 

"Oh, no, " said Betty, with a laugh. "I'm not bright enough. I hate tostick to things long enough to learn them. "

"That's unfortunate, because I was hoping you were a member, " said Mr. Blake, inconsequently. "But to return to the story, do you think thatMiss Watson was so very much to blame for copying it?"

"Of course I do, " said Betty, indignantly, wondering what Mr. RichardBlake could possibly be driving at now. 

"But consider, " he pursued. "Miss Watson is a very clever girl, isn'tshe?"

"Yes, indeed, " assented Betty, eagerly. 

"She finds this story--an unusual story, rather badly written, with avery weak ending. It strikes her as having possibilities. She puts on theneeded touches, --the finish, the phrasing and an ending that is almost astroke of genius. Isn't the story hers?"

Betty waited a moment. "No, Mr. Blake, " she said decidedly, "it isn't. Those little changes don't make any difference. She took it from 'TheQuiver. '"

"But how about Shakespeare's plays? Every one of them has a borrowedplot. Shakespeare improved it, added incidents and characters, fused thewhole situation in the divine fire of his genius. But some characters andthe general outline of the plot he borrowed. We don't say he stole them. We don't call him a plagiarist, Miss Wales. "

"I don't know about that, " said Betty, doubtfully. "I never understoodabout Shakespeare's plots; but I suppose it was different in those days. Lots of things were. And besides he was a regular genius, and I know thatwhat he did hasn't anything to do with Eleanor. She oughtn't to havecopied a story. I don't see how she could do it; but I wish you couldfeel that it was right to overlook it. "

"Miss Wales, " said Mr. Blake, abruptly, "I'm going to tell you something. I don't care a snap of my finger for Miss Watson. I don't really believeshe's worth much consideration, though her having a friend who will goaround New York for her on a day like this seems to indicate thecontrary. But what I'm particularly interested in is the moral tone ofHarding College. That's a big thing, a thing worth thought and effort andpersonal sacrifice to maintain. Now tell me frankly, Miss Wales, howwould the Harding girls as a whole look at this matter?"

"If you knew any, " returned Betty, swiftly, "you wouldn't ask. Of coursethey'd feel just the way I do. "

"Perhaps even the way I do?"

"Y-yes, " admitted Betty, grudgingly. "But I believe I could bring themround, " she added with a mischievous smile. 

"Then how did Miss Watson happen to do such a thing?"

"Because, " explained Betty, earnestly, "she doesn't feel the way the restof the girls do about such things. I'm awfully fond of her, but I noticedthe difference almost the first time I met her. Last year she--oh, therewas nothing like this, " added Betty, quickly, "and after she saw how theother girls felt, she changed. But I suppose she couldn't change all atonce, and so she did this. But she isn't a typical Harding girl, indeedshe isn't, Mr. Blake. "

"And yet she is a member of the Dramatic Club, " said Mr. Blake, taking upa telegram from his desk. 

"Don't you suppose she wishes she wasn't?" inquired Betty. 

Mr. Blake made no answer. "Well, Miss Wales, " he said, at last, "I fancywe've talked as much about this as is profitable. I'm very glad to haveseen you, but I'm sorry that you found us in such disorder. The officeboy is stuck in the drifts over in Brooklyn, and my assistant and thestenographer are snowed up in Harlem. I only hope you won't get snowed inanywhere between here and Harding. You're going back to-day, you said?"

Betty nodded. "And I should like--"

"To be sure, " Mr. Blake took her up. "You would like to know my answer. Well, Miss Wales, I really think you deserve it, too; but as it happens, I find I'm going up to Harding next week, and I want to look over theground for myself, --see what I think about the moral tone of things, youknow. "

"You're coming up to Harding!" said Betty, ruefully. "Then I needn't havecome down here at all. "

"Oh, but I didn't know it till to-day, " explained Mr. Blake, soothingly. "I got the telegram while I was breakfasting this morning. I can'ttelegraph my answer, because the wires are all down, so you might tellthem I've written, or you might post my answer for me in Harding. I havethe greatest confidence in your ability to get through the drifts, MissWales. "

"Are you"--Betty hesitated--"are you coming up about this, Mr. Blake?"

For answer he passed her the telegram. It was an invitation from thenewly-elected president of the Dramatic Club--Beatrice Egerton had goneout of office at midyears--to lecture before an open meeting of thesociety a week from the following Saturday. 

"Goodness!" said Betty, returning the telegram. "I didn't know you were alecturer too, Mr. Blake. "

"Oh, I'm not much of one, " returned Mr. Blake, easily. "I suspect thatthe man they had engaged couldn't come, and Miss Stuart--you know her, Ipresume--who's an old friend of mine, suggested me as a forlorn hope. Yousee, " he added, "'The Quiver' is a new thing and doesn't go everywhereyet, as your friend Miss Watson was clever enough to know; but before Ibegan to edit it, I used to write dramatic criticisms for the newspapers. Some people didn't like my theories about the stage and the right kind ofplays and the right way of acting them; so it amuses them now to hear melecture and to think to themselves 'How foolish!' 'How absurd!' as Italk. "

"I see, " laughed Betty. "I'm afraid I don't know much about dramaticcriticism. "

"Well, it doesn't amount to very much, " returned Mr. Blake, genially. "That's why I stopped doing it. Shall you come to hear me lecture, MissWales?"

Betty laughed again. "I shall if I can get an invitation, " she said. "Isuppose it's an invitation affair. "

"And Miss Watson will be there?"

Betty nodded. "Unless, of course, she knows that you are the editor of'The Quiver. '"

"She won't, " said Mr. Blake, "unless you or the editors of the 'Argus'tell her. Miss Stuart doesn't know, and she is probably the only otherperson up there who's ever heard of me. Good-bye, Miss Wales, until nextweek, Saturday. "

Betty got her bag from the elevator boy, into whose keeping she hadtrustfully confided it, and went out into the snow. She was very muchafraid that she had not done her full duty. Dorothy had told her to besure to pin Mr. Blake down to something definite. Well, she had tried to, but she had not succeeded. As she thought over the interview, she couldnot remember that she had said anything very much to the point. Itseemed, indeed, as if they had talked mostly about other things; and yettoward the last Mr. Blake's manner had been much more cordial, if thatmeant anything. Anyway it was all over and done with now, and quiteuseless. Dorothy and Beatrice and Frances could do their own talking nextweek. And--she had stood on the corner for ten minutes and still therewas no car in sight. A few had crawled past on their way to the Battery, but none had come back. It was frightfully cold. Betty stamped her feet, slapped her arms, warmed first one aching ear and then the other. Stillno car. A diminutive newsboy had stopped by her side, and in despair sheappealed to him. 

"Isn't there some other way to get up town?" she asked. "These cars musthave stopped running, and I've got to get to the Central station. "

"Take de L to de bridge and den de Subway. Dat ain't snowed in, "suggested the little newsboy. "C'n I carry your bag, lady?"

It was only a few blocks, but it seemed at least a mile to Betty, toocold and tired to enjoy the tussle with the wind any longer. When she hadstumbled up the long flight of stairs and dropped herself and her bag inthe nearest corner of the waiting train, she could scarcely have takenanother step. 

The Central station, like the whole city, wore a dejected, desertedappearance. Yes, there would be a train for Harding some time, a guardassured Betty. He could not say when it would start. Oh, it had been dueto start at ten-thirty, and it was now exactly twelve-five. There wasnothing to do but wait. So Betty waited, dividing her time between "TheCanterbury Tales"--she had not money enough to dare to waste any on amagazine--and a woman, who was also waiting for the belated ten-thirty. Her baby was ill, she told Betty; she feared it would die before shecould get to it. Betty's own weariness and discouragement sank intoinsignificance beside her companion's trouble, and in trying to reassureher she became quite cheerful herself. 

At half past eleven that night Madeline Ayres heard something bangagainst her window and looked out to find Betty Wales standing in thedrifts, snowballing the front windows of the Belden House with animpartiality born of despair. 

"I thought I should never wake any one up, " she said, when Madeline hadunlocked the door and let her into the grateful warmth of the hall. "Thebell wouldn't ring and I was so afraid out there, and I've been ten hourscoming from New York, and I'm starved, Madeline. "

When, after having enjoyed a delicious, if not particularly digestiblesupper of coffee and Welsh rarebit in Madeline's room, Betty crept softlyto her own, and turned up the gas just far enough to undress by, Helenwoke and sat straight up in bed. 

"Why, Betty!" she said, "I'm awfully glad you've come. We all worried soabout you. But--why, Betty, your hair isn't waved a bit. Didn't you haveit waved?"

"Helen, were you ever in New York in a blizzard?" enquired Betty, busilyunlacing her shoe-strings. 

"No, " said Helen. "Did it take out the curl?"

"Would it take out the curl!" repeated Betty scornfully. "It would takeout the curliest curl that ever was in thirty seconds. It was perfectlyawful. But, Helen, don't say anything about it, but I didn't go to NewYork for that. "

"Oh!" said Helen. 

The next day Betty woke up with a splitting headache and a sore throat. The day after the doctor came and called it a mild case of grippe. It wasa week before she felt like playing basket-ball, and that very day theteams were chosen and Babbie had the position as sub-centre that Bettyhad coveted. One thing she gained by being ill. By the time she was ableto be up and out even Mary Brooks, with her "satiable curiosity, " hadforgotten to ask why she went to New York. 

CHAPTER XIV

A DISTINGUISHED GUEST

"It's going to be lots of fun. They can't any of them act at all, ofcourse, and their plays are the wildest things, Babe says. She and Bobwent once last winter. This one is called 'The Hand of Fate'--doesn'tthat sound thrilling? I say, Betty, I think you might be a true sport andcome along. You know you don't care a straw about 'The Tendencies of theModern Drama. '"

Katherine Kittredge sat cross-legged on Betty's couch, with Betty'sentire collection of pillows piled comfortably behind her back, while sheheld forth with eloquent enthusiasm upon the charms of the "ten-twenty-thirty" cent show which was giving its final performance that evening atthe Harding opera house. 

"I don't know anything about them, so how can I tell whether I care ornot?" retorted Betty, who was sitting before her desk engaged in adesperate effort to bring some semblance of order out of the chaos thatlittered its shelf and pigeon-holes. 

"Well, even if you do care, you can probably read it all up in somebook, " continued Katherine. "And, besides, " she added briskly. "you wouldget a lot of points to-night. Isn't 'The Hand of Fate' a modern drama, Ishould like to know?"

Betty gave a sudden joyous exclamation. "Why, I'm finding all the thingsI've lost, Katherine. Here's my pearl pin that I thought the sneakthieves must have stolen. I remember now that I put it into an envelopeto take down to be cleaned. And, "--joy changing abruptly to despair, --"here's my last week's French exercise, that I hunted and hunted for, andfinally thought I must have given to some one to hand in for me. Do yousuppose mademoiselle will ever believe me?"

Katherine chuckled. "She would if she knew your habits better. Nowlisten, Betty. Nita's coming to-night, and Babe and Babbie--Bob would, only she doesn't dare cut the lecture when she's just gone into DramaticClub--and Rachel and Roberta, and I've about half persuaded Mary Brooks. We're going to sit in the bald-headed row and clap all the hero's tenorsolos and sob when the heroine breaks his heart, and hiss the villain. How's that for a nice little stunt?"

"I just love ten-cent plays, " admitted Betty, obviously weakening. 

"Then come on, " urged Katherine. 

Betty shook her head. "No, I don't believe I will this time. You seeEmily asked me to the lecture, and I accepted. "

"Well, so did most of us accept, " argued Katherine. "You needn't think weweren't asked. Emily won't care. Just give your ticket away, so therewon't be too many vacant seats, and come along. "

"But you see, " explained Betty, "I really do want to hear the lecture, and I can go off on a lark with you girls almost any time. "

"I never knew you to be so keen about a lecture before, " said Katherineindignantly. "I believe Helen Adams is turning you into a regular dig. "

"Don't worry, " laughed Betty. "You see one reason why I--"

There was a tap on the door, and without waiting for an answer to herknock Eleanor Watson entered. She was apparently in the best of spirits;there was no hint in face or manner of the weariness and nervousdepression that had been so evident at the time of Jim's visit. 

"Have you both tickets for Mr. Blake's lecture?" she asked with acareless little nod for Katherine. "I have one left and Beatrice has one, and she sent me out hunting for victims. I've asked you once already, haven't I, Betty?"

"Yes, you did, " said Betty, "but Emily asked me before that. "

"And I'm going to 'The Hand of Fate, '" said Katherine stiffly, picking upa book from the table and turning over its pages with an air of studiedindifference. She had no intention of being patronized by Eleanor Watson. 

"But she's given away her ticket, Eleanor, " said Betty pacifically, "soyou needn't worry about empty seats. "

"Oh, we're not worrying, " returned Eleanor loftily. "The subject is soattractive"--Katherine winked at Betty from behind the shelter of herbook. "And then Miss Stuart knows Mr. Blake, and she says that he's asplendid speaker. Miss Stuart is ill to-day, so Miss Ferris is going tohave Mr. Blake up to dinner. Of course we Hilton House girls aredreadfully excited about that. "

"Of course, " said Betty, with a little gasp of dismay which neither ofher friends seemed to notice. 

