“She doesn’t take Essayists though,” said Bob, who had come in with the other B’s in the course of the letter-reading.
“Then,” said Roberta sadly, “Georgia must die.”
“Oh, no,” cried Betty, “she mustn’t die just now, when she’s going on so splendidly at Yale—and before her pictures have come, too. Could we—oh, dear!” Then, with sudden inspiration, “Couldn’t we have her leave college instead?”
“Of course,” cried Babbie excitedly. “She leaves for her health. That would explain her cutting. She can stay out over midyears and come back some time in the spring, when we have more time to play with her.”
“Oh, I’m so glad she hasn’t got to miss spring term,” said Helen, with a little sigh. Helen still took her pleasures very seriously.
“Shall I write the note?” asked Madeline, appropriating Betty’s desk. “And shall I have her say what is the matter with her, or where she is going?”
“We’d better have her go off a good long way,” suggested Bob, “or Dr. Eaton might think of following her—if he’s really as interested as Betty thought he was.”
“Oh, I know just what to do,” cried Babe. “Have her catch pneumonia from that window that he’s always opening right on to me in English Essayists. Then she could go out west somewhere to strengthen her lungs. Where do people go to strengthen their lungs?”
“Arizona, don’t they?” answered Mary doubtfully. “Anyhow say Arizona, Madeline. It sounds so nice and stunty and far off.”