“Doris,” snapped Myra Whitewell, pinching her, “will you be serious?”
“I’m so serious, I’m going home. You hurt.”
“Oh, Doris, do come back; don’t act like—like———”
“Like a freshman, I suppose? Well, I am a freshman. And I guess I will go back to my room and be serious all by myself.”
“You needn’t go and be mad, Doris.”
“Well, you needn’t pinch me.”
Such comic dismay was registered on the faces of the group that Doris’ intention to play the spoilsport fled in a burst of laughter from her pouting lips.
“Gooses!” she cried at them.
“Doris, you mean geese,” corrected Myra, “but it is no term to apply to a group of perfect ladies anyway.”
They were back again in the favorite freshman style of badinage, and the atmosphere that had threatened to become tense was eased perfectly.