Then the three plunged into an animated discussion of basket-ball, and Rachel and Katherine, who were on a sort of provisional team that included most of the best freshman players and arrogated to itself the name of “The Stars,” showed Betty in strictest confidence the new cross-play that “T. Reed” had invented. “T. Reed” seemed to be the basket-ball genius of the freshman class. She was the only girl who was perfectly sure to be on the regular team.
It is one of the fine things about college that no matter who of your friends are temporarily lost to you, there is always somebody else to fall back upon, and some new interest to take the place of one that flags. Betty had noticed this and been amused by it early in her course. Sometimes, as she said to Miss Ferris in one of her many long talks with that lady, things change so fast that you really begin to wonder if you can be the same person you were last week.
Besides the inter-class basket-ball game, there was the Hilton House play to talk about and look forward to, and the rally; and, nearer still, St. Valentine’s day. It was a long time, to be sure, since Betty had been much excited over the last named festival; in her experience only children exchanged valentines. But at Harding it seemed to be different. While the day was still several weeks off she had received three invitations to valentine parties. She consulted Mary Brooks and found that this was not at all unusual.
“All the campus houses give them,” Mary explained, “and the big ones outside, just as they do for Hallowe’en. They have valentine boxes, you know, and sometimes fancy dress balls.”
And there the matter would have dropped if Mary had not spent all her monthly allowance three full weeks before she was supposed to have any more. Poverty was Mary’s chronic state. Not that Dr. Brooks’s checks were small, but his daughter’s spending capacity was infinite.
“You wait till you’re a prominent sophomore,” she said when Katherine laughed at her, “and all your friends are making societies, and you just have to provide violets and suppers, in hopes that they’ll do as much for you later on. The whole trouble is that father wants me to be on an allowance, instead of writing home for money when I’m out. And no matter how much I say I need, it never lasts out the month.”
“Why don’t you tutor?” suggested Rachel, who got along easily on a third of what Mary spent. “I hope to next year.”
“Tutor!” repeated Mary with a reminiscent chuckle. “I tried to tutor my cousin this fall in algebra, and the poor thing flunked much worse than before. But anyway the faculty wouldn’t give me regular tutoring. I look too well-to-do. Ah! how deceitful are appearances!” sighed Mary, opening her pocketbook, where five copper pennies rattled about forlornly.
But the very next day she dashed into Betty’s room proclaiming loudly, “I have an idea, and I want you to help me, Betty Wales. You can draw and I’ll cut them out and drum up customers, and I guess I can write the verses. We ought to make our ad. to-night.”
“Our what?” inquired Betty in an absolutely mystified tone.