"Aunt Julia, you're a dear, and a veritable Solomon for wisdom. I'm going to write at once to the President, too. Your place is in the diplomatic service, I'm sure," she finished, as she danced from the room.
As January passed and February came, a new subject came uppermost in the thoughts of the Hexagon Club. For the first time in years there was to be a prize contest in the Sunbridge High School. The principal, Mr. Jackson, was to give a five-dollar gold piece to the writer of the best essay, subject to be chosen by the author.
"Well, I sha'n't try for it," announced Tilly on a Saturday afternoon late in February, as the Hexagon Club were holding their regular meeting at the parsonage.
"Why not?" asked Elsie.
"Because I don't like defeat well enough," retorted Tilly. "Imagine me winning a prize contest!"
"Oh, I shall try," almost groaned Cordelia. "I shall always try for things, I suppose, till I die. I think I ought to; but of course I sha'n't win it. Dear me! How I would love to, though," she cried, almost under her breath.
Genevieve, looking at her momentarily illumined face, was conscious of a sudden fierce wish that Cordelia might win that prize.
"Genevieve, of course, will try," she heard Tilly's teasing voice say, then. "Genevieve loves to write, so!"
Genevieve turned with a laugh, and an uptilted chin.
"I take it, Miss Mack, that your very complimentary remarks refer to my magazine notes; but just let me assure you that this prize essay is quite another matter. That isn't printed!"