Jane Allen of the sub-team

Jfc

mi

Jane spent the afternoon visiting her favorite haunts.

(Page 25)

Jane Allen

of the Sub- Team

By
Edith Bancroft

j

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING
COMPANY

Akron, Ohio New York

i Copyright MCMXVII
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Jane Allen of the Sub-Team

Made in the United States of America

Jane Allen

of the Sub - Team

CHAPTER I

BREAKING THE NEWS TO JANE

u A UNT MARY! Aunt Mary!" There was
/-\ a faint touch of impatience in the clear,
**■ -^ high tones. A tall girl in riding clothes
ran down the stairs two at a time, lifting up her
voice in impetuous quest of her aunt as she de-
scended. At the foot of the stairway she paused
for an instant to poke her head between the silken
portieres that hung in the wide doorway at one
side of the square, roomy hall.

"JSTot here," she commented as she entered the
large, comfortable living room. Pausing before
a convenient mirror, she set the smart little black
riding hat she carried in one hand on a head run-
ning over with russet curls, and briefly viewed

JANE ALLEN

the effect. But her mind was not on the correct
set of her hat, for an instant later she was out in
the hall again. This time she tried the dining
room, which lay directly opposite the apartment
she had just quitted.

"Oh, dear! How provoking. Where can she
be, I wonder? She isn't upstairs, I'm sure.
Aunt Ma — ry!" Jane Allen's voice was again
raised in a penetrating call.

"Here, my dear," came a resigned response
from the direction of the broad veranda that ex-
tended half-way round "El Capitan," the ram-
bling ranch house which Jane Allen called home.
"I heard you the first time you called. If you
hadn't been so noisy you would have heard me
answer."

"Now, my dearly beloved aunt, you know I'm
not noisy. I'm the quietest person in Montana,
except when I can't find you," laughed Jane as
she swooped down upon the slender, dark-haired
woman reclining in the willow rocker, and gave
her a resounding kiss. "Besides, you can't blame
me if I'm just a little bit noisy. Do you know
what day this is? Of course you do. It's my
birthday. I'm sixteen years old this glorious
September morning."

"I haven't forgotten it," returned her aunt,

OF THF SUB-TEAM

slipping her arm about the tall, slender girl at
her side and smiling up into the radiant face bent
upon her. "I'll prove that to you at breakfast.
You'd better put off your ride if you are anxious
to know what I have for you."

"Can't do it, Auntie. I'm slowly dying of
curiosity to see what's in all those packages at
my place. I poked my head in the dining room
and saw them, but I promised Dad I'd meet him
at Coyote Rock and ride back to the house with
him. He had to go down that way early this
morning. We made the date last night, and now
I'm off to meet him. I just wanted to tell you,
so you'd know where I was. I'll be back with
him in half an hour. Look ! Pedro is bringing
up Firefly now. Good-bye, I'll see you later."

Jane was off down the drive and across the
lawn to meet the Mexican groom who was ap-
proaching, leading a spirited horse. Its black,
shining coat was unrelieved by a single white
hair.

"Isn't he wonderful, Pedro?" she exclaimed
rapturously, patting the beautiful animal's glist-
ening neck.

"Si, senorita," nodded the man, his dark eyes
lighting with appreciation of the horse. "In all
Montana there is none like him."

JANE ALLEN

"Do you hear that, Firefly? Eut you mustn't
be vain and put on airs. 'Handsome is as hand-
some does,' you know. You must prove our good
opinion of you by taking me to Dad in a hurry."

With an agile spring Jane was in the saddle.
The next instant she was off like the wind, one
loose auburn curl flying out behind her, her
changeful face alight with sheer joy of living.

Her aunt gazed after the flying figure, an ex-
pression of sadness in her fine dark eyes. "Poor
Jane," she murmured. "It's too bad to take her
away from all this. She's as much a part of this
western land as the mountains themselves. I'm
afraid she will take it hard. I'm glad I don't
have to tell her."

Oblivious to what the future might hold in
store for her, Jane was riding along her way at
whirlwind speed, her alert eyes scanning the trail,
every inch of which she knew by heart. Sud-
denly she raised herself in her saddle and emitted
a long, clear call. Far ahead she had spied a
solitary horseman.

"It's Dad, Firefly. Hurry along, good old
boy," she urged joyfully. She began a vigorous
waving of one hand at the figure ahead. The
man on the horse waved his sombrero with a vigor
equal to her own.

