Jane was going to New York with Mrs. Weatherbee. For some reason not fully explained the director wished particularly to have Jane with her. The long waits and short intervals possible with such talent as was to be sought out, for the Golden Jubilee Concert of Wellington, made it imperative that Mrs. Weatherbee have with her an assistant who could do some of the waiting, if not any of the interviewing, so for that reason, ostensibly, Jane was chosen.
The reliable old car, paradoxically called the Cozy Roadster, waited at the broad stone steps, bright and early Thursday morning, and the wait even with prompt Peter at the wheel, was calculated to be of short duration with Mrs. Weatherbee as passenger.
"Good bye, Jane," called Judith, "give my love to little old New York."
"Oh, Janey! Here is the Bugle! Just out. You can read it on the train," shouted Drusilla, thrusting a copy of the much-awaited paper into the gloved hand of Jane.
Then they were off. The three hours train ride to New York City afforded both Mrs. Weatherbee and Jane a welcome opportunity to glimpse the world outside of Wellington. Also Mrs. Weatherbee might rest, and Jane might read.
Jane could scarcely wait to fulfill the usual train formalities before running her anxious eyes over the short columns of print in search of Whispers from Wellington. There were the Breslin Breezes, and the Carlton Clatter. Yes, there it was! Wellington Whispers!
Jane read over the usual announcements. The basketball news appeared and there was the report of the Barn Swifts Extravaganza. She saw the print as a whole, but one line stood out as if entirely capitalized. It was:
"Helka Podonsky, the Mystery of the College!"
Then followed a pacifying account of Helka's wonderful talent, and the intimation that she might be a royal personage in hiding. Jane ran her deep gray eyes over the column, and as she read they seemed to deepen, intensified with indignation, so that the fires usually hidden, now threatened to blaze outright. In sort of a panic she quickly passed the little sheet to Mrs. Weatherbee. Followed such an adjusting of glasses, and such a poring over that column, Jane need not wait to hear what the director thought of the astonishing publication. Every move indicated intense indignation. Finally Mrs. Weatherbee looked up, caught Jane's eye and breathed deeply.
"Who could have done that?" she exclaimed in a very low voice.