“But suppose,” suggested Betty, “that he suspects Georgia of being a fake and thinks we wrote that note.”
“Horrible!” exclaimed Mary. “Let’s round up ‘The Merry Hearts’ and have a meeting over at Rachel’s. English Essayists meets day after to-morrow, doesn’t it? We must do something before that.”
It was the sad conclusion of “The Merry Hearts” that Georgia must die. The utmost ingenuity of the entire membership could not avert this unhappy catastrophe. Somebody must tell Dr. Eaton about Georgia, and explain that “The Merry Hearts” assumed the responsibility of everything but that last note. The meeting was also unanimous in its choice of an envoy. Nobody could beard the lion in his den so well as Betty Wales.
In vain Betty protested. “It’s dreadfully unfair,” she declared hotly. “Madeline ought to do it. Georgia is her double, and she wrote the themes that Dr. Eaton liked.”
“And isn’t that enough for one person?” inquired Madeline calmly. “I’ve done my share and more.”
“Then Rachel ought to go,” began Betty, but Mary was firm.
“You’re elected to tell him,” she said, “and you know very well that when you’re elected by ‘The Merry Hearts’ to do a certain thing, there’s no way out. Besides, you’re so tactful, Betty, and you like Dr. Eaton, and he likes you, and you’ve had more fun out of Georgia than any of the rest of us.”
“Yes, indeed,” broke in Babbie eagerly. “You’ve got to pay up for that bid to the Yale prom., you know, and for all the candy and violets. Why, I’d go to Dr. Eaton twenty times over if I could step into your shoes with Mr. Alison; and you got it all through Georgia.”
This was true, and then, as Mary had said, there was no way out. “The Merry Hearts” had dispensed with reports and motions, but their “elections” were as the laws of the Medes and Persians. So Betty put on her new furs, by way of keeping up her courage, and presented herself the next afternoon at Dr. Eaton’s office. She had walked briskly across the campus, so that her cheeks were pink, her eyes sparkled, and her dimples were much in evidence, as, without giving herself time to get frightened or to think how she should begin, she knocked on Dr. Eaton’s door.
Dr. Eaton was evidently not expecting callers so early in the term. His “Come in” sounded a trifle brusque, and the nod he gave Betty over the top of his big desk was distinctly businesslike and chilly. But Betty clasped her hands tightly inside her beautiful new muff and kept on smiling a brave little smile as she crossed the room. He couldn’t be so very disagreeable when he found out how it all happened.