Betty repeated sister Nan’s suggestions to her when she was a freshman about not making friends too hastily. Then she arranged hours for special lessons, helped Marie with her schedule of classes, answered her frank queries about the desirability of being friends with Georgia Ames and Fluffy Dutton. Then she rushed off to settle the complicated case of Mary Jones, who lived at the other end of High Street, ate a hasty luncheon, held a lengthy conference with the Morton Hall matron, who had not the least idea how to hurry through her business, made a friendly call on “the Thorn,” a student who had given some trouble the last year, and whose mother had died during the summer. And finally Betty turned up, fresh and smiling, at the Tally-ho in time to take Emily’s place at the desk, while that young lady combined a marketing expedition with a drive behind Mary’s new thoroughbred.
At five Fluffy and Straight appeared and ordered tea at a table drawn sociably near to Betty’s desk.
“Please notice our senior dignity,” observed Straight. “We’re not going to be so harum-scarum any longer.”
“I noticed Fluffy’s senior dignity this morning,” Betty told them with a twinkle.
The two exchanged significant glances and then made a simultaneous rush for Betty’s desk, which they leaned over sociably, in the unmistakable attitude of those having confidential information to discuss.
“Please tell us if her name is really Montana Marie,” began Straight abruptly.
“And how you happen to have her under your wing,” added Fluffy.
“And then we promise to be very nice to her,” concluded Straight. “Besides, Fluffy says that she likes her.”
“We’ll be very nice to her anyway, if you want us to, Betty,” Fluffy explained sweetly. “But we’re just bursting to know about her and her beautiful name.”
“Just can’t put our minds on anything else,” murmured Straight sadly. “And I can’t afford to risk a mess of warnings this year after all the trouble I had with logic when I was a junior.”