“Strange, isn’t it, that the Sans can’t even be loyal to one another,” Robin commented. “Very likely Leslie Cairns told them in confidence, not expecting it would be betrayed. She may not know to this day that a girl of her own crowd told tales.”
“She is not honorable herself. Her intimates know that.” Marjorie’s rejoinder held sternness. “There is nothing truer than the Bible verse: ‘As ye sow, so must ye also reap.’ She tries to gain whatever she happens to want by dishonorable methods. In turn, her chums behave dishonorably toward her.
“An unhappy state of affairs.” Robin shrugged her disfavor. “Phil says Miss Walbert is a talker; that she is becoming unpopular with the sophs who voted for her last year because she gossips.”
Marjorie smiled whimsically. “Wouldn’t it be poetic justice if she were to turn the half of her class who were for her last year against her by her own unworthiness? After Miss Cairns worked so hard to establish her too! There’s surely a greater inclination toward democracy than last year, or Phil wouldn’t have won the sophomore presidency.”
“Yes; and she won it by eighteen votes this year over Miss Keene, and she is one of Miss Walbert’s pals. Last year she lost it by nine. Some difference!” Robin looked her pride of her lovable cousin. “I think there is a great change for the better in Hamilton since we were freshies, don’t you?”
Marjorie made quick assent. “You Silverites have done the most for Hamilton,” she commended. “We Lookouts have tried our hardest, but we couldn’t have done much if you hadn’t been behind us like a solid wall.”
“You Lookouts deserve as much credit as we. You girls are social successes in the nicest way, because you have all been so friendly and sweet to everyone. Then you have fought shoulder to shoulder with us. Now that we have begun to make our influence felt, we should follow it up by giving entertainments in which the whole college can have a part.”
“Let’s do this,” Marjorie proposed. “Bring the orchestra and Hope Morris, she’s so nice, over to Wayland Hall on Saturday evening. I’ll have a spread. Then we can plan something to give in the near future. Here’s my getting-off place. Goodbye.”
The taxicab having reached a point on the main campus drive where two other drives branched off right and left, the machine slowed down. She rarely troubled the driver to take her to the door of the Hall, it being but a few rods distant from this point.
Swinging up the drive and into the Hall in her usual energetic fashion, Marjorie’s first move was toward the bulletin board. Three letters was the delightful harvest she reaped from it. One in Constance’s small fine hand, one from General. The third she eyed rather suspiciously. It was in an unfamiliar hand and bore the address, “Marjorie Dean, Hamilton College.”