“And, oh, I would love to have one to send to my brother Malcolm.”
“Of course, so you shall. Dean Craig wrote a little letter which told of the coming of the magazines that he would leave the type set until he received a message from us telling if we need more copies.”
“Isn’t he the nicest man?” Barbara, the ever impulsive, exclaimed; then she wondered why Miss Torrence’s cheeks were suddenly like roses.
“I like him,” was the reply. Then, as a gong, pealing through the school, told that lunch hour was approaching, the magazines were divided and away the girls trooped to the upper corridor to prepare for the noon meal.
“Did you notice Miss Torrence blushing when we mentioned the Dean?” Sally asked her roommate when Sweet Pickle Alley had been reached.
“Me? Nope, my belovedest! I have a mind above such things. I was sniffing the air just then trying to decide what savory thing was being prepared in the kitchen.”
“Oh, Betsy, you are so tantalizing.”
“And I decided that it was liver and bacon. If I am right, will you give me your share, Sal, old dear?”
That particular dish, as all the girls knew, was Betsy’s favorite.
“Goodness no, much as I don’t like it, I’m too hungry to give it away if that’s all there is.” But the menu that noon was of quite a different nature. However, Betsy always ate anything that was provided with a relish. “Girls,” she confided, “Micky told me that the postman has bronchial fiditis and that he is to drive into town this afternoon and get the mail. It being Saturday and sunny, I thought perhaps we might get permission to ride in with him.”