The Project Gutenberg eBook, Betty Lee, Junior, by Harriet Pyne Grove

Transcriber's Note: The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

BETTY LEE, JUNIOR
By
HARRIET PYNE GROVE

THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
Cleveland, Ohio—New York City

Copyright, 1931
THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

BETTY LEE, JUNIOR

CHAPTER I
A JUNIOR AT “PEP ASSEMBLY”

“Clash, Bim-bang!”

“Toot-toot,” high! “Toot-toot,” low!

“Tooral-looral-loo-oo-oo-oo,” up the scale, “tooral-looral-loo-oo-oo-oo,” down the scale.

“R-r-r-boom!”

Cymbals clashed; horns tooted; scales mounted or fell; bits of popular tunes were tried, and drums occasionally rolled; for Lyon High band was on the platform, in almost full force. All were in uniform and gathered for the greatest Pep Assembly of the year, which would begin when the proper gongs were sounded.

Betty Lee, junior, opening the door of the auditorium, smiled broadly at the sight. Ordinarily Betty would have been in her home room with the rest, waiting for the signals; but she had been sent by her home room teacher on an errand to the office. And on her arrival there, the principal had appeared from his inner office as her message was being delivered to one of the office force.

Looking around for some one who was not busy, he recognized Betty’s presence with a smile. “Betty,” said he—and Betty was proud that he knew her well enough to address her by her first name—“will you please step to the auditorium and see if the band leader has arrived? If so, tell him that I should like to see him a moment before the assembly.”

Armed with this authority, Betty Lee was now invading the present domain of boydom, while the band gathered and practiced after this noisy and irregular fashion. It was fun for everybody and Betty enjoyed her unusual privilege. She hesitated inside of the central door, which she had entered, then walked forward as far as the back row of seats, while she scanned the platform to see if the young man who trained the band had yet come in. She could not see him. There were the rows of chairs, arranged across the stage, the two central rows facing each other. The boys were getting their music in order, putting it upon the standards in front of them, or just sitting down to try out their instruments. Betty, the assured junior now, knew personally many of the band members, and the names of most of the others.

As she waited, not seeing the person she sought, the door behind her flew open to admit a hurrying boy, Chet Dorrance, a senior now and still a good friend of Betty’s. He stopped in his mad haste to speak to her. “’Lo, Betty, how’s this? Going to lead the band this morning?”

“Of course,” laughingly replied Betty. “I’m glad you came along, Chet. The principal wants to see the band leader and sent me to tell him—not the drum-major, you know, but Mr.—What’s-his-name.” Betty lifted her pretty chin a moment.

“You see I’m all fussed, Chet, over such an errand.”

“Yes—you—are!”

“Well, I do hate to go up there to find him, though I thought I might get him from the wings. But would you mind telling him for me, if he comes in pretty soon? It might be possible that he would stop in the office, and I’ll go back there to see if it’s necessary.”

Chet nodded at the explanation. “Sure I’ll tell him. There he comes now,” and Chet indicated a young man who came from the side to the center of the platform. Then, on a trot, Chet traversed the length of the big auditorium to the steps at its side which led into the wings. Betty waited a few moments, to make sure that he really would deliver the message. There he was, motioning back to her as he spoke briefly. With a high salute Chet grinned back at her and sought his horn, while the band leader hurried from the platform, down the side aisle and out at the nearest door into the hall.

“Clash, bing, bang, tooral-looral”—how funny it was! And with a terrific swing of another of the double doors that admitted pupils and teachers into the auditorium, a tall, long-legged senior tore into the room, ran on the double-quick up the aisle nearest, buttoning the coat of his uniform as he went, crossed the stage at the rear, and in an unbelievably short time lugged in the biggest horn of all, shining in its brazen glory.

Betty, still grinning at this latest arrival’s performances, turned to leave just in time to come face to face with another boy, a junior this time, Mickey Carlin, who was carrying a cornet.

“You saved yourself by turning around, Betty,” said the youth usually addressed by the boys as “Irish.” “I was just going to set off a few gentle blasts behind you to see how much you love real music. Going to join the band?”

“Certainly,” replied Betty as she threw up her hands in pretended horror at Mickey’s cornet and statement. “I had to deliver a message for the principal—honestly,” she added, as Mickey made a face which indicated some doubt of her veracity. But Betty was smiling. “I’ve got to fly now before the gong rings.”

Betty, too, joined the ranks of the hurried, as she went back to her home room to report the result of her errand and to explain the length of her absence from the room. The “adorable Miss Heath” was her home room teacher this year and she would believe her truthful. It was such a comfortable feeling to be under a teacher who trusted you and to whom you were “making good.” Betty would have been “boiled in oil,” she declared, before she would take advantage of Miss Heath’s confidence. She did feel a little guilty, however, because she had not hurried to leave the auditorium. Those killing boys! And Betty was proud of the Lyon High band, nearly fifty pieces, and “playing like professional musicians” under their instructor and leader, as one optimistic article in the school paper had declared. She gave a little skip as she thought of it, but slowed her step to enter her home room sedately.

Dotty Bradshaw, the same old Dotty, made big eyes at her, pretending to look shocked. Carolyn Gwynne, darling, precious Carolyn, still Betty’s dearest among the girls, scarcely excepting Kathryn Allen, gave Betty a demure look as she passed in front of her desk to report to Miss Heath. As Betty and Carolyn sat on front seats, across the aisle from each other, Carolyn could hear everything that Betty said, though her tone was low as she talked to Miss Heath.

“I’d been wondering what had become of you,” said Carolyn, when in a few minutes the girls of the home room were in semi-order on their way to the auditorium.

“It was fine to ‘traverse these sacred halls’ just like a teacher. O, Carolyn, I’ve something to show you. Don’t let me forget it. I brought it along so Doris or Dick wouldn’t get hold of it. I’m always forgetting and leaving things about and I can’t blame Dodie for looking at them and asking questions. But you do hate to have everything talked over in the family! I really suppose you’ll have grounds for thinking that I’m not in good taste to show it to you but I have to talk it over with somebody!”

“How flattering that you choose me!” mischievously remarked Carolyn.

“Shush! You know I always tell you things that I can tell anybody.”

“I’m consumed with curiosity. What can it be?”

“Do you remember the Don?”

“Oh, yes. You had him at your house one Thanksgiving—our freshman year. Your father had invited him or something.”

“Yes. You know that he just disappeared suddenly and nobody knew what had become of him after school was out. He was supposed to be going on with his education and he was such a wonder all year in athletics. Father missed him from the garage, where he worked and inquired, but never heard. He had intended to go on with his education. Well, I had a letter from him and that is what I want to show you. He doesn’t explain at all, but he sends regards to his friends and asks if he can come—call to see us.”

“Ah, Betty, I shall have to look at that letter!”

“Oh, it’s all right, a very proper letter. I showed it to Mother and Father, of course, for Father was speaking of Ramon Balinsky just the other day. I’ll tell the girls and boys, some of them, and give Ramon’s message, but I just can’t show the letter, for there’s one bit of it that’s a little personal, written in his foreign way. Would it be all right, do you think, if I only said that ‘we’ heard from the Don and that he is all right and sends greetings to all his high school friends?”

“Why not? People usually do say ‘we,’ no matter who got the letter, when it is a sort of family friend. You have a terrible conscience, Betty Lee.”

“No worse than yours, Carolyn Gwynne,” returned Betty with a little laugh, suited to this private conversation, which was rather hard to carry on as they walked. “Anyhow, Mother says that if you can’t trust people to be truthful, you can’t trust them at all.”

“True enough. But you don’t have to tell all you know to folks that are just plain curious! Still, how would it do to tell Kathryn, and have her tell Chauncey; and by that time it would be that ‘the Lees’ had had word about Ramon and he was sending his best regards or something to everybody that remembered him?”

“Smart girl! I knew you’d think of something!”

Kathryn, coming up behind them, asked at this instant “Why this merriment?” but it was a very quiet bit of laughter that she interrupted and there they were at the door of the auditorium.

