“We haven’t had a feast for some time, have we?” queried Eleanor, cracking a huge pecan.
“Scarcely since you girls were all rushing for the sororities and the Owls.” This was Aline, who remembered several delicious feasts at that gay time.
“That makes me think of what I came to see you about, girls,” said Eleanor. “Ann, how would you like to be a famous authoress?”
“I hadn’t thought about it, Eleanor,” said Ann, who was struggling with a refractory cork in a bottle of olives, contents of another interesting package. One more tug and it was out. Ann flew to the lavatory to get rid of the liquid and was back to answer Eleanor’s question.
“Have an olive, Eleanor. No, I confess I hadn’t thought of entering the field of literature. But no telling what any of us may do under Bunny’s training. I’ll try ’most anything, Eleanor, to become famous. What is the immediate danger?”
“Joining the Scribblers’ Club. Ever heard of such a thing?”
“No; not at Forest Hill.”
“There isn’t any; but I thought that we might organize one. Honestly, Ann, I’d like to have one. Scribbling is the only thing outside of singing that I really like to do.”
“You do write fine themes, Eleanor. I was quite envious when Bunny had you read the last one and praised it so before the class.”