"Miss Ferris has asked the Dramatic Club girls to sit at her table, " wenton Eleanor impressively, "and she wants me to be on her other side, rightopposite Mr. Blake. Just think of that!"

"Splendid!" said Betty, feeling like a traitor. And yet what else couldshe say, and what difference would it make, since Eleanor did not knowthat Mr. Blake was the editor of "The Quiver, " and Mr. Blake, in thegeneral confusion of introductions, would probably not catch Eleanor'sname. 

"I hope you know a good deal more about the tendencies of the moderndrama than I do, " said Katherine drily, "if you're in as deep as allthat. " She slid off the couch with a jerk. "Good-bye, Betty. Are you sureyou won't change your mind?"

"I guess not this time, Katherine, " said Betty, following her guest tothe door. 

Eleanor went off too, after a moment, and Betty was left free to bestowher undivided attention upon the rearrangement of her desk. But evenseveral "finds" quite as important and surprising as the pearl pin andthe French theme did not serve to concentrate her thoughts upon her ownaffairs. The absorbing question was, what did Mr. Blake mean to do, andhow would a dinner with Eleanor in the seat opposite affect hisintentions? He had said that he wasn't interested in Eleanor, but hecouldn't help being influenced by what she said and did, if he knew whoshe was. For the hundredth time Betty questioned, did Eleanor deserve theconsideration that was being asked for her? Was it fair to set aside thegay, self-absorbed Eleanor of to-day in favor of the clinging, repentantEleanor of the week before? Why, yes, she thought, it must be fair tojudge a person at her best, if you wanted her to be her best. She sighedover the perplexities of life, and then she sighed again, because of hertiresome desk and the Saturday afternoon that was slipping away so fast. It was half-past four already, and at five she had promised to meetMadeline Ayres in the college library for a walk before dinner. 

She put the papers that she had sorted into their proper pigeon-holes, swept the rest of the litter into a pile for future consideration, andmade a hasty toilette, reflecting that she should have to dress againanyway for the lecture. As she put on her hat, she noticed the ruffledplume and smoothed it as best she could. "That blizzard!" she thoughtruefully. Reminded again of Mr. Blake, she wondered if he had taken anearly train from New York. If so he must have reached Harding long ago. Perhaps he was closeted with the editors--Frances hadn't heard from himabout an interview when Betty saw her last. Or perhaps he wasinvestigating the moral tone of the college. Betty wondered smilingly howhe would go about it, and looked up to find Mr. Richard Blake himselfstrolling slowly toward her from the direction of the front gateway. Atthe same instant he saw her and came quickly forward, his hat in onehand, the other stretched out for Betty to take. 

"So you didn't get stuck in the snow, " he said, gravely. 

"Not so deep that I had to stay stuck for a week, " laughed Betty. "Haven't the office-boy and the stenographer got out yet?"

"Yes, but they didn't have so far to go, " returned Mr. Blake, calmly. "May I walk on with you?"

"Of course, " agreed Betty, "but you weren't going my way, were you?"

Mr. Blake smiled his slight, cynical smile. "To tell the truth, MissWales, I haven't the least idea which way I am going--or which way Iought to be. I'm supposed to turn up for five o'clock tea with one MissRaymond, who lives at a place called the Davidson House. My friend MissStuart is ill, and I escaped the escort of a committee by wickedlyhinting that I knew my way about. "

"Well, " said Betty, "you were going the right way when I met you. TheDavidson is straight down at the other end of that row of brick houses. "

"Thank you, " said Mr. Blake, making no move to follow Betty's directions. "I detest teas, and I'm going to be as late as I dare. But perhaps Ishall be in your way. "

Betty explained that she was bound for the college library to meet afriend. 

"Ah, " said Mr. Blake, "I think I should like to see that library. Youknow I have theories about libraries as well as about plays. Is this anice one?"

"Of course, " said Betty. "Everything at Harding is nice. Don't you thinkso?"

Mr. Blake shook his head uncertainly. 

"I hardly feel competent to speak of everything yet, Miss Wales. "

"Well, how about the moral tone?" inquired Betty demurely. She had afeeling that more direct questions would not help Eleanor's cause. 

Mr. Blake shook his head again. "I haven't gone very far with that yet, Miss Wales. I mean to make them talk about it at the tea. "

They had climbed the stairs to the library and Betty pushed back theswinging doors and stepped inside, wondering vaguely whether she shouldcall the librarian or take Mr. Blake from alcove to alcove herself, whenMadeline Ayres looked up from her book, and catching sight of themstarted forward with a haste and enthusiasm which the occasion, Bettythought, hardly warranted. 

"I'm afraid I don't know enough about the books to take you around, " shewas saying to Mr. Blake, when Madeline descended precipitately upon themand, paying not the slightest attention to Betty, said in a loud whisperto Mr. Blake, "Dick, come outside this minute, where we can shake hands. "

"Come on, Miss Wales, " whispered Mr. Blake. "It will be worth seeing, "and Betty, not knowing what else to do, followed him into the hall. 

"Why, Dick Blake, " Madeline went on enthusiastically, "you don't know howgood it seems to see one of the old Paris crowd again. Have you forgottenhow we used to hunt chocolate shops together, and do the Latin Quarter atnight, and teach my cousins American manners?"

"Hardly, " laughed Mr. Blake. "We were a pair of young wretches in thosedays, Madeline. But I thought you were all for art and Bohemia. What onearth are you doing up here?"

"Completing my education, " returned Madeline calmly. "The family suddenlydiscovered that I was dreadfully ignorant. What are you doing up hereyourself, Dick?"

"Helping to complete your education, " returned Mr. Blake serenely. "Is itpossible that the fame of my to-night's lecture hasn't reached you, Madeline?"

Madeline laughed merrily. "To think that we've come to this, Dick. Why, Inever dreamed that was you. I've been refusing tickets to that lectureall day--I abhor lectures--but of course I shall go now. " She turned toBetty. "Why didn't you tell us that you knew Mr. Blake, Betty?"

Betty blushed guiltily. "Why, I--because I don't know him much, " shestammered. 

"To be exact, Madeline, " interposed Mr. Blake, "this is only our secondmeeting, and of course Miss Wales didn't want to stand for me in thecritical eyes of the Harding public. "

"Well, but--" Madeline looked from one to the other sharply. "Dick, whomare you writing for now?" she demanded. 

"For myself. I'm running a magazine. "

"'The Quiver'?"

Mr. Blake nodded. "Yes, have you seen it? I've sent one or two numbers toyour father on the chance of their finding him in some far corner of theearth. "

"So that's it, " said Madeline enigmatically, ignoring the question. "NowI understand. I--well, the point is, Dick, do whatever Betty Wales wantsyou to. You may depend upon it that she knows what she's about. Everything she tells you will be on the straight. "

Mr. Richard Blake threw back his head and laughed a hearty, boyish laugh. "You haven't changed a bit, Madeline, " he said. "You expect me to be yourhumble chessman and no questions asked, exactly as you did in the olddays. I can't promise what you want now, " he added soberly, "but Iheartily subscribe to what you say about Miss Wales. See here"--hereached hastily for his watch--"I was going to a tea, wasn't I? Do I dareto cut it out?"

Betty hesitated and looked at Madeline, who shook her head decidedly. "Never. This isn't Bohemia, you know. Run along, Dick. I'll see youto-night if I can get a chance, and if not you'll surely be round atEaster?"

"Rather, " said Mr. Richard Blake, striding hurriedly down the hall. 

Madeline watched him go with a smile. "Nice boy, " she said laconically. "We used to have jolly times together, when he was Paris correspondentfor the something or other in New York. Have we time to take our walk, Betty?"

"Madeline, " said Betty solemnly, "you are a jewel--a perfect jewel. Doyou think he'll do it?"

"Of course, " said Madeline coolly. "He'll keep you on tenter-hooks aslong as he can, but his bark is always worse than his bite, and he'llcome round in the end. "

"Oh, I hope so, " said Betty anxiously. 

Madeline smiled lazily down at her. "It's no good worrying, anyhow, " shesaid, "You can't pursue him to his tea. Besides, ten minutes before youmet him you'd almost decided that it would be better to let the wholething out, and be done with it. "

"Madeline, " demanded Betty in amazement, "how do you guess things?"

"Never mind how, " laughed Madeline. "Come and dress for the lecture. "

Betty answered Helen's eager questions about the discovery of the pearlpin in absent-minded monosyllables. After all, things were turning outbetter than she had hoped. Indirectly at least the trip to New York hadcounted in Eleanor's favor. She need not reproach herself any longer withcarelessness in letting Madeline into the secret, and she could feel thatit was not for nothing that she had lost her chances of being on the"sub" team. 

As she entered the lecture hall that evening with Helen and Alice Waite, Dorothy King, who was standing by the ticket taker, accosted her. 

"I wanted to tell you that Christy is coming back before long, " she said. 

Having drawn her aside on that flimsy excuse, Dorothy grew suddenlyearnest. 

"What's he going to do, Betty?" she demanded. 

"Why, I don't know, " said Betty, blushing at thought of Madeline, "anymore than you do. Haven't you seen him?"

"No, " explained Dorothy. "He wrote to say that it would be wasting timeto argue any more--that he was sure he understood our point of view fromyou, and now he meant to see for himself and decide. "

"Then I suppose he'll tell Miss West tonight. "

"We hoped he'd told you this afternoon. "

"How did you know I'd seen him?" inquired Betty evasively. 

"Eleanor Watson told me that she saw you together in the library. "

Betty gave a little cry of dismay, then checked it. "But she doesn't knowwho he is, " she said. 

"Yes, she does know now, " said Dorothy quickly. 

"How?"

"He told her himself. He was at dinner this evening with Miss Ferris, youknow. Eleanor sat up at his end of the table looking like a perfectqueen, and she talked awfully well too--she is certainly a very brilliantgirl. He talked to her a good deal during dinner and as we were leavingthe table he asked Miss Ferris again who she was. "

"What did he say when she told him?"

"He just said 'Indeed!' in that queer, drawling voice of his. AfterwardMiss Ferris made coffee for us, and what do you suppose he did? He beganto ask everybody in the room about the code of honor at the college. "

"Well?"

"After one or two of the girls had said what they thought, he turnedstraight to Eleanor Watson. 'And you, Miss Watson, ' he said, 'what do youthink? Is this fine moral feeling strong enough to stand a strain? Wouldyou be willing to risk one thoroughly dishonest student not to overthrowit?' She got awfully white, and I could see her cup shake in her hand, but she said very quietly, 'I quite agree with what has already beensaid, Mr. Blake. '"

"And then?"

"Then he said 'Indeed!' again. But when the girls got up to go and he bidthem each good-bye, he managed to keep Eleanor on some pretext aboutwanting to finish an argument that they'd begun at dinner. Miss Ferriskept me to know about a Hilton House girl who was down at the infirmarywhen I was and finally had to be sent home; and as we stood talking atthe other side of the room, I distinctly heard Mr. Blake say, 'The editorof "The Quiver, " Miss Watson. '"

"Did Miss Ferris hear it too?"

"Probably not. Anyway it wouldn't mean anything to her. The next minuteEleanor Watson was gone, and then I went too. Betty, we must run backthis minute. He's going to begin. "

As far as her information about "The Tendencies of the Modern Drama" wasconcerned, Betty Wales might quite as well have been enjoying herself at"The Hand of Fate. " She sat very still, between two girls she had neverseen before, and apparently listened intently to the speaker. As a matterof fact, she heard scarcely a word that he said. Her thoughts and hereyes were fixed on Eleanor, who was sitting with Beatrice Egerton, wellup on the middle aisle. Like Betty, she seemed to be absorbed infollowing the thread of Mr. Blake's argument. She laughed at his jokes, applauded his clever stories. But there was a hot flush on her cheeks anda queer light in her eyes that bore unmistakable evidence to the strugglegoing on beneath her forced attention. 

After the lecture Betty was waiting near the door for Helen and Alice, when Eleanor brushed past her. 

"Are you going home, Eleanor?" she asked timidly, merely for the sake ofsaying something friendly. 

Eleanor turned back impatiently. "You're the tenth person who's asked methat, " she said. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Why, no reason at all--" began Betty. But Eleanor had vanished. 

Once in her own room she locked the door and gave free rein to the furyof passion and remorse that held her in its thrall. Jim's visit hadbrought out all her nobler impulses. She had caught a glimpse of herselfas she would have looked in his eyes, and the scorn of her act that shehad felt at intervals all through the fall and winter--that had preventedany real enjoyment of her stolen honors and kept her from writing homeabout them, --had deepened into bitter self-abnegation. But Jim had comeand gone. He still believed in her, for he did not know what she haddone. Nobody knew. Nobody would ever know now. It was absurd to feardiscovery after all these months. So Eleanor had argued, throwing careand remorse to the winds, and resolving to forget the past and enjoy lifeto the full. 

