“Dear me! Don't ask questions in political economy out of school, Nan!” cried Bess, forgetting that she had started the discussion herself. “I just HATE that study, and wish we didn't have to take it! I can't answer that question, anyway.”
“I'll answer it then,” declared Nan. “If you are a mill-hand your stomach won't let you save money. There probably won't be a dozen families affected by this shut-down who have more than ten dollars saved.”
“Goodness! You don't mean that that's true? Why, dad gives me that much to spend on myself each month,” Bess cried. “The poor things! Even if they are frowsy and low, I am sorry for them. But, of course, the shut-down doesn't trouble you, Nan. Not personally, I mean. Your father has had a good position for so many years——-”
“I'm not at all sure that it won't trouble us,” Nan interposed gravely. “But of course we are not in danger of starvation.”
She felt some delicacy about entirely confiding in Bess on the subject. Nan had heard the pros and cons of the expected closing of the mills discussed at home almost every day for weeks past; but family secrets should never be mentioned outside the family circle, as Nan very well knew.
“Well,” signed Bess, whose whole universe revolved around a central sun called Self, as is the case with many girls brought up by indulgent parents. “I hope, dear, that this trouble won't keep you from entering Lakeview with me next fall.”
Nan laughed. “There never was a chance of my going with you, Bess, and I've told you so often enough——-”
“Now, don't you say that, Nan Sherwood!” cried her chum. “I've just made up my mind that you shall go, and that's all there is to it! You've just got to go!”
“You mean to kidnap me and bear me off to that ogre's castle, whether or not?”
“It's the very nicest school that ever was,” cried Bess. “And such a romantic place.”