“We promised to meet her,” said Lila.
I hate regrets. “Well,” I said, “that’s all over and done with. There is no use in bothering about it now. But the next promise we make——”
Berta rushed up to us. “Oh, girls!” she exclaimed, “did you catch that last return? Reform is sweeping the country. Hurrah!”
CHAPTER VII
FOUR SOPHOMORES AND A DOG
The last recitation of the winter term was over, and the corridors were alive with girls hurrying this way and that, pinning on their hats, buttoning jackets, crowding into the elevator, unfurling umbrellas, and chattering all the time.
“Hope you’ll have the nicest sort of a time!” “Don’t stay up too late!” “Good-bye!” “Oh, good-bye!” “Be sure to get well rested this vacation!” “Awfully, awfully sorry you wouldn’t come home with me, Gertrude, you bad child! But I know you won’t suffer from monotony with Berta and Beatrice in the same study.” “Hurry, girls, there’s the car now. Just hear that bell jingle, will you!” “Good-bye, Gertrude, and don’t let Sara work too hard!” “Oh, good-bye!”
Gertrude felt the clutch of arms relax from about her neck, and managed to breathe again. This was one of the penalties—pleasant enough, doubtless, if a person were in the mood for it—of being a popular sophomore. For a minute she lingered wearily in the vestibule to watch the figures flying down the avenue to the Lodge gates. How their skirts fluttered and twisted around them, and how their hats danced! Their suit-cases bounded and bumped as they ran, and their umbrellas churned up and down in choppy billows before the boisterous March wind. There! the last one had vanished in a whirl of flapping ends and lively angles beyond the dripping evergreens.