"It's not bad," commented Mavie, "but you do brag."
"I've apologized for it. One must state one's qualifications, or what's the use of being a candidate? Look at Val's notice—she calls herself the hockey champion."
"No one takes Val too seriously. I don't believe she's the ghost of a chance, though she did win the cup last season. One needs more than that for a warden; brains count as well as muscles."
"I know; that's why I tried poetry."
"Please don't call that stuff poetry. Half of the lines won't scan."
There was a pucker between Dorothy's dark eyebrows as she snatched back her literary bantling.
"I don't suppose that matters. Everybody isn't so viper-critical," she retorted. "Shall I pin it up here or in the gym.?"
"It will be more seen here; but I warn you, Dorothy, I don't think the girls will like it."
"Why not?"
"Well, it's clever enough, but it's cheeky. I'm afraid somehow it won't catch on. If you take my advice, you'll tear it up and just write 'Vote for Dorothy Greenfield' instead."