“I was wondering,” went on Binks soberly, “if the girls wouldn’t be glad to give away more than they do, if they could see that it was really needed. Forty cents for tea doesn’t mean anything to most of them. Now wouldn’t they give forty cents each to help Miss Jones get well?”
Georgia shook her head slowly. “No, because it’s not amusing. Tea and cakes, ordered off stunty menus, served among the extra-special features of the Tally-ho, with your little pals beside you, and a senior you’re crazy about at the next table—that’s forty cents’ worth of fun, or four hundred cents’ worth, if you happen to have it. But when you’re asked to give away forty cents, it looks as big and as precious as forty dollars. It seems as if it would buy all the things you want, and as if, when it was gone, you’d never see another forty cents as good as that one.”
Georgia paused triumphantly, and Binks sighed acquiescence. “All right. You know how things are here, Georgia, and I don’t. They won’t give the money to Miss Jones, but they’d spend it fast enough at an amusing benefit performance for her. Is that what you mean, Georgia?”
Georgia smiled pleasantly. “No, I didn’t mean that, but it’s true, now that you mention it. You’re too rapid for me, Binks. I didn’t know you were such a rusher. But you go right ahead with your show—that’s the Harding term for an amusing benefit performance—and I will stay behind and attend to such practical details as time, place, and the kind permission of the faculty, also the valued approval and assistance of Miss B. Wales. Blood will tell, Binks. You’re going into this thing with all Aunt Caroline’s fine enthusiasm for good works.”
“That freshman Jones is so pathetic,” said Binks simply. “If she was my sister I presume I should steal, if necessary, to get her what she needed.”
“Gracious, Binks!” protested Georgia. “You sound like a dangerous anarchist.”
“Well, fortunately she’s not my sister,” Binks reassured her cousin, “so I can just help get up a show for her. What kind of a show would it better be, Georgia?”
Georgia laughed. “You speak as if shows grew on bushes, Binks, and we could pick off any kind we liked the looks of. Whereas the sad fact is that we shall have to snatch joyously at any kind we can think of—if we’re lucky enough to think of a kind.”
“A suffrage bazaar would be rather nice, wouldn’t it?” Binks suggested casually. “It would be comical all right, if it was anything like the real ones. Suffragettes are certainly funny, and antis are even funnier.”
“Sort of a take-off on the strenuous female, you mean?” inquired Georgia.