The girls made their way to the junior section, where Betty usually sat between Carolyn and Kathryn. The band was playing a lively air by way of escort. Some of the pupils were humming a little with the band and others were talking, though by general consent manners were such as control the usual crowd. They might not have been so good, it is true, had the pupils not known that the principal would tolerate no nonsense; and no one wanted to miss any assemblies, to pass the time in study, or to be sent home.

Lucia Coletti, still in America, still in Lyon High, sat directly in front of Betty and next to Peggy Pollard, who, it may be remembered, had joined the sorority, the “Kappa Upsilons,” to which Carolyn and Betty had been invited. Lucia (pronounced Lu-chee-a, in Italian fashion), looked back, as she pulled down the seat of her chair, and gave the girls a salute, very brief, but Dotty Bradshaw, near by, rather daringly asked, “is that a Fascisti salute, Lucia?”

“It’s a mixture, like me,” replied Lucia, not offended, her black eyes flashing an amused glance at Betty. “Listen, Betty,” she said. “I want to see you some time today. I want you to help me out on something.”

“All right,” said Betty.

But the principal was now standing quietly on the platform, as was his custom, his very presence a check upon too vociferous converse. He clapped his hands together several times for quiet. Instantly the talking began to subside, then stopped as the attention of all was secured. All faces turned to the American flag, which stood in silken beauty of red, white and blue at the side of the platform. In the daily lesson of patriotism, pupils and teachers, led by the principal in clear, unhurried accents, repeated the pledge to the flag and country.

Lucia, half American, half Italian, probably born in some other foreign country, Betty thought, gave the salute with the rest, “out of courtesy,” she had told the girls. It was her mother’s flag, she said. Her father had another, and as for her she was going to choose her country!

But Lucia, bright and interesting, very much alive to all the high school and city life, was possibly arriving at a better appreciation of some phases of America and its opportunities than some of the girls of American birth, and from the very difference of environment and customs.

Lucia Coletti was adding to some old-world advantages, and to her early education in Europe, what America had to offer. Betty was both surprised and pleased with the Lucia Coletti who was a junior. And Lucia, in spite of the sorority circle and many other young friends in the circle in which her countess mother and wealthy uncle moved, still had a high regard for Betty Lee, her first helpful acquaintance; for she considered Betty’s leadership a safe one, whenever independent Lucia needed or wanted any counsel.

“Let us improve the manner of our entrance into the auditorium,” the principal was saying. “I should like to find it unnecessary to do more than lift my hand for attention.” A few announcements were made and then the meeting was put into the hands of a senior boy, Budd LeRoy, in fact.

At Budd’s invitation, after a rousing number played by the band, the cheer leaders came running out, to all appearances in terrible excitement. But that was their pose. In these days the cheer leaders were obliged to “try out” for their position. Betty could remember when in her freshman year there was only one. Now there were six, arrayed in short sleeved yellow tunics or sweaters of a sort, with a big lion’s head outlined in black upon each manly breast. Betty grinned broadly when she saw Brad Warren wearing the lion. So Brad had won in the try-out for some one to take the place of a cheer leader who had left school. Chet had wanted to be a cheer leader, but as he could not very well be a cheer leader and in the band at the same time, that young ambition could not be gratified.

Lyon High was nothing if not up-to-date! And now the yellow-capped cheer leaders wildly ran into a “huddle,” conferring apparently, like a football team, and separating at once. One cried:

“Make it snappy! Just as you’re going to root for the team tomorrow! Everybody in on it! One-two-three-go!

“Yea—Lions! Fight, fight, fight!
Yea—Lions! Fight, fight, fight!
Yea—Lions! Fight, fight, fight!”

“Now the Big Four yell for the team! One, two, three, four!

“T—T—T—T
E—E—E—E
A—A—A—A
M!
Yea—Team!
Fight, fight, fight!”

A different lad led the school next in one of their rally songs which they sang with a will:

“What’s the matter with Lyon High?
Right, all right!
What’s the matter with our team?
Watch them fight!

“No luck for the Eagles; that came last year.
We’ll show them a seat in the distant rear!
What’s the matter with Lions?
They’re all right!”

As may be gathered, this occasion was the last Pep Assembly before the game with the Lions’ most competent enemy, the “Eagles,” of the rival city high school. Again the championship was to be determined. They had lost it the year before. This year the team would “do or die” and the rooters expected to be out in force. Accustomed as they all were to this organized method, of arousing enthusiasm, feeling was not hard to stir this morning, from the very facts of the situation. It might do, as the boys said, to “get a licking once; but never twice!”

Artistically and athletically the cheer leaders tore about, doing their various prepared stunts, rehearsed especially for this occasion. Budd, who was announcing the program so easily, had once been timid about public appearance, but in the course of three years and more at Lyon High, with all its organizations and efforts in the public eye, he had gotten bravely over his timidity. Presently he was announcing a speech from the assistant principal, Mr. Franklin, who was particularly interested in the school athletics and often took part in the faculty-versus-student games. His speech was brief and good.

“You need not be afraid that the team will be over-confident,” said he, among other things. “Last year’s experience will be a reminder to those who were on the team and to the new material as well. On the other hand, neither will they suffer the handicap of being fearful. They have a record of success this fall. Be there to boost them with your confidence. The new men this year are not without experience. The quarterback that came to us from Kentucky ranks along with Freddy Fisher or the boy you all knew as the Don.” Here the speaker was interrupted with loud applause, intended for “Kentucky” and the memories of Freddy and Ramon who had led Lyon High to victory more than once.

“I am looking for some spectacular plays, though we shall not ask for them. While I am not expecting or desiring the team to ‘wring the necks of the Eagles,’ as someone suggested, I am expecting it to put them to flight! I thank you.”

Smiling at the vigorous applause which followed his last statement or prophecy, Mr. Franklin left the platform, soon to enter the body of the auditorium, where he stood, an efficient representative of discipline and good order.

As the applause died down, Budd announced speeches by members of the team. First came the Kentucky boy of whom Mr. Franklin had spoken. He was tall and lank, as Kentuckians are supposed to be but often are not. The audience did not know how he had protested against his effort to make a speech. He had finally said he would appear but they need not expect any speech. “Good mawnin,” he said and flushed hotly at the ripple of amusement that ran over the audience of his fellow pupils. He stood soberly waiting a moment and put his hands in his pockets, to give him greater confidence, it might be presumed.

“I nevah made a speech in my life,” he continued, “and I am quite suah that I can’t make one now. But I said I’d get up here and tell you that the team is on the job. We’re goin’ to do the best playin’ of the season tomorrow—and that’s all.”

“Kentucky,” in the midst of uproarious applause, sauntered off the stage without a backward look, thankful, no doubt, that such a public appearance was over. It was different on the field. You were further away from the crowd and thought about what you were doing.

The next member of the team began a sentence and forgot what he was going to say. But the sympathetic if laughing faces of his audience made him feel more at home. He was “terribly rattled,” as one of the girls near Betty whispered, but managed to capture an idea, jerkily expressed it and succeeded in getting off the stage without falling over the band, as Dotty Bradshaw put it. But if there were anything clever or critical to be said Dotty never missed it. It was a pity, for Dotty was otherwise so attractive.

The captain of the football team was called upon next. He was somewhat more experienced in the line of speeches, or felt the responsibility more from his position, perhaps. At any rate his speech was a good one and all the more enthusiastically received from being short and to the point. At a signal (who could mistake the actions of the cheer leader) from the active six, the crowd rose in a body and to the tune of “On Wisconsin” sang “On Lions,” the Lyon High version:

“On, Lions; on, Lions!
Clean up on that team;
Show them that the black and tawny
Ever is supreme.
On Lions; on, Lions,
Fighting for your fame!
Fight fellows, fight, fight, fight,
And win this game.”

A few fords and reminders from the principal himself followed this song, as his lifted hand quieted the natural slight disturbance of getting settled into seats again.

