“I don’t believe her manners are worth the ruin of your disposition and mine,” Betty had told Mrs. Post, when, in June, the Goop had horrified the house by appearing at breakfast collarless and with unbuttoned shoes.
Besides these improvements six seniors were leaving—rather dull, colorless girls, whose departure would make room for livelier, more promising material. Betty resolved that Morton Hall should be the gayest, jolliest house on the campus—if she came back.
Frisky Fenton was at the door of her office to meet her. She had been sitting on the stairs waiting.
“I’m going home this afternoon, Miss Wales,” she said. “I’ve taken all my prelims for Harding, and I hope I’ve passed most of them. Since I’ve been over here so much with you, I simply can’t wait to get into college. Miss Wales, I’ve come to consult you for one last time. How shall I make my stepmother love me?”
Betty smiled into Frisky’s melting brown eyes that were fixed upon her so earnestly. “Didn’t Miss Dwight advise you to puzzle that out for yourself, if you wanted to learn how to win over crowds of people later? But I know how I should begin. Call her mother. It almost makes you love a person to call her that. And if you love her and try to please her——”
“I’ve thought of another thing to do,” Frisky took her up. “I shall pretend she’s like you. I’ve noticed that when people expect a great deal of me—as you do, Miss Wales—I manage to come up to it. Perhaps if I expect my—mother to be like you—to understand and sympathize——”
“And scold hard too, sometimes,” laughed Betty. “Don’t forget that part of me.”
The girl whom Betty had picked out as a possible secretary to Jasper J. Morton opened the door, and Frisky held up her flower-like face to be kissed and went off, a mist in her eyes at the parting. The prospective secretary didn’t stay long; if she hadn’t been a born “rusher,” capable of getting through intricate discussions and momentous decisions in double-quick time, Betty would never have thought of recommending her. And then, with not time enough before her next appointment to begin on anything important, Betty drew out a sheet of paper and began drawing up rules, à la Madeline.
“If I come back next year,” she headed the page:
“Rule One—All ghosts whatsoever are tabooed.