Marjorie Dean, College Freshman

CHAPTER XXI.—ON THE EVE OF THE GAME.

Following the basket ball try-out, which the Sanford five agreed was the tamest attempt at playing basket ball that they had ever witnessed, little of moment befell them as the days slipped by and the Thanksgiving holiday drew near. As they would have four days’ vacation, all were determined on spending them in Sanford. Ronny was going to Miss Archer’s, as she had promised her God-mother this holiday before leaving for college.

Lucy Warner was the only one of the Five Travelers who intended to remain at Hamilton during the holiday. She had flatly refused to allow Ronny to defray her expense home.

“There is no use in my going home. I would not see Mother except for a very short time. She is nursing a fever patient and won’t be able to leave her for at least three weeks. Yes, I know I could be with you girls. I’d love to, but Katherine has no place to go. I might better stay here with her. I am going home for Christmas and she has promised to spend those holidays with me.” This was Lucy’s view of the matter.

The day of their departure for home was typical Thanksgiving weather, fairly cold, and marked by snow flurries. If the trip to Hamilton had seemed long, the journey home was longer. With all four impatiently counting the miles between Hamilton and Sanford, time dragged. Their train having left Hamilton at eleven o’clock that morning, it was after dark when it pulled into Sanford. A fond company of home folks were on the station platform to greet the travelers, who for the first time since leaving for college, separated, to go in different directions.

Marjorie thought the most beautiful sight she had ever looked upon were the lights of her own dear home. Encircled by her captain’s arm, they blinked her a mellow, cheery welcome as the automobile sped up the drive. She never forgot the wondrous happiness she experienced in returning to her father and mother after her first long absence from them.

It was after dark on the Sunday evening following Thanksgiving when four of the Five Travelers alighted from the train at Hamilton station. Tired though she was, and a little sad, Marjorie thrilled with an odd kind of patriotism as the lights of the campus houses twinkled on her horizon. There was, after all, a certain vague joy in having returned to college.

Ronny, Jerry and Muriel all agreed with her in this, as the Lookouts gathered in hers and Jerry’s room after Sunday night supper to tell Lucy the news of home. Mrs. Warner had called at the Deans on Saturday and intrusted a letter and package to Marjorie for Lucy. The package, when opened, revealed a pretty knitted sweater and cap in a warm shade of blue. Lucy’s mother had knitted them during intervals while her patient slept.

“How have things been here?” queried Jerry, after the admiring comments relative to Lucy’s cap and sweater had subsided.

“It has been so blissfully quiet,” sighed Lucy. “There were only five girls here over Thanksgiving. Miss Remson says she has experienced a spell of heavenly calm. We had a fine Thanksgiving dinner. Two of Miss Remson’s nephews were here for the day. They brought their violins and Miss Remson plays well on the piano. We had music Thanksgiving evening. Friday evening we were both invited to Professor Wenderblatt’s home. Mr. Henry Arthur Bradburn, a friend of his, who has made a number of Arctic journeys is visiting him. There were about twenty-five guests. You can imagine how proud Kathie and I were. Lillian came over on Friday morning and invited us.”

“You may go to the head of the class,” commented Jerry. “You’re graduated from the stay-in-your-shell period. I never before heard of such a sudden and unparalleled blossoming into the high-brows’ garden.”

The Five Travelers lingered to talk that evening until the last minute before the ten-thirty bell rang. The next day was not characterized by particularly brilliant recitations on the part of any of the returned students.

On the third day of December notices appeared on the bulletin board announcing the first basket ball game of the season. The sophomores had challenged the freshmen to meet them on the second Saturday in the month, which fell on the fourteenth. The sophomore team was composed entirely of Sans Soucians. Natalie Weyman, Dulcie Vale, Joan Myers, Adelaide Forman and Evangeline Heppler were the select five who were to wrestle with the freshmen for the ball.

“Can they play basket ball?” was Muriel Harding’s pertinent question put to her room-mate, Miss Barlow, who had just finished naming the players on the sophomore team. The two girls had met outside Hamilton Hall and stopped as was their wont to consult the main bulletin board.

“They are fairly fast players, but,” Miss Barlow’s eyebrows went up, “they are so tricky. They composed the freshman team, last year. Gratifying, isn’t it, to be able to head basket ball two years in succession?” The question was freighted with sarcasm.

“Very,” returned Muriel, inwardly amazed at this new attitude on the part of her reserved room-mate. It was the first time Moretense had ever grown personal in regard to any of the students.

“I am positive the juniors won’t play them this year,” Hortense continued. “They had enough of them last. Really, the umpire nearly wore herself out shrieking ‘foul’ during that game. My word, but they worked hard—cheating. It did them not a particle of good. They lost by ten points.”

“Do you like basket ball?” Muriel was further astonished at her companion’s apparent interest in the sport.

“Yes, I do, when it is well and fairly played. I have never yet seen a really clever game played at Hamilton.”

Similar information drifted to the Lookouts concerning the sophomores’ work at basket ball, during the few days that preceded the game. Far from the usual amount of enthusiasm which attends this sport was exhibited by the upper class students. The freshmen, however, were duly excited over it. While many of them had disapproved the partiality shown at the try-out, they could only hope that the freshman team would rally to their work on the day of the game and vanquish the sophs. The team was practicing assiduously. That was a good sign. The sophomores were not nearly so faithful at practice.

“If ‘our crowd’ can play even half as well as the scrub teams could at Sanford High they can whip this aggregation of geese, Robin Page excepted,” Jerry asserted scornfully to her chums on the evening before the game. The next day’s recitations hastily prepared, the Lookouts had gathered in Ronny’s room for a spread.

“I feel sorry for Miss Page,” remarked Ronny, without lifting her eyes from their watch on the chafing dish in which the chocolate had begun to bubble.

“So do I. I told her so yesterday,” confessed Muriel. “I met her in the library and we had quite a long talk. She said she would have resigned after the first day of practice, but she felt that it would be cowardly. She knows the game as it should be played, but the other four girls are quite shaky on some points of it and they won’t let her correct them when they make really glaring mistakes. She tried it twice. Both times she just escaped quarreling with them. So she quit.”

“I think she is so plucky to stay on the team under such circumstances.” Marjorie looked up from her sandwich-making labors, her face full of honest admiration for Robin. “She is such a delightful girl, isn’t she?”

“She makes me think of a small boy,” was Jerry’s comparison. “Tell you something else about her when I get this tiresome bottle of olives opened. If I don’t extract the treacherous old cork very gently, I’m due to hand myself a quarter of a bottle of brine in the eyes or in my lap or wherever it may happen to land. There!” She triumphantly drew forth the stubborn cork without accident. “Now about Robin Page. She asked me to ask you girls to go to the game with the Silverton Hall crowd. Then she wants us to be her guests at dinner at the Hall and spend the evening with her and her pals. I’ve accepted for us all, so make your plans accordingly.”

