Betty found Mary and Katherine in possession of her room and engaged in an animated discussion about the rules of hockey.
“I tell you that when the thing-um-bob is in play,” began Katherine.
“Not a bit of it,” cut in Mary.
“Come along, girls,” interrupted Betty, fishing her skates from under her couch, and pulling on her “pussy” mittens. “Never mind those rules. You can’t play hockey to-day. You promised to skate with me.”
It was an ideal winter’s afternoon, clear, cold and still. The ice on Paradise was smooth and hard, and the little pond was fairly alive with skaters, most of them Harding girls. Betty was a novice, with one weak ankle that had an annoying habit of turning over suddenly and tripping her up; so she was timid about skating alone. But between Mary and Katherine she got on famously, and thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon. At four Mary had a committee meeting, Katherine an engagement to play basket-ball, and Betty had agreed to meet Rachel. So with great reluctance they took off their skates and started up the steep path that led past the boat-house to the back gate of the campus.
“Goodness, but I’m stiff,” groaned Mary, stopping to rest a minute half way up. “I’d have skated until dinner time though, if it hadn’t been for this bothering committee. Never be on committees, children.”
“Why don’t you apply your own rules?” inquired Katherine saucily.
“Oh, because I’m a vain peacock like the rest of the world. The class president comes to me and says, ‘Now Mary, nobody but you knows every girl in the class. You can find out the sentiments of all sorts and conditions on this matter. And then you have such fine executive ability. I know you hate committees, but—’ Of course I feel pleased by her base flattery, and I don’t come to my senses until it’s too late to escape. Is to-day the sixteenth?”
“No, it’s Saturday, the twentieth,” said Katherine. “Two weeks next Monday to mid-years.”
“The twentieth!” repeated Mary in tones of alarm. “Then, my psychology paper is due a week from Tuesday. I haven’t done a thing to it, and I shall be so busy next week that I can’t touch it till Friday or Saturday. How time does fly!”