Another duty was performed. Betty was the first one to be dropped from the Allen car, courteously assisted out by Chet, who would probably have come in a few moments or lingered at the door to talk, if it had not been so near dinner time, and if Chauncey had not privately informed him that no “visiting with best girls” was allowed this time.
And the next day was the “last day of school!”
That welcome day dawned with a few scattered flakes of snow flying in a frosty air. In happy anticipation the Lee children hurried their preparations for school, Betty carefully packing her costume for the play in a light suitcase, which Dick generously offered to carry, provided they “had to take” the street car. It was not always convenient for Mr. Lee to drive his children to school.
“If this goes off as well as the Christmas pageant did at the church, I’ll be satisfied,” said Betty, her cheeks pink with the exercise and excitement about coming events, as they boarded the street car together. The car was packed with boys and girls on their way to school. Doris and Betty secured a strap each and hung on while they nodded to this one or that one whom they knew. “Remind me to tell you a ‘trade last,’ Betty, when we get off the car,” said Mary Emma, who happened to be sitting by Betty’s strap.
“I’ll not forget to do that,” said Betty, breezily. “Who said it?”
“Guess.”
But Betty would not guess, and there was too much noise for conversation; for when large numbers of pupils are together, if manners are remembered at all, older passengers are usually thankful. But these high school pupils, if a bit noisy at times, were an interesting and attractive group that needed only occasional reminders from motorman or conductor when too full of spirits.
Arm in arm with Mary Emma, and carrying her suitcase in her free hand, Betty traversed the walk to the high school building. “It was Budd, Betty,” said Mary Emma. “He said that you would have made the best angel in the play—your hair and eyes and everything—and that it was too bad you hadn’t been in the dramatic club longer and that they had to let a senior girl have the part anyway.”
“Why, wasn’t that nice of old Budd!” cried Betty, pleased. “And the angel has to say things, so it couldn’t be just looks, Budd meant.”
“Suppose it was—wouldn’t that be nice enough?”