“I’ve already asked Moretense to go to the game with us.” Muriel looked briefly perplexed. “I don’t think anyone will care if I ask her to go with us to meet the Silverton Hall girls. I can’t go with you folks to dinner, for my estimable room-mate has invited me to the Colonial and engaged a table ahead. I am to meet Miss Angier and Miss Thompson, juniors and friends of hers.”

“When did you make all these dates and right over our heads?” Jerry quizzed, trying to appear offended and failing utterly.

“Oh, the other day,” returned Muriel lightly. “It shows you that I am well thought of, too, in high-brow circles.” She cast a sly glance toward Lucy. The latter was happily engaged in cutting generous slices from a fruit cake which had come by express that day. Mrs. Warner had made it early in the fall and had put it away to season. It had arrived at an opportune time, and Lucy had gladly contributed to the feast.

She chuckled softly over Muriel’s good-natured thrust, but made no reply. It was her chief pleasure to listen to her chums, rather than talk. While she had expanded wonderfully as a result of association with a fun-loving, talkative quartette of girls who had taken pains to draw her out, she still had spells of the old reserve. She was gradually growing used to the gay badinage, which went on constantly among her chums, and on rare occasions would convulse them by some dry remark of her own.

While the Five Travelers were preparing their little feast in the utmost good fellowship, in a room two doors farther up the hall five other girls sat around a festal table, arguing in an anything but equable manner. Four of them were members of the sophomore team. The fifth was Leslie Cairns.

“It’s not fair to the kid if you girls don’t give her a chance to win.” Leslie Cairns’ shaggy eyebrows met in a ferocious scowl. “Don’t be stingy. You won enough games last year. Have a heart!”

“Honestly, Les, you talk like an idiot!” exclaimed Natalie Weyman impatiently. “You have a crush, and no mistake, on that little Elster simpleton. I don’t care whether you like what I say or not. You think she is a scream because she behaves more like a jockey than a student. I think she is so silly. You will get tired of her swaggering ways before long. See if you don’t.”

“She’s a game little kid, and I like her,” flung back Leslie with belligerent emphasis. “Why did you put me to all the trouble to fix things so that she could make the team if you didn’t intend to give her a showing. That cost me time and money.” Her voice rose harshly on the last words.

“Shh!” Dulcie Vale held up a warning finger. “You are almost shouting, Les. Lower your voice.”

“I should say so.” Natalie Weyman’s face was a disagreeable study. Before the arrival of Lola Elster at Hamilton, she and Leslie had been intimate friends. Now Leslie had in a measure deserted her for the bold little freshman she so detested.

“Beg your pardon.” Leslie’s tones dropped back to their usual drawl. “Sorry you girls have decided you must break the record tomorrow. Why so strenuous? You haven’t Beauty and her gang to fight. They haven’t had even a look-in. I hear they are really players, too. The trouble with you, Nat, is you are two-faced. You pretended that you were anxious for Lola to make the team because you thought she would make a fine record for herself on the floor. You said her pals ought to be on the team, too. So they are, the three of them. I worked that. Now you didn’t say that you wanted these three freshmen on the team so as to keep those Sanford upstarts off. I caught that, too, and fixed it. I didn’t mind. I can’t see them. What you wanted was a crowd of freshmen your team could whip easily.”

“That is absolutely ridiculous and unkind in you, Leslie!” Natalie’s face was scarlet. “How could I possibly know beforehand just how well the freshmen we—that is—you——” Natalie stammered, then stopped.

Leslie Cairns’ upper lip drew back in a sneering smile. “How could you know? Well, you dragged them over to the gym and set them at work with the ball. This was before the try-out. What? You took good care not to ask me along that day. Joan is as deep in it as you are. Then you came back puffing about what wonderful players these kids were and so forth. Would I fix it for them. I did. The day of the try-out I was pretty sore. You can’t fool me on a basket ball. They are not much more than scrubs; except Lola. She is O. K. I saw you and Joan had put one over on me, but it was too late to make a fuss. Think I don’t know you, Nat? Ah, but I do!”

Natalie sat biting her lip, her eyes narrowed. She was well aware that Leslie knew her traitorous disposition. For selfish reasons she did not wish to quarrel with her.

“All right, Leslie,” she shrugged. “Have it your own way. Go on thinking that, if it will be any satisfaction to you. You must remember we have our own end to hold up as sophomores. Why, if we tried to favor Lola during the game, it would be noticed and we would have trouble over it. Ever since that Beauty contest, I’ve noticed a difference in the way I am treated. I used to be It on the campus. I’ve lost ground, somehow. We Sans have worked too hard for first place here to give way now. We must keep up our popularity or be at the dictation of the common herd. Our team simply has to make good tomorrow.”

CHAPTER XXII.—A HARD ASSIGNMENT.

“They told me they wouldn’t work hard! They told me it would be a walk away!” she reiterated vengefully. “You wait. I’ll be even with that Joan Myers!” The bulk of her spite was directed against Joan, with whom she had come most into contact during the game.

On the way to their respective campus houses, groups of indignant freshmen freely discussed and deplored the disgrace that had fallen upon them. At least thirty-five girls were bound for Silverton Hall, walking five abreast, their clear voices rising high in the energy of discussion. Among these were Marjorie, Ronny, Jerry and Lucy. All four were separated, each walking in a different group.

In the foremost rank were Robin Page, Portia Graham, Elaine Hunter, Blanche Scott and Marjorie. Four of them were engaged in trying to console Robin, who was feeling the disgrace keenly.

“You should have resigned from that team, Robin, the minute you saw what they were at practice,” Blanche Scott said energetically. “It was fine in you to stick for the honor of the class. You did your best today, under the circumstances. You were the only one who scored.”

“Yes; you need not feel bad, Robin,” consoled Portia Graham. “I know one thing. There is going to be a new freshman team before long, and I hope you will play center.”

“You believe, then, Portia, that we ought to raise a real fuss and demand a new team?” Elaine Hunter’s blue eyes were alight with anticipation. She was glad to have some one else express her own thought.

“Yes; don’t you? It is the only way to wipe our escutcheon clear. Don’t you agree with us, Miss Dean? We should all stand together in a matter of this kind. We can only guess as to why such a team was picked in the first place. Good players ignored and ‘flunks’ taken on, with the exception of Robin. Miss Reid, I understand, favors a certain element of students here. The management of the sports is in her hands, but it should not be. It really belongs to the senior sports committee. I hear, that, for two or three years, they have been positive figureheads. She has done all the managing. It is time there was a change.”

“Two of the senior committee did not care much, I believe. The manager, Miss Clement, told me that she was simply overruled. She objected, but that was all the good it did,” informed Blanche Scott.

Portia had gone on talking, without giving Marjorie a chance to agree with her. She now laughingly apologized and again solicited an opinion.

