“To see Bernice. I told her I’d come and tell her the result.”
“Want me to go with you?”
“Yes, of course. Oh, Dot, she’ll be awful mad.”
“I know it, but we did our best.”
“That doesn’t matter. She’ll be mad at me, all the same.”
And Bernice was. When the girls told her that Molly was Class President, she turned on Dolly like a little termagant. “I knew you couldn’t run that thing, Dolly Fayre! You think yourself so smart, bossing everybody around, but you couldn’t do just that one little thing!”
“Don’t you talk like that, Bernice,” said Dotty, herself quite as angry. “Dolly worked like everything, and so did I. If you aren’t the most popular girl in the class, we can’t help it!”
“I know you can’t,” said Bernice, dully, “but Dolly said she could. That’s what makes me mad; she said she’d accomplish something and she didn’t do it.”
“No, I didn’t, Bernice,” admitted Dolly, “and I’m sorry. I suppose now you won’t ask your father—”
“Of course I won’t! A bargain is a bargain. I said if I won the election, didn’t I?”