“Really, girls, I must remind you, there is no talking allowed in the corridors.”
The Spartan was upon them. One never heard her coming; she wore rubber heels.
“You will admit you were talking, I suppose, Marianna?” she inquired.
“Certainly I will admit it. I was talking. I don’t crawl, Miss Hale.” And Polly sucked in her under lip, a danger sign that she was angry.
“I was talking, too, Miss Hale,” spoke up Lois.
The Spartan paid no attention to this, however, but marched off down the corridor. Two minutes later she confronted them in Latin class. Polly was still sucking in her under lip.
“Papers for the day on my desk, if you please.”
“My Latin is unprepared,” announced Polly with deadly calm. “And,” she added, “I have no excuse.”
“Dear me!” And Miss Hale raised her eyebrows until they disappeared into the depths of
her large pompadour. “And is there any other girl whose Latin is not prepared, and who had no excuse?” she inquired.