“I think a new team should be chosen,” Marjorie said evenly. Her eyes were sparkling in the darkness like twin stars. Here, at last, were girls like the Lookouts. She was so glad that the matter was to be taken up and threshed out she could have shouted. A definite blow for democracy was about to be struck at Hamilton. “My friends and I thought the try-out very unfair. We are considered good players at home, but we were not even chosen to sub.”

She went on a little further to explain why, in her estimation, the team chosen were so unfit for the responsibility. Her short talk proved conclusively that she understood basket ball as only an expert could.

“Won’t you and Miss Harding please enter the lists again, when we have the new try-out?” coaxed Elaine Hunter.

“No.” Marjorie’s refusal was quietly emphatic. “Not this year. I am willing to do all I can to help the good work along, but I don’t care to play. Muriel feels the same. Next year we hope to make the team. There are some good players among the freshmen who had no chance at the try-out. I would like to see them play. I would like to see Miss Page play center. She plays a wonderful game.”

“Thank you.” Walking beside Marjorie, Robin gave her arm a grateful little squeeze. “You and I are going to be great friends,” she laughed. “How did you guess my pet ambition?”

“I didn’t guess it. I only said what I thought about it. You deserve the position.”

“Yes; and she is going to have it, if there is any such thing as fair play at Hamilton, and I think there is.” Portia Graham spoke with a sternness that presaged action. “After dinner, tonight, I am going to call a meeting in the back parlor. We can all get into that room without crowding. Then we will see what happens.” True to her word, Portia saw to it, the moment she reached the Hall, that every freshman in the house was notified of the meeting.

The ringing of the dinner gong shortly afterward was a pleasing sound to the hungry girls. Dinner at Silverton Hall was served at two long tables set lengthwise in a pretty green and white dining room. The Lookouts found the meal as appetizing as any they had eaten at Wayland Hall, though no better. They liked the line-up of merry girls, with most of whom they now had some acquaintance.

Dessert did not receive its usual attention that night. The excited freshmen finished their dinners in some haste and promptly repaired to the back parlor. The same thirty-five who had walked five abreast across the campus were gathered again for action. While the murmur of conversation, mingled with frequent laughter, went on until Portia Graham took up her station near the old-fashioned fireplace where she could be seen and heard. Immediately the buzzing subsided, to be succeeded by a total silence.

Her freshman honor stung by the whitewashing the freshman team had received, she made an address that came straight from her injured feelings. It was not long, but it was convincing and evoked loud approbation. Her suggestion was that a letter of protest be written to Miss Reid and signed by every freshman in sympathy with the movement.

“That excludes four members of the team and a few of their supporters, but we can’t help that,” she said. “I think a committee of three had best draw up the letter. Then it can be passed around for approval and signatures. Be very sure to read it carefully. This letter is going to make Miss Reid very angry, for she will have to know that we considered her methods unfair. I do not believe she will take up the matter with Doctor Matthews. If she should, we will stand our ground. We are going to stamp out favoritism if we can. After the letter leaves here with our signatures it will be handed to the freshmen at Acasia House. I will obtain their signatures. There are six at Wayland Hall and all are in sympathy. That leaves about twenty-four, including the team. The majority of the twenty besides the team are doubtful. Elaine, I am going to ask you and Miss Dean if you will accept the delicate task of obtaining the signatures of any of the twenty whom you think are with us.”

“I will do the best I can. That is no simple undertaking, Portia Graham,” Elaine reminded, her gentle face rather blank at the mission. Marjorie also looked a trifle anxious. Then her face cleared and she expressed her willingness to comply with Portia’s request.

Jerry’s lips puckered as though about to emit a whistle when she heard Portia commission the two freshmen to the difficult task. She was about to set Portia hastily down in her mind as on the order of a shirker. She had passed the hardest task to some one else. Then it suddenly dawned upon her that, among the freshmen, there were no two better able to diplomatically perform that task than Marjorie and Elaine.

CHAPTER XXIII.—A FRESHMAN REVOLT.

The committee of three, which included Portia Graham, Veronica and Ethel Laird, an Acasia House freshman, duly met on the following evening. After two hours of good hard work they succeeded in preparing a letter of protest which suited them. It was a drastic letter, written out of the adamant hardness of youth against injustice. The Silverton Hall freshmen hailed it with acclamation and vowed that it ought to be placed on record with the world’s great documents. The Acasia House contingent were no less enthusiastic. There were twenty of them, which, with the six at Wayland Hall, swelled the number of protestants to fifty-eight. This represented two-thirds of the class.

It was a week from the time the letter was written and copied before it was signed by the loyal two-thirds. Portia made haste prudently, never allowing the precious document to be out of her sight during the signing process. Each freshman was also pledged not to mention it outside the class. During that period of time, Marjorie and Elaine were carefully scouting about for signers among the doubtful contingent. It was indeed a hard detail.

She and Elaine made a list of the names of the twenty doubtfuls and divided it between them. That made only ten apiece, but, oh, that ten! She finally managed by dint of inquiry to obtain three signatures from three girls who lived off the campus and did their own light house-keeping. They appeared to be pleased with her call, which she made one snowy December afternoon, and became willing signers. She promptly told Ronny of them, who as promptly pricked up her ears. These were the very girls Ronny was always ready to help. This brought her list down to seven. Five of these she learned were devoted supporters of Lola Elster. Thus, only two of her original ten were left. One of these two was a Miss Savage, who lived at Alston Terrace, the most distant house from Hamilton Hall on the campus. She roomed with her sister, a junior, and recited French in Marjorie’s class. The other, a Miss Greene, Marjorie knew only by sight. She lived in the town of Hamilton and a chauffeur brought her and came for her with a limousine every afternoon.

How to get in touch with them she did not know. She was certain that Leila Harper could help her in this, but she was under promise of silence. The freshmen signers were growing a trifle impatient, as they wished to have the affair out of the way before going home for Christmas. Elaine had secured six of her ten signatures. The other four she reported as hopeless. She volunteered to see Miss Savage, whom she had met socially on several occasions.

“I don’t believe I will be able to get that Miss Greene’s signature,” Marjorie confided to Ronny. “I am never anywhere near her. I never see her with any of the Sans or Miss Elster’s friends. She is not chummy with them. Still, I dislike going up to her and asking her to sign when I don’t know her even to bow to.”

“I would not trouble myself about her,” advised Ronny. “I do not like her looks. I heard, quite a while ago, that she was very distant. It is too bad you had to bother with that list. Still, I would have accepted it had I been asked to do so. The end is worth the pains in this case.”

Marjorie nodded. “Oh, I didn’t much mind. I am glad I slid through without any fussing. Right is right, only one can’t always make the other person see it. I will go over to Silverton Hall today after classes and tell Portia I can’t get hold of Miss Greene. Perhaps she can.”

