But who would have thought that everything could go to pieces now, after such a splendid beginning?
Betty wiped her eyes and composed a telegram to Madeline: “If possible countermand order for ploshkins. Rent raised. Will write.”
Then she reflected that a letter would reach Madeline by the first mail in the morning, and as she couldn’t countermand an order for ploshkins before that time, a letter would do as well as a telegram. But before she wrote it she must go and have dinner with Dorothy.
She found Eugenia and Dorothy on the floor playing paper-dolls, quite oblivious of the fact that it was past dinner-time.
“I feel like a murderer the night before he’s electrocuted,” Eugenia explained cheerfully. “To-night I am enjoying myself, for to-morrow I’ve got to go and tell Miss Raymond that my lost theme is still lost. And she’ll point with her awful finger to the ‘flunked-out’ class, and I shall accept my doom.”
Dorothy tumbled over into Eugenia’s lap and hugged her sympathetically. “Maybe you’ll find it to-night,” she said.
“You’re sure as sure you haven’t hidden it?” Eugenia demanded solemnly.
“Of course.”
“Then I think it’s in the bay of the ploshkin,” Eugenia declared impressively, “and that’s too far off to go to to-night, so I may as well be off to dinner. By the way, Betty, I want a dozen ploshkins out of the very first that come.”
Instead of the pleased smile that Eugenia had expected, Betty’s face wore a positively tragic expression. “I’m not sure that we shall have any to sell, Eugenia. There’s some trouble. I can’t explain to-night. I——”