THE SOPHOMORE PRESIDENT
"Are you going to dress for Ruth's tea?" asked Doris Sands of Marjorie Wilkinson, as the girls walked out of the dining-room together.
Marjorie pulled down the corners of her mouth at the question. It did seem strange to her that Ruth Henry should have decided in such a hurry to give a tea. There must be something behind it! Probably the girl was making a play for popularity, so that she might be elected to an office.
"I'm not going. It's just at the time of hockey practice, and, of course, I couldn't miss that. Lily won't be there, either."
"I'm sorry!" murmured Doris. "Things never seem half so nice without you, Marj!"
Marjorie smiled gratefully; Doris Sands not only said pleasant things, but one knew that she meant them. It was too bad that the class constitution prohibited a girl's re-election as president. The sophomore class could never find anyone else so tactful, so universally popular as Doris, Marjorie thought.
"Thanks, Doris," she said. "But I don't see why Ruth couldn't give us more notice, so that we might have arranged things to go. She never said a word about it at the reception!"
"Ruth always does things on the spur of the moment, and for queer reasons," sighed Doris, for the intricacies of the workings of Ruth's mind were too complicated for her simple, straightforward nature to comprehend. She and Ruth were exceptionally good friends; but then Doris Sands was the sort of girl who could get along with anybody. She never thought of Ruth as self-seeking; merely attributed the measure of success she obtained to cleverness. She always looked for the best in everybody.
When Marjorie and Ruth had entered the seminary the previous fall, there had been thirty-five girls in the class. Now the membership had decreased to twenty-five, and they were all on rather intimate terms. Five of these were Girl Scouts: Anna Cane, Doris Sands, Lily Andrews, Ruth and Marjorie. These were the envied few, the inner circle, the leaders of the class. From their number everyone except, perhaps, Evelyn Hopkins, who always coveted good things for herself, expected the class president to be chosen.