“Remember that you have in your hands the honor and reputation of the school and that this honor and reputation are even above winning the game. Remember that the other team, the other rooters, are boys and girls like yourselves, most of them fine, and both as worthy and as interested in their own team’s winning. Do not do anything that is planned to stir resentment. Continue to show the good sportsmanship for which this school stands. Have your fun and songs and root for your team, but show your visitors at our stadium the courtesy that is due them. And should any of them overstep the bounds of propriety, in their loyalty to their team, or their inter-plays parades, keep your own self-control and do not retaliate. Remember that Lyon High counts upon you.”

With this and a few announcements, the principal was through. The band struck up the regular Lyon High song, which the audience rose to sing. Then Budd dismissed the meeting and the boys and girls departed to classes to strains of the latest popular band tune.

“When can you show me the letter, Betty?” asked Carolyn.

“After the Lyon ‘Y’ meeting this afternoon, Carolyn. I have it with me. Here’s hoping I haven’t lost it. Oh, wouldn’t that be awful?”

“It depends upon how personal it is,” smiled Carolyn.

“Enough for me not to want anybody else to read it.”

CHAPTER II
“GOLDEN BETTY”

It was a full day for Betty Lee. Most of her days were full, but Betty was well and happy and never worried over her various activities, which had increased since her freshman year, so mixed and full of decisions. One might as well be doing things, she said. If you didn’t do one thing you were doing another. So she had concluded. And as long as she kept on the honor list no one at home made any objection to the list of her interests.

Attractive, friendly, yet independent, showing her clear mind and stability in everything she undertook, Betty was in demand and found herself very well-known, indeed, at the beginning of her junior year. She was considered one of the school’s best swimmers, but had not taken the life-saving tests as yet. That was to come this year. She was working toward it. The hockey season had just closed with Betty rejoicing as captain of the champion team. There was every indication that Betty again would be captain of the junior basketball team, but there were some murmurs at home against this and another junior girl wanted the place. Betty loved the excitement and confessed to herself alone that she would like to be captain. In the spring she was going to take up riding if she could.

Life was a happy proposition for Betty Lee this year. At home she had less responsibility. Her father’s business relations were apparently solid. Amy Lou had started to school. Doris and Dick were freshmen in Lyon High this year. Betty often met them in the halls, when they would exchange salutes; but Doris particularly wanted no interference from her older sister and Betty respected her desire for independence. She had been of some help to them at the start, however, and Doris was secretly quite proud of her pretty junior sister that “everybody” knew for her athletic record and “everything.”

Recitation periods were necessarily shortened on account of the Pep Assembly, which made the schedule a more hurried one. Betty ran downstairs and hopped upstairs, as she went from one to another class, planning how to get in her study for the next day as well as marshalling her forces for the coming class. She read a hard sentence in Cicero to Kathryn as they walked through the hall to Miss Heath’s room. “That’s the way I got it!” cried Kathryn, “but it is so crazy that I wasn’t sure.”

“I may not have it right,” said Betty, “but I think that is what it is.”

“I’ll trust your reading every time,” Kathryn declared.

“Better not; but I found an old text of Mother’s that has grand notes in it and I use it along with my own. I could bring it to school and lend it to you in study hall some time.”

“Oh, don’t bother. I’ll ask you about anything too muddly.”

“I’m getting used to Cicero now.”

“So am I, but it’s harder than Caesar because he has a sort of argument, you know, that you have to get.”

Betty was glad that she had study hall the last period before lunch. It was all too short, but she concentrated and lost to all surroundings, “crammed” on two lessons. Latin and Math could be acquired that evening—no—Chet was coming over! There was a young people’s supper and party at the church! Oh, well. She’d get it in somehow. And Betty would.

The afternoon went as busily, though the periods were of the usual length. How was she going to get to that Lyon “Y” meeting when there was orchestra practice? She had not thought of that! But when school was out and she had put away her books in her locker, with the exception of what she must take home, she ran to the auditorium with her violin only to find a notice:

“Orchestra practice postponed until tomorrow. Same hour!”

The violin went back into the locker, for there would be no home practice tonight! Arm in arm with Carolyn Gwynne, who had also seen the notice and waited for Betty, she ran in fine spirits to the room in which the Lyon “Y,” or the older high school group of Girl Reserves, was to meet. “Got the letter, Betty?” asked Carolyn.

“Yes—but I’d better look to see!” Betty opened her little bag, which contained her street car fare and several other things, felt around and found the letter from the “Don,” folded to come within the compass of the bag. “You can read it after the meeting, Carolyn. But don’t you know I’d forgotten all about the church supper tonight and I’ll have to skip home to get a lesson or two before dinner.”

“Stay here and get out Cicero with me. It won’t take us any time because she had us do so much sight reading ahead today. There are two or three clubs meeting and the building will be open, you know.”

“All right. Here’s hoping that this meeting will not take too long. There’s a program, you know, and election of officers. Bess Higgins resigned and so they’re going to have the whole new group elected and let the new president begin right away.”

“That’s funny. How do you like the idea of different officers for the two semesters?”

“I don’t know how it will work, but it makes more girls do things and that is a good thing. Oh, Carolyn, I wouldn’t have missed that Fall Retreat at camp for anything! Just one week-end was glorious and Father says perhaps I can go there for a week or two next summer after school. I wish I could go!”

“Perhaps I can. The family could go on without me and I could go with you and on to our own camp later.”

“Oh, Carolyn! And stay with me at our house before the Girl Reserve camp opens!”

Betty gave a happy skip, but here they were at the door through which other girls were entering. A little group was standing at one side near a window. Kathryn was among them and beckoned to Carolyn and Betty. “This is a caucus,” announced Kathryn. “You are not wanted Betty, only to say that you will be president if you get elected. We have to know.”

“Oh, do you?” laughed Betty. “This is so sudden! Why, I don’t care, Kathryn. If there’s anybody else that wants it, I don’t.” Then she drew Kathryn aside to speak more quietly. “Is this the nominating committee?”

“Yes, and some more of us that heard they were going to nominate a girl that wouldn’t do one thing. She is sweet enough about some things and she wants the honor of it. I’d like to have her have it for that, but nothing would get put through. Miss Street is new to us and all she knows about Clara Lovel is that she is a senior and is a good student.”

Miss Street was the new leader of this high school group. Betty told Kathryn that there was little use in putting up a junior against a senior, and told her to select another senior to run against Clara.

“There isn’t anything in your objection that it is customary to have a senior for president,” Kathryn countered in this little debate. “One of the best presidents Lyon ‘Y’ ever had was a junior. I found out before I went into this, Miss Betty Lee!”

“All right, Kathryn. I’ll not resign if I’m elected, for Lyon ‘Y’ is one of the best clubs we have and does some good, too. I’m on the committee for the Thanksgiving basket. Will you help me if I have to be president, too?”

“I’ll do anything!” grinned Kathryn, running back to the group of girls. “There are more juniors than seniors working in this club,” she whispered to a junior on the committee. “I bet we get Betty in if you put her up.”

Surreptitiously Betty did look at one of her lessons, whose book she let lie open on her lap during a little of the program. But when the leader of the high school groups spoke, she listened attentively, both for the lovely ideals of service which were presented and for the practical matters which she would have to handle if she were president of this group. It would be a “lot of work” and Betty sighed as she thought about it; but she had “the girls” to help her through. Carolyn, Kathryn, Peggy—perhaps she could get Lucia to join now! Oh, that would be great, because if Lucia joined it meant that some of the “society” girls, or girls that did not care much for anything of this sort would come in. They’d have a membership campaign and she’d appoint Lucia chairman!

Then Betty smiled at herself for planning before her name was even suggested!

“What are you grinning about, Betty?” whispered Peggy Pollard, who had plumped herself wearily down by Betty at the beginning of the program.