Shortly after four that afternoon, Marjorie walked slowly down the main drive, intending presently to strike off across the campus in the direction of Silverton Hall. She had not gone far when she heard the crunch of a footstep behind her. Involuntarily she turned her head to encounter the cold stare of two pale blue eyes. “Oh!” was her soft-breathed interjection. The eyes belonged to Miss Greene. More, Miss Greene was about to address her.

“Are you Miss Dean, the young woman who is getting signatures for a protest against Miss Reid’s management of basket ball?” she asked icily.

“Yes,” Marjorie unhesitatingly answered, measuring the questioner with a calm, uncritical glance. “I have not your signature. Do you wish to sign the paper we shall presently send Miss Reid?”

“Where is this paper?” counter-questioned Miss Greene. “I wish to see it. I have never heard of anything more outrageous! Miss Reid is a dear friend of mine.”

Marjorie colored hotly at the other’s tone. Raising her head she coolly stared Miss Greene straight in the eye. “I have not the paper with me. In any case you would not care to sign it. It is in the form of a letter to Miss Reid and is just. The outrageous part of the affair lies in Miss Reid having shown favoritism, not in the freshmen having resented it. Good afternoon.” She continued on down the drive, leaving an angry freshman behind her.

Portia Graham received the account of the interview with troubled eyes. “Who do you suppose told her?” she asked Marjorie. “We were anxious to send the letter before news of it reached Miss Reid. She deserves it, you know. My sister graduated from here last June and she could not endure Miss Reid. Of course, Miss Greene will tell her, if she hasn’t already. We had best send the letter at once. A little early for a Christmas greeting, but it will give her food for reflection,” Portia finished sarcastically.

“There are no games to be played before Christmas, anyway,” returned Marjorie. “What we wish to prevent is another exhibition of how not to play basket ball as given by that limping team. Suppose Miss Reid ignores our letter?”

“Then we will take it higher,” was the quick response. “She won’t. She will probably send for the committee which I informed her in the letter would meet her to discuss the matter. I did not mention any names. Will you go with me if she sends for us? I would like Miss Lynne and Miss Harding, Elaine and Miss Cornell.”

“I will go and so will Ronny and Muriel.” Marjorie gave the promise for herself and friends.

Miss Greene now out of the question, and Elaine having obtained Miss Savage’s signature, there was no further time wasted. The letter was sent and the freshmen rested their case until a reply came. Reply, however, was not forthcoming. Up to the day when college closed for the Christmas holidays Miss Reid had made no sign save to haughtily ignore the justice-seeking freshmen when she encountered them on the campus. The six girls, who formed the committee for final action, quietly agreed that as soon as they returned from their holiday vacation they would immediately wait upon Miss Reid and demand justice.

Occupied with this matter, Marjorie had allowed her own affairs to slide for a time. The day before going home, she recalled with regret that she had intended to invite Leila Harper to spend the holidays with her. It was too late now. Still, there would be the Easter vacation. She would invite Leila for that, before going home. Leila’s bright blue eyes filled with tears when Marjorie delivered her invitation.

“You are a darling,” she said unsteadily. “I would accept in a minute, but I am going home with Vera. Easter, now you have asked me, I will accept with loud Irish rejoicing. Vera is almost as much of a stray as I. Her father is Roderick Mason, the portrait painter. They have a whopping old apartment in the Glendenning, on Central Park, west. It is part studio. Her mother died when she was three weeks old. Her father brought her up. He’s a fine man, but erratic. Whatever she asks him for he says: ‘Yes, yes; but don’t annoy me with it.’ He loves her when he happens to recall that he has a daughter,” Leila ended half bitterly.

“I wish Vera would spend Easter with us, too,” Marjorie said quickly. “I shall invite her before I go home. Come along. We will ask her now. I am going home on that eight-ten train in the morning, so I won’t have time then to see her.”

Leila’s face was aglow with a new-found happiness as she and Marjorie ran up the stairs to Vera’s room. There was that in Marjorie’s sweet cordiality which thawed the ice about her heart. Next to Vera, she had received Marjorie into her affections. In consequence, she was more in touch with Marjorie’s college affairs than the latter dreamed. Leila was in possession of the news of the freshman revolt against Miss Reid, but she kept it strictly to herself. She also honored Marjorie and her chums for being able to keep a secret. The news, in reality, had been published abroad by Miss Reid herself, who had showed the letter to Natalie Weyman, Leslie Cairns and even Lola Elster. These three had been furiously angry over the attempt to “put one over,” as Leslie Cairns had expressed herself.

“Let it go until we come back from our vacation. Don’t see any of them,” she stolidly advised Miss Reid. “I will find a way to settle them. Lola stays on the team. I heard this Miss Dean, Beauty, you know,” she sneered, “was trotting around with the paper. I know a way to even up scores with her. Leave it to me. Oh, yes. I’ll tell you one thing you may do. Write that snippy Miss Page and demand her resignation from the team. That will make the revolutionists wild. As soon as we come back make the freshies challenge us to play. I’ll see that they win next time and don’t you flunk, either. The soph’s team will have to do as I say. They all owe me money.”

Miss Reid entertained great respect for the Cairns money, though at heart she was not fond of Leslie and her bullying ways. She was obliged to admit that Leslie Cairns was a born politician. This was not strange. Her father was Peter Cairns, the hardest-headed tyrant among a group of financiers who based all values on money.

“I believe you are right, Leslie, about the freshman team challenging the sophomore team directly after the holidays,” she reluctantly conceded. “If the freshman team should win, it would put a stop to this nonsense. I shall put a stop to it, at any rate, by simply ignoring it.” Miss Reid was carefully ignoring all recognition of the fact that Leslie had the upper hand and was dictating to her. This fact was not lost on Leslie.

“The freshman team must win,” she said, looking hard at the physical instructor. “If you can’t manage it, I will send for a coach who can. I can have him here for two weeks before the game. He can live in town and I’ll run him out here in my car every day to coach the team. I don’t mean Fulton. He is too namby-pamby. I mean a coach who will really train the team and at the same time keep off any freshmen who start to interfere.”

“That will not be necessary, Leslie.” Miss Reid’s tones were freighted with annoyance. “I believe I can be trusted to coach the freshman team so that they will—well, make a good showing at the next game.”

“Win the game?” was the significant question.

“Yes, win the game,” repeated Miss Reid. “Please recall that I selected that team; not the coach. It doesn’t include any of your pet aversions. I hope I am equal to this emergency.”

“I hope so,” returned Leslie, without enthusiasm. “Anyway, I shall keep an eye on the team myself. Now if Nat comes raving to you about Lola or me pay no attention to her. She wants to be a basket ball star and it’s an inconvenient time to aspire to it. Understand? What?” With this final characteristic interjection, Leslie sauntered out of the instructor’s room without troubling to say good-bye. It had not occurred to her to say “Merry Christmas” or wish Miss Reid the season’s compliments, although the conversation took place between them not more than two hours before Leslie left Hamilton to go to New York for the holidays.

