“Miss Monroe isn’t a freshman, Augusta,” the manager corrected gently. “She is trying the examinations this week which will admit her to the sophomore class. I explained to her that you and Miss Hart were sophomores, hoping she might make allowance.”
“A would-be soph, and complaining of the sophs! What a loyal addition to the sophie class she will be,” Florence Hart cried sarcastically.
“Not wishing to be too inquisitive, Miss Remson, may I ask if Miss Monroe insisted you should come and tell us what a noisy crowd we were?” Leila inquired smoothly.
“Yes, Leila; she did,” the little woman replied in her concise way.
“Now why, I wonder, did she not come and tell us herself?” Leila’s tones were silky, but her blue eyes had narrowed.
Miss Remson laughed. “Clever Leila,” she regarded the Irish girl with approbation. “I may as well tell you girls frankly. Miss Monroe put it to me as my duty to reprimand you. I hope you won’t consider my enforced word of caution in the nature of a reprimand,” she ended with the independence of affection.
A chorus of loyal assurances went up which caused her to raise a premonitory hand and incline her head in the direction of the next room. After stopping long enough to eat a square of fudge and two pickles with true schoolgirl appetite she left behind her an ominously quiet crowd of girls.
“A nice reputation you have as a P. G., Jeremiah Macy.” Jerry severely addressed herself in the mirror of a dressing table. “Just think”—she turned accusingly toward Lucy Warner—“even Luciferous Warniferous, the Sanford sage, got a hot shot for being too boisterous.”
“Don’t blame me. Blame the company I keep,” chuckled Lucy.
“Luciferous Warniferous couldn’t be boisterous if she tried,” defended Ronny. “She hasn’t said half a dozen words since I led her into this room. I know she hasn’t whooped once. Can you whoop, Luciferous? That’s what I’d love to know?” Ronny peered owlishly at Lucy.