Then, just at the moment of greatest triumph, had come Mr. Blake'sstartling announcement. He had not told her what he had done or meant todo, nor how he had found out about the story, nor who shared his secret;and Eleanor had been too amazed and frightened to ask. Now, in thesolitude of her room, she drew her own swift conclusions. It was a plotagainst her peace of mind, his coming up to lecture. Who had arranged it?Who indeed but Betty Wales? She knew Mr. Blake intimately, it seemed, andshe had such horribly strict ideas of honesty. She would never forgiveher own sister for cheating. "She must have seen 'The Quiver' on mytable, " thought Eleanor, "and then to use it against me like this!" Nodoubt she or Mr. Blake had told that hateful Madeline Ayres, who knew himtoo. No doubt all the editors had been told. It was to be hoped thatDorothy King, with her superior airs, realized that it was mostly herfault. A dull flush spread over Eleanor's pale face, as it suddenlyflashed upon her that Beatrice Egerton was an editor. 

Well, if Beatrice was in the secret, there was no telling how many shehad confided in. Eleanor's devotion to Miss Egerton had been utterlywithout sentiment from the first. She realized perfectly that Beatricewas flippant and unprincipled, swayed only by selfish considerations andby a passion for making a sensation. If she did not mind being associatedwith the story, she would tell it; only regard for her own reputation asEleanor's "backer" might deter her. 

Swiftly Eleanor laid her plan. After all, what did it matter who knew?Mr. Blake, Betty and Dorothy, Beatrice--the whole college--what couldthey prove? Nothing--absolutely nothing, unless she betrayed herself. Nodoubt they thought they had brought her to bay, and expected her to makesome sort of confession. They would find there was no getting around herthat way. There was no danger of discovery, so long as she kept her head, and she would never show the white feather. She would write anotherstory--she could do it and she would, too, that very night. But first shewould go back to the Students' Building. The Dramatic Club was giving areception to Mr. Blake and the members of the faculty. She had beenunpardonably stupid to think of missing it. 

As she crossed the shadowed space in front of the big building, shecaught sight of three dimly outlined figures clustered about one of thepillars of the portico, and heard Frances West's voice, so sweet andpenetrating as to be quite unmistakable. 

"Yes, he leaves it entirely to us, " she was saying. "He said he thoughtwe could be trusted to know what was best. "

"I wish he hadn't made the condition that no one should say anything toher, " objected a second speaker. "It doesn't seem to me quite wise to letthings just drift along the same as ever. "

"Nonsense, " broke in a third voice, sharp with irritation. "You knowperfectly well--"

Eleanor had walked as slowly as she dared. Now there was nothing for itbut to open the door without waiting to find out the identity of the lasttwo speakers, or risk being caught eaves-dropping. 

She hurried on up the stairs to the society rooms on the second floor, and devoted herself for the rest of the evening to the dullest and mostunpopular members of the faculty with an ardor that won her the heart-felt gratitude of the president of the club. 

"I can be agreeable, " she thought, as she sat down at her desk an hourlater. "I can do whatever I make up my mind to. I'll show them that I'mnot going to 'drift along!'"

It was six o'clock in the morning when, stiff and heavy-eyed, she turnedoff her light and crept into bed. 

"I've driven a coach and four through their precious ten o'clock rule, "she thought, "but I don't care. I've finished the story. "

The story was a little sketch of western life, with characters andincidents drawn from an experience of Jim's. Eleanor was an excellentcritic of her own work, and she knew that this was good; not so unusual, perhaps, as the other one had been, but vivid, swinging, full of life andcolor, far above the average of student work. It should go to MissRaymond the first thing in the morning. She would like it, and the"Argus" perhaps would want it--Eleanor closed her tired eyes, and in amoment was fast asleep. 

CHAPTER XV

DISAPPOINTMENTS

It was the day of the great basket-ball game. In half an hour more thegymnasium would be opened to the crowd that waited in two long, sinuouslines, gay with scarfs, banners and class emblems, outside the doors. Nowand then a pretty girl, dressed all in white, with a paper hat, green oryellow as the case might be, and an usher's wand to match, darted out ofone of the campus houses and fluttered over to the back door of thegymnasium. The crowd watched these triumphal progresses languidly. Itsinterest was reserved for the other girls, pig tailed and in limp-hangingrain-coats, who also sought the back door, but with that absence ofostentation and self-consciousness which invariably marks the trulygreat. The crowd singled out its "heroes in homespun, " and one line orthe other applauded, according to the color that was known to be sewed onthe blue sleeve beneath the rain-coat. 

The green line was just shouting itself hoarse over T. Reed, who had beenobserved slinking across the apple orchard, hoping to effect her entranceunnoticed, when Eleanor Watson hurried down the steps of the HiltonHouse, carrying a sheet of paper in one hand. Hearing the shouting, sheshrugged her shoulders disdainfully and chose the route to the WestcottHouse that did not lead past the gymnasium doors. As she went up thesteps of the Westcott, she met Jean Eastman coming down, her white skirtsrustling in the wind. 

Jean looked at her in surprise. "Why, Eleanor, you're an usher too. Aren't you going to dress? It's half past two this minute. "

"Yes, " said Eleanor curtly, "I know. I'm not going to usher. I have aheadache. Jean, where is my basket-ball song?"

"How should I know?" said Jean, smoothing the petals of the greenchrysanthemums that were festooned about her wand. "On the paper with therest, isn't it?"

[Illustration: THE GREEN LINE WAS SHOUTING ITSELF HOARSE]

"No, " said Eleanor, "it's not. I didn't go to the class 'sing' lastnight, but this noon somebody left a song sheet in my room. You said theychose mine, Jean. "

"I said, " corrected Jean, "that I thought they chose it. I was on thesong committee, but I didn't go to the meeting. From your description Ithought it must be one of those that Kate said was taken. "

Eleanor held out the paper to Jean. "Whose are these?"

Jean glanced hastily down the page. "Why, I don't know, " she said, "anymore than you do--except that first one to the tune of 'St. Louis. '" Shehummed a lilting measure or two. "That's our prize song all right, andwho do you think wrote it?"

"Who?" demanded Eleanor fiercely. 

"That little Adams girl--the one who rooms with Betty Wales. T. Reed toldme she'd been working on it for weeks. "

Eleanor's eyes flashed scornfully. "I should think it ought to be fairlydecent then, " she said. 

"Well, it's considerably more than fairly decent, " said Jean cheerfully. "I'm freezing here, Eleanor, and it's late too. Don't bother about yoursong. Come over to the gym. With me and you can go in the back way. "

"No, thank you, " said Eleanor in frigid tones, and went back as she hadcome. 

To be beaten, and by Helen Chase Adams, of all people! It was toohumiliating. Six basket-ball songs had been printed and hers rejected. Nodoubt the other five had been written by special friends of thecommittee. She had depended on Jean to look after hers--although she hadnot doubted for a moment that it would be among the very best submitted--and Jean had failed her. 

Worse yet, the story on which she had staked her hopes had come back fromMiss Raymond, with a few words of perfunctory, non-committal criticism. Miss Raymond had not read it to her class, much less sent the "Argus"editors after it. 

"Does she know, too?" questioned Eleanor. "Does she think that becauseI've cheated once I can't ever be trusted again, or is it just my luck tohave them all notice the one thing I didn't write and let alone thethings I do?"

It was two weeks since Mr. Blake's lecture, and in that time she hadaccomplished nothing of all that she had intended. Her idea had been tobegin over--to blot out the fact that once she had not played fair, andstarting on a clean sheet, repeat her triumph and prove to herself andother people that her position in college affairs was no higher than shedeserved. But so far she had proved nothing, and every day thedifficulties of her position increased. It was almost more than she couldmanage, to treat the girls whom she suspected of knowing her secret withexactly her accustomed manner. She had not been able to verify hersuspicions except in the case of Beatrice Egerton. There was no doubtabout her. When the two were alone together she scarcely took pains toconceal her knowledge, and her covert hints had driven Eleanor into morethan one outburst of resentment which she bitterly regretted when it wastoo late. It was absolutely impossible to tell about Betty. "She treatsme exactly as she did when Jim was here, " reflected Eleanor, "and just asshe did last year, for that matter. If she doesn't know it's noparticular credit to her, and if she does--" Eleanor could not bear theidea of receiving kindness from people who must despise her. 

Jean ran on to the gym. , shivering in her thin dress, and mutteringsavagely over Eleanor's "beastly temper. "

As she passed the sophomore-senior line, one and another of her friendsshouted out gay greetings. 

"Hurry up, Jean, or we shall get in before you do. "

"You sophomore ushers look like a St. Patrick's Day parade. "

"Tell the people in there that their clocks are slow. "

"All right, " said Jean, hanging on to her unmanageable paper hat. 

As she passed the end of the line, Beatrice Egerton detached herself fromit, and followed her around the corner of the gym. "Oh, Miss Eastman, "she coaxed. "Won't you let me go in with you? I shall never get a placeto see anything from way back there in the line. "

Jean eyed her doubtfully. She wanted to oblige the great Miss Egerton. "I'm afraid all the reserved seats are full by this time, " she objected. 

"Oh, I don't want a seat, " said Beatrice easily. "I'll stand on the stepsof the faculty platform. There's no harm in that, is there?"

"I guess not, " said Jean. "Come on. "

The doorkeeper had gone up-stairs for a moment, and the meek littlefreshman who had her place only stared when Jean and Miss Egerton ranpast her without exhibiting their credentials. 

"Thanks awfully, " said Miss Egerton, sitting down on a pile of rugs andmattresses that had been stacked around the fireplace. Jean went off toget her orders from the head usher. There was really nothing to do butwalk around and look pretty, the head usher told her. The rush to thegallery had begun, but the janitors and the night-watchman were managingthat. Of course when the faculty began to come--

"Oh, yes, " said Jean, and hurried back to Beatrice. 

"Good-looking lot of ushers, " she said. 

Beatrice nodded. "You have a lot of pretty girls in 19--. "

"To say nothing of having the college beauty, " added Jean. 

"Of course, " said Beatrice. "Nobody in college can touch Eleanor Watsonfor looks. There she is now, talking to Betty Wales and Kate Denise. "

"No, " chuckled Jean, "that's Laura Perkins. Their back views areamazingly alike, but wait till you see Laura's face. No, the lady Eleanorwouldn't come to the game. She's in the sulks. "

"Seems to be her chronic state nowadays, " said Beatrice. "Talking to heris like walking on a hornet's nest. What's the particular cause ofgrievance to-day?"

"Oh, the committee didn't accept her basket-ball song, " said Jean, "and Iwas on the committee. "

Beatrice lifted her eyebrows. "She actually had the nerve to write--tohand one in?"

"Oh, that wasn't nervy, " said Jean. "The girls wanted her to--l9-- isawfully shy on poets. What I don't admire is her taste in fussing becauseit wasn't used. "

Beatrice smiled significantly. "Did she tell you about her story?"

"What story?"

"Oh, a new one that she handed in for a theme a week or so ago. "

"What about it?"

"Why, Miss Raymond didn't notice it particularly, and Eleanor was fussedto death--positively furious, you know. I was with her when she got itback. "

"How funny!" said Jean. "But don't they say that Miss Raymond is prettyapt to like everything a girl does, after she's once become interested? Isuppose Eleanor was taking it easy and depending on that. "

Beatrice's face wore its most inscrutable expression. "But, my dear, " shesaid, "if you knew all about that other wonderful story--the famousone--"

There was an unusual commotion at the door opposite them. By flower-bedecked ones and twos the faculty had been arriving, and had beenreceived with shouts and songs from the galleries and escorted by excitedushers across the floor to their seats on the stage. Miss Egerton hadstopped in the midst of her sentence to find out whose coming had turnedthe galleries into pandemonium and brought every usher but the phlegmaticJean to the door. 

"Oh, it's Prexy and Miss Ferris and Dr. Hinsdale, all in a bunch, " shesaid at last. "How inconsiderate of them not to scatter the fireworks!"She turned back to Jean. "As I was saying, if you knew all about thatwonderful story--"

Betty Wales, hurrying to help escort her dear Miss Ferris to theplatform, caught sight of the two on the mattresses, noticed Jean's lookof breathless interest and Beatrice's knowing air, and jumped to exactlythe right conclusion. With a last despairing glance at Miss Ferris sheturned aside from the group of crowding ushers, and dropped down besideJean on the mattings. 

"Have you heard the latest news?" she asked, trying to make her toneperfectly easy and natural. "The freshman captain was so rattled that sheforgot to wear her gym. Suit. She came in her ordinary clothes. They'vesent an usher back with her to see that she gets dressed right this time. Isn't that killing?"

"Absurd, " said Beatrice, rising. "Jean, you haven't done anything yet;you're too idle for words. I'm going up to jolly Dr. Hinsdale. "

In her heart she was glad of the interruption. She had said just enoughto pique curiosity. To tell more would have been bad policy all around. Betty Wales had arrived just in the nick of time. 

But Jean was naturally disappointed. "Betty Wales, " she said, "do youknow what you interrupted just now? Beatrice Egerton was just going totell me the inside facts about Eleanor's story in the 'Argus. '"

"Was she?" said Betty steadily. "If there are any inside facts, as youcall them, don't you think Eleanor is the one to tell you?"

"Oh, I don't know, " said Jean carelessly. "Eleanor's so tiresome. Shewants to be the centre of the stage all the time. Shouldn't you thinkshe'd be willing to give other people a little show now?"

"Why, she is, " returned Betty vaguely. 

