“I haven’t talked to many of them, the ones in our corridor seem to be all right. I think I’m going to like Polly Pendleton a lot.”
“Oh! she’s a duck,” Betty agreed. “I like her
already. The others are nice, too, but there’s something different about Polly, she’s—”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” Lois answered slowly. “She’s more Seddon Hallish than the rest; she sort of fits,” she continued, wrinkling up her forehead in an attempt to explain a state of being not exactly describable in words.
At this point, they stopped to survey the bulletin board, and as they stood reading the notices posted, they were joined by Louise Preston and Florence Guile, both in Peter Thompsons, the accepted dress of the school, but with their hair fixed on top of their heads, as befitted the two most important members of the senior class.
“We want you two,” greeted Louise; “been looking for you everywhere; we’re trying to get up a paper chase for this afternoon, some of the new girls are ‘weepy,’ and Mrs. Baird thinks their thoughts had better be diverted from home.”
Betty assumed an attitude of deep dejection.
“I’d sort of hoped to spend the afternoon studying,” she sighed, regretfully, “but of course I’ll be a martyr for such a worthy cause.”
“Thanks, dear, we do appreciate your sacrifice,” laughed Florence, “and you, Lo, we can count on you I suppose, as it is a favor to Louise?”
Lois blushed and looked self-conscious. She had been rather extravagantly fond of Louise the year before, and it embarrassed her to be reminded of it.