OF THE SUB-TEAM

"Good girl!" he called out as she neared him.
"You are here on the dot. Many happy returns
of the day."

With the skill of a cowboy Jane brought Fire-
fly to a standstill beside the big bay horse her
father rode. Leaning over, she pressed her soft
lips to his cheek. "Thank you, Daddy dear.
I'm glad, glad, glad to be alive and sixteen. I'm
really growing aged, yet it seems only about
three days since I was eight and you gave me
Benny, my first pony. I've had eight happy re-
turns of the day since then and each one has been
nicer than the last. I'm going to have a lot more
of them here on the ranch, keeping house for you.
I'm old enough now to take proper care of you,
and you know you need a guardian."

A faint shadow darkened the clean-cut, sun
burned face of Henry Allen. He cast a swift,
half -apprehensive glance at the radiant girl be-
side him. Then, as one who has an extremely
unpleasant duty to perform and decides to get
it over with, he said : "Jane, girl, I've something
to tell you this morning that I'm afraid you are
not going to like to hear."

"Now what have I done?" demanded Jane, her
gray eyes twinkling. "Is it about those friends
of Aunt Mary's that I ran away from the other

JANE ALLEN

day? You know I can't endure those stiff East-
ern people from the Double U Ranch who come
here to see her. They think I'm a tomboy, and
besides, they ask the most f oolish questions. Can't
you tell me some other time, Dad? This is my
birthday, so you see "

"That is just the reason why I must tell you,
Janie," interrupted her father soberly. "Before
your mother died, dear "

"Wait a minute, Dad." The ruddy color had
faded from Jane's cheeks at the mention of the
mother who had died when she was twelve years
old. Now she slid from her horse and, dropping
down upon a convenient boulder just large
enough to comfortably seat two persons, beck-
oned her father to her. "Sit here," she directed
solemnly. "Put your arm around me. I know it
must be serious or you wouldn't speak — of — of
Mother." There was a little catch in her voice.

Her father obeyed. For a moment he stared
across the sunlit space in silence, one arm about
Jane, her hand in his. Their common loss was
one that grew rather than lessened with the pass-
ing years. Father and daughter adored the mem-
ory of the woman who had been all in all to them.

"Go ahead, Dad, I'm listening." Jane braced
herself bravely for what was to come.

OF THE SUB-TEAM

"Before your mother died," repeated Henry
Allen, "we had a long talk about you. She
thought of your welfare until — until the last.
She wished you to build up a strong, healthy
body, little girl, but she was anxious that you
should be properly educated, too. She could
look ahead and see that there would come a time
when the things of the ranch wouldn't completely
fill your life, so she made me promise to look
after your education "

"And you have, dear," interrupted Jane eag-
erly. "I know as much now as Miss Evans does.
Why, she said just the other day that I was well
enough prepared to pass the entrance examina-
tions to any college. No, thank you, though.
Colleges are not for me. I'm going to begin to
take care of you now, and learn how to manage
a ranch, and lots of things. I know what you
are going to say. I can guess. You are, going
to tell me that I needn't have Miss Evans after
to-day, or learn any more lessons. You think it
will make me feel dreadfully to lose her. Of
course, I shall miss her. She's an old dear, but
I can live if I don't have a governess. There!
Did I guess right?" Jane rubbed her soft cheek
against her father's broad shoulder and snuggled
more comfortably into the shelter of his arm.

JANE ALLEN

"I'm afraid you didn't, girl of mine."

Something in her father's tone caused Jane to
sit up with a jerk. She cast a curious glance at
his grave face. "Tell me at once then, Dad,"
she commanded sharply.

"Your mother was educated at Wellington
Seminary, Jane," he began, "and it was her wish
that you should be sent there to finish your edu-
cation when you were sixteen, provided you were
prepared. From what you've just told me, and
from what Miss Evans has reported of your
progress in your studies, you are ready to enter
the school. And you're sixteen to-day, so, girl
of mine, the time has come when you must leave
Dad and the ranch for a little while and carry out
your mother's wishes."

"Oh!" burst in horrified tones from Jane's lips.
"You don't mean it, Dad! You know you don't.
LYou wouldn't send me away to live in a miser-
able seminary! You know I hate the East."
She sprang to her feet in a sudden passion of
anger and dismay. "Why, I couldn't stand it!
I'd die. What could I do without you and Aunt
Mary and Firefly — my beauty, my pet! I won't
go a step — so there!"

