“Then why not tell me?” laughed Peggy.
“I know who’s going to be freshman president!”
“Who?”
“Shan’t tell you—but I suppose you’ll find out when it happens.”
“Well,” retorted Peggy unexpectedly, “I know already.”
“What’s—her—name?” gasped Katherine.
“Gloria Hazeltine,” answered Peggy.
Katherine stopped and caught her shoulders. Facing her, she studied her calm expression of certainty.
“Why, Peggy,” she couldn’t help saying, “it was going to be _you_, and I was going to start this very day to campaign for you.”
“Me!” scoffed Peggy. “I couldn’t even look like a president. The freshman president stands for the whole class, and the sophs and juniors and seniors are apt to judge us a good deal by the one we choose for that office. They’d think what flyaways the freshmen are if you had any one like me. Or rather they’d never notice us at all, but would sever diplomatic relations. But Gloria now——”