“They have the right,” declared Lily.
“Don’t see it—do you, Laura?” cried Bobby.
“If they only wouldn’t try to go against Mrs. Case’s wishes so frequently,” sighed Mother Wit, who would have conceded much for peace.
“They don’t propose to be bossed by the teachers all the time,” declared Lily. “And they’re right.”
Now, this attitude would have appealed to Bobby Hargrew a few months before. But she had learned a good bit of late.
“There is no use in our trying to run athletics in opposition to Mrs. Case—or Mr. Sharp,” she said.
“Or Gee Gee; eh, Bobby?” added Hester Grimes, slily.
As the girls crowded out of the committee room some of the boys were grouped at the corridor’s end, plainly waiting for their appearance. Chet Belding and Launcelot Darby, his chum, were waiting for Laura and Jess. That was a frequent occurrence. No boy ever waited for the fly-away Bobby; but there was with the two chums a tall, thin youth dressed in the most astonishing clothes that ever appeared in the corridors of a high school.
“Oh me, oh my!” cried Bobby, under her breath. “There’s Purt Sweet—and he looks like a negro minstrel.”
“My goodness me! He is dressed to kill, isn’t he?” giggled Jess.