“Look at me good and hard,” responded Joanne, holding out her hand. “Give me your tickets; I’ll get rid of them.”
“But I thought you hated to do that kind of thing. I couldn’t think of imposing on you.”
“You needn’t worry. The breath of battle is in my nostrils. I am all girded for the fray. My fires of enthusiasm haven’t died out yet, so you’d better let me go to it while I am inspired. Moreover, beloved Winifred, I want to offer my services in the cause of friendship.”
Thus appealed to Winnie drew forth the tickets, and the next evening Joanne reported to her over the ’phone that she had sold them all.
There was great excitement behind the scenes at the hall where the concert was to take place on a certain evening in April. Some of the girls had already arrived when Joanne reached there in her pretty dress of misty green. Claudia, in pink and white, rushed up to her. “The most awful thing has happened,” she announced, “and poor Miss Dodge is very nearly in tears.”
“What in the world is the matter?” asked Joanne, laying aside her cloak.
“She has had a telegram from the man who was to play the violin. He has been taken ill with grippe and cannot possibly come. Miss Dodge is madly telephoning in every direction to get some one, any one, to take his place. It is tragic. The hall is already filling up and there is no time to spare. It will be a perfect fizzle if something can’t be done.”
Joanne stood still for a moment, her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the ground. “Perhaps—perhaps——” she said presently. Then she broke off with the inquiry, “Where is Miss Dodge?”
“In there,” said Claudia, pushing her toward the door, then pulling her back. “I wouldn’t disturb her with expressions of sympathy, Jo; she’s worked up to the highest pitch.”
“I’m not going to offer her sympathy,” returned Joanne with a toss of her head. “I have an idea. If it works it will help her out of her difficulty.”