Exclamations and some laughter were the order of the next few minutes. Some of the teachers looked “wonderful” and others “you wouldn’t know at all.” But the book as a whole was eminently satisfactory, with its individual recognitions and personal history as well as the account of the year’s progress and activities. Betty would add hers to the other two reposing at home. One more would complete her high school record.
While they still looked at the book, Lucia Coletti opened the central auditorium door and looked in searchingly. “Oh, here you are, Betty. Peggy said that she thought you hadn’t left the building yet. I’ve something important to tell you, Betty. Can you come out to dinner with me? I can telephone home for you if you will. I can get the telephone in the office now. They said I could.”
Lucia’s voice was trembling with suppressed excitement, but the girls, still engaged in the pages Betty was turning, did not notice. Selma was talking to Mary Emma and some of the art work by the students themselves was being commented upon.
Betty handed the book to Selma. “You can finish looking at it, girls, and I’ll be in the hall as soon as I go to my locker a minute. All right, Lucia. Telephone, or get Mother on the line for me, if you like. I’d love to come.”
Betty fancied that there might be some development relative to the Sevillas, now comfortably settled. But she was mistaken. As the two girls left the high school building, Betty with her Star under her arm, Lucia in the lowest tones told her that she had received a telegram.
“It was telephoned out to school, addressed to me at Lyon High, and the office telephoned to the home room, you know, to have me stop after school. It isn’t signed by anything but an initial, but it is from my father. It was sent from New York. Here it is. You can read it in the car, but don’t say a word before the chauffeur.”
“Then your father is coming!” said Betty in a surprised whisper.
“Yes. I want you, because Mother has been sick all day, just worn out with all sorts of things, chiefly late hours and all the things that are going on. She is really better than she was yesterday, though. Now she might want me with her, and I must have somebody there that knows, so that one of us can be ready to—oh, well, with just the butler there he might send in a card and Mother wouldn’t see him or something. And she’s got to!”
Betty laughed a little at Lucia’s determination. But it was a matter of the most importance to her friend. “Good for you, Lucia. And I imagine if they once see each other——”
Betty broke off, for they had reached the waiting car which so often called for Lucia. She unfolded the piece of paper on which the telegram had been copied down as dictated over the telephone. “Coming. Beach house about six. Surprise. X.” The periods were represented by the customary “stop.”