Happily unconscious of any dark conspiracies against her welfare, Marjorie’s last night at the Hall was congenially spent. The Five Travelers had packed in the afternoon and were free to spend the evening together. They had decided to use the time in wrapping and directing a number of packages, containing simple remembrances for a few of the Hamilton students whose home addresses they had secured. These they could mail at the station the next morning. While the five girls talked and worked, their old friend, the chimes, entertained them with his ever beautiful Christmas repertoire. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing,” “Silent Night,” “Little Town of Bethlehem,” “Cheerful Adoration,” and other Yuletide favorites rang gloriously out on the still snowy air. The concert ended with “God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen,” which had been Brooke Hamilton’s pet carol.

“Thank you ever so much, old dear,” Marjorie made a childish little bow in the direction of her friend as the little prelude before the striking of eleven began. The ten-thirty rule was not being observed that night and no one cared.

“Yes; much obliged chimes,” echoed Jerry. “It will be quite awhile before we hear your melodious voice again. There, that’s my last package.” She laid an oblong bundle on a pile beside her with an audible sigh of satisfaction.

“Mine, too. Come on, Lucy, we must turn in. Shoo, shoo, Muriel. Go right straight to your room. It’s late. Didn’t you know it.” Ronny made a playful attempt to drive Muriel to the door. The latter braced her feet and stood her ground. Both girls were laughing as were also the three onlookers. The sound of mirth could be faintly heard in the hall.

Coming in from a motor ride with several of the Sans, Natalie Weyman heard the laughter as she passed Marjorie’s room on the way to her own. Her face clouded perceptibly. What a lot those girls seemed to find to laugh at, was her resentful thought. She was always hearing sounds of laughter from both Marjorie’s room and that of her friend across the hall. It was evident they did not quarrel much. For an instant Natalie wished she knew them better. Leslie and Dulcie were always so disagreeable unless they could have their own way. Remembering her grudge against Marjorie, her lips tightened. What she really wished was not to know Marjorie better; only to be even with her for what she considered an irreparable injury done her.

CHAPTER XXIV.—THE FIRST VICTORY.

For a week following the return of the Five Travelers to Hamilton, they heard nothing of basket ball interests save that Miss Reid had still made no reply to the letter sent her. Another week passed, during which the fall term ended and two days of written tests ensued. Then came one day of vacation which was always given the students of Hamilton at the closing of a term. It was on the afternoon of this holiday that the freshman class, minus fourteen members, who had purposely been left out, met in the living room of Silverton Hall. It was a tight squeeze, but every one of the sixty-eight girls managed to crowd into the room. Portia Graham stood on a chair backed against the wall to address them. When she had finished speaking the room rang with cheers. She had advocated a committee to wait on Miss Reid and insist on fair treatment.

“In the event that Miss Reid refuses us justice, are you in favor of taking our grievance higher?” she questioned in purposeful tones.

“YES!” was the unanimous shout.

“Contrary?” she inquired sweetly, but there were no contrary members present.

“Are you satisfied with the choice of the following members as a committee? Their names are: Veronica Lynne, Marjorie Dean, Muriel Harding, Elaine Hunter, Mary Cornell, Portia Graham.”

Another resounding affirmative, followed by no dissenting voices, was immediately forthcoming.

“That settles it,” she declared grimly. “We will call on Miss Reid tomorrow evening at eight o’clock. For the benefit of any one not yet familiar with Hamilton, I will say that Miss Reid lives at Randolph House. If she is not in, we will make another call on the next evening. I ask you on your honor as freshmen of 19— not to speak of this to anyone after you leave here.”

At ten minutes to eight the next evening the committee met in front of Wayland Hall and proceeded across the campus toward the north to Randolph House which was devoted to faculty. They walked briskly along on the frozen lawn, almost in silence. Portia was to be spokesman, and she was mentally framing her remarks as she went. She was not in the least diffident when it came to facing Miss Reid, and she intended to drive home her point.

The assurance of the maid who answered their ring that Miss Reid was in, sent a queer little thrill over them all. Marjorie smiled to herself as she entered the reception room. This was not the first disagreeable call she had been obliged by duty to make.

A ten-minutes’ wait, during which they conversed a little in low tones, and Miss Reid appeared. She was a tall woman, rather attractive at first glance, but not as one studied her features. Her small black eyes were shrewd and furtive, while the expression of her full face in repose was self-satisfied rather than agreeable.

“Good evening,” she saluted, in an uninterested tone. She looked from one to another of her visitors as though nonplussed by the invasion. Both tone and look were intended to deceive. Miss Reid guessed the nature of the call.

“Good evening,” was the united salutation. The committee viewed the instructor with a gravity which nettled her.

“We called this evening, Miss Reid,” Portia began sternly, “because you have paid no attention to the letter we sent you before the holidays. It was signed by more than two-thirds of the freshman class and merited a reply which you did not make. We were serious in our intent, and expected you would treat our complaint with traditional courtesy. You did not. We have, therefore, come here to ask you if you intend to grant us the justice of a new team.”

“Certainly not.” A tide of dull color had risen to Miss Reid’s face as she listened to Portia’s blunt arraignment. Her eyes had begun to snap and her pronounced black brows were drawn together. “You are insolent, Miss Graham. I simply will not discuss the matter with you. I will say only that the present team remains, with the exception of Miss Page. I have requested her resignation. Her team-mates complain she is not fast enough for the work. I mailed her a note this afternoon. You must understand that you cannot fly in the face of a member of the faculty and hope to gain by such an act. I am amazed at freshman—we will say—temerity.”

A sinister stillness followed Miss Reid’s caustic retaliation. A battery of scornful eyes was leveled at the disgruntled instructor. The very air was thick with the committee’s displeasure. This latest piece of injustice, directed against Robin Page, capped the climax. It was two minutes, at least, before Portia could trust her voice in a reply. She was angry enough to wrathfully denounce Miss Reid, then and there.

“It will not be necessary for Miss Page to resign from the team. She has already been sufficiently humiliated by having been identified with a set of scrub players. There will be a new freshman team and Miss Page will play on it. I am certain that Doctor Matthews will understand that something of unusual unfairness has happened to stir the majority of the freshman class into revolt.” Every word Portia uttered cut clearly on the stillness of the room.

“Oh, not the majority of the freshman class, Miss Graham.” Miss Reid’s intonation was that of one correcting a glaring exaggeration. It was accompanied by a smile of malicious incredulity.

“If you will refer to the letter sent you before the holidays, you will find that it was signed by sixty-eight freshmen. The class numbers eighty-two. A meeting of the sixty-eight freshmen who resent your unfairness was called yesterday. The result—we are here tonight.” Portia’s retort was laden with cold, uncompromising dignity.