“Oh—things,” smiled Betty. There was more or less disorder just now, for the girls were distributing ballots. Then the announcement of names returned by the nominating committee was made and Betty had the experience, not entirely new, of hearing herself named a nominee for president. “I’m going to vote and then skip out,” she told Peggy. “I’ve got lessons to get, Carolyn and I will be getting Cicero just inside the auditorium; so come and tell us how it turned out—like a nice girl!”

“Oh, but we’re going to have tea afterwards,” objected Peggy.

“Well, call us in time for that, like a dear! I’m hard up for time.”

“All right. It will take a while to call off the ballots and tally up everything on the board. I’ll come when we’ve everybody else served. You don’t want to miss those cakes. Our cook made some of them.”

“My—have I almost missed those?”

But Betty and Carolyn slipped out as soon as their ballots had been handed to the girl that collected them. In two seats near a window in the auditorium they sat and read Cicero as fast as possible, deciding to let the undecided points go and cover ground at first, getting the vocabulary looked up at least. “You aren’t the least bit excited over running for office, are you, Betty?” asked Carolyn, stopping in the middle of a sentence. They had to read sitting close together and in a tone, not loud, but such as would not be drowned out by the practicing going on upon the platform. This was the mixed chorus, for whose practice that of the orchestra had been postponed.

“What’s the use?” asked Betty in return. “If I get it, it’s lots of work. If I don’t get it, I think I can stand the disgrace!”

Carolyn joined Betty’s laugh, but added that she was chiefly consumed with curiosity over that letter she was to read. “I don’t believe you’ll let me read it after all!”

“I have my doubts as to its being the thing to do,” returned Betty, “but I’ve got to get this Latin!”

It was wonderful what determined minds could do in a short time, though it seemed no time at all until Peggy appeared as the mixed chorus was departing. Tea and sandwiches, and more tea and delicious little cakes, tasted very good and “reviving,” as Betty declared. Peggy would not tell Betty who was elected until they reached the room and Betty declared that she had lost it of course, or Peggy would not have been afraid that Betty might refuse to come in at all, even for the little cakes.

But no sooner had Betty and Carolyn appeared than congratulations began and the general leader appointed a time to meet with Miss Street and Betty to talk over plans for the present and future. A few days remained before the plans for Thanksgiving baskets must be carried out, before the Thanksgiving recess or vacation. Betty’s head was fairly bewildered, she told Carolyn; but she supposed she would “get used to it.”

Then the girls found a sequestered spot in an empty recitation room not yet locked by the janitor. “There,” said Betty, handing Carolyn the letter.

Carolyn turned it to see the return address on the envelope. “He expects you to answer it, I see, though he gives only street and number.”

“I suppose so. He just wants to know if we are alive, of course.”

“H’m. Some town in Michigan. I can’t make out the postmark.”

“He gives the full address inside. It’s Detroit.”

Carolyn, unhurried, in spite of her calm of being so curious, drew the letter from its envelope, remarking that the Don had gotten nice stationery for his letter to Betty. It “looked serious,” she thought.

“Nonsense,” returned Betty. “Hurry up and read it, Carolyn.”

No criticism could have been made of the form of this letter, written in a firm and flowing hand. After the matter of address and date and the more formal beginning, in which Betty was addressed as Miss Lee, the letter ran as follows:

“After so long a time, perhaps you have forgotten me. I was very sorry to leave the city so suddenly, but it was necessary, in regard to my private affairs, which I am not able to confide to my friends. A letter called me away. I packed, arranged with my landlady and the man for whom I worked and left on the next train. I took my books and I am trying to educate myself a little now that I am working here. I read the best that the libraries have to offer. Perhaps I shall be able to go to school some time again, but it is uncertain, like my residence here.

“So many times I have thought of the kind gentleman, Mr. Lee, whose car I sometimes fixed, of the sweet mother and the golden Betty that made a lonely boy welcome on a holiday. And so I write at last to tell them that I have not forgotten and to ask if I will be welcome to call some day when I can return.

“I shall be so glad if you can write to tell me how you have passed these long months and if your family is well. I have hesitated to write to your father, who is so busy with important things, but I thought that in your kindness you would be willing to answer this letter.

“Please give my greetings to any of the high school friends who remember me. It is a very vivid memory of one of the happiest times I ever had that makes me write this at the near approach of the same holiday.

“With regards to all and gratitude for past kindness, I am,

“Very respectfully yours,
“RAMON BALINSKY (Sevilla).”

“Why what does he mean by that name in parenthesis!” cried Carolyn. “That’s funny!”

“I don’t know. There’s a town in Spain named Seville, isn’t there! But whether that’s a part of his own name or not I can’t tell. Ramon gets mysteriouser and mysteriouser!”

“Betty Sevilla would sound better than Betty Balinsky, except for the alliteration.” Carolyn was very sober as she said this.

“Now don’t start anything like that, please.”

“‘The golden Betty,’” quoted Carolyn, still without a smile, but her eyes twinkled and she laughed as she repeated it. “‘Golden Betty,’—my word! Going to answer the letter?”

“Mother says I should, just a little one.”

“He writes very ‘grown-up,’ and the spelling is all right. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it to be, when I saw the clear handwriting on the envelope.”

“The Don had had training before he ever came here,” said Betty. “I suppose he gets training from the good English he is reading right along. I wish I knew just what to write him.”

“To be friendly enough and not too friendly, I suppose.”

“Exactly. Still, Carolyn, from what I saw of Ramon, I don’t think he’d ever presume on any pleasant treatment. I’ll have to think it out.”

CHAPTER III
LITTLE FLIES IN THE OINTMENT

On guard against the dangers of a city, or of doubtful companionship, Betty Lee’s parents had little to worry over; for Betty had a healthy mind and body, wholesome activities to occupy her time and girls very like herself for her best friends. The matter of attention from the boys Betty seemed to be able to manage herself, though Mr. Lee took careful note of who and what the boys were.

Betty Lee, junior, was now almost sixteen and attractive. There would be problems of love affairs some time, but not yet, it was to be hoped, though Betty was mature for her age and had considered herself as “going on sixteen” ever since her last birthday. Betty’s dreams of a Prince Charming were natural enough but not serious and never connected with anyone in the flesh, unless a thrilling memory of one Hallowe’en and of attention from a college youth on a later occasion could be considered as coming in the category of dreams.

Chet Dorrance had recovered from his first attack of being impressed with a girl and was less “obvious” in his attentions to Betty. But he still preferred her society when he could get it, for picnics, class parties and the like, seeing her home or arranging for her company. Betty in her turn, had confidence in Chet, who was always the gentleman, and felt safely escorted when she was with him. There was nothing “thrilling” about the friendship and the girls rarely teased Betty about Chet. Very little of what could properly be termed social life was permitted by any of the parents who were the safe background of Betty and her friends. Contacts were chiefly at school and in school activities, all very natural and pleasant. Another boy for whom Betty felt a real friendliness was Chauncey Allen, Kathryn’s brother. Chauncey had taken a sudden upward growth till Kathryn looked like a little girl beside him and her vivacious ways were in contrast with his quiet though often droll speech and action. He was active enough, to be sure, and was to play with the basketball team after Christmas. From him, since she and Kathryn were together so much, Betty heard all the boy news of the school, but Chauncey rarely engaged her society for any event. Indeed, Chauncey rarely bothered about girls, though he liked Betty, Kathryn said that since Chet fancied Betty, Chauncey would “let it go at that.”

In regard to Ramon Balinsky, whom Peggy had once thought so intriguing as a football hero, Betty was grateful to her father when he said that he would write himself, since “the boy might need a friend.” “Perhaps he has some new trouble,” said Mr. Lee that night before dinner, when Betty caught him alone and asked what she should write. “Write a short friendly note, Betty, and I’ll say the rest.”

Before the church supper, then, much as Betty needed the time on lessons, she spoiled several sheets of good note paper in the process of getting the appropriate thing said. The note was written and pronounced a “friendly, modest little effort,” by the censor-in-chief. Betty then dismissed the matter from her mind, though occasionally thinking of Ramon’s expression, “Golden Betty,” when as girls do, she spent some time in arranging her golden locks according to the most becoming of the approved high school styles. One had to look well in Lyon High!

