"Oh, yes; blame it all on Hester!" cried that angry maiden, herself; "blame everything on Hester, and nothing on Marjorie. Dear, sweet, angel Marjorie!"
"Now, Hester Corey, you stop talking about my sister like that, or I'll get mad," stormed King. "She's Queen of this Club, and she's got a right to boss. And you needn't get mad about it, either."
"You can be Queen, if you want to, Hester," said Midget, slowly. "I guess I am a pig to be Queen all the time."
"No, you're not!" shouted Tom. "If Hester's Queen, I resign myself from this Club! So there, now!"
"Go on, and resign!" said Hester; "nobody cares. I'm going to be Queen, Marjorie said I could. Give me your crown, Marjorie."
Midget didn't want to give up her crown a bit, but she had a strong sense of justice, and it did seem that Hester ought to have her turn at being Queen. So she began to lift the crown from her head, when King interposed:
"Don't you do it, Midget! We can't change Queens in a minute, like that! If we do change, it's got to be by election and nomination and things like that."
"It isn't!" screamed Hester; "I won't have it so! I'm going to be Queen!"
She fairly snatched the crown from Marjorie's head, and whisked it onto her own head.
As it had been made to fit Midget's thick mop of curls, it was too big for Hester, and came down over her ears, and well over her eyes.