"Not much, " asserted Jean with great positiveness. "She's sulking in hertent this very minute because the girls aren't singing her basket-ballsong. Anybody who wasn't downright selfish would be glad to have girlslike Helen Adams get a little chance. "

"Eleanor's tired and doesn't think, " suggested Betty. 

"You'd better go down to the door, " said the head usher. "The 'green'faculty are coming in swarms. "

The game went on much as last year's had done. First one gallery shookwith forbidden applause, then the other. Sophomores sang paeans to theirvictories, freshmen pluckily ignored their mistakes. T. Reed appeared asif by magic here, there, and everywhere. Rachel Morrison played herquiet, steady game at the sophomore basket. Katherine Kittredge, talkingincessantly to the bewildered freshman "home" whom she guarded, battedballs with ferocious lunges of her big fist back to the centre field, where a dainty little freshman with soft, appealing brown eyes, halfhidden under a mist of yellow hair, occasionally managed to foil T. Reed's pursuit and sent them pounding back into the outstretched arms ofa tall, ungainly home who tossed or dropped them--it was hard to tellwhich--into the freshman basket. It was a shame to let her play, thesophomores grumbled. She was a giantess, not a girl. But as the scorepiled up in their favor, they grew more amiable and laughed good-humoredly at the ineffectual attempts of their guards to block thegiantess's goals. 

Betty watched it all with keen interest and yet with a certain feeling ofdetachment. It was splendid fun, but what did it matter after all who wonor lost? The freshman centres muffed another ball. Up in the "yellow"gallery she saw a tall girl standing behind a pillar unmistakably winkback the tears. How foolish, just for a game!

It was over at last. Miss Andrews announced the score, congratulatingvictor and vanquished alike on clean, fair play. Betty joined in the madrush around the gym. , helped sing to the team and to the freshman teamand finally retired to a quiet corner with Christy Mason, who had comeback to see the game and get a start with her neglected work beforevacation. Betty gave her the Students' Commission key with a little sighof satisfaction. 

"It's a good deal of responsibility, isn't it?" she said. 

Christy nodded. "If you take it seriously. But then isn't life aresponsibility?"

Helen was sitting alone in their room when Betty got back, her eyesshining like stars, her plain, angular little face alight with happiness. 

"I say, Helen, " began Betty, hunting for the hat-pins that still fasteneda remnant of her once gorgeous paper hat to her hair, "your song wasgreat. Did the girls tell you?"

"Some of them, " said Helen, shyly. "Some of them didn't know I wrote it. One asked me if I knew. "

Betty laughed. "Did you tell her?"

"No, I didn't, " said Helen, blushing. "I--I wanted to, awfully; but Ithought it would seem queer. "

"Well, plenty of them knew, " said Betty, mounting a chair to fasten herwand over a picture. 

"Of course, "--Helen's tone was apologetic, --"it's a very little thing tocare so much about. I suppose you think I'm silly, but you see I workedover it pretty hard, and I don't have so very many things to care about. Now if I were like you--"

"Nonsense!" said Betty, descending suddenly from her lofty perch. "Icouldn't write a line of poetry if I tried from now till Commencement. "

"Oh, yes, you could, " said Helen, eagerly. "Well, if I were like EleanorWatson then--"

"Helen, " said Betty, quickly, "you're not one bit like her. "

Helen waited a minute. "Betty, " she began again shyly. 

"Yes, " said Betty, kindly. 

"I'm awfully sorry you couldn't have your wish, too. "

"My wish!" Betty repeated. "Oh, you mean about being on the team. I don'tmind about that, Helen. I guess I was needed more just where I was. "

Helen puzzled over her answer until the supper-bell rang. 

Betty's problem stayed with her all through the bustle of last days andon into the Easter vacation. Even then she found only a doubtfulsolution. She had thought that Mr. Blake's decision, of which Dorothy hadtold her as soon as possible, would close the incident of the story. Nowshe saw that the affair was not so easily disposed of. Beatrice Egertonwas an incalculable source of danger, but the chief trouble was Eleanorherself. Somehow her attitude was wrong, though Betty could not exactlytell how. She was in a false position, one that it would be difficult forany one to maintain; and it was making her say and do things that peoplelike Jean, who did not understand, naturally misinterpreted. Why, evenshe herself hated to meet Eleanor now. There was so much to hide and toavoid talking about. And yet it would certainly be worse if everybodyknew. Betty puckered her smooth forehead into rows and rows of wrinklesand still she saw no way out. She thought of consulting Nan, but shecouldn't bear to, when Nan had always been so pessimistic about Eleanor. 

It was not until the vacation was over and Betty's train was pulling intoHarding that she had an idea. She gave a little exclamation. "I've gotit!"

"Got what?" demanded her seat-mate, who was a mathematical prodigy andhad been working out problems in calculus all the way from Buffalo. 

"Not one of those examples of yours, " laughed Betty, "only an idea, --orat least about half an idea. "

"I don't find fractions of ideas very useful, " said the seat-mate. 

"I never said they were, " returned Betty irritably. 

It had occurred to her that if there was any way to get Eleanor toconfide in Miss Ferris, perhaps matters might be straightened out. 

The missing half of the idea, to which Betty had not the faintest clew, was--how could it be done?

CHAPTER XVI

DORA CARLSON'S "SUGARING-OFF"

Dora Carlson pulled back the heavy oak door of the Hilton House andstepped softly into the hall. With bright, darting glances, such as somefrightened wild creature might bestow on an unfamiliar environment, shecrept past the parlor doors and up the stairs. Dora was not naturallytimid, and her life on a lonely farm had made her self-reliant to adegree; but there was something about these big campus houses that awedher--mysterious suggestions of a luxurious and alien existence, ofdelightful festivities and dainty belongings, that stimulated herimagination and made her feel like a lawless intruder if she met any onein the passages. 

Of course it was foolish. Nettie Dwight, who lived next door to her onMarket Street, had not a single friend on the campus, and yet she hadbeen into every one of the dwelling houses and explored them all from topto bottom. Where was the harm, she asked. All you had to do was to stepup and open the door, and then walk along as if you knew where you weregoing. When you had seen as much as you wanted to, you could stop infront of some room of which the door stood open so that you could tellfrom the hall that it was empty, and turn around and go away again. Everybody would think that the person you had come to see was out. Itsounded perfectly simple, but Dora had never been anywhere except toEleanor's room at the Hilton House and once, at Betty Wales's invitation, to the Belden. 

She hated to hurry through the halls. She would have liked to turn asideand smell the hyacinths that stood in the sunny bay-window of the longparlor; she wanted desperately to read through all the notices on thehouse bulletin-board at the foot of the stairs; but instead she fled upthe two flights and through the corridor, like a criminal seekingsanctuary, and arrived at Eleanor's room in a flurry of breathlesseagerness. The door was open and Eleanor sat by the window, staringlistlessly out at the quiet, greening lawns. The light was full on herface and Dora, who had had only a passing glimpse of her divinity sincebefore the spring vacation, noticed sadly how pale and tired she looked. 

"May I come in, Miss Watson?" she asked. 

"Of course, but you mustn't call me that, " said Eleanor, turning to herwith a charming smile. Beatrice Egerton had said that she should be overin the course of the afternoon, and Eleanor had been dreading her coming. The necessity of keeping up appearances with Beatrice and the rest waswearing Eleanor out. It was a distinct relief to talk to Dora, with whomno artifices were necessary. Whoever else knew her secret, Dora certainlydid not; she was as remote from the stream of college gossip as if shehad lived in another world. 

"I am so glad to see that you're resting, " said Dora brightly. "I take itas an omen that perhaps you'll be able to do what I want. "

"I hope I can, " said Eleanor. "What is it?"

"Why, I'm going to have a sugaring-off tonight, " announced Doraimpressively, "and I should be very pleased to have you come. "

For a moment Eleanor hesitated, then her better nature triumphed. Thiswas the first thing the child had ever asked of her, and she should haveit, even at the cost of some trifling annoyance. 

"How nice, " she said cordially. "I shall be delighted to come. Just whatis a sugaring-off, Dora?"

Dora laughed gleefully. "It's amazing to me how few people know what itis. I'm not going to tell you the particulars, but I will excite yourinterest by saying that it has to do with maple sugar. "

"How did you happen to think of having one?" inquired Eleanor curiously. 

"Why, you see, " explained Dora, "we have a sugar orchard on our farm. Ohio is a great maple-sugar state, you know. "

"Oh!" said Eleanor. "No, I didn't know. "

"Sugaring time used to be the delight of my childish heart, " went on Doraquaintly. "So many people came out to our farm then. It was quite likeliving in the village and having neighbors. And then I do love maplesugar. My father makes an excellent quality. "

"And he's sent you some now?"

"Yes, " assented Dora eagerly, "a whole big pailful. I suppose my dearfather thought it would console me for not having been home for my springvacation. It came this morning, and yesterday Mrs. Bryant went to pass aweek with her son in Jersey City, and she told me I could use the kitchenfor a sugar-party if I wanted to while she was gone--I told her that Iwas expecting to have a party--and this is the only night for a week thatNettie Dwight can come, because she teaches in a night-school. " Dorapaused for breath. 

"Who is Nettie Dwight?" asked Eleanor idly. 

"Oh, she is a Market Street girl. There will be three Market Street girlsand you and Miss Wales, if she can come. Miss Wales asked me to a play ather house last fall and I am so glad to have a chance to return it. I wasafraid I never could. "

"Hello, Eleanor. Good-afternoon, Miss Carlson. " Beatrice Egerton threwher books and then herself unceremoniously on to Eleanor's couch. 

Beatrice could hardly have told why she persisted in inflicting hersociety upon Eleanor Watson. In her shallow way she was fond of her, andshe felt vaguely that considering her own careless code of morals itwould be inconsistent to drop Eleanor now, just because she had followedsimilar standards. At the same time she was angry at what she looked uponas a betrayal of her friendship, and considered that any annoyance shemight inflict on Eleanor was no more than she deserved. As for DoraCarlson, she amused Beatrice, who, being thoroughly self-seeking herself, could not imagine why the exclusive Eleanor should choose to exhibit afreakish tendency toward philanthropy in this one direction. Beatricewould have liked, for the satisfaction there is in solving a puzzle, toget at the root of the matter. Accordingly she always took pains to drawDora out. 

"I've met you before this afternoon, Miss Carlson, " she said, thumping arefractory pillow into place. "What are you doing up on the campus?"

It was the most casual remark, but Dora answered it with the naivefrankness that was her peculiar charm. 

"I am giving out my invitations for a sugaring-off, " she said. 

"A sugaring-off!" repeated Miss Egerton gaily. "Now I haven't thefaintest idea what that is but it sounds very festive. "

Dora looked at her questioningly and then at Eleanor. "Miss Egerton, " shesaid at last, "I should be very pleased to have you come too, because youare Eleanor's dear friend. "

Beatrice gave a little shriek of amusement. "Are you really going, Eleanor?"

Eleanor nodded. 

"Then I shall certainly come too, " declared Beatrice, merrily, "to seethat you don't eat too much sugar. "

As Dora danced down the Belden House steps a few moments later, her facewas wreathed in smiles. Miss Wales was coming too. They were all coming. "I guess my father would be pleased if he could look in on us to-night, "thought the little freshman happily. Then, as the college clock chimedout the hour, her brow wrinkled with anxiety. The kitchen must be swept, --Dora had decided views about Mrs. Bryant's housekeeping, --and the"surprise, " which was to eke out the entertainment afforded by thesugaring-off proper, had yet to be prepared. The unaccustomedresponsibilities of hostess weighed heavily upon Dora Carlson as shetraversed the long mile that stretched between the campus and 50 MarketStreet. 

It was an odd little party which gathered that night in Mrs. Bryant'sdingy kitchen. The aggressive Nettie Dwight, two hopelessly commonplacesophomores, cousins, from a little town down the river, and Dora composedthe Market Street contingent. They were all very much in awe of Eleanor'sbeauty, and of Beatrice's elaborate gown and more elaborate manner. BettyWales, enveloped in one of Mrs. Bryant's "all-over" kitchen aprons, vigorously stirring the big kettleful of bubbling, odorous syrup, triedher best to put the others at their ease and to make things go, asaffairs at the college always did. But it was no use. Everythingprogressed too smoothly. Nothing burned or boiled over or refused tocook, --incidents which always add the spice of adventure to a chafingdish spread. Nobody had come in a kimono. There was no bed to loll backon, no sociable sparcity of plates, no embarrassing interruptions in theway of heads of uninvited guests poked in the door and apologeticallywithdrawn; and the anxious pucker of hospitality on the face of thelittle hostess imposed an added restraint and formality upon the oddlyassorted company of guests. Beatrice Egerton played with her rings, yawned without dissimulation, and wished she had stayed at home; Eleanorbravely parried Nettie Dwight's incisive questions about "her set"; andBetty, stirring and talking to the cousins and Dora, had time to admireEleanor's self-control and to wonder pityingly if there were many girlsin Harding College so completely "out of it" as these four seemed to be. And yet they were not unhappy; they were enjoying Dora Carlson'ssugaring-off as though it had been a delightful college spread instead ofa dull and dreadful party. 