But as Betty said sometimes to Kathryn or Carolyn, whenever she was in danger of being spoiled by thinking she could do well in athletics, or looked nice, or felt “set up” about what somebody had said, she always “got a good jolt of some sort, to bring her down a peg or two.” And Kathryn or Carolyn would reply, “Life is like that, Betty!”

A little jolt was coming that evening, though Betty, satisfied that she could finish her lessons by rising a little earlier than usual the next morning, happily started off with Chet, a little late for the young people’s supper. “Do you have to help any tonight?” asked Chet, who knew that Betty was often called on by the committees. Chet did not belong to Betty’s church, but had a little habit of dropping in when something attractive was going on. The turkey suppers were usually served by the ladies’ committees, but this one was entirely in the hands of the younger organizations.

“No, Chet, unless with the games. I’m going to help with the Christmas music and the tree and the Sunday school doings and I told them I couldn’t do anything more this time. Is Ted coming tonight?”

“Yes. He’s bringing his latest girl. She’s a freshman, too, at the University.”

Betty made a little sound that might have been termed a giggle. Attractive Ted, Chet’s brother, the first boy who had claimed Betty’s admiring attention on her entrance to Lyon High, was probably not any more given to social relations with the girls than many of the other older boys they knew; but as he had a way of charming courtesy toward a young lady and a frank form of speech about her, always complimentary, he was considered as being in love with one and another in rather rapid succession, a very foolish proceeding, as some of the girls said. Betty reserved her opinion. Ted was a “nice boy” and was doing well at the university.

“Does Ted keep up his music?” asked Betty.

“No. He hasn’t any time for it with his freshman work.”

“Would you believe, Chet, that I could be as dumb as I was about thinking that I couldn’t join the orchestra until I was a junior?”

“Why? Did you think that, Betty? I could have told you.”

“Well, little country girl that I was, I believed everything that was told me, of course——”

“I haven’t any such impression,” laughed Chet, who thought Betty quite capable of looking after her rights and privileges. He often told her that she was “little Miss Independence.”

“I almost did, anyhow, Chet; and the summer after my freshman year, when I was taking up violin, you know, someone told me that—perhaps just to joke me—and while I thought that some of the boys and girls I saw in it were freshmen and sophomores, I supposed it was just because they were specially gifted that they were allowed to play. I wasn’t especially gifted and as I was paying attention to all sorts of other things, I never found out till the middle of my sophomore year that junior orchestra only meant second to the senior orchestra, sort of a preparation for it! It was just as well, for I needed more lessons and practice.”

“Mother says that you play very well, Betty, and that means something from her.”

“Your mother is a dear. Mine is crazy about her.”

Betty’s mother would scarcely have used the same terms about her feeling toward Mrs. Dorrance, with whom she had become very well acquainted, but Chet understood the common parlance of the girls and was not likely to assume that Betty’s mother was perishing with admiration.

They had been walking quite a little distance to catch a car which would drop them near the church. Now they swung on and finding a seat without trouble, watched the winter landscape as they rode and talked. Some other young people whom they knew were on the car and quite a crowd came from this and another car just ahead, to swell the numbers at the church. But as often happens, though they were a little late, the supper, too, was not being served at quite the appointed hour and Betty and Chet sat down at the first tables to find themselves with many others that they knew. And oh, that good turkey and the full plates! “If you want plenty to eat for your money, Chet,” remarked the boy next to him, “just come to one of the suppers here!”

But whom did Betty find next to her but Clara Lovel, the rival candidate for president of Lyon “Y”? Both girls felt a little self-conscious. Betty and Chet had been seated first and Betty knew that Clara, who came with Brad Warren, did not notice at all who was near her, when she whipped into a seat as she was joking with two or three others. All were pretending to scramble for places. Clara was inclined to make herself a little conspicuous as a rule and was now rather over-dressed for the occasion, though going out with an escort might be considered as demanding special preparation.

As they were served almost at once, it was several minutes before Clara noticed Betty. Betty, who was expecting it, observed from Clara’s expression that her surprise was not an agreeable one, but Betty, who was picking up her fork, pleasantly said “good evening, Clara. This seems to be a good place to come for supper.”

Clara’s murmured reply was scarcely audible and she began to talk in an animated fashion with Brad, who leaned back in his chair, however, to say “how-do-you-do” to Betty and Chet. Supper engaged their attention, with the passing of rolls and butter, cream and sugar, the big dish of cranberry sauce and one or two other homey and appetizing accompaniments of the turkey supper. But Betty did wish that she had a chance to tell Clara that she had not worked for that office against her. Still, it was probably best not to mention it. Clara was quite stiff in her necessary remarks as something must be passed, or when Chet, saying something to Brad, drew Clara into the conversation.

Impulsively, at last, as they were finishing on pumpkin pie, Betty spoke in a low tone, not to be heard in the midst of other conversation about them. Chet was talking to the “waitress,” who had brought him his pie and whom they all knew. She was a junior girl at Lyon High. Brad had turned to the boy next to him with some question about the coming game.

“Clara,” said Betty, “I’ve been wanting to tell you all evening that I didn’t do a thing to work for that being president of Lyon ‘Y.’ The whole thing was a surprise to me and it wasn’t even mentioned to me till just before the election. I imagine that it was the surprise of it to everybody that gave me the most votes—or something like that.”

“The girls who were there wanted you or you would not have been elected,” stiffly said Clara in reply. “But I really have so many things on hand, with my sorority and all we do, and my part in the Christmas play, and my music and art, that I could not do justice to being president of anything. I really can’t approve of a junior’s being president. I was very much surprised that the leader permitted it at all; but I’m sure that you will do very well and I hope that you get through with it without any trouble.”

Clara’s tone was very patronizing indeed, and as she was one of the older seniors, Betty claimed afterward that she felt like a worm! “I’ll do my best,” Betty meekly replied, “and I hope that you will help out on the music at our programs. You play the piano so beautifully. We need some good programs, too.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly act on any program committee,” airily and decisively said the senior, “but I might play for you some time.”

“Thank you,” said Betty, feeling that she should never want to ask Clara, yet knowing that she should not feel that way. The mention of the sorority, of course, was to impress a non-sorority girl. Clara was not a Kappa Upsilon, and Betty really did not know to what sorority she did belong.

Betty had not noticed that another girl had come up behind Clara, evidently in time to hear most of what was said, but now one of Clara’s senior friends leaned over to say, “Take the last bite of that pie, Brad. I want you and Clara to help start one of the games.”

“After this dinner?” queried Brad, springing up, for Clara had risen. And as Betty still sat by Chet, she heard Clara say something in a low tone to the senior girl, who said with the evident purpose of being heard, “The nerve of her mentioning it at all!”

It was not pleasant to Betty, who wished, indeed, that she had employed “more sense.” Probably it was “nerve,” but she had not meant it so. She did not speak of it to Chet and entered the games happily enough, having learned a little lesson, however. She had not known Clara well enough to bring up the subject; and probably it was not best to be so frank except with your best friends. Betty wondered about that. Clara probably thought that Betty was gloating over being elected! Oh, another thing! Betty had forgotten about how the seniors felt about being beaten in basketball the year before. That class, so far as the girls were concerned, happened not to be so good in athletics. The present junior girls usually beat them and Betty was prominent among those who played basketball and hockey. Dear, dear, how complicated things were sometimes. And it was important for the “good works” of Lyon “Y” to have everybody co-operate! “I wonder if I have enough tact to be president of anything,” thought honest Betty to herself, as she submitted to having a fool’s cap on her head, for some game and puled Chet by saying that it was the “most appropriate cap she could wear.”

“What’s the sense to that remark, Betty?” asked Chet.

“None,” laughed Betty. “I’m just a little dippy tonight.”

