An hour later Betty shed her ritherum costume—it was rather warm, being composed of Georgia’s gym suit, the burlap that Lucille had bought to pack around her Morris chair, a peacock feather fan, and a pair of snowshoes for wings—and she and Madeline, Roberta, Rachel, K., Nita, Helen, the B’s, and Christy went out on the fire-escape to cool off and watch the other classes coming home.
“Must be jolly to stay up here all the time,” said Nita hungrily. “There’s always something going on, and it’s all queer and different and fun.”
“It’s a pretty good world, wherever you are, I think,” announced K. briskly.
“It’s whatever kind you make it,” Madeline amended K.’s sentiment.
“And we’re all making it something rather nice that it wouldn’t be, perhaps, without us,” Roberta added.
“We’ve never decided what it takes to make a B. C. A.,” said Madeline. “If we had we could tell Nita, and she could cultivate the combination.”
“We shall have that left for conversation at the first tea-drinking next fall,” laughed Christy. “There are always such dreadful pauses.”
“It’s always well to have something left for next fall just the same,” said little Helen primly.
“Yes,” agreed Rachel, who was secretly considering a year’s study in New York. “There may be more of us B. C. A.’s and there may be less, but there’ll surely be a topic of conversation.”
“And an Object,” added Madeline, hugging Betty, “with curls and a dimple, and a finger in everybody’s pie, and a few over.”