"I believe I am," sighed Cathy; "and if the President of the United States has half as much trouble with his subjects as I have with mine, he has my sincerest sympathy."
"I suppose we are a great deal of trouble," said Patty, contritely.
"Trouble! My dear," said Cathy, solemnly. "I've spent the entire week running around to the different cottages making speeches to those blessed freshmen. They won't hand in chapel excuses, and they will run off with library books, and, altogether, they're an immoral lot."
"They can afford to be; they're young," sighed Patty, enviously. "But I," she added, "am getting old, and it's time I was getting good. I've called to tell you that I've over-cut four times, and I haven't any excuse."
"What are you talking about?" asked Cathy, in amazement.
"Chapel excuses. I've over-cut four times,—I think it's four, though I've rather lost count,—and I haven't any excuse."
"But, Patty, don't tell me that. You must have some excuse, some reason for—"
"Not the shadow of one. Just stayed away because I didn't feel like going."
"But you must give me some reason," remonstrated Cathy, in distress, "or I'll have to report it to the committee and you'll be deprived of your privileges. You can't afford that, you know, for you're chairman of the Senior Prom."
"But I didn't have any excuse, and I can't make one up," said Patty. "I will soon be thirty, and then forty, and then fifty. Do you think a woman of that age is attractive if she deals in subterfuges and evasions? Character," she added solemnly, "is a plant of slow growth, and the seeds must be planted early."