There was plenty of real fun and in a good safe place; but Betty took cold from getting too warm and then rushing out to look at the stars without enough around her. A young university professor pointed out some of the constellations to a group of young people. It was interesting and Betty did not realize how cold she was until Chet said, “You’re shivering, Betty Lee. Come right inside. They’ve a one-cent grab-bag and we may draw whistles for tomorrow’s game.”

“Sure you can afford it, Chet?” laughed Betty as she followed obediently.

That Betty missed pneumonia was providential, her mother told her; but feeling that she was taking cold, Betty herself took the usual preventives and went to bed. It was late, to be sure, and she had intended to get up early the next morning. But she forgot to set the alarm on the little clock and woke only when her mother called her. She set a book before her at the breakfast table and studied on the street car as best she could; but what a poor beginning to the day it was! There was nothing but the game to anticipate, so far as pleasure was concerned. Her throat tickled, but Carolyn, who also had a slight cold, had some cough drops. They positively could not miss that game!

Betty was not sure of herself in recitation that Friday. She stumbled through English, in which she was usually so good that her teacher looked surprised, but refrained from comment, as Betty was one of her best pupils. Her mind would not work in “Math,” but she managed to get through with a recitation in that. One bright spot in the gloom was that there was no recitation in Latin. Miss Heath was ill, the substitute hadn’t come, and they had study hall instead.

Betty, who liked Miss Heath, hoped that she was not too ill and asked Carolyn if it “wouldn’t turn out like that!”

“The one lesson we got, Carolyn, we didn’t have to recite and my study hall came too late to save me. I just about half recited this morning!”

“Well, remember we’ve our Monday’s lesson ahead, Betty.”

“Sure enough. Aren’t you encouraging?”

Betty and Carolyn shared a steamer rug, brought by Carolyn on some previous occasion and kept in her locker. The weather had moderated from the little flurry of snow and a cold day or two which they had had. But at that the game did not help Betty’s cold any. She forgot it in the general commotion, enthusiasm, singing and cheering that went on, but her handkerchief was needed to catch the sneezes.

A wintry sun shone down on field and stadium. Several hundred boys and girls and their elders tensely followed the plays, but oh, at last they won! It was by a narrow margin, for the Eagles were playing to keep the glory won the year before; but what shouts went up from the Lyon High rooters when the last score was made and the boys carried “Kentucky” from the field on their shoulders. “Kentucky” had made the last touchdown.

“And Kentucky will be on the team next year, too, Carolyn,” said Betty. “He’s a conditioned senior, but they say he isn’t going to try to make it this year. He’s going to take some extra work he wants and stay another year!”

“Go home and put that cold to bed, Betty,” was Carolyn’s last bit of advice.

“Oh dear, I suppose I must. I can’t afford to get sick with all there is to do.”

CHAPTER IV
BASKETS AND HUMBLE FRIENDS

Monday brought a Betty “chastened in spirit,” she said, to school. She had spent Saturday and Sunday in bed for the most part and walked to her classes without animation. At lunch the girls, though sorry, could not help laughing over her comical remarks. She had had nothing to do but “think of her sins of omission and commission,” she told them, and worst of all, this morning, at the last minute, she and Carolyn remembered that the lesson they “had ahead” was Cicero and they always had prose on Monday!

“Was that why your hand didn’t go up as usual?” cried Peggy Pollard. “I thought it was your cold and that you were half sick!”

“That is what I’m hoping all my teachers thought this morning; but I could look over my work in bed, so I didn’t ask to be excused from reciting. I thought I could get through.” Betty sighed. “I never had half sympathy enough for girls who aren’t strong.”

“I’m so glad you’ve had this lesson,” said a plump and rosy Carolyn. “I’m so delicate!”

Dotty Bradshaw hooted at this and Mary Emma Howland reminded Betty that there was a meeting after school to see about the Thanksgiving basket that Lyon “Y” was to send or take. “You can come and preside, can’t you, Betty?”

“I think so,” said Betty, brightening a little, “but I’m only the president, not the committee, though I was on it.”

“You’ll have to appoint a new committee, Betty,” said Kathryn, “for the chairman of the usual committee is a friend of Clara’s and I heard her say that the election ‘let her out.’”

Betty looked sober. She recalled the disagreeable experience of Thursday night, of which she had thought many times during those two days of being shut in. The ideals of a Girl Reserve group called for a pleasant spirit on the part of its president. “Well, girls, we’ll just wait and see what happens. Can I count on all of you to help me out? I think we don’t want a bit of trouble and whatever the girls want to do, we’ll just accept it, though sorry, you know.”

Carolyn nodded her approval and Kathryn said that they would stand shoulder to shoulder and “eye to eye!” “By the way, Betty, Chauncey said that he would drive us wherever we have to take that basket. He said we oughtn’t to go to some places without a ‘guard’ and that he would be it.”

“That takes a load off my shoulders,” replied the new president. “Father can’t do it and I thought I’d find out from Miss Street how they managed it. I wasn’t on the committee last year. Miss Hogarth is the one who tells us about the families, you know, but Miss Street will consult her. Mary Emma, may I appoint you a committee of one to see every girl and tell her to be sure to bring what she promised—sugar, flour—I have the list somewhere—on Wednesday I’ll announce it at the meeting but not everybody will be there.”

Mary Emma promised and then some one mentioned the other sad omission that made it a “blue Monday,” the fact that there had been no celebration of their victory. “They might have had a nice assembly this morning to celebrate,” said Dotty.

“Miss Orme said that it was bad enough to have ordinary ‘Monday’ lessons,” chuckled Peggy, “without an assembly to ball up the program and make things worse; and the principal must have agreed with her. Miss Heath said that it would have been pleasant, but she didn’t seem enthusiastic either.”

“We celebrated on the spot,” said Kathryn, with a picture of the rejoicing stadium in her mind.

Betty said nothing. She was tired. She would have welcomed an assembly, but it did not matter. The morning was over. But Mary Emma brought up one incident as they left the lunch room side by side. “I thought it was funny that you were rejoicing about having your Cicero out ahead; but I knew you kept ahead on your schedule whenever possible, so it never occurred to me to remind you of prose-comp on Monday!”

Betty gave Mary Emma a comical look, but they hurried on to the next duty.

At the Lyon “Y” meeting after school, Betty was relieved to find that only the chairman of the committee had resigned. She promptly appointed the proper one of the committee to take her place and filled the vacancy by appointing Kathryn, for the very good reason that Chauncey would then be properly available as chauffeur and guard. Mary Emma was duly appointed as a special committee of one to take charge of reminding and notifying and to help with gathering in.

On Wednesday afternoon there was great activity about the room in which the committee met. Chauncey, looking like a larger edition of Kathryn, stuck his head inside of the door to call to Betty. “Be back in a minute, Betty. I’ve got to get the car, you know. If it isn’t out there, I’ll have to go home for it. Tried to arrange to have it brought, but ‘Ah dunno!’”

Betty ran from a confusion of girls and bundles to speak to him and Kathryn, bending over a basket, looked up to nod brightly at her brother. “There isn’t the least hurry, Chauncey,” said Betty. “You’ll have plenty of time to go home by street car if you have to. So much has been brought in, more than we asked for, that I think we’ll fix two baskets. We can stop to buy two or three things that weren’t duplicated.”

“Need another basket?” asked Chauncey, looking at the array.

“Oh, yes, Chauncey,” called Kathryn. “Get one of ours. You know where.”

That settled one matter. Betty had thought they would stop at a grocery and buy one as they finished their shopping. There were many little details to carry out in making up Thanksgiving baskets, Betty found. Mary Emma was the one responsible for the extra donations. She was now defending herself to a senior member of the committee.

“Well, I know we planned one basket and I saw everybody who was to bring the things for that, but when other girls were interested and wanted to bring something I couldn’t refuse, could I? It was just started by some of them when they overheard what I said to somebody.”

“Why, Mary Emma,” said Betty, “somebody will bless you for getting more. We’ve got enough money from what you collected to get the rest we need to fill out. The only question is where’s it going. Mary Emma, please go to find Miss Hogarth. She can’t have gone home yet. I wonder where Miss Street is.”