When the biscuits, that Dora had made herself, were done and the sugarboiled to the right consistency, everybody began to brighten up, and therefreshment feature bade fair to be a real success. It was too late inthe spring for snow, so Dora had provided some little cakes of ice onwhich to wax the sugar. They were not quite so good a substitute as mighthave been desired, for they had a fashion of slipping dangerously overthe plates, and then the hot sugar slipped and spread on the ice and hadto be dexterously coaxed to settle down in one place and melt out a coolbed for itself, as it does easily enough in snow. But all this only addedto the interest of the occasion. One sophomore cousin lost her cake ofice on the floor, and she showed more animation than she had in all therest of the evening together, in spite of Betty's valiant efforts. ThenNettie Dwight suggested that they grain part of the sugar, so, wheneverybody had eaten as much as possible of the waxed variety, spread onas many crisp little biscuits as Dora could force upon them, Dora broughtsaucers full of the hot syrup and there was a stirring contest, withresults in the shape of creamy maple candy, which Dora put out to cool, ready to be eaten later. 

"And now, " she said, with a little quiver of eagerness in her voice, "there is one course more. Look under your plates. "

Search revealed a carefully folded square of white paper at each place. Beatrice got hers open first and muttered, "What perfect nonsense!"before Eleanor could stop her with an imploring glance. 

"Such a bright idea!" cried Betty Wales, hurrying to the rescue. "They'refortunes, aren't they? Oh, dear, I'm afraid mine doesn't fit. It's muchtoo grand. "

Dora laughed gleefully. "That's the fun, you see, --to notice how theyfit. "

"How'd you ever think of it?" giggled one of the cousins. "There's a manin mine all right. "

"Oh, I didn't think of it myself, " explained Dora, modestly. "I found itin a magazine. I don't suppose any of you see the 'Farmer's FriendlyCounsellor. '"

"No, " said Betty, quickly, "I don't believe we do. "

"It's a fine magazine, " continued Dora, "with quantities of good readingmatter of all kinds. There's always one page for farmers' wives, withrecipes and hints for home dressmakers. Last winter I read about giving aluncheon, and it sounded so pretty that I cut it out, though I neverexpected to use it. Right in the middle of it was one course like thesefortunes, only they were to be put into stuffed peppers, instead ofstuffing, and when the guests took the covers off their peppers, therethey would find their fortunes. "

"But Miss Carlson, " began Beatrice, impatiently, "don't you see that thewhole point--"

"I like this way just as well, " broke in Betty Wales. "What you reallycare about is the fortune, and it doesn't matter whether it's in a pepperor under your plate. "

"Not a bit, " agreed Eleanor, crumpling up her fortune nervously. 

"And now, " said Dora, "we'll all read them out loud and see how they fit. I put them around without looking at them, and I didn't know where any ofyou were going to sit. "

"I guess mine fits pretty well, " said the giggling cousin, whose fortunehad a man in it. 

"Then why don't you begin?" suggested Betty, and the cousin began withavidity. Dora had absolutely no literary ability; the spontaneous gaietythat bubbled up in all that she said and did was entirely lacking in thestiff, sentimental little character-sketch, but it pleased its reader, and Betty and Eleanor joined in declaring it very interesting. 

"Now, Eleanor, " said Betty, "you come next. "

Eleanor shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I tore mine up before I knew wewere to read them. " She held up the crumpled ball of paper. 

"Oh, you can smooth that out, " said Betty, noticing Dora'sdisappointment. "Here, give it to me. "

Eleanor surrendered the paper in silence, and without glancing at thecontents Betty smoothed it out and passed it back. 

"Now, Eleanor. "

Eleanor looked around the table. Everybody was waiting. There was noescape. Resolutely she pulled herself together and plunged in. 

"You are the soul of truth and honor and generosity. You never think ofyourself, but are always trying to make other people happy. Your noblenature is shown in your beautiful--" Eleanor's voice faltered and sheflushed painfully. "I can't go on, " she said. "It's so--so--" She stoppedin utter confusion. 

Dora had been listening with shining eyes. "Oh, please go on, " shebegged. "That's the very one I wrote for you. I didn't plan it a bit, butI hoped you'd get that one. "

The matter might have been adjusted easily enough, if Beatrice, who wassitting between Betty and Dora, had not turned to Betty with her oracularsmile, and murmured, "A keen sense of irony for one so young, isn't it?"behind her hand. 

Betty flushed in spite of herself and looked up to find Dora staring atthem with wide, startled eyes. She had caught the word irony, anddistinctly remembered the succinct definition that she had learned yearsbefore at school--"saying the opposite of what you mean. " She looked atEleanor who was struggling to regain her composure and attacked thesituation with simple directness. 

"Miss Egerton, " she said, "I couldn't avoid overhearing you just now. Idon't see why any one should think I didn't mean what I wrote aboutEleanor. Of course I meant it. You know I did, don't you, Eleanor?"

"Of course you meant it, " repeated Eleanor, with an unsteady littlelaugh. "If you hadn't, I shouldn't have minded reading it. Please forgiveme. "

It was all over in a moment. Before the three strangers had had time towonder what the trouble was, Betty had plunged gaily into her fortune. Nettie followed eagerly, and Beatrice had the grace to bring up the rear. There was the candy to eat after that and the party broke up with a fairsemblance of mirth. But as she washed up the big pile of sticky dishes, Dora's face was troubled. What could Miss Egerton have meant? Why shouldEleanor's dearest and most intimate friend have said such a thing? Howcould she have thought it?

Eleanor walked home wrapped in a silence which Betty's most vigoroussallies could not penetrate. Long after Dora had finished her dishes andgone to bed, she sat in her Morris chair in the dark, wide-awake, everynerve throbbing painfully. She had failed Dora Carlson, spoiled the partythat the poor child had so counted on, made her Beatrice Egerton's buttand laughing stock. Dora would never wholly trust her again. She wouldwonder what Beatrice had meant. By and by she would guess, and thefriendship that Eleanor had meant should brighten her college course, would be turned to a bitter memory. Whether or not she ever knew thewhole miserable story would make small difference. She, Eleanor Watson, had made Dora waste her love on a cheat--a thief; she had made BettyWales and Miss Ferris help a cheat. 

Eleanor's face softened. Betty had been awfully good to Dora. Perhaps, after all, she had not been the one to tell Mr. Blake. But Betty'sdisappointment was not the worst thing. Betty would make other friends--find other interests. Dora Carlson was different; she had not the talentfor making many friends, and in losing Eleanor she would lose all shehad. For the first time Eleanor realized how mean and contemptible heraction had been, because it did not concern herself alone, but involvedevery one of the people who cared about her--Jim and her father, Dora, Betty, Miss Ferris. It was a short list; perhaps Jean and Kate Denisecared a little too. She felt no resentment against Beatrice. There was noroom for it in the press of deeper emotions. Her one idea was that shemust do something to save them all. But what? Creep away like a thief inthe night--let them forget that she had ever been a disgrace to them andto 19--? Eleanor's pride revolted against such a course, and yet whatelse was there to do? She had not even arrived at Betty's half answer tothe problem when she undressed in the silence of the great, sleepinghouse and, thoroughly tired with her long vigil, forgot the difficulttangle until morning. 

CHAPTER XVII

A MAY-DAY RESOLUTION

The spring had been a late one at Harding, but it had come at last with asudden rush and a glare of breathless midsummer heat. The woods ofParadise were alive with fresh young green, gay with bird songs, sweetwith the smell of growing things. The campus too was bright in its newlivery. The tulips in front of the Hilton House flaunted their scarletand gold cups in the sunshine. The great bed of narcissus around the sideentrance of college hall sweetened the air with its delicate perfume, andout on the back campus the apple-trees, bare and brown only a day or sobefore, were wrapped in a soft pink mist that presaged the coming gloryof bud and blossom. 

It was there, in the square of dappled sunshine and shadow under theapple-trees, at once the loveliest and most sequestered spot on thecampus, that the Harding girls were holding a May-day fete. It was astrictly impromptu affair. Somebody had discovered at breakfast the daybefore that to-morrow would be May-day, and somebody else had suggestedthat as it was also Saturday, there ought to be some sort of celebration. A May queen was decreed "too old"; a May masque too much trouble. Thensomebody said, "Let's all just dress up as little girls and roll hoops, "and the idea met with instant favor. It was passed along at chapel andmorning classes, and at three o'clock the next afternoon the wholecollege, its hair in waving curls or tightly braided pig-tails, itsskirts shortened, its waists lengthened and encircled by sashes, hadgathered in the space under the apple-trees, carrying hoops, dolls andskipping ropes, intent on getting all the fun possible out of beinglittle once more. 

There were all sorts of children there; little country girls with checkedgingham aprons and sunbonnets, demure little Puritan maids with cork-screw curls and pantalets, sturdy little girls in sailor suits, sweetlittle girls in ruffled muslins, tall little girls, all arms and ankles. There was even a Topsy, gay in yellow calico, and an almond-eyed Japanesewhose long kimono and high-piled hair prevented her taking part in theactive American games of her mates. The taller girls were necessarilyabsurd. Some of the smaller ones were surprisingly realistic. And all, big and little, danced and laughed and squabbled, tripped over theirskipping ropes, pursued their hoops or played with their dolls under theapple-trees in true "little girl" fashion and with the utmost zest andabandon. 

Miss Ferris's room at the Hilton House overlooked the apple orchard, andpresently she and Miss Raymond strolled out together to see the fun. Theywere greeted with a shout of joyous welcome from a noisy group in thefarthest corner of the lawn, who immediately joined hands and came in along, wavering line, "hippity-hopping" to meet them. 

"Oh, Miss Ferris, " called Dorothy King from one end of the line, "we wantyou and Miss Raymond to be judge. Which of us looks the youngest?"

"We've been disputing about it all the afternoon, " added Mary Brooksbreathlessly from the middle of the line. "You see we're all dressedalike in white muslin and blue sashes. Now Miss Raymond, don't I looklots younger than Dottie?"

"Stand in a row, " commanded Miss Ferris laughingly, and the chatteringgroup straightened out demurely, with much nudging of elbows and plantingof feet on an imaginary line. Miss Raymond and Miss Ferris considered amoment, and then held a brief consultation. 

"We both decide in favor of Betty Wales, " announced Miss Ferris. "Shelooks about nine and none of the rest of you are under twelve. "

"There! What did I tell you!" shrieked Betty gaily, her curls bobbing, her sash ends flying. 

"I protest, " called Katherine Kittredge. "Betty doesn't look over twelveany of the time, and the rest of us look twenty. We've taken off eightyears and she's only dropped five. 'Tain't fair!" and Katherine burstinto a beautiful "little girl" boohoo. 

"Don't you wanter hold my dollie?" said Mary Brooks, tendering ahandkerchief puppet to Miss Raymond with a perfect imitation of childishinnocence. 

"Oh, no, come an' tell us a story, " begged Babbie, twisting her whiteapron into a roll. 

"You'd ruther roll hoops, hadn't you?" said Katherine to Miss Ferris. 

"Please tie on my hair-ribbon, " demanded Bob, who in spite of a muchberuffled dress and a resplendent array of doll and sash-ribbon, lookedexactly as tomboyish as usual. 

Miss Ferris and Miss Raymond appeared to be properly amused by all thisnonsense, and Miss Raymond, escorted by a little crowd of her specialadmirers, went on to the crest of the hill to see Alice Waiters dollparty, which was being held on the grass at the top of the dust-panslope. But Miss Ferris refused all the invitations. She had only come outfor a moment, she said, and must go straight back to her work. 

Betty and Mary Brooks walked over to the Hilton House with her. When shehad gone in Betty seized Mary's hand and pulled her around the corner ofthe house. "Let's trill up to Eleanor, " she said. "I don't think she'sbeen out at all. "

Mary looked longingly back at the May party. "I believe--yes, they'vefound a hurdy-gurdy, Betty. What's the use of bothering if she doesn'tknow enough to come down?"

"Just a minute, " pleaded Betty. "Here she is. Oh, Eleanor, come out andwatch, even if you haven't dressed up. It's piles of fun. "

"Is it?" said Eleanor uncertainly, touched by Betty's constantthoughtfulness. "Well, perhaps I will come later. I must finish a letterfirst. "

"Finish a letter, " echoed Mary, "with that hurdy-gurdy going! I admireyour concentration. Betty, truly I can't stand it another minute. I'mgoing back. "

"All right. Good-bye, Eleanor. Hurry up and come, " called Betty, flyingafter Mary down the path. 

Eleanor Watson looked after them for a moment and then with a littledespairing sigh sat down again at her desk. She was writing to Jim. Itwas almost a month since she had sent off her last letter to him and yetthere seemed to be nothing to say. She added a line or two, dropped herpen and went back to the window. The girls were dancing to the music ofthe hurdy-gurdy. Alice Waite was standing on the edge of the crowd, hugging a huge rag-doll in her arms as if it was her dearest treasure. Eleanor shrugged her shoulders impatiently. The whole affair wasperfectly absurd. She had told Alice Waite so at luncheon, in herhaughtiest manner. She picked up a book from the table and began to read, but in spite of her determination to ignore it, her thoughts would wanderto the pretty picture outside her window. The shouts and laughter, thegay babel of talk with the undertone of droning music rang in her ears. She slammed down her window, but still she could hear them. 

