That a conflict was imminent between the guests and their hosts seemed difficult to realize, such giggling, chattering and such volumes of sounds, without words, as were charged and surcharged, through the atmosphere.
"Some day our psychologists will investigate the mysteries of school girl noise," predicted Mrs. Weatherbee to Miss Rutledge, "and I expect the finding will be of immense interest to those who have to listen to the noise and keep out of the fun."
"All here?" called Jane.
"Here! here!" came the response. Then the choristers, or glee club, or cheering squad, any of which would have denied the accusation, took up that old nonsense:
"We're here, because we're here, because we hate to go away:
Oh, Breslin fine, and Wellington, get ready for the fray!"
"A wonderful picture," commented the local scribe, a promising young woman, who did the press work for the schools, and incidentally gained a broader education outside, than was allowed inside the big stone walls.
"Yes, I like the big red ties," assisted Miss Talmadge, to whom the press girl had attached herself. Isobel Talmadge knew everybody, and always said things good enough to print.
"And the hunters' green of our girls," said Constance Lipton loyally, "makes such a refreshing change from the inevitable blue or khaki. I think our girls' suits practically attractive."
That also was sure to get in the paper.