“You will achieve success as a great artist and excel in stage settings. You will have one friend of whom you will never tire,” she finally announced.
“I engage you at once,” cried Connie, when the laughter subsided. “You can design all the scenes for my plays.”
“That’s easy,” Lois retorted. “All you need is a staircase, a nightgown and a daub of red paint.”
“Polly Pendleton,” announced Louise, and the girls stopped talking at once, “you will become a
Joan d’Arc and plan successful marches for many armies, after having been selected captain of basket-ball in your Senior year and leading the team to brilliant victories.”
“Mercy! all of that?” gasped Polly, half laughing, half serious.
The girls clapped and cheered her until Mrs. Baird mounted the platform.
“I think,” she said, “this has been a splendid Thanksgiving. I’m sure we’re all very grateful to the Seniors. I can’t say I wish all the fortunes to come true, for that would be a calamity, but I hope the nice ones will, and now, good-night.”
The party was over, and the girls swarmed through the door laughing and talking.
Polly and Lois found themselves alone in the Assembly Hall. It looked strangely bedraggled and lonely, like a starched party dress after the party.