“She was called home. I forgot to tell you, Betty,” said one of the girls. “She was all worried about our going all alone and told us to see Miss Hogarth. She telephoned from home. Somebody’s sick. I told her that one of the girls’ brother, a senior, was going to drive us to the address and she was awfully relieved.”

“Then that’s that,” said Betty, consulting her list to see if everything in the one large basket was checked off properly. The rest of the bundles they gathered together, after examination, and made a list of the articles needed for the second basket. Mary Emma returned from seeing Miss Hogarth to say that everybody on Miss Hogarth’s list had been provided for and that if the girls had so much, she’d advise their taking it to the Associated Charities.

Some of the girls liked that idea and others did not. There was a brief argument about the matter till Betty suggested that they deliver the first basket and then decide about the other. “We might see some place where a basket is needed, you know,” she said.

They waited a little for Chauncey, who arrived, however, sooner than they thought it possible, since it had turned out to be necessary for him to go home. Budd LeRoy accompanied him to the door of the room where the girls waited, such of them as were ably to accompany the expedition. The boys carried the baskets, two of them now, since Chauncey had found one at home, and the girls helped with packages that were in danger of being dropped off. “Please remember which baskets those things came from,” Betty reminded them and they started, through the halls and down the stairs, to the basement and outer door at the rear, in great mirth and spirits.

“Is this the relief corps!” asked Mr. Franklin, whom they met on the way, and several gay voices answered him.

When the car finally rolled out of the drive upon the wide thoroughfare with its procession of swift machines, there were Budd and Chauncey in front, Betty, Kathryn and one senior girl, whom Betty knew, though not very well, occupying the back. Mary Emma could not go with them and the others, who were either on the committee or were helping after bringing in their contributions, had scattered.

Betty and the senior, Lilian Norris, a sister of Ted’s friend, Harry Norris, went into the grocery, at which they stopped, to purchase the extra articles. “Let’s stick in a little candy,” suggested Lilian, looking at some tempting supplies in a glass case.

“Yes, let’s,” assented Betty. “I’ve some money of my own along.”

“So have I,” said Lilian. “There are some kiddies in this family.”

The car went on, Chauncey quiet and skilful in his driving. He avoided the main avenues of traffic in getting through the center of the town to a district quite unknown to Betty. There stood old houses, once occupied by one family, with first, second and third floors and basement. Now every floor housed more than one family, who lived in these close quarters because they could not pay a higher rent, though many of them paid far too much for having a roof over their heads, whatever hardships of living in this way was theirs.

The young people hushed their conversation and the car went slowly where children played in the street or wagons and trucks blocked the way. “It has to be in this square, Chauncey,” said Kathryn, looking at the address which Betty had handed her. Chauncey and Kathryn knew the names of the streets, though from time to time Chauncey glanced at the street signs.

Now a shrill siren called and Chauncey drew the Allen car as close to the sidewalk as possible, while a car whied by and was followed by the dashing fire-trucks. “Oh, poor things,” cried Kathryn, “think of having a fire in one of those houses!”

They could see smoke at a distance, but no flames. Budd left the car to look at the numbers on the doors nearby. “It’s on this side of the street, by good luck,” he reported. “Drive a little farther down, Chauncey. It must be near the corner.”

Chauncey backed his car from between a truck and an old grocery wagon, though Kathryn suggested that he just park the car where he was. “Nup,” said Chauncey. “I want the car right by where you climb to the top of one of these places, maybe. What in the world did Miss Hogarth choose a place like this for?”

“Maybe she didn’t choose. Perhaps somebody that needs things to eat lives here,” replied Kathryn.

“I’d say you’re right,” returned Chauncey. “But I smell cabbage. Somebody has that much anyway.”

Chauncey remained in the car, after helping Budd lift out the larger of the baskets. Lilian jumped out, though saying in a low tone to Betty that she “certainly hated to go up that stairway.”

“Well,” replied Betty, “it would probably be better if there weren’t too many. You stay with Chauncey and Kathryn, Lilian. I’ll go with Budd.”

“Me, too,” said Kathryn, hopping out of the car. “I see a policeman, Chauncey. We’re all right. He’s coming this way.”

While the policeman really approached and stopped a moment to chat with Chauncey, probably with an idea of protecting the good-looking car and its occupants as well as with possible curiosity, Budd led the way upstairs to the door on the third floor to which their instructions directed them. He set down the basket and knocked.

A dingy little girl answered the knock. “How-do-you-do,” said Budd. “Is this the place where Mrs. Harry Woods lives?”

“Yes, sir,” politely said the little girl, eying the basket.

“Ina,” said a voice, “ask them in.” A tired-looking but pleasant-faced woman came from some room beyond, laid a baby upon a large double bed that stood in one corner, and came toward the door. She made a gesture toward a pail of suds that stood near the stove. A tub balanced upon an upturned chair; and a mop was in the pail. “I’m sorry that we aren’t cleaned up, and so late in the afternoon; but the baby was cross. His teeth bother him.”

Budd looked at Betty and stepped back behind her, uncertain whether the plan included entering the place or not. Betty, smiling, said, “Oh, that’s quite all right. There is always so much cleaning to do with a family. Miss Hogarth told us where you lived, but we’ll not come in; we just brought you a little present, a reminder of Thanksgiving, you know.”

Tears came into the eyes of the woman. “Miss Hogarth—may God bless her! She was here once.”

Budd was lifting the basket, preparatory to setting it within the room, when a clatter of heels on the stairway behind him indicated some new arrivals. Three children of various ages ran up behind the visitors and as they moved to give them the opportunity, ran into the room. “These are my other children,” said Mrs. Woods, rather proudly. “As soon as he gets work we’ll be all right again, but I surely thank you for helping out our Thanksgiving.”

She started to take the basket from Budd, who remarked that it was pretty heavy for her and he would set it inside. Mrs. Woods indicated the floor under a table which was full of various articles.

The four children, in different attitudes, watched proceedings, though their mother had suggested that they go “into the bedroom and wash up.”

Ina, the oldest one, a serious little thing, as well the oldest might be in this family, started to say something, hesitated and then remarked, “Sevilla’s haven’t had anything to eat for two days, Ma. Could we give them a bit out of that?” Ina pointed to the basket, and Mrs. Woods turned toward her with surprise.

“How do you know that, Ina?” she asked.

“Oh, Rosie sat down on the stairs this morning and when I asked her what was the matter she said she guessed she felt weak. I said was she sick and she said yes, sick about having to pay out all she had in the rent and there wasn’t any left for food. She was hurryin’ to finish some sewin’ she was doin’ for somebody, she said. I just plain asked her when she’d had her last meal and she said night before last.”

“Oh—how dreadful!” cried Betty. “Who are the Sevillas and where do they live? We have an extra basket downstairs and I was going to ask you, Mrs. Woods, if you knew anybody that needed it.” Where had Betty heard that name? “Sevilla” sounded familiar.

Mrs. Woods shook her head. “I know dozens that need it. Why, the Sevillas live just below us on the second floor. There’s only two of them, Rosie and the old lady. They’re foreigners and the old lady can’t speak English. I think they were used to having money in the old country. Rosie’s got the wreck of a fur coat and the old lady fixes up sometimes. If you’ve another basket—but you’ll have to be careful how you give it. They’re awful proud. I would be myself if it wasn’t for the children. But I can’t see them go hungry, or even miss their Thanksgiving and Christmas good times if they are offered to them.”

“How would it do if you went with us, Mrs. Woods, and fixed it up about its being a present—and it is! We had a good time fixing up the baskets and we like to share our Thanksgiving, you know.”

Betty’s voice was very earnest and sweet as she said this. Mrs. Woods answered her smile. “Bless you,” she said, “I’ll do it. Watch the baby, Ina, and keep the other children in here while I go down to Rosie’s.”

