Jennie Bruce, one of the girls of her class whom Nancy admired the most, leaned over and whispered to her:
“Goodness me! but you are the wealthy girl. Was that real money, or just stage money?”
Jennie was a thin, snappy girl, with dancing eyes, a continual smile, and as elusive as a drop of mercury. She just couldn’t keep still, and she was always getting minor marks in deportment because her sense of fun was sure to bubble over at inopportune times.
“I—I guess it’s real money,” whispered Nancy, although talking during lessons was frowned on by all the instructors.
But Nancy was only too glad when Jennie Bruce spoke to her. She was just a little afraid of Jennie’s sharp tongue; and yet she had never been the butt of any of the harum-scarum’s jokes. Perhaps Jennie had spared Nancy because the latter was so much alone. The fun-loving one was not cruel.
“Twen-ty-dol-lars,” whispered Jennie, with big eyes. “You certainly are rich. What a lot of pickles that would buy!” and she grinned.
Nancy smiled. She knew that Jennie was only in fun when she suggested such an expenditure. But the thought smote the lonely girl’s mind that by the spending of this money in “treating” she might gain a certain popularity among the other girls.
Really, that was what made Grace Montgomery so popular. She had more money to spend than almost any other girl in the school—in the freshman class, at least. Nancy asked herself seriously if she should strive to make friendships through such a channel.
Young as she was, the girl had serious thoughts at times, and this was one of the times. She hid the money in the bosom of her dress and at recess said nothing about it, although she saw several of the girls whispering and pointing her out.
But the most surprising thing that happened was Cora coming to her almost as soon as they were released from the classrooms for a short run in the basement recreation room.