From babyhood it had been tacitly acknowl-
edged by those who knew her best that Jane

OF THE SUB-TEAM

Allen had a temper. It was not an ordinary
temper that manifested itself at trifles. But
when it did flash forth it came with all the force
and fury that perfect physical health and
strength could put into it.

"I tell you, I won't go !" she stormed. "I can't
help it if Mother did wish it. If — if — she had
lived she would have understood and not — not —
made you promise to send me away. I've read
about seminaries, and they are horrible, stiff
places where the girls aren't allowed hardly to
breathe. I know I'd die if I were shut up in one
of them. It's cruel in you to spoil my birthday
like this. I thought I was going to have such a
happy day and it's ended in this before it fairly
began. But I won't go and you can't make me !"

With this proclamation of defiance, Jane
whirled about and, running to where Firefly pa-
tiently waited, swung herself into her saddle and
swept down the trail at a breakneck speed, leav-
ing her father to stare after her with troubled
eyes.

CHAPTER II

FIGHTING THINGS OUT

JANE never remembered the details of that
dreadful ride back to El Capitan. For her
the glory of the morning had vanished into
the blackest night. She galloped down the well-
worn trail, consumed with furious, unseeing rage
against the fate that had overtaken her on that
day of all days, to which she had looked forward
with such lively anticipation. At the very mo-
ment when the future promised so brightly, she
was to be taken away from her glorious Western
world and packed off to school. A seminary, too !
Jane shuddered at the thought.

Firefly's sturdy feet pounding the drive
brought her to a realization that she had reached
home. She did not even recollect passing through
the gateway into the drive. As she reined up at
the stable, Pedro ran out. His dark face showed

10

OF THE SUB-TEAM 11

no surprise at Jane's sudden return. He was
quite used to her moods.

"Take him, Pedro." Jane flung herself from
Firefly and hurried toward the ranch house. Her
one idea was to gain the shelter of her room,
where she could fight things out undisturbed.
Since her childhood days her room had always
been her haven of refuge ; her last stand in times
of stress.

"Jane, dear, breakfast is waiting," called her
aunt from the dining room as she caught sight
of the fleeing figure.

"Don't want any," came the muffled response.
Then followed a rush of feet on the stairs and the
resounding slam of a door.

Miss Mary Allen's placid face wore an "I ex-
pected-as-much" expression. She sighed, then
rising from her place at the foot of the break-
fast table, walked to the window. She guessed
what had taken place. "Henry won't be long
behind her," she murmured.

Her prediction was soon verified. From her
post at the window she saw her brother ride up
the drive and in the direction of the stable at a
rate of speed second only to Jane's whirlwind
method. Resuming her seat at the table, she
waited to hear what she had already surmised.

^

U

12 JANE ALLEN

^— "^ ^ ^^— — — — — ^ — — — — — ■ i— . ^»

"Where is she?" was Henry Allen's quick
question, as he entered the dining room. "Poor
Janie! I'm afraid I've spoiled her day."

"I'm afraid we have spoiled her" retorted his
sister, with a deprecating shake of her head. "She
is in her room. I heard her bang the door. You
know what that means."

Jane's father smiled whimsically. "Poor
Janie," he repeated. "It is pretty hard on her.
Don't you think so, Mary?"

"Yes," nodded his sister, "but still, we must
remember that it is for her good and that — Doro-
thy wished it. The fact of the matter is, Henry,
that Jane has been outrageously spoiled. She
rules both you and me with a high hand. Send-
ing her East will be the best thing that can pos-
sibly happen to her. She knows nothing of girls
of her own age, or how delightful their compan-
ionship can be. I suppose she went all to pieces
when you told her."

"Yes, even the fact that it was her mother's
idea didn't seem to count," returned Mr. Allen
soberly. "Perhaps, after all, Mary, it would be
best to "

"Let Jane have her own way and grow up a
hoyden," interrupted his sister. "I expected you
would weaken. You forget Dorothy "

OF THE SUB-TEAM 13

"Don't say that, Mary !" An expression of in-
finite sadness sprang into Henry Allen's dark
eyes. "I can never forget."

"Forgive me, Henry. I was only reminding
you of your promise. Dorothy understood Jane
far better than you or I. She planned wisely
for her future."