Throwing her apron over her head, Mrs. Woods led Budd, Betty and Kathryn down the rickety, dingy stairway to the second floor, where she knocked on a door once shining in its dark wood. But it had been painted and the paint had come off in peeling blotches. Budd ran down the one flight to get the other basket from the car. They waited and Mrs. Woods knocked again. Then there was a stir inside and slow steps approached the door. “Rosie’s out,” whispered Mrs. Woods, “and it’s a good thing. You just stand back a little and I’ll take in the basket.”

The door opened. A tall old woman with lined face stood there, looking soberly at the party. “How-de-do, Mrs. Sevilla,” said Mrs. Woods. “Here’s a basket that I’ll tell Rosie about when she comes in. It’s a present for you for Thanksgiving. I’ll just carry it in for you.”

The dark eyes looked puled and Mrs. Sevilla was probably going to make some protest, but Mrs. Woods calmly set the basket inside of the door, whose handle she took to close it. “How are you today, Mrs. Sevilla?” she asked.

The reply was made in a foreign tongue, but the question was evidently understood. With a puled look the apparently aged woman regarded the basket; and Mrs. Woods, backing out, gently closed the door. “Rosie will come home and find it and then she’ll come to see me, and it will be too late to give it back; see?”

Betty tried to thank Mrs. Woods, and wishing her a pleasant Thanksgiving, the trio hurried away. Betty knew now where she had seen the name Sevilla. But it might not mean anything. There were probably others of that name among the foreigners of the city. But the dark tragic eyes of the old lady haunted her.

Lilian wanted to know what had happened and listened to Kathryn’s full report, with vivid descriptions. “That certainly was the most mysterious old lady I’ve ever seen,” said Kathryn.

“I’ll say the most tragic,” said Betty.

In her turn Lilian had much to say about what the policeman had told Chauncey. “The street where we were,” said Lilian as they swiftly left the district, “is pretty good, the policeman said, with people mostly quiet except all the children; but only one street over and it is awful—I don’t know how many terrible things have happened there this year. He told us not to come that way after night and that the daytime was none too safe.”

“Oh, he was seeing how much he could scare you,” laughed Chauncey, but he and Budd exchanged looks.

CHAPTER V
LUCIA DRESSES A DOLL

In all this time Betty had not seen, except casually, Lucia, who had said that she had something to tell her. Both had been in a rush the next time they met and Lucia said that she would postpone what she wanted to talk about. Betty wondered if it were anything important, particularly if it had anything to do with Lucia’s personal problems. From Lucia’s manner, she imagined that it had. Lucia’s life always commanded Betty’s interest. It was so “different.”

The paper had a long account of festivities at the Murchison mansion during the Thanksgiving vacation. Lucia would be busy with all the entertaining, though their guests at the house and at the various little parties seemed to be adults.

The girls were busy that first Monday morning, but on arriving at the home room and running to and from the lockers Lucia and Betty exchanged greetings and Lucia said, “Please be my guest at lunch today, Betty. We go to first lunch, I believe, and it ought to be good, though I suppose you are as fed up on turkey and stuff as I am.”

“Yes,” brightly returned Betty—“turkey and stuffing. But I’d never get tired of it and I doubt if we have it this noon.”

“No, of course not. I mean that appetite might not be all that it sometimes is.”

“Watch me,” laughed Betty. “I may not want much, but by noon I’m always ready to feed the ‘inner man.’ And thank you, but I think I’d better be my own guest.”

“Please, Betty,” Lucia persuaded. “I’ve a plan.”

“Good. I’ll love to hear it. And I want to talk to you about joining the Lyon ‘Y.’ Did you know that they made me president of it? We want to have a membership campaign and make it a big group. Please think about joining it, won’t you?”

“Why yes, I might, if it isn’t too much work. What do they do? I’ve never paid much attention to it.”

Betty explained, as they sat down in the home room to wait for the bell that called them to order. She told about their meetings, referring to the time she had been at the camp, and described their preparing and delivering the Thanksgiving baskets.

Lucia looked interested and asked Betty why she had not asked her to help with the gifts. “I could have done something as well as not,” she said.

“There’s plenty of time to do something,” Betty told her. “We’re going to dress dolls for Christmas and, I imagine, fill a basket again. How would you like to dress a doll?”

Lucia smiled at that. “I’ve never dressed a doll in my life,” said she, “but I’ll buy one and have it dressed. That would be fun. I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I asked Mother if I might have you for a week-end some time, and we’ll see to it then—if you’ll come. Will you?”

“Of course I will!”

“That was what I wanted to plan at Thanksgiving, but I found that I could not, on account of all Mother had on hand. I have a few worries to talk over with you, if you don’t mind, and I’ll get one of the maids to do most of the sewing. Do you know about doll patterns and things like that?”

“I think so; enough, anyhow.”

“Perhaps we could have a meeting of the girls at our house and everybody dress dolls together.”

“That will be wonderful, Lucia! You will join us, then?”

“Yes, Betty. I’m a Lyon ‘Y’ forever, always provided I don’t have to do too much.”

“I’m not worried about that, Lucia. You see, it doesn’t take much time for meetings. We just try to live up to a few ideals, and hear good talks, and have fun, and do a little sometimes for poor people.”

“Living up to the ideals will be the worst for me, I’m sure,” laughed Lucia. But the last gong rang and the girls were obliged to take their own seats, Betty thinking as she often did, how soon Lucia had slipped into the ways and spirit of the other girls. She was different, too; yet considering how very unlike the life of American girls Lucia’s had been, it showed “great adaptability,” as Mrs. Lee had called it, for her to enter into the school life as she had.

The time between Thanksgiving and Christmas flew as it always does. Betty found that it was not such a task to be a president as she had thought. The other officers and committees took an interest and programs were easy to plan with all the people they knew who could talk to them or “do things.” The leader from the “Y. W.” and Miss Street, the leader of the group, were behind them and had ideas. The membership drive was inaugurated and went over well. The girls were interested in the doll dressing and when Lucia invited the entire group to meet at “her house” one Saturday afternoon, there were several more members at once. Mathilde Finn and “her crowd,” as Carolyn put it, joined at once.

“Finny,” said Dotty Bradshaw, “will not be much good to us, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, yes she will,” answered Selma Rardon. “She’ll copy Lucia, and it will do her good to be in it, Finny, I mean.”

“It does all of us good, Selma,” said the young president, “and I think it is wonderful of Lucia to think of the very thing she can do to help us most right now.”

In consequence of this plan, two weeks before Christmas or about that time, Betty found herself going home with Lucia on Friday afternoon. Her father had delivered her at school that morning with her over-night bag, which reposed in her locker all day. The Murchison car was waiting at the curb when the girls left the school grounds and Betty tried hard not to feel any importance as she entered it. It was rather pleasant to have Lucia choose her from all of her friends for the week-end. But she had been the first friend, after all.

Among the crowds of departing pupils, one of the senior girls said to Clara Lovel, “If Betty Lee hadn’t stuck herself in to be elected president of Lyon ‘Y,’ you would be going home with Lucia, Clara!”

But Marcella Waite, who happened to be with the girls, knew the folly of such a statement. “It isn’t just a Lyon ‘Y’ affair, Bess,” she said. “Betty’s going to stay the week-end. Her father is in the Murchison business and he and Betty met the boat the countess came in on at New York. Besides, Lucia doesn’t need any one to help her get ready to entertain. They have all the help they want, butler, maids and all the rest of it.”

“Well, you may be glad you aren’t in the group this year, Marcella,” said Clara, “with a junior for president!”

Of this interchange Betty was blissfully unconscious as she was whirled away in the same dark crimson or wine-colored car that Betty had first entered on the morning when she accompanied the countess and her daughter to school, at Lucia’s entrance there. Leaning back luxuriously in the soft seat, by Lucia, Betty dismissed all cares of school and lessons for the time being. It was all planned. She and Lucia would finish getting Monday’s lesson that night. On Saturday morning they would be driven down town for shopping and have lunch. They would get anything necessary for the afternoon’s meeting and return in time for the arrival of the girls.