CHAPTER VIII
St. Cyprian's versus Templeton
It was now more than three weeks since Mildred and the other members of the literary syndicate had sent in their poetical effusions in praise of tea. So far they had heard nothing of the matter, and they were beginning to grow anxious as to the fate of their verses.
"Perhaps it was just humbug," speculated Myrtle Robinson.
"Surely nobody would go to the expense of putting an advertisement in the Herald just for humbug!" objected Mildred.
"It may be a cheat, though," suggested Maggie Orton. "Suppose they use our poetry and never tell us?"
"If we saw it in print we'd prosecute them for breach of copyright!"
"I'm afraid it's all found its way into the waste-paper basket."
"That's more than likely."
Mildred had put her own address on the manuscripts as secretary of the syndicate, and every day she looked hopefully at the letters which were delivered at Meredith Terrace. One morning she arrived at school in a state of unusual excitement, and, rushing into the dressing-room, hailed her fellow poetesses.