It was Pat who spread the news. A messenger boy had come late in the night with a telegram for Jack, and now, today, the day after the night alarm, Jack was gone!
“Some one sick or a sudden death?” hazarded Gloria. It was about time for a class and the conversation was necessarily snatchy.
“Jack doesn’t seem to have folks, at least, no one comes to see her,” explained the entertaining Pat, catching her blue barrette in a clump of hair much beyond its capacity.
“We’ll miss her,” spoke up Trixy. “I like Jack; she’s a positive cure for the blues.”
“Isn’t she? Jack is a lark, even if she does dress like—a fire sale.”
Gloria didn’t smile. Pat should not be encouraged in such criticism, especially now that Jack was gone and could not defend herself.
But after the morning classes and just before lunch, it was impossible for either Gloria or Trixy not to overhear a little stronger criticism than Pat’s harmless remark was intended to convey.
A group of girls behind a screen in the lavatory were even more critical and less considerate.
“Did you hear the row?” asked one.
“Did I? Thought the house was afire,” from another.