What a good time they were having! Yes, they were absurd, with theabsurdity that belongs to youth--happy, light-hearted, inconsequentyouth. Eleanor Watson felt that she had left that sort of thing farbehind her. Before the summer when Judge Watson had brought home a gayyoung wife to take his daughter's place at the head of his household, before the night on the river when she had seen herself as Hardingcollege saw her, before the Indian summer afternoon when she had foughtand lost her battle on the stairway of the main building, --before thosecrises she could have been a happy little girl with the rest of them, butnot now. Her heart was full of bitter, passionate envy. How easy life wasfor them, while for her it seemed to grow harder and more impossibleevery day. In the week that had passed since the sugaring-off she hadseen Dora once, and she had been more hurt by the restraint andembarrassment that the child could not hide than by all that had gonebefore. How was she to win back Dora's confidence and change Betty's pityto respect?

She could not stand that music another minute. She would go for a longwalk--far enough at least to escape from hurdy-gurdies and chatteringgirls. She got her hat, pulled on a light silk coat, for in spite of theunseasonable heat the late afternoon would be cool, and hurried down-stairs. Hastening through the lower hall she almost ran into Miss Ferris, the last person she wanted to meet. 

"My dear, " Miss Ferris cut short her apology, "we evidently have too muchto think about, both of us. " She looked at Eleanor keenly. "Why aren'tyou out being a little girl with the rest of them?" she asked. 

"I didn't feel like it, Miss Ferris, " said Eleanor, turning away from thesearching gray eyes, "I was going for a walk instead. "

"Alone?"

"Yes. "

"Then"--Miss Ferris hesitated--"may I come too, or don't you want me?"

For an astute person Miss Ferris developed all at once an amazingdensity. She did not seem to notice the ungracious stiffness of Eleanor'sassent. 

"Good!" she cried enthusiastically, running off like a girl to get ready. Eleanor waited, her face set in hard lines of resentful endurance. Shecould not openly insult Miss Ferris, who had been kindness itself to herall the year, but she would be as cold and offish as she pleased. 

"Now which way shall we go?" asked Miss Ferris eagerly as they startedoff. 

"It makes no difference to me, Miss Ferris. " Eleanor's tone was frigidlycourteous. 

"Then suppose we go to Paradise. It's always lovely there. "

Almost in silence they climbed down the steep slope that leads to thewater path, crossed the sunny stretch of meadow land and came out intothe dim, silent wood beyond. Here the path widened and Miss Ferris, whohad led the way, waited for Eleanor to come up with her. 

"Isn't it beautiful?" she said with a little catch in her voice. "There'snothing quite like the woods in spring, is there? Oh, I'm so glad I ranaway!"

"Ran away?" questioned Eleanor. 

"Yes, from my work and my worries and myself out into this big, beautiful, new world. Doesn't it make you wish you could send out freshshoots and blossoms yourself, and help make the world glad?"

"I'm afraid not, " said Eleanor coldly, and again she felt the gray eyes, keen and yet very kindly, fastened on her face. 

A turn in the path brought the end of the grove into view. "Oh, dear!"exclaimed Miss Ferris sadly. "I'd forgotten that Paradise was so verysmall. Let's go back to that big pine-tree with the great gnarled rootsand sit down by the water and forget that we aren't lost in a lovelyprimeval wilderness. "

Eleanor followed her in silence and they found seats on the roots of thebig tree, Eleanor choosing one as far as she dared from her companion. 

"And now, " said Miss Ferris, as soon as they were settled, "tell me allabout it. "

"About what?" inquired Eleanor steadily. 

"What you were running away from. "

Eleanor flushed angrily. "Miss Ferris, did any one ask you to--"

"No, " said Miss Ferris quickly. "No one told me that you were in trouble. I wish some one had. I'm afraid I've been very blind. I've let you worryyourself almost ill over something and never asked you if I could help. I've been so busy being proud of you this year that I've never evennoticed how tired and worn out you were getting. "

"Proud!" repeated Eleanor, scornfully. 

"Yes, " said Miss Ferris, firmly, "proud. You've made a splendid record, Miss Watson, --a remarkable record, considering last year. "

"Please don't. You wouldn't say that if you understood. "

Miss Ferris looked puzzled. "Don't tell me anything that you'd rathernot, " she said, "but there is one thing that a friend always wants toknow. Do you see your way out, Miss Watson?"

"There isn't any way out. "

"Oh, but I think there is always one somewhere, " said Miss Ferris, brightly. "You're quite sure we couldn't find it between us?"

"Quite sure. "

"If you ever change your mind--"

"Thank you, " said Eleanor, curtly. 

There was a little silence. "We runaways mustn't be gone too long. Haveyou any idea what time it is?" asked Miss Ferris. 

Eleanor did not answer, and Miss Ferris looked up to find her cryingsoftly, her face hidden in one hand, her shoulders shaking withsuppressed sobs. For a moment Miss Ferris watched her without speaking. Then she moved nearer and stretched out her hand to take Eleanor's freeone. 

"I'm very, very sorry, " she said kindly. "I wish I could have helped. "

[Illustration: ELEANOR DID NOT ANSWER]

To her surprise Eleanor's sobs ceased suddenly. "I'd rather tell any oneelse, " she said wearily. "I hate to have you despise me, Miss Ferris. "

For answer Miss Ferris only gave the hand she held a soft, friendlylittle squeeze. 

Then it came out--the sad, shameful story in a fierce, scornful torrentof words. When it was told, Eleanor lifted her head and faced Miss Ferrisproudly. "Now you know. " she said. "Now you can see that I was right--that there isn't any way out. "

Miss Ferris waited a moment. "Miss Watson, " she said at last, "I can'tfeel quite as you do about it. I think that if you honestly regret whatyou did, if you are bound to live it down, if you know that in all yourlife long you are never going to do anything of the sort again, --nevergoing to want anything badly enough to play false for it, --why then theway out is perfectly plain. That is the way out--to let this time teachyou never to do anything of the sort again. "

Eleanor shook her head hopelessly. "But don't you see that I can't put itbehind me--that I can't live it down, as you say. The girls won't let meforget that I was taken into Dramatic Club the first time. They won't letme forget that I am the only sophomore who is practically sure of a placeon the 'Argus' board. I tried--" Eleanor gave a pitiful little history ofher efforts to establish her literary reputation on a fair basis with thesong and the story. 

"I see, " said Miss Ferris, thoughtfully. "Miss Watson, if I understandyou correctly, you find yourself in the position of a man who, havingstolen a precious stone, repents and strains every nerve to pay for histreasure. But as he is commonly supposed to be the lawful owner of thestone, his neighbors naturally resent his eagerness to gain more richesand consider him grasping. It's going to be very hard for you to earnthat stone, isn't it?"

"The thing to do, " said Eleanor with quick decision, "is to give itback. "

Miss Ferris waited. 

"I don't know that you will believe me, " Eleanor went on after a minute, "because it seems so unlikely; but this is the first time I ever thoughtof resigning from Dramatic Club. "

"You must remember, " said Miss Ferris, quietly, "that if you shouldresign now, you would never be voted into the society again, no matterhow much your work might deserve recognition. "

"Yes, " said Eleanor. 

"And that so unusual a proceeding will create comment. People who don'tunderstand will be likely to say unpleasant things. "

"I don't believe I should mind--much, " said Eleanor, unsteadily. "It'sthe people who do understand that I care about--and myself. I want tofeel that I've done a little something to repair damages. Of course thiswon't make things just right. Some other girl in 19-- ought to have beenin the first four, but it will be something, won't it?"

"Yes, " said Miss Ferris, soberly. "I should say it would be a greatdeal. "

The walk back through the green aisle of wood and thicket was almost assilent as the walk out had been, but there was a new spring in Eleanor'sstep and an expression of resolute relief on her face that had not beenthere an hour before. 

As they turned into the campus Eleanor broke silence. "Miss Ferris, ifthe man should return the stone, do you think he ought to confess tohaving stolen it?"

Miss Ferris looked up at the orchard on the hill where the girls weredispersing with much talk and laughter, with gay good-byes and carelesssnatches of song, and then back to the girl beside her. "No, " she said atlast. "If we were all old in the ways of this world and wise and kindenough, it might do, but not now, I think. I agree with the girls whohave been keeping your secret. I believe you can accomplish more forothers and for yourself, in the large sense, by stating no reason foryour action. I know we can trust you. "

"Thank you, " said Eleanor. Then all at once a strong revulsion of feelingovercame her. "But I haven't promised to resign. I don't believe I can doit. Think what it will mean to drop out of things--to be thought queererthan ever--to--"

"Caught red-handed!" cried a mocking voice behind them, and threestealthy figures bounded out from a tangle of shrubbery. Betty, Madelineand Mary Brooks had come down the hill by the back path and, making adetour to leave Rachel at the gate nearest her "little white house roundthe corner, " had discovered the truants and stolen upon them unaware. 

"We're sorry you both had so much to do, " said Betty, demurely. 

"And that you don't appreciate May parties, " added Mary. 

"And haven't a proper feeling for hurdy-gurdies, " finished Madeline. 

"Ah, but you can't tell what deep philosophical problems we may have beenworking out answers for down in Paradise, " said Miss Ferris, playfully. 

Betty slipped a soft arm around Eleanor's waist. "I'd rather go for awalk with her than to any May party that was ever invented, " shewhispered. "Isn't she just splendid?"

"Yes, " agreed Eleanor, solemnly, "so splendid that I guess I can't liveup to her, Betty. "

"Nonsense! That's the very reason why she is splendid--that she makespeople live up to her, whether they can or not. "

And then, feeling that she was treading on delicate ground, Betty hastilychanged the subject. 

"I wonder, " she asked the green lizard that night, "I wonder if she couldhave been telling Miss Ferris about it, and if they were talking it overwhen we three big blunderers rushed up to them. Oh, dear!"

Then she added aloud to Helen, who was vigorously doing breathingexercises before her mirror, "I guess I'll go and see Mary Brooks. I feellike being amused. "

Helen let her breath out with a convulsive gasp. "I saw her go out, " shesaid. "She went right after supper. "

"Then, " said Betty, decidedly, "you've got to stop breathing and amuse meyourself. "

CHAPTER XVIII

TRIUMPHS AND TROUBLES

"Aren't you going to have any breakfast, Betty?" Helen Chase Adams comingup from her own hasty Monday morning repast, paused in the door to stareat her roommate, who stood in a cleared space in the middle of the floorwith diaphanous clouds of beflowered dimity floating about her feet. 

"Breakfast!" repeated Betty, mournfully. "It just struck eight, didn'tit? I don't know how I'm going to have any now unless I cut chapel and godown town for it. On Mondays I have classes all the morning long, and Ihaven't half studied anything either, because of that hateful May party. "

"Then why did you begin on your dress?" inquired Helen with annoyingacuteness. 

"Helen, " said Betty, tragically, "I haven't a single muslin to my name, since I tore my new one and the laundry tore my old one, and I thought ifI could only get this hung then I could be putting in the tucks at oddminutes, when people come in, you know. I didn't think it would take aminute and I've been half an hour just looking at it. "

"Isn't it rather long?" asked Helen, with a critical glance at the filmypile on the floor. 

"Why, that's the tucks, " explained Betty, impatiently. "And the onlyreason I had tucks instead of ruffles was because I thought they'd beeasier. Shouldn't you have thought tucks would be easier, Helen?"

"I shouldn't have known. "

"Well, I guess they're both bad enough, " agreed Betty, gloomily. "I wasfoolish to try to make a dress, but I thought if Nita and the B's could, I could. The waist wasn't any trouble, because Emily Davis helped me, butit isn't much use without a skirt. "

"Let me know if I can do anything, " said Helen, politely, opening thevolume of Elizabethan lyrics which had succeeded "The Canterbury Tales"as pabulum for the class in English Literature II. 

Betty kicked at the enveloping cloud savagely. "If only it would staydown somewhere, so I could tell where the bottom ought to be. " She gave alittle cry of triumph, --"I have it!" and reaching over to her bookshelvesshe began dropping books in an even circle around her feet. An instantlater there was a crash and the thud of falling books. 

"There!" said Betty, resignedly. "That bookcase has come to pieces again. It's as toppley on its legs as a ten-cent doll. Never mind, Helen. I canreach them beautifully now and I will truly pick them all up afterward. "She dropped a Solid Geometry beside a "Greene's History of the EnglishPeople, " and stooped gingerly down to move "Alice in Wonderland" a trifleto one side, so that it should close the circle. 

Then she looked doubtfully at Helen, who was again deep in her lyrics. 

"Helen, " she said at last, "would you mind awfully if I asked you to putin some pins for me? If I stoop down to put them in myself, the booksmove and I can't tell where the pins ought to go. "

Helen had just put in the last pin with painful deliberation, and wascrawling around her necessarily immovable model to see that she had madeno mistakes, when the door opened with a flourish and Mary Brooksappeared. 

"What in the world!" she began, blinking near-sightedly at Betty in hercircle of books, at the ruins of the "toppley" bookcase lying in aconfused heap beside her, and at Helen, red and disheveled, readjustingpins. Then she gave a shriek of delight and rushing upon Betty fastenedsomething to her shirt-waist. 

