"Rather late to do anything, don't you think?" she asked indifferently, still brushing her hair.
Lois was taken by surprise. "But, Poll, you've got to help me," she begged, "think how furious the Dorothys will be."
"Can you blame them?" Polly held her brush in mid air. "As an organized and governing class we are rather a joke, and the Dorothys don't like to be laughed at," she finished, cuttingly.
This was too much for Lois. She had been working hard all afternoon over her picture and she was tired. She threw herself down on her bed and burst into tears.
"Polly," she sobbed, "don't act like that. I know I'm no good as a president. I'll resign to-night, only—oh, dear—" The rest was muffled in the pillow.
Polly made a start forward, stopped, made a last effort to be severe, and gave in.
"Lois, dear, don't," she pleaded, kneeling beside the bed, "don't cry any more, sit up and listen to me. Everything's all right." Lois dabbed at her eyes. "We've had a class meeting, the box is ready, the slips are fixed and the notice is up. We're supposed to have had a meeting, that is, I put a sign up that there'd be one at two-fifteen, only—" Polly hesitated. "I put it up at three o'clock. The Dorothys and Evelin and Helen will think we had it without them."
"Polly!" Lois was beginning to understand. "You deliberately did that to save me. You darling, I promise I'll resign to-night."
"Resign!" Polly stood up, a sparkle in her eye. "Lois Farwell, if you resign, I'll never, never speak to you again. I mean it."
Lois was apparently frightened into submission, for she said: