“But how could she get up there, Dozia, when
we know positively she was not on the campus the night
of the big alarm?”
“And little Sarah is innocent, I am sure,”
went on Dozia, “for she handled that trash with
an interest too keen for previous acquaintance with
the stuff. Each piece gave her a little spasm
of surprise. I watched just how it affected her.”
“Queer, I noticed that also,” said Jane.
“Yes, I’m sure she never saw the armor
before. But Shirley is never around in any excitement.
I am afraid she spends a lot of time in Dol Vin’s.”
“But how could she ever get two hundred dollars
for brother Ted?”
“I—wonder, Dozia, could she be in
partnership with Dol?”
“She might, but wouldn’t that mean an
outlay?”
“Of course. There’ll be little profit
there—and two hundred!” The amount
was appalling to Jane’s practical mind.
Voices broke in on the soliloquy.
“Here come the girls from their ride, and what
a shame you didn’t go, Jane. Laying a ghost
is all right, but if I rode a horse as you do, I’d
assign the ghosts to others. ’Lo, girls!
Break your necks or anything?” chirped Dozia.
Judith hurried to gain Jane’s arm and squeezed
it affectionately as she fell in step.
“Such a glorious ride, Jane!” enthused
Judith, “and we all missed you so much.
Firefly was good, but he knew you were not on his
back.” Judith looked “nobby”
in her riding togs.
“And whom do you think we saw out with a stable
horse and instructor?” asked Janet Clarke.
“The Rebel Shirley Duncan! And you know,
Jane, what a price Clayton asks for his horses.”
Jane was amazed. A riding instructor, horse and
hired outfit for Shirley Duncan!
What was the secret spring of her prodigious income?
FATEFUL FROLIC
Excitement subsided with a thud at the discovery of
the cast-iron ghost, and for some days a round of
studies and basketball completely absorbed the girls
of Wellington. Whatever the restless freshmen
had in hand was not evident to the other classes, and
only Jane, Judith and Dozia shared the interest, and
possible anxiety, following the clues and suspicions
in the undertow.
“It’s a dreadful thing to be proud,”
confessed Jane to these companions after a rather
too vigorous hour in the gym on Saturday afternoon.
“Somehow, when I think of my own darling daddy’s
scholarship being dragged in the mud this way, I feel—dangerous.”
“Don’t blame you,” acquiesced Judith.
“The very impudence of a girl like Shirley breaking
into college that way, then boasting she doesn’t
care a whang what happens! What do you suppose
will happen at mid-year?”
“A neat little note, ‘unable to keep up
with her class,’ I suppose,” said Jane.
“And while I don’t wish that girl any more
harm than she’s bent on, I am bound to confess
I would sigh in relief at her departure.”
