Under the Law

by Edwina Stanton Babcock

"That settles it, you see." Minga grinned politely with all her little teeth. "We're going to wash our hair!"

"Oh, my faith!" groaned the youth below. "Say, you two are a couple of Convent Coolies." Looking up wrath fully he tried to face them down with this epithet, but to face a person down while looking upward is difficult: at last he gave it up. "Right-o!" he said bitterly. "Right-o! Then I get the fair Cynthia with her little bag of dope and Gertrude with her gloomy gaze, and we side-track the others and pass on to our own private funeral."

There was something in the young fellow's tone as he said this that roused both girls; half protesting, half laughing, they leaned out. "No, wait, Dunce!" they pleaded, "let's talk it over. Perhaps—wait—Dunce—Dunce——" but there was the angry whir of the car and Dunce was gone.

Minga's face was scarlet, her eyes gleamed. She turned to Sard. "Well, now you see what we've done. We were idiots. He was asking us because—because——Sard, you know what those girls are!"

Sard, brows knitted, was self-conscious. "I ought to have realized," she said slowly, "but perhaps it's just——Oh, dear, Minga, what were we thinking of? Dunstan has done his best to sort of good-naturedly keep away from Cinny and Gertrude! My, she's horrible for a nice boy."

"And they'll work up a stag line with him for to-morrow night," said Minga. "Oh, oh, oh!" she stamped her foot. "They'll have the pick of the dances and all the extras. You know how they'll work it, Sard. Why didn't you think quickly?"

The other girl ran her hand lovingly over the curly head. "Such a little pepper-pot; why didn't you think? I thought you didn't want to go, Minga; you're so funny, nobody will ever know what you want."

"Well, I will," asserted Minga vehemently, "that is, I'll know what I want when I want it and now I want everlastingly to keep that Gertrude thing from our nice boys and from Tawny, don't you see, Sard?" Minga's eyes widened virtuously. "She's setting traps for my fiancé."

Sard threw back her head. "Oh," she pealed, "oh, you are too dreadful. I give you up. Come on down to lunch."

The luncheon gong sounded its three soft ascending vibrations. The girls, consulting, went down arm-in-arm. At the table they talked of the large chrysanthemums they had seen at a flower show and of a new way to serve butter, and Aunt Aurelia thought, "I am so glad to see them getting interested in ladylike things. It is fortunate they did not go on with college; they have just enough ideas, I think."