"I know it," sighed Mr. Allen. "Still, I feel
like a brute. She said I was cruel and that she'd
die if she were shut up in a seminary."

"But Wellington is not a seminary, nor has it
been for a number of years," argued Miss Allen.
"It's an up-to-date college now and one of the
finest institutions of learning in the East. Does
Jane know that?"

"She knows nothing whatever about it. She
didn't give me time for explanations. Shall I
storm the citadel and bring her down to break-
fast? She hasn't looked at her presents."

"No; leave her alone to fight it out," was Miss
Allen's wise counsel. "Once she realizes that she
is defying her mother's last wish she will give in."
Miss Allen busied herself with the coffee urn,
while her brother took up a letter from the pile of
mail at one side of his plate and opened it.

Locked in her room, face downward on her
bed, Jane Allen was sobbing out her resentment

14 JANE ALLEN

and grief. It was all too monstrous to be borne.
She could never endure it. Once she was impris-
oned in that hateful seminary she would die. She
didn't wish to live, at any rate. Her father and
Aunt Mary would be sorry. She pictured her-
self slowly dying of grief and homesick longing.
Some day, soon after they had sent her away, a
telegram would come to El Capitan. Her father
would open it and read, "Come at once. Your
daughter died last night." Then, when it was
too late, they would understand. Jane wept
afresh in sheer sorrow for her own untimely end.

For an hour she lay, mourning and inconsol-
able. At last she raised herself to a sitting pos-
ture and glanced dully about her. Her tear-
dimmed eyes rested on the face of her mother,
looking down from her place on the wall opposite
to the foot of Jane's bed. The pictured eyes
seemed to shed infinite tenderness upon the
lonely mourner. Her mother's portrait was
Jane's shrine. It was the first object on which
she looked when awakening in the morning. It
was the last she saw ere her eyes closed in sleep.

As her troubled gaze sought the consolation of
that earnest, sensitive face, with its tender, brood-
ing smile, Jane was shaken by a sudden revulsion
of feeling. What if those lips were to open in

OF THE SUB-TEAM 15

gentle reproach at her defiance ? It was a simple
matter to defy her father and Aunt Mary, but
to rebel against the edict of the dead, adored and
unf orgotten ! Jane's sorrow burst forth anew.

"Forgive me, Dearest," she sobbed. "I was so
angry I forgot you, but I'll try to do my best for
your sake. I will try, Mother, I truly will."

For a little she sat brooding over what lay in
store for her. Then, her tears dried, she dragged
herself spiritlessly into her pretty white bathroom
and bathed her face. As one in a dream she re-
moved her riding habit and changed to a pretty
white morning frock. "I'm a horrid, hateful girl
to spoil Dad's and Aunt Mary's pleasure in my
birthday," she reflected as she dusted her face
with rice powder to remove all signs of her re-
cent upheaval of composure. "I suppose break-
fast is over long ago and Dad has gone. It
serves me right."

"Here's my girl," called a cheery voice, as she
soberly descended the stairs. Her father stood
at the door of the living room, his eyes alight with
affection.

Jane flung herself into his arms. "Forgive me*
Dad ! I was afraid you had gone. I'm too sorry
for words, but I couldn't help — it." Her voice
quavered.

i6 JANE ALLEN

"There, there ! I know all about it. But you
mustn't take it so hard. We hate to give up our
little girl as much as she hates to give us up.
Cheer up- The days will pass sooner than you
think. You can come home at Christmas and
Easter, too, if your vacations are long enough.
I guess we can manage somehow to stretch them,
if they aren't. I'll see to that. And when next
June comes round you'll be back for all summer.
You've got to live and learn, girl of mine, and
you can't learn unless you go to school."

"I know it, Dad," answered Jane contritely.
"I've fought it out and now I'm ready for what-
ever has to be. I'll try to be brave and a credit
to you — and — Mother. She looked down on me
to-day just as though she knew."

Her father's arms closed more tightly about
her. There was a long, sweet moment in which
the dead communed with the living.

Miss Allen had kept discreetly to the living
room during the little scene between father and
daughter. Now she appeared with a brisk,
"Jane, if you don't come and see your presents
your father and I will be so angry we'll go
straight upstairs and lock ourselves in our rooms
for the rest of the day."
Jane's sad face broke into a smile at this pointed

OF THE SUB-TEAM 17

