This fixing up was almost as hateful to Shirley as
was the abominable dusting, but she kept her temper-the
lesson seemed profitable already.
Jane was arranging the disordered hair, and as she
attempted to stroke it with a wet brush Shirley put
up a detaining hand.
“Please don’t wet it,” she begged
in a whisper, and Jane stopped short with her brush
raised for action.
“Not wet it?” she thought quickly.
“That must mean treatment, and treatment meant
the forbidden beauty shop!”
This girl had been visiting that shop. More danger
ahead, decided Jane, as she lay down the brush and
proceeded to finish the dressing dry.
Judith had overheard the request and pinched Jane’s
arm to admit it, but a loud demand for the freshman
from the group rounding up candidates saved further
delay and when Shirley left Dozia’s room the
latter patted her affectionately.
“Don’t worry, dear,” said Dozia,
“I’ll be careful not to raise too much
dust next week.”
But her sentence was not the most serious thing in
prospect for the rebel Shirley Duncan. Not even
the good times prepared for the candidates served
to allay the dread she struggled against, and only
her natural delight in the rollicking fun, and the
really fine spread served them by the juniors, helped
bring the girl back to a happy frame of mind.
Woe unto the freshie who shows ill will at an initiation!
She may be obliged to walk in the gutter for the full
first half year, or wear a baby blue ribbon under
her chin!
But Shirley had heeded the warnings.
A QUEER MIX-UP
“Jane, the girls are frightened to death.
Can you imagine ghost stories having that effect in
this staid, solid, absolutely reliable old college?”
asked Maud Leslie.
“It is absurd,” admitted Jane, “but
Maudie, all students are not scientifically inclined
as you are. What about the ghost? Who is
he and who saw him?”
“He is the usually uncanny weird noise, nothing
even original about him. One would expect more
of a college ghost. And just as trite and commonplace
is the fact that these nocturnal howls come at safe
hours when we cannot be expected to go through a fire
or panic drill. I call the whole thing disgusting.”
“So do I,” assented Jane. “But
don’t worry, Maud. If there is one line
of action I like better than another it is that of
laying ghosts. Whizz, whack, bang! I’ll
make the bones rattle if they come my way.”
Jane was punching a bag in the gym when Maud unfolded
the story of the ghost scare. It was not really
news, for Wellington had been buzzing the spirit’s
ears for days and not until some of the younger students
appealed to the older girls did Jane and other juniors
give heed to the fear epidemic.
“I’m glad you’re still a junior,
Jane,” commented Maud, taking breath after vaulting
a horse or two. “We should never dare to
bring such trivial troubles to you were you a senior.”