It was distinctly chilling to the physical instructor’s audacious stand. For the first time since her entrance into the room she became ill at ease. The force with which she had to deal was altogether too active for comfort. She knew that Portia would keep her word. With sixty-eight incensed freshmen at her back, Doctor Matthews would not only listen but investigate. An investigation would be decidedly humiliating to her, and also jeopardize her position at Hamilton. She found herself caught between two fires. She had promised Leslie Cairns that Lola Elster’s team would win. It would not be easy to pacify Leslie if she acceded to the committee’s demand. Self-preservation must be considered first, however. After the high hand she had just taken in answering Portia, she hardly knew what to say.

“I—that is——” she began, stopped, then said with as much of an attempt at offended dignity as she could muster: “I cannot talk further with you concerning this matter tonight. I have an engagement with two members of the faculty and am already late. If you will come to the gymnasium at four o’clock tomorrow afternoon I will see what I can do to pacify the freshman class. I would prefer resigning all interest in basket ball rather than be the center of a freshman quarrel.” She rose from her chair, as though determined to end the uncomfortable interview.

“Very well,” Portia coldly inclined her head. “We shall expect to see you in the gymnasium at four o’clock. We will not detain you longer.”

She rose. Her companions immediately followed suit. Portia’s “good evening” was echoed by the others as they filed through the door, their soft, young faces set in cold contempt.

Not a word passed among them until they were well away from the house. Elaine Hunter was the first to speak. “Did you ever see anyone more upset than Miss Reid was toward the last?” she asked her companions in general.

“She had good reason to be,” returned Portia grimly. “We have won our point. I hope she does resign basket ball management. A senior told me recently that she has always been a bugbear to the teams. She insists on managing everything and everybody who will let her. Miss Reid has had the reputation for years of favoring money and fighting principle. She has repeatedly used basket ball favors as means of ingratiating herself with wealthy students. If she really makes good what she said about resigning it will be the first important victory for democracy at Hamilton.”

CHAPTER XXV.—A NEW CONSPIRACY.

Not daring to break the appointment she had made with the freshman committee, Miss Reid met them the next afternoon in the gymnasium at the time she had set. She had been very careful, in the meantime, not to come in contact with Leslie Cairns or Lola Elster. Deep in her soul, she was raging at the choice which had been forced upon her. Fear of losing her position of years’ standing at Hamilton, and the even more active fear that perhaps her connivance with Leslie Cairns was known in college, urged her to shun campus publicity. Resignation was the one way out of her difficulties with both parties. It would check all freshman activities against her. As for Leslie, what could she say or do in the face of it? She would be angry, of course, and insulting. Insults, however, broke no bones. Leslie could not circulate malicious reports about her without implicating herself. To resign also meant a saving of dignity. Miss Reid determined, therefore, to resign, but without appointing a time for a new try-out. She would slide from under and let the freshmen straighten the snarl as best they might.

A plan is not a success until it has been carried out. This Miss Reid learned at her second interview with the committee. Portia, backed by the other members of the committee, insisted that Miss Reid should sign a notice of her own composition, announcing a new try-out.

“You may say, if you choose, that, owing to the dissatisfaction of the preponderance of the freshman class with the work of the present basket ball team, you have been requested by a committee, representing freshman interests, to call another try-out for the purpose of selecting another team, composed of players, adequate to the work.”

“But no such thing has ever been heard of, much less done, here at Hamilton,” objected Miss Reid, when Portia coolly outlined the notice.

“It has been heard of now and must be done,” came the instant answer. “I assure you, Miss Reid, that you will go further toward gaining the respect of the students by being impersonal in this affair. You have been severely criticized for allowing so inadequate a team to take the floor. On the day of the first try-out good players were ignored and unskilful ones chosen. You will gain more by rectifying this error. You owe it to yourself to do so before you resign. We freshmen prefer the seniors as managers of our college sports. You have not been just with us and we have resented your injustice.”

Portia’s denunciation of the physical instructor’s methods was, undoubtedly, candid. It had the desired effect, however. Miss Reid wrote and posted the notice. Further, she sent a frigid little note to the senior manager of college sports, whom she had treated so discourteously on the day of the try-out, renouncing all voice and interest in basket ball.

The victorious committee’s next move was to get in touch with the senior sports committee of three, which included Miss Clement, the senior manager, and notify them of the complete revolution of affairs. The two who had sided with Miss Reid agreed quite meekly now with the committee’s ideas. The try-out was held in the gymnasium shortly after the notice had been posted, and, for once, a team was made up on its merits. Robin Page again made good and won the coveted position of center. The request for her resignation from the other team had not specially troubled Robin, knowing that a shake-up was imminent.

Four released and exasperated freshmen, headed by Lola Elster and reinforced by the ten classmates in sympathy with the ex-team besieged Miss Reid, demanding re-instatement. She very quickly thrust the burden on the shoulders of the senior sports committee. She made it plain to her favorites, also, just who was responsible for the affair. As they had no case they dared not take their grievance higher. What they proceeded to do was seek the consolation of the Sans, all fourteen of them being at least eligible to association with these exclusives. Their domineering sophomore sisters obligingly promised them vengeance against the obnoxious committee.

Leslie Cairns’ receipt of the movement against collusion was a fit of temper such as she seldom gave way to. Spying the notice on the bulletin board, she deliberately ripped it off and tore it to bits. Then she set off for the gymnasium at a pace quite foreign to her usual leisurely gait. Luckily for Miss Reid, she happened to be elsewhere at the time. Thus, when she and Leslie came to classes on the following afternoon, the latter had calmed considerably. She did not spare the older woman’s feelings, but scored her sharply for “bungling” and then leaving her friends in the lurch in order to save herself.

“You may say what you please, Leslie, but it would have done no good to defy them,” the instructor defended. “The freshman class this year is a collection of young anarchists. I would advise you to be very careful what you do. There has not been such a class in years at Hamilton. A few more like it and Hamilton will lose its reputation as a really exclusive college.”

“What Hamilton ought to lose is some of its freshie freshmen,” retorted Leslie. “I have a friend who knows a lot about one of them, at least, and she probably knows enough about some others to queer them here. I mean those ninnies from that little one-horse town of Sanford. The whole five of them are an eyesore to me. The only one who hates ’em harder than I do, is Nat. She never will forgive that moon-eyed Miss Dean for putting it over her at the Beauty contest. Leila Harper was back of that. She is another I could see leave Hamilton without going into mourning.”

“You can place the blame upon the Silverton Hall crowd, with Miss Graham and Miss Page as ringleaders,” informed Miss Reid sourly.

Leslie shrugged sceptically. “Oh, I don’t know,” she differed. “Nat thinks Miss Dean’s crowd started it. They took up the cudgels for that dig, Miss Langly. The minute we started to rag her for being so bull-headed about her room, this crowd of sillies started in rooting for her. Now old Proffy Wenderblatt and his family have taken her up and they make a fuss over her. She and the green-eyed Sanford dig are so chummy. They make me sick. We have to be careful now about ragging her. Wenderblatt is a terror when he isn’t pleased. He would report us to Doctor Matthews. Ragging is forbidden here, same as hazing. I’d do both to any one I didn’t like, if I thought I could get away with it.”

