“A human interrogation point,” Leslie said laconically, then laughed. “Her college ideals seem to be about on a par with those of the Sans. Somehow, I felt sorry for her. If she stays at Hamilton she will gather some violent jolts. She’s far from stupid, but she’s a young vandal; her own worst enemy.” Leslie had decided against repeating, even to Leila and Vera, the conversation which she had held with the freshman on the way to the campus. It had been in her opinion, too trivial for repetition. She had already summed up Miss Ogden in her own mind as a social climber, ill-bred, and altogether too self-assertive. She had known plenty of such girls in the old days, when she, also, had been a law unto herself. “Jewel Marie has come to the right place to learn—about herself,” Leslie paused briefly, then went on. “She’s awfully sure she knows herself now, but she’s going to find out differently, if she sticks here at Hamilton.”
“What happened to the twelve freshies, I wonder?” Leila commented irrelevantly.
“Oh, they’ll probably bob up tomorrow. Let’s go to dinner. I’m hungry, in spite of our bitter disappointment,” Vera declared facetiously.
“Yes, we’d best beat it for the dining room. Miss Remson kept the dinner back on their account. It must be on now.” Leslie rose from the porch rocker. Her gaze straying idly toward Hamilton pike she gave vent to a quick exclamation. “Look,” she cried, pointing toward the pike. “Some little gas party stirring.”
A long line of automobiles had appeared on the pike, coming from the direction of Hamilton Estates, moving in a slow procession past the stone wall of the campus. While Hamilton Pike was a much traveled road for motorists, the line of cars moving along in slow succession was an unusual sight.
A united exclamation ascended from the three post-graduates as the smart black roadster, leading the van, turned in at the campus gateway.
“Now what do you suppose that procession means?” Vera had clasped her small hands together in astonishment.
“Search me. The driver of the head car doesn’t seem to know quite where she’s bound for.” Leslie had focussed her gaze upon the girl driver of the first car in the line. The latter had brought her roadster to a slow stop on the drive a few yards from the gateway, as she turned to address, over one shoulder, the solitary occupant in the tonneau of the machine. The high treble of her tones was carried to the three watchers on the veranda, though they could not understand what she was saying.
A moment’s further pause, then the roadster moved forward again, arriving on the main drive at the point where it diverged into its several approaches to the campus houses. The driver of the roadster headed into the Wayland Hall drive, slowing down to a quick stop at the edge of the broad graveled space in front of the Hall.
“I’ve guessed the answer,” Leslie said in an excited undertone. “I’ve counted the cars in that line. There are twelve buzz-buggies. The freshies have arrived, the missing twelve are on the job at last.”