Helen only stared at her in blank amazement.
“Why, I never dreamed of such a thing,” she told Betty a little later when the hall had cleared and only the editors who did not have a class the next hour and a few of their best friends were left. “Why, Betty Wales, just think! I’m—I’m an editor of the ‘Argus.’”
“Exactly,” laughed Betty. “What does the note say, Helen?”
“Why, I don’t know,” said Helen. “I haven’t had time to open it.” She looked at it doubtfully. “Betty, suppose there should be some mistake. Suppose the note is about something else.”
“It isn’t,” Betty assured her. “I heard Mary Brooks say you were an editor, and of course she knows.”
Thus encouraged Helen opened her note and read through its glorious contents. “Betty,” she said solemnly, passing it to her to read, “I don’t believe anybody was ever quite so happy as I am.”
“Except the other editors,” suggested Betty teasingly.
Helen shook her head. “I don’t believe one of them cares as much as I do. Who are the others, Betty?”
“Marion Lustig and Emily Davis and Christy and Jane Drew and—let me see——”