Despite Leslie Cairns’ threats, made not only to Miss Reid but to Natalie Weyman and a few others, life slid along very peacefully for the Five Travelers. The holidays past, they found enjoyment in settling down for the winter term to uninterrupted study, lightened by impromptu social gatherings, held in one another’s rooms. Occasionally they made dinner engagements at Silverton or Acasia House or entertained at Baretti’s, their favorite haunt when in search of good cheer. Once a week they spent an hour together as the Five Travelers, and found the little confidential session helpful. No misunderstandings had crept in among them. Often their talks branched off into impersonalities, of interest to all.

Neither Marjorie nor Muriel had entered the second basket ball try-out. Both had decided to wait until their sophomore year. Fond of the game, they dropped into the gymnasium occasionally for an hour’s work with the ball by way of keeping up practice. There were always plenty of subs willing to make up a team.

February came, bringing with it St. Valentine’s day, and the masque which the juniors always gave on St. Valentine’s night. A Valentine post box was one of the features. For days beforehand the girls spent odd moments in making valentines, the rule being that all valentines posted must have been hand wrought. Marjorie, remembering the cunning little-girl costume Mary Raymond had worn to Mignon La Salle’s fancy dress party, shortened a frilled pink organdie gown of hers and went back to childhood for a night. With pink flat-heeled kid slippers and pink silk stockings, an immense pink top-knot bow tying up a portion of her curls, she was a pretty sight. Ronny went as a Watteau shepherdess, Lucy as a Japanese girl, Muriel as Rosalind in Shakespeare’s “As You Like It,” and Jerry as a clown.

The valentine party was always a delightful feature of the college year, for the reason that it was a masquerade. Though the Sans had been holding themselves rigidly aloof from all but a few students since the downfall of Lola Elster as a basket ball star, they could not resist the lure of a masquerade. They took good care to keep together until after the unmasking, presumably for fear of mingling with what they considered as “the common herd.”

“Anyone with a good pair of keen eyes can tell the precious Sans though they should be happening to wear a dozen masks,” Leila Harper had derided. “They wear such silks and satins and velvets and jewels! They are wearying to the sight with their fine clothes. Look at me. A poor Irish colleen with nothing silk about me but one small neckerchief.”

Following the masquerade by only a few days came the excitement of the first game between the new team and the sophomores. The latter had not challenged the freshman team after its reorganization, as Leslie Cairns had voiced against it and neither Natalie nor Joan Myers cared to oppose her. Leslie possessed a very large fortune in her own right. In consequence she always had money in abundance. While the former had large allowances, they managed usually to overstep them. In such case they fell back on Leslie and were invariably in her debt.

Later Leslie changed her mind about not wishing the sophomores to play against the “upstarts,” as she termed them. Having overheard on the campus that the sophs were afraid to meet the freshies, she accordingly urged Joan to challenge the freshman team.

When the game came off on the third Saturday in February, the freshmen gave the sophomores a drubbing they would not soon forget. It was not a whitewash, but it was painfully near it. The sophomore players took the defeat with very poor grace. The freshman class had gone wild when the game had ended 26-10 in favor of the freshmen. While the sophs had not expected a walk-away victory, they had confidently expected to win. Further, Leslie had promised them a dinner at Baretti’s that should outdo anything she had given that year. Now that they had lost the game, she obstinately refused to keep her word.

“Why spend my good money on a crowd of no accounts like you?” she had roughly queried. “I said if you won I’d give the dinner. You did not, so what’s the use in celebrating. The fault with you girls is you’ve been slackers about practicing. You’ve gone motoring when you should have been in the gym and after the ball.” This rebuke was delivered in the sophs’ dressing room after the game, whence the team had hurried to hide their diminished heads.

“Do you know what I heard out on the floor?” she continued, with intent to hurt. “I heard that the sophs might have won if they had practiced once in a while.”

“Just the same the freshies had coaching all the time and we didn’t,” Dulcie Vale asserted. “Miss Dean and Miss Harding are both expert players. It seems that they play basket ball a lot at these high schools. These girls get to be very clever at it. Like the Indians, you know, who make such good foot ball players. They showed the team different plays to use against us. That’s why they won. They have been over to the gym almost every day.”

Dulcie’s comparison of Muriel and Marjorie to the Indians raised a laugh, as she intended it should. Even Leslie laughed in her peculiar silent fashion. Next instant she frowned. She had again been thwarted by the girls she despised. Things were not going rightly at all. Born a bully, she looked upon even her friends as created only for her amusement. She had the insatiable desire for power, and could not bear defeat. Tucked in an inner pocket of her tweed top coat was a letter she had recently received. It was not the first one she had received from the same source. This particular letter had appeared to afford her great satisfaction on reading. Her hand strayed to the pocket which held it.

“I have a letter here I would like to read to you girls,” she drawled. “On second thoughts I’ll take back what I said. I’ll stand for that blowout at Baretti’s. That would be a good place to read you the letter. Then I would like your advice on it.”

CHAPTER XXVI.—FRIENDS GOOD AND TRUE.

“Oh, nothing startling, only every time I meet any of the Sans or those few freshmen who go around with them, they look me all over and then they do everything from smiling just the least bit, a hateful sarcastic smile, to laughing outright. Just now, as I came across the campus, I met Miss Cairns. Miss Elster, Miss Myers and Miss Weyman were with her. As soon as they saw me, they began to talk among themselves, quite loudly. I didn’t hear what they said. I know it was about me. Then they all laughed. The other day I met the same girls and they simply smiled. I know they are doing it purposely; but why?”

“Humph!” ejaculated Jerry, her blue eyes widening in sudden belligerence. “I know why! They have started out to rag you. That’s a nice proposition! I suppose they are sore at you because you were on that committee.”

“But that was quite a while ago. This making fun of me has only been of late. I noticed it first the Sunday after the game. I met a crowd of those girls as I came from chapel. I felt just a little hurt. I had had such a peaceful time in chapel. It was the Sunday you had a cold and did not attend chapel. If they keep it up, I shall probably grow so used to it that it won’t trouble me.”

“Well, if they confine themselves to snickering, smirking, ha-ha-ing and te-he-ing, let ’em enjoy themselves. If they start to say anything to you, for that’s the next stage in ragging, give them one lovely call-down that will settle them for good. You can do it. I’ve heard you speak straight from the shoulder. Will you ever forget the day you and I had the fuss with Rowena Fightena Quarrelena Scrapena?”

“No; I will not.” Marjorie never could resist giggling at the long name which Jerry had applied to Rowena Farnham on account of the latter’s quarrelsome disposition. “I hope none of those Sans will try her tactics. I don’t wish to come to bitter words with any of those girls. They are set against me on account of having served on that committee, perhaps. Maybe because Muriel and I went over to the gym occasionally and helped the team along. They have not liked us, you know, from the night Miss Cairns, Miss Weyman and Miss Vale called and privately rated us as nobodies. It is queer they never tried to take Ronny up, for she has made no secret of her name this year. They must surely have heard of Alfred Lynne, her father. Leila says that Miss Cairns is always writing her father and asking him to have this or that student’s parents looked up financially.”

