She threw a glance of disapproval at the card players who were quarrelling over the stakes, and hurried out, leaving the maid to close the doors.
A few moments later she was on a cross-town car. Thinking of the house she had just left, with its mistress dressed in silks and sparkling with jewels, she murmured to herself, "Huh! I'd a heap rather have our comfy home with all the boys' marks and scratches on the mission wood than all of the gorgeous damask and gilt of Nita's home! We enjoy our life at home, but gracious! at Nita's it's always, 'Don't touch that, dearie!' or 'Be careful, that vase cost a fortune;' a girl can't even skip over the floor without having Mrs. Brampton cry, 'Oh, mercy! That velour carpet will all be worn out!'"
The conductor, in passing down the aisle heard the girl mutter and stopped to ask her if she spoke to him.
Zan laughed amiably as she looked up at him and said, "No, I was just thinking out loud!"
The man smiled too, and returned to his post while Zan looked out of the window to see what street they were near. Finding that the next corner was the one she wished to reach, she signalled to stop the car.
As she stood on the platform waiting for the car to come to a stop, the kind old conductor said, "Not many young folks think at all, but it is best to do your thinking quiet-like so others don't get a chance to hear your plans. S'pose every inventor did his thinking aloud, what chance would he have to get his patent?"
Zan nodded thoughtfully and thanked the wise old man for the advice. He assisted her to jump down and smiled as he watched her hurry down the side street.
As she went, Zan thought, "That man is a philosopher! I must be careful and not think out loud after this. Thinking is good practice but I guess it all depends on what kind of thinking you do—good—bad—or indifferent!"
With this sage conclusion Zan reached Miss Miller's home. She asked the elevator boy to take her up to Apartment 9, and, as soon as the floor was reached, she bounded out and rang the bell at the side of the door.
Of the five girls about to meet for the forming of a Clan of Woodcraft Indians, no two were alike in character or physique. Zan was of the tom-boy type, fond of athletics and all out-door sport with her two brothers, who were near her own age. Her hands and feet, although being well-shaped, were large and tanned. The finely poised head was crowned with a mass of bronze-red hair that had no hint of wave in its long strands. Energy, endurance, and impatience were expressed in her every movement and expression while sympathy, generosity, and frankness were the attributes that go hand in hand with such a temperament as Zan's. Her parents were most sensible and clothed the girl in comfortable, well-made things of first-class material, but ignored ridiculous styles or customs which might distract an expanding thought from practical affairs and limit it to fashion and self-contemplation. Of course, Zan had never worn stays, tight shoes, or cramping gloves, and was given wholesome food with no indulgence in the kind that impedes digestion or causes fermentation to blood and brain. As a result, the girl possessed a normal, perfectly healthy body, clear eyes, wonderful skin, and looked like fourteen years of age instead of twelve, the last birthday having been celebrated a few weeks previously to the opening of this story. In school, she was in the class of girls where each one registered thirteen and a half to fourteen years of age. And she was generally at the head of her class, at that.