"Get up!" she commanded Helen. "Hurry now, or you'll certainly bekilled. "

In a twinkling the room was full of girls, shrieking, laughing, dancing, tumbling over the books, sinking back on Betty's couch in convulsions ofmirth at the absurd spectacle she presented and getting up to charge intothe vortex of the mob and hug her frantically or shake her hand until itached. It was fully five minutes before Betty could extricate herselffrom their midst, and with her trailing draperies limp and bedraggledover one arm, make her way to Helen, who was standing by herself in acorner, quietly enjoying the fun. 

"Helen, " she cried, catching the demure little figure in her arms, "Helen, just think of it! I'm in Dramatic Club. Oh, Helen Chase Adams, how did it ever happen?"

The room cleared out gradually after that, and the nicest part, Bettythought, was having the people you liked best tell you in intelligibleEnglish and comparative quiet how very glad they were. 

"I never in all my life saw anybody look so funny as you did when we camein, " said Mary Brooks at last. "What were you doing, anyway?"

"Hanging a skirt, " explained Betty, with great dignity. 

"Was it going to have a court train all the way around?" inquired Mary. 

"Tell her, Helen, " commanded Betty. 

"That was tucks, Mary, " repeated Helen, obediently, and then everybodylaughed. 

Under cover of the mirth Betty sought out Dorothy. "Where's Eleanor?" shewhispered. 

"She went off for Sunday with Polly Eastman, " Dorothy explained. "AndBetty, she's a trump after all. She--but I think perhaps she'd rathertell you herself. "

"Betty, " broke in Nita Reese, "you must hurry and get dressed. You'llhave to appear at chapel, if you never get that skirt hung. "

"Yes, " said Betty, meekly. 

"And I'll go and bribe the new maid, who hasn't learned the rules yet, tosend you up some breakfast, " put in Madeline, the watchful. 

Nita went off to make her bed and Dorothy to see Mary's prom. Dress whichhad just been sent on from home. Presently the new maid appeared withtoast and coffee and regrets that "the eggs was out, miss, " and Betty satdown at her desk to eat, while Helen, the Elizabethan lyrics quiteforgotten, rocked happily beside her. 

"Helen, " said Betty, a spoonful of hot coffee held aloft in one hand, consternation hiding her dimples, "what in the world shall I do? I toldyou I hadn't studied anything, and I can't flunk now. "

"Oh, they won't call on you to-day, " said Helen hopefully, counting theDramatic Club pins that made Betty's shirt-waist look like a smallsection of a jeweler's window. 

"Aren't they pretty?" said Betty, touching them lovingly. "I hope thegirls know which is which, because I don't. The one with the pearl goneis Bob's, of course, and Dorothy's is marked on the back, and that'sMary's, because she always pins it on wrong side up. One of the others isChristy's, and one is that sweet Miss West's--she writes poetry, youknow, and is on the 'Argus. ' Wasn't it lovely of her to pin it on me?"

"I should think anybody would be glad to have you wear their pin, " saidHelen loyally, if ungrammatically. 

"But to think the society wanted me!" said Betty in awe-struck tones. "Helen, you know they never do take a person unless she amounts tosomething, now do they? But what in the world do I amount to?"

"Does being an all-around girl count?" asked Helen. "Because the seniorthat is such a friend of Eleanor Watson's said you were that, and that'swhat you wanted to be, isn't it? But I think myself, " she added shyly, "that your one talent, that we used to talk about last year, you know, isbeing nice to everybody. "

The journey to chapel was a triumphal procession. The girls said suchpleasant things. Could they possibly be true, Betty wondered. Nan wouldbe pleased to know that she was somebody at last, even if she had missedthe team both years, and was always being mistaken for a freshman. Sitting beside Dorothy, with the eight pins on her shirtwaist, and aguilty consciousness that Miss Mills, who taught "Lit. II" was staring atthem from the faculty row, Betty resolved that she was going to bedifferent--to keep her room in order, not to do ridiculous things atridiculous times, and always to study Monday's lessons. 

"I have tried harder lately, " she thought, but it was reassuring outsidechapel to have Miss Mills stop to shake hands and Miss Hale say somethingabout being glad that Betty had turned out a thoroughly good student. 

Mary Brooks said the same thing. "It's funny, Betty, how your innocent, baby airs belie you. If we'd guessed what a splendid record you'd madethis year, we'd have taken you in even sooner. "

Wherefore Betty was glad that she had looked up all the historyreferences and stayed at home from the Westcott House dance to write azoology report that Professor Lawrence himself had called excellent, anddone her best with the "Canterbury Tales. "

"I have done better than I used to last year, " she thought happily, "butit wasn't for this, not one bit. It was because a person is ashamed notto do her best up here. "

"Will you take a few notes, please?" said Miss Mills in crisp, businesslike tones, and Betty woke up to the fact that she had notanswered to her name in the roll. 

"She saw you, though, " whispered Christy, "and she was properly amused. "

Miss Mills had finished her lecture and the class in "Lit. II" was makingits leisurely exit, when Jean Eastman caught up with Betty. 

"Glad you've gone into the great and only, " she said with a hearty hand-shake. "And what do you think about the Lady Eleanor's latest escapade?"

"I don't know what you mean, Jean, " said Betty quickly, rememberingDorothy's hint, and wondering why Eleanor hadn't come to chapel, sincePolly was there, and she and Eleanor would surely have come backtogether. 

"Why, resigning from Dramatic Club, of course. Didn't she consult youabout it?"

"Jean, do you mean that Eleanor--has resigned--from Dramatic Club?"Pleasure and bewilderment struggled for the mastery of Betty's face. 

"Yes, " said Jean carelessly. "Funny you hadn't heard of it, because it'sthe talk of the whole college. She sent a note in Saturday night, itseems, but nobody outside heard of it till this morning, and now we'reall speculating over the whys and wherefores. The Clio girls say that ifshe did it because she thought she'd rather go into that, she will bedoomed to everlasting disappointment. For my part I don't think that was herreason. " Jean's tone hinted of deep mysteries. 

"Of course not, " said Betty indignantly. "Can't they see, Jean, that agirl has got to have a big, splendid reason for doing a thing like that?"

"A big reason all right, but I don't know about the splendor, " returnedJean cheerfully, shouldering her way across the stream of girls in thehall to join Beatrice Egerton. 

To Jean's disappointment Beatrice had nothing to say about theresignation, except that it was Eleanor's own affair and that all thetalk about it was utter nonsense. Then Jean, warming to her work, ventured a direct attack. 

"But Miss Egerton, wasn't there something queer about that story ofEleanor's--the one that got her in? You were going to tell me once, butyou never did. "

"I was going to tell you once, but I never did?" repeated Beatrice withan extreme affability which those who knew her better than Jean wouldhave recognized as dangerous. "Go and ask Eleanor Watson that question ifyou care to, Miss Eastman. I admire her far too much to wish to discussher private affairs with you. Thank you, I should like to go to yourhouse-play, but I have another engagement. The night isn't set? Butreally, I'm so busy just now I can't promise, you know. "

Beatrice Egerton had not spent four years at Harding College for nothing. She was incapable of heroism herself, but she could appreciate certaintypes of it in others, and she was bitterly ashamed of the part she hadplayed in Eleanor's affairs. 

"Miss Wales, " she said an hour later, when her path from class to classcrossed with Betty's, "where is Eleanor? I can't wait another minute tosee her. "

Betty explained that Eleanor had not appeared at chapel or morningclasses. 

"Then I suppose, " said Beatrice impulsively, "that I am one of the peopleshe's trying to avoid. Go and see her the first chance you have, MissWales, and tell her that I admire her grit--and that I'm too much ashamedof myself to come and say so. Now don't forget. Did you ever see suchduds as the pickle heiress wears? Perfect rags!"

The mocking, insolent Beatrice was back again, the more debonnaire forthe effort that her confession had cost. 

Betty meditated cutting her eleven o'clock class, decided that with thoseeight pins on it would never do, and tried not to be glad that a severeheadache prevented Mademoiselle from meeting her French division attwelve. She walked down to the Hilton House with a chattering littlefreshman, one of Polly Eastman's chums and a devoted admirer ofEleanor's. 

"It's too bad that Eleanor Watson felt she ought to give up DramaticClub, isn't it?" said the girl. "Some of the girls think it was anawfully queer thing to do, but I think it's fine to put your work firstwhen you don't feel strong enough to do everything. "

"Yes, indeed, " agreed Betty cordially, glad to be able to meet her on herown ground. 

"Polly is afraid, " volunteered the little freshman, "that Eleanor isgoing to break down. She's had to drop themes, too, you know. Polly saidthey almost missed their train Saturday night because Eleanor would waitto write to Miss Raymond about it, when anybody could see that Mondaywould have done just as well. And she was so tired that she cried whileshe was writing the note. "

Betty shook off her loquacious companion by stopping on the second floorto see a girl who was sure to be out, and went on up the back stairway toEleanor's corner. 

There was no answer to her knock, and after a second trial shedeliberately opened the door and went in. Eleanor lay in a forlorndisheveled little heap on her couch. Her cheeks were flushed with crying, her eyes rimmed with dark circles that made them look bigger and brighterthan ever. 

"Oh, I thought the door was locked, " she cried, when Betty appeared. 

"But luckily for me it wasn't. " Betty took her up brightly, droppingsociably down to the couch beside her. "You dear old Eleanor, " she wenton quickly, "I've come to tell you that Dorothy thinks you're a trump andBeatrice Egerton thinks you're a brick and I'm so proud of you I don'tknow what to do. There now!"

"Oh, Betty, you can't be, after everything. " Eleanor shook off theclinging arms and sat up among the pillows. "Listen, " she commanded. "Itisn't fair for me to take anything from you after what I've thought. Ihad a letter from Mr. Blake this morning. He has been very nice to meabout the story, Betty. And he said he felt that he ought to tell me whatgood friends I had here. So now I know all about it, but oh, Betty! I'dthought such horrid things--"

"Never mind that now, " said Betty. "Please don't tell me. It would onlyhurt both of us, and it wouldn't be any use that I can see. "

[Illustration: "NEVER MIND THAT NOW, " SAID BETTY]

"I'm a coward, too, " Eleanor went on steadily. "I was afraid to seeBeatrice, and now I'm afraid to see Jean and all the rest of them. Oh, Betty, I can't bear to have people think I'm a freak. If I could takethose two notes back I would this minute. I hate giving things up. There, now you know just how mean I am. "

"No, " said Betty, gently, "I only know how tired you are and how much youneeded some one to come in and tell you that we are all ready to stand byyou. "

Eleanor waited a minute before she answered. "Betty, " she said at last, an uncertain little smile fluttering about her mouth, "shall you be gladwhen you've got me through college?" Then she straightened with suddenenergy. "This is your day, Betty, "--she pointed to the pins, --"and Iwon't spoil another minute of it. Of course there isn't any use in hidingup here. I promise to go down to lunch and to take what's coming to me, and do the best I can. Now run and let the rest of the collegecongratulate you. "

"And if the Chapin house girls should have a spread to-night over atRachel's--" began Betty, doubtfully. 

"I'll come. I'll even be the life of the party. Only you're not to worryabout me one instant longer. "

Eleanor kept her word to the letter for the rest of the day, but theweeks that followed were necessarily full of ups and downs, of pettyhumiliations and bitter discouragements, and Betty uncomplainingly sharedthem all. The editors did what little they could, and Madeline and MissFerris and Katherine and Rachel helped without understanding anythingexcept that Betty wanted them to; but the brunt of it all fell on her. 

"I can't bother Miss Ferris with my blues, " said Eleanor one afternoon, "and I know I oughtn't to bother you with them. "

"Nonsense!" laughed Betty. "I like being bothered, " and did not mentionthat she had given up the golf tournament because the practice would haveinterfered with her position as Eleanor's confidante. 

There were nice things to share too. Miss Raymond wrote a prompt andcordial answer to Eleanor's note about the theme course. "After youraction of last week, I see no reason why you should not continue in myclasses on the old, pleasant footing. Please don't deprive me of theprivilege of seeing your work. "

There was a note from the Dramatic Club too. Dorothy had managed to getherself and Beatrice and Frances made a special committee to consider theresignation--the first in the annals of the society, --and they decided toaccept it for one year from its date. After that, they said, they saw noreason "to deprive the society of a valued member. "

Betty was delighted, but Eleanor shook her head. "I may not have earnedit even then, " she said gloomily. 

"Leave it to Miss Ferris, " suggested Betty. "She'll be a perfectly fairjudge. If she says you can take it then, you will know it's all right. "

And to this arrangement, after some hesitation, Eleanor consented. 

A week or two later Bob came to Eleanor, in a sad state of embarrassment. "It's about the basket-ball song, Eleanor. The committee never saw it. Babe was chairman, you know, and she put her shoulder out of jointplaying hockey the day the songs were called in, so I emptied the box forher. I remember I stopped in my room on the way back and I must havedropped yours there. Anyhow it turned up to-day in my top drawer. I'mawfully sorry. "

Eleanor took the song and read through a stanza or two, while Bobwriggled, blushed and waited for the storm to burst. She had heard a gooddeal about Eleanor Watson's uncertain temper. 

But at first Eleanor only laughed. "Goodness! What jiggly meter! It'slucky you lost it, Bob. "

"No, " said Bob, sturdily. "It was a dandy song, one of the best that camein. Babe said so too. I am really awfully sorry. I'm too careless tolive. "

"Well, you were lucky not to have found it a month ago, " said Eleanor, with a sudden flash of anger, and Bob departed, wondering. 

