“What’s the matter?” demanded Jean. Her color rose in instant resentment of Evelyn’s laughter.
Evelyn pointed to the printed name under the picture. “I am Evelyn Ward, you know.”
“But not the actress?” Jean’s blue eyes were wide with amazement.
Evelyn nodded laughingly. “That’s my way of earning my tuition money and my clothes,” she explained. “I was never on the stage until last summer.” She went on to tell the astonished Jean of her meeting with the Southards and her final stage début.
“How interesting!” exclaimed Jean. “I suppose all the Harlowe House girls earn their college fees. I wonder how I can earn mine. I had quite a sum toward them when I left—” again came the abrupt stop. “Oh, dear,” she sighed the next moment, “I wish I’d been more careful of my money. I had no business to lay my bag down. What’s the use of regretting? I’ll have to think of some way to raise that money. If I can’t find it any other way I can sell my clothes. I have perfectly beautiful things. Four trunks full. Lots more than I can wear. It is lucky for me that—” She checked herself guiltily.
“That what?” asked Evelyn. She was beginning to feel a vague impatience at the strange way in which Jean Brent chopped off her sentences. And how recklessly she talked about selling her clothes.
“That I have you for a roommate,” smiled the mysterious freshman. “I wonder how much the expressman will charge to bring my trunks from the station. Then, too, I wonder where I can put them. I wouldn’t think of spoiling the looks of our room with them.”
“You can put one of them over in that corner,” planned Evelyn, “and we could get one into the closet. It’s large and quite light. The other two Miss Harlowe will allow you to leave in the trunk room.”
“I suppose it will cost a small fortune to have them delivered,” demurred Jean. “I can’t have the sale, either, until I know some of the girls who would be interested in my wares. I’ll have to telegraph my friend to send me some money. Will you go with me to the telegraph office. I don’t know the way. I’ll ask Miss Harlowe to pay the expressman. Then I’ll pay her when my money comes. Frenzied finance, isn’t it? But if you knew—” Again that maddening break.
“I’ll pay the expressman,” volunteered Evelyn. “If I were you I’d talk things over with Miss Harlowe. She knows that you lost your purse. Very likely she has already thought of something you can do. I don’t think she would like to have you sell your clothes.”