Jane Allen: Junior | Page 7

bracket type. It was Jane's
idea the clock should not be cluttered with surroundings.
"Gee-whiz! It is late, and this the first day. Glad the others on this
corridor are all nice and punctual."
In bathrobe and slippers Judith soon followed Jane down the long hall.
Neither dallied long in the plunge, for Judith was wide awake now, and

presently, after dressing and patting herself and belongings into place,
she confronted Jane with this: "I heard Dozia Dalton last night. And I
know there will be trouble about the farmer girl. Jane, tell me, is she
the scholarship?"
"Yes," almost gasped Jane the irreproachable. "And to think that I, in
any way, should be responsible for bringing her to college!"
"But you are not, Janie dear," soothed Judith. "That your father should
give this college a scholarship each year is a noble thing, and how can
you tell who may win it? That girl is--well, a bit raw," she ground her
mouth around the word, "but we have nothing to do with that. She
doesn't belong among the juniors, and just leave it to little Judy to steer
her off. Don't go trying any uplift; just cut her dead and watch her wilt.
From the ashes there may arise a nice little green thing, even if it is of
the common garden variety of onion. Now Jane, you have got to do
exactly that. Keep Shirley Duncan on her own grounds. Shoo her out of
junior haunts."
"You are right, Judy. I have been tortured with the idea that I would
have to play fairy godmother to that--that 'hoodlum.' Honestly, did you
ever see so ordinary a girl in Wellington?"
"Never. But then she may be a genius. I have read such descriptions of
them. There's the first breakfast bell. Smile now and disappoint the
horde. They think you have been crossed in love and the old maid
depression has settled upon you. You acted that way yesterday,"
teasingly.
Jane's laugh pealed out at this. It was like ragging a down scale, that
rippling crescendo, and Judith needed no other assurance of her friend's
good humor.
But the day's tasks left little time for trifles. College work is serious and
exacting, each day's programme being carefully and even scientifically
marked out to make the round year's schedule complete. Jane and
Judith, juniors, with a reputation made in their previous years,
"buckled" down to every period with that intelligence and

determination for which both had been credited.
Everything was so delightful and the autumn air so full of promise!
Jane could not find a true reason for the haunting fear that seemed to
follow her in the person of that crude country girl, who somehow had
won the Alien scholarship.
It was in free time late the next afternoon that this fear took definite
shape. Jane and her contingent were leaving the study hall when
Shirley Duncan brushed up through their arm linked line.
She was garbed in a baronet satin skirt of daring hue with an
overblouse of variegated georgette. This as a school frock! At first
glance Jane almost recoiled, then the possibility of delayed baggage
suggested itself and softened her frown.
"Don't notice her," whispered faithful Judith.
Jane's glance just answered when the unpopular freshman broke
through the line, grasped Jane's hand and deliberately forced a folded
slip of paper into it. Then, with a mocking smile that ran into an audible
sneer, she turned and sped away. Her awkward gait and frank romping
so close to Wellington Hall brought questioning glances from the line
of juniors.
"What's that, Jane Allen?" asked Janet Clarke good-naturedly. "I hope
you are not doing uplift for anything like that this year?"
"The merry little mountain maid," mocked Inez Wilson, doing a few
skips and a couple of jumps in demonstration.
"How on earth did she ever make Wellington?" demanded the
aristocratic Nettie Brocton, disapproval spoiling her leaky dimples.
"Girls, you are horrid!" declared Judith to the rescue. "You all know the
freaks love Jane. It's her angel face," and Judith playfully stroked the
cheek into which streaks of bright pink threatened admission of
guilt--that Jane really knew the uncouth country girl.

"She's a stranger to me," said Jane truthfully, "but in spite of that I must
respect her confidence." The crumpled note was thereat securely tucked
into the pocket of Jane's blouse.
Winifred Ayres tittered outright, but the advent of Dozia Dalton
furnished a welcome interruption.
"Girls," she panted, "what ever do you think? Dol Vincez, our
dangerous adversary of last year, runs the beauty shop beyond our gate!
Can you comprehend the audacity?"
"We can when you say Dolorez," replied Jane. "Do you actually mean
to say she has set up the College Beauty Shop at our very door?"
"She has!" declared the