"Little things do make a big difference, " said Betty, when she heard thestory. "If they'd chosen it and everybody had said how clever it was--"

"I should have felt that I'd squared my account--proved that I could dowhat I hadn't done, and I should never have owned up to anybody. "

"Then you really ought to have been nicer to Bob, " laughed Betty, "because she helped you to come to the point. "

"Yes, that helped, " Eleanor admitted, soberly, "just as Dora helped andBeatrice in her way and Jim in his; but you were the one who meant tohelp, Betty. You got me the chance to begin over, and you made up my mindfor me about taking it, and you've kept me to it ever since. "

"But El--"

"Now let's not argue about it, " laughed Eleanor. "I only wanted to saythat I'm going to try to be nice to you to the extent of 'staying put'this time. I don't mean that you shall have to waste your junior yearover me. "

CHAPTER XIX

GOOD-BYES

"Oh, Betty Wales, what's your hurry?"

Betty, who had strolled up Main Street with Emily Davis and now waswalking back alone, turned to see Eleanor and Dora Carlson coming downthe steps of the house behind her. 

"We're hunting rooms, " explained Eleanor, gaily, "the most systematichunt you ever heard of. We went to every possible house on the other sideon the way up, and then we came back on this side, doing the same thing. So if you want any pointers--"

"But you're not going off the campus, Eleanor, " asked Betty anxiously. 

"Oh, no, it's a room for me, " interposed Dora, with an adoring glance atEleanor. "I've always longed to live up among the elm-trees of MainStreet, but I knew its glories were not for me until--"

"Dora, " warned Eleanor, laughingly, "I told you not to mention elm-treesagain this afternoon. " She turned to Betty. "They all come down to twopossibilities. Which should you prefer, a big room with a microscopiccloset or a microscopic room with an enormous closet?"

"Oh, the one with the big closet, " said Betty, decidedly. "I've tried theother, you know. "

"And unknown horrors are always preferable to familiar ones, " laughedEleanor. 

Dora left them at the next corner and as soon as she was out of hearingBetty turned upon Eleanor. "Well, " she said, "I've caught you in the act, and I think it's perfectly lovely of you. College will be a differentplace to her if she can live up here somewhere near things. "

"It will be nicer for her, I think, " said Eleanor, simply. "But Betty, I'm not doing much, --just making her a little present of the differencebetween Mrs. Bryant's prices and the very cheapest ones up here. I can doas much as that, I hope, after spoiling her sugaring-off party; and Ireally don't need that extra-priced room again. "

"You mean, " said Betty, in amazement, "that you're going to give up yourcorner-room with the three windows and the lovely burlap hangings?"

Eleanor nodded. "It wouldn't be much of a present from me if I just askedfather for the money. "

"Eleanor, " said Betty, solemnly, "I don't believe I could do it. "

"But it's really all your doing, Betty. If it hadn't been for you, Ishouldn't have known Dora Carlson, and I shouldn't be here now. Besides, you set the example with Helen. So if you don't like it, there's onlyyourself to thank, you see, " ended Eleanor, playfully. 

"No, I don't see, --not one bit, " declared Betty. "You'll be telling methat I'm responsible for the way you recite next. "

"Well, you are, partly, " laughed Eleanor, turning off to the Hilton. 

Betty went up-stairs behind two strange girls who were evidentlyexpecting to be in the Belden House next year. 

"Of course the fourth floor is a long way up, " one was saying, "and Isuppose it's hot sometimes. But if I can get a single room there, I'drather have it, wouldn't you?"

"Well, perhaps, " answered the other doubtfully. 

"No perhapses about it, my friend, " thought Betty, turning off to her ownquarters. Rooms and roommates--the air was full of them! And to-morrowwas the day that the Belden House matron had appointed for settling allsuch matters. Betty could have a single room, if she wanted it, on theother side of Madeline Ayres, and she had almost made up her mind to takeit. To be sure, it did seem a little hard on Helen. Nobody in the househad approached her on the subject of roommates, Betty felt sure of that;she would have to be "assigned" with some outsider. Well, why not? If shedidn't take the trouble to make friends, of course she would have tosuffer the consequences. And yet--if Eleanor had really been influencedby what she had tried to do for Helen, wouldn't it be mean to back outnow? "But Eleanor has decided already, " thought Betty, "and there's noreason why I should keep on bothering with Helen forever. I don't believeshe's one bit happier for it. "

Helen looked up expectantly when Betty came in. After all she was a sweetlittle thing; her face lighted up wonderfully at times. 

"What's the news, Helen?" Betty asked. "You look as if something extranice had happened. "

"Why no, " answered Helen, "unless you count that I've learned my Latinfor tomorrow. "

The answer was just like her, Betty reflected with a sigh. She mightimprove a great deal, but she would be a "dig" to the end of the chapter. As she dressed, Betty tried to lead up gradually to the subject of roomsby telling about the two strange girls she had met in the hall. But itwas no use; Helen preserved the same gentle, obtuse silence that had keptBetty from opening the subject before. Little by little her courage oozedout, and with the ringing of the supper-bell she surrendered. 

"I can't do it, " she told the green lizard savagely. "She thinks we'resettled here forever and I can't bear to disappoint her. It's notgenerosity though; it's just hating to make a fuss. "

At supper all the girls were talking about rooms. "I'm first on thewaiting list for singles, " Nita Reese announced, "but I might as well befirst on the waiting list for a trip to the moon, I suppose. Nobody evergives up a chance at a single. "

Betty opened her mouth to tell Nita the sad truth, saw Helen looking ather queerly, and shut it again. It would be time enough for Nita to hearof her good fortune to-morrow. 

After supper Helen hurried back to her work and Betty joined a merryparty on the piazza, went for a moonlight stroll on the campus, helpedserenade Dorothy King, and finally, just as the ten o'clock bell waspealing warningly through the halls, rushed in upon Helen in a state ofbreathless excitement. 

"Helen, " she cried, "T. Reed's coming into the Belden and you never toldme. "

"I didn't know till this afternoon. "

"Then that was the piece of news I saw in your face. Why didn't you tellit?"

"Why, I don't know--"

"Helen, " cried Betty, with a sudden inspiration, "you and T. Reed want toroom together. "

"Oh, Betty, Theresa couldn't have gone and said so!" Helen looked thepicture of distress. 

"Nobody went and said so till you did just now, " laughed Betty. "Oh, Helen, why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't you tell me that you'd rather room alone?"

Then they both laughed and, sitting close together on Helen's bed in thedark, talked it all over. 

"You've been just lovely, " Helen said. "You've given me all the goodtimes I've had--except Theresa. But you couldn't make it any differentfrom what it is. I never shall know how to get along the way other girlsdo, and Theresa is a good deal the same way, except that she can playbasket-ball. So I guess we belong together. "

"You needn't think you'll be rid of me, " said Betty. "I shall be just twodoors away, and I shall come in and bother you when you want to work andtake you walking and ask you to hook up my dresses, just as I do now. Helen, how fast things are getting settled. "

"They'd better be, " said Helen. "There's only two weeks left of oursophomore year. "

For a long time Betty lay awake, staring at the patch of moonlight on thefloor beside her bed. "How mean I should have felt, if I'd told her whenshe wouldn't tell me, " she thought. "I wonder if it's all right now. Iwonder if next year is going to be as perfect as it seems. I wonder--"Betty Wales was asleep. Five minutes later she woke from a cat-nap thathad turned her last thoughts into a very realistic dreamland. "No, " shedecided, "it won't be quite perfect. Dorothy will be gone. "

Those are the good-byes that count--the ones you must say to the seniors. Dorothy would come back to visit the college, of course, and to attendclass reunions, but that would not be the same thing as living next doorto her all through the year. Betty was not going to stay to Commencement. Sophomores were only in everybody's way then, she thought, and shepreferred to say good-bye to Dorothy before the onslaught of families, alumnae and friends should have upset the regular routine of life andmade the seniors seem already lost to the college world. Packing wasworse than ever this year, and examinations could not have been moreinconveniently arranged, but in spite of everything Betty slipped off onher last evening for a few minutes with Dorothy. 

The Belden House was a pandemonium, the piazzas deserted, the hot roomsablaze with lights, the halls noisy with the banging of trunk-lids andthe cries of distracted damsels; but the Hilton, either because it hadmore upper-class girls who were staying to Commencement, or because itsfreshmen and sophomores were of a serener temperament, showed few signsof "last days. " The piazza was full, as it always was on warm nights, anda soft little crooning song was wafted across the lawn to Betty's ears. Dorothy was singing. Her voice was not highly cultivated, but it was thekind of voice that has a soul in it--which is better than much training. As Betty stole softly up to the piazza, so as not to interrupt the song, and found a place on the railing, she remembered her first evening inHarding. How forlorn and frightened she had been, and how lovely Dorothywas to her. Well, she had been just as lovely ever since. 

Dorothy's song stopped suddenly. "Girls, I can't sing to-night, " shesaid. "It's--so--warm. And besides, Betty Wales has come to see me on avery particular errand, haven't you, Betty, dear?"

Up in Dorothy's room, in the dusk, nobody said much of anything. There isnever much left to say at the last. But Dorothy had a way of puttingthings and of looking at things that was like nobody's else, Bettythought; and when she said, "I know I can trust you to work for thedemocratic, helpful spirit and to keep down cliques and snobbishness andsee that everybody has a fair chance and a good time, " Betty felt morepleased than she had about her election to Dramatic Club. She had beenDorothy's lieutenant. Now she must be Dorothy's successor, and it was agreat honor and a greater responsibility--but first she must pack hertrunks. 

On the way home she overtook Roberta. "I'm in the Belden, Betty, " sheannounced, breathlessly, "and there are a lot of things I want to ask youand Mary about, but I can't stay long, because those dear little freshmenare going to give me a good-bye spread. "

"Those snippy freshmen?" laughed Betty. 

"Oh, but they came around after the Jabberwock party, just as you saidthey would. It was an impromptu party, Betty. I did it the night SaraWestervelt was there, and somebody stole the ice cream. That's why youweren't invited. "

Up-stairs the rest of the "old guard" were sitting on boxes, trunks andthe floor, waiting to say good-bye to Betty and meanwhile beingentertained by Madeline Ayres, who was giving a lively account of herexperience with a washwoman. 

"She said, 'It's twinty white skirruts Oi have to do up now, me dear, 'and I said, 'But I can't go without a skirt, Mrs. Mulvaney, and everybodywho doesn't wear white to chapel will be expelled, and then where willyour goose that lays the golden eggs be?' 'Shure, I kape no geese, medear, ' said she, and--oh, here's Betty. "

"Finish up, " demanded Katherine. 

"Oh, there isn't any more, " said Madeline, "except that she's just sentthe skirt home, and it isn't mine, but it fits rather well, doesn't it, and I can't possibly return it before chapel, now can I?"

"Is that the way they do in Bohemia?" said Mary, severely. "Betty, I'vegot to have half your bed to-night. An alum, who came on from SanFrancisco got mixed in her dates and appeared a day too early. And as sheis a particular pal of the matron and I am notoriously good-natured, she's got my room. "

"To think of it, " said Katherine, impressively, "and you a senior nextweek. "

"And we juniors next week!" said Rachel. "It doesn't seem possible, doesit? Here's to hoping we shall all be back next year. "

"What a forlorn toast!" said Katherine, who knew better than the rest howhard it was for Rachel to make both ends meet. "Here's to hoping that weall go on as splendidly as we've begun!"

"You have done tolerably well so far, children, " said Mary, beamingaround the group. 

"See the society pins bristle in our midst!" said Katherine, withmelodramatic gestures in the direction of Mary, Betty, and of Rachel, whowore the Clio Club insignia proudly. 

"And we've got the college beauty, " added Betty quickly. 

"And the Jabberwock, " put in Eleanor. 

"Please don't forget the basket-ball stars, " suggested Katherine, withbecoming modesty. 

"Nor the basket-ball song, " added Rachel, smiling at Helen. 

"So many honors, " laughed Betty. "Do you suppose we've left anything fornext year?"

"The song of the classes talks about 'jolly juniors, '" said Rachel. "Thatsounds as if there would be plenty of fun in it. "

"There is; junior year is the nicest one in college, " declared Mary. 

"It can't be, " objected Katherine, "because each year has been as nice asit possibly could. "

"Unless you were foolish enough to spoil it, " whispered Eleanor inBetty's ear. 

Roberta suddenly remembered her waiting freshmen, Mary offered to escorther to Mrs. Chapin's, and the other three declared they must go home totheir packing. Betty and the girl from Bohemia went to the head of thestairs to see them off. It was not exactly good-bye, because there werechances of meeting at chapel and the station, but it was near enough toit to be a little sad. 

"Oh, dear, I hate endings, " said Betty, waving her hand to Eleanor. 

"Do you?" said the girl from Bohemia. "You'd get used to them if youlived my scrappy, now-here-and-now-there kind of life. You'd find outthat one thing has to end before another can begin, and that each new oneis too good to miss. "

"Um--perhaps, " said Betty, doubtfully. "Any how we've got to take thechance. So here's to junior year!"

THE END