“Forty,” jumped the senior’s voice from the back of the room.
“Forty-one,” hesitated Doris Winterbean.
There was no more bidding. Doris opened her check-book and wrote the sum which had purchased the shining wonder that had lately been the property of the freshman president. She knew that suit had never cost less than a hundred, and she was more than satisfied. Its former wearing rather lent it grace than detracted from its value, considering who the wearer was.
“I was going to buy a new suit and a spring coat for next term,” said Doris, “but this will have to do instead of both now,—and I’d rather have it.”
But nothing else that was put up by the others, or by Gloria herself, brought anything like that price—none even yielded so high a percentage of its original cost.
Gloria offered waists, which went for prices such as fifty cents, or, at the highest, a dollar. Then she held up an adorable kimono, direct from Japan, that all the girls had envied and coveted. But beautiful kimonos are luxuries, whereas suits of some kind are necessities. So her sacrifice met with no such fortune as the blue suit had called forth. Most of the girls didn’t attend college auctions with their check-books. Doris Winterbean was a single foresighted exception.
“Isn’t it terrible to see those beautiful things going for a few pennies?” said Peggy.
“It is,” nodded Katherine. “What can that girl be thinking of?”
“Thinking of turning into a savage, I should say,” Peggy speculated in answer. “You can see she isn’t going to have many clothes left.”
“She looks as picturesque as ever, anyway,” sighed Katherine. “It’s too bad there are not more of our classmates here to see her.”