Tavia flaunted off, and Dorothy again pressed her pale face to the window pane. The hills and vales were rolling away, and of course the fast train seemed to be standing still. The wonderful changes of scenery, that had never failed before to interest her, she now scarcely saw.
In the rear of the car were a number of her companions, but she was really glad to be alone. There was Rose-Mary Markin, known as Cologne; Edna Black, called Ned Ebony; Molly Richards, titled just Dick, and others picked up along the route to Glenwood School, in the mountains of New England.
Dorothy was not sick. She was gloomy, and whatever caused this gloom had occurred just before the girls left for school, for up to that time she had been the same vivacious, sprightly girl who had ever been a favorite with her acquaintances and companions. The change in her manner was, therefore, so marked that even the reckless Tavia noticed it instantly, as did the other girls, who were wise enough (on advice of Cologne, Dorothy’s most intimate friend after Tavia) to let Dorothy alone, and not bother her.
The sun was fading into shadows, and soon the train would pull into the familiar little Glenwood station. Then what a time there would be! Dorothy thought of it, and again determined to be cheerful. Tavia would be, as Tavia herself had declared, “on top of the heap,” for while there was no hazing allowed, something that made a splendid imitation was ever practiced on the first night, the “fun” not being confined to new scholars, either.
The car attendant came through the train, and turned on the lights. The strange gentleman with the paper across the aisle asked him if they would get in on schedule and he replied they had lost a little time, but were making it up now.
“Thought you had an extra clip on,” commented the stranger.
Scarcely were the words uttered than Dorothy and everyone else was thrown from their seats, and then there was a terrific crash.
Instantly there followed screams and commotion. The lights went out, and many passengers rushed for the doors. Dorothy realized she was not hurt. Next, the other girls from the rear of the car were hanging around her, displaying very little of the common sense that had been drilled into them at Glenwood.
“Oh, Dorothy, what is it?”
“Oh, Dorothy, my arm is broken!”