“Well, I should like to know what you want, then,” amended Madeline with severity. Then she smiled a self-satisfied little smile. “It’s all right to ask ‘What’s in a name?’ There’s nothing much in some names, but if these committees of mine aren’t rather extra popular on account of their stylish headings, I shall stop trying to make a reputation for clever titles and devote my life to producing horrible commonplaces for the Woman’s Page of the Sunday papers. I’m going up to the campus this minute to talk to Georgia and Fluffy Dutton. Come along, Rachel, and get your committee started too.”
“Wait a minute, Madeline,” Emily broke in. “Why not organize a sort of council of all the committees, and have a meeting of it here some afternoon next week to talk over the situation?”
Madeline stared at her sadly. “If you think I’m going to spoil my perfectly good committee by asking it to meet, you don’t understand the first principles of my sweet and simple nature. The last way to properly excite people is to hold stupid meetings. Come along, Rachel, before my beautiful enthusiasm vanishes.”
The next morning Fluffy Dutton appeared in “Psych. 6” ten minutes after the hour, with a yard of black mohair braid trailing conspicuously from her note-book.
The lecture was hopelessly dull, and the class concentrated its wandering attention on the braid which, with a notice pinned to one end, traveled slowly up and down the room.
“For those wishing to be neat
Here’s a plan that can’t be beat.
Pin your name upon this braid
You’ll a needy student aid.
Tell her where and when to call