Bob, waiting to hear the result of the conversation from the senior’s own lips, was joined by Roberta, who had come over to the Westcott on an errand, and together they listened to the senior’s story.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve done your best,” Roberta assured her. “It’s a shame to waste the violets. Why don’t you take them, since she’s a friend of yours—or an acquaintance any way? I’m sure you’ve fairly earned them.”
The senior looked doubtfully at Bob, who was glaring stonily at Roberta. “Yes, take them by all means,” said Bob sweetly. “Oh, no, I don’t want any. A bunch like that costs three dollars and eighty cents, if you care to know.”
As the senior mounted the stairs with her treasure, Bob turned wrathfully upon Roberta. “You’re a base traitor,” she said, “and I shall get even with you sooner or later. But I guess I had my money’s worth in spite of you,” she added with a grin. “Isn’t Georgia the best ever?”
The senior spread the story of the violets widely among her circle of friends. She even declared her intention of going to the registrar for Georgia’s address; but there were a great many other freshmen in the entering class that year, and she never went.
Nita’s “touch” stirred up the whole Hilton House, and caused Nita herself endless trouble. The picture post-card fad was at its height and Nita was making a collection. Writing to thank an aunt who had sent her a number of foreign cards, she bethought herself of Georgia, and added a postscript. “A lot of the girls here are making collections of cards. Some day when you have time do send one to Georgia Ames (address, Harding College, Harding). She is always doing me favors.”
The aunt responded promptly, and as there was no Georgia Ames in Harding, at least according to the postal register, the card went to the Hilton, with “Try Georgiana Arms,” written across it. The aunt had unfortunately seen fit to indite an explanatory line or two below the picture, and Georgiana Arms read it. “My niece, Nita Reese,” wrote the aunt, “begs me to send you this card in token of the many favors you have done her. I need not say that my niece’s friends are mine.”
Georgiana Arms, who had barely a speaking acquaintance with Nita, realized that the card could not be meant for her, and seeing Nita in the library soon after, she took it out of her philosophy note-book, where she had stored it for safekeeping, and asked Nita for the right address.
Nita was fairly caught. She had meant to create an interest in Georgia, but she had not considered the possibility of having to explain her own interest in the elusive freshman. She read the post-card slowly, trying to gain time and evolve some way of escape, and finally passed it back to Miss Arms. “There isn’t any such girl in college as far as I know,” she said.