“Contemptible!” Jerry’s scorn of such tactics was sweeping. “If ever they try to look me up and I hear of it, even long afterward, I will get them together and give them such a call-down their hair will stand on end and stay that way for a week. If you should happen to see the Sans switching around the campus with their coiffures resembling that of Feejee Islanders, you will know what has occurred to the dear creatures. I shall probably do that, anyhow, if they don’t let you alone.”

“No.” Marjorie’s negative was decided. “You must never fuss with them on my account. I daresay they will grow tired before long of making fun of me. All I can do is this. Appear not to see them at all.”

“I would just as soon fuss with them as look at them,” Jerry declared valorously. “Now who are they, pray tell me? One thing is certain to come to pass. Sooner or later we will have to tell that crowd where they get off at. I have seen it coming ever since the freshman dance. Miss Weyman is so mad at you she can’t see straight. She expected to win that contest. Helen Trent called my attention to her that night. She was posing to beat the band for the judges’ benefit. Helen was worried a little. She thought Leila ought not to have pitted you against Miss Weyman. That is what she did, you know. Afterward Helen said she guessed you would have been unofficially declared the college beauty anyway, for so many of the girls were already raving over you. Now don’t rave at me for telling you that. You are such an old sorehead about that contest. I hardly dare think of it in the same room with you.”

Marjorie sat very still, an expression of blank amazement on her lovely face. She now recalled her own vexation on the night of the dance when Leila had brought her into too prominent notice by hurrying her across one end of the gymnasium to join the line. So Leila had purposely dragged her into that contest! For a moment or two she wavered on the verge of indignation at Leila. Then the Irish girl’s face, brooding and wistful, as she had seen it so many times when Leila was referring to her own affairs, rose before her. No; it was too late to be angry with Leila. Marjorie was tempted to laugh instead at the clever way in which Leila had managed the whole affair.

“You have told me some news,” she said at last. “I had no idea Miss Weyman was anxious to win the contest. I didn’t know, either, that Leila had a hand in it. She didn’t say much about it after it was over, except to congratulate me. I don’t think she has ever mentioned it since.” Marjorie had begun to smile.

“She is a clever one.” Jerry grinned appreciation of the absent Leila. “Why, Marjorie, she arranged that contest! She took it from an old book on the Celts. She brought the book with her from Ireland. She got up the contest to score one against the Sans and take a rise out of Miss Weyman. I would have told you this before, but Helen told me in confidence. She said the other day she didn’t care if I told you, for she felt that you understood Leila well enough now not to be cross with her. She was afraid of making trouble in the beginning if she said anything.”

“It’s past now. I don’t care. Miss Weyman is nothing to me. I am glad I know about it, though.” Marjorie considered for a brief space. “Perhaps that is why those girls are acting so queerly toward me. They may think me very much elated over winning the contest. If that’s the case, all the more reason why I should pay no attention to them.”

Jerry agreed that this was so and the subject was dropped for the time being. Having resolved to appear oblivious to any ill-bred acts on the part of the Sans, Marjorie proceeded to carry out her resolution. For a week or more she presented a strictly impersonal face whenever she chanced to encounter any of the Sans or their friends in going about the college premises. She was greatly annoyed to find that this method seemed to have no effect. Instead, their derision of herself was growing more pronounced. Several times she thought she detected a difference in the salutations of certain upper class students who had formerly shown cordiality of greeting. Late one afternoon she met Miss Kingston, one of the seniors on the sports committee, on the steps of the library, and received from her merely a blank stare. Marjorie went on to the Hall, feeling very much crushed. To be sure she was not particularly interested in Miss Kingston. She had sided with Miss Reid at the try-out. Since the freshmen had regulated matters, however, Miss Kingston had been quite affable to her when they had chanced to meet in the gymnasium.

In the growing dusk of the hall, for the maid had not yet turned on the lights, she ran plump into another girl who had just come from upstairs. “I beg your pardon,” she apologized.

“Ex-cuse me!” exclaimed a familiar voice. “Blame the maid for no light, but never yours truly. And where may you be hurrying to, Miss Marjorie of the Deans?”

“Oh, is that you, Leila? I didn’t know you in the dark until you spoke.”

“Nor I you,” returned Leila. “I have been to your room twice looking for you. I was just going back to see if Miss Remson knew where you were. Ronny is in my room. I am needing you there, too. Will you come up with me now?” Leila turned toward the stairs.

“Certainly, I will. What has happened, Leila?”

“Nothing, dear heart. Only Vera and I have something to talk over with you and Ronny.” Leila spoke in the friendliest kind of tones. Marjorie followed her up the stairs to the third floor where Leila and Nella Sherman roomed. Nella was absent, but Vera and Ronny greeted their entrance with expressions of satisfaction.

“I had the good fortune to bump into Marjorie in the hall,” Leila said, as she ranged herself beside Marjorie, who had taken a seat on Leila’s couch bed. “Now for the talk I must give you. Some of it will make you laugh and some of it will not. May I ask you, Ronny, do you spell your name L-y-n-n or L-i-n-d?”

“Neither way. It is spelled L-y-n-n-e,” responded Ronny. “It is an old English name.”

Leila and Vera both broke into laughter. Marjorie and Ronny regarded them with mild wonderment.

“Oh, my gracious! Did you know, Ronny, that the thick-headed Sans call you Lind? They are walking about on the campus proclaiming that you are a poor Swedish servant girl who lived with the principal, Miss Someone, I have not the name, of Sanford High School. She pays your expenses here. You are not much, Ronny, so never think you are.” Again Leila broke into laughter. “Do poor Swedish servant girls have imported gowns of gray chiffon? I am remembering one of yours.”

“They do not, as a rule.” Ronny’s whole face was alive with mirth. “Now who could have started that absurd tale?” She turned to Marjorie.

“I don’t know.” Marjorie looked troubled. Incidental with Leila’s recital, Jerry’s remarks concerning being “looked up” by the Sans had returned to her. “Part of that amazing information must have come from some one in Sanford who wanted to be malicious. Not the Lind part. That is funny.” Her sober features relaxed into an amused smile. “You had better explain to the girls about the servant girl part, Ronny.”

“O-h-h!” sighed Ronny. “You tell them, please, Marjorie.”

“All right; glad to.” Marjorie’s revelation of the part Ronny had played during the previous year at high school was received with absorbed attention. When she went on to say that Ronny’s father was Alfred Lynne, the noted western philanthropist, Leila gave a sharp little whistle of surprise.

“Oh, the poor Sans!” she chuckled. “Might not your father be able to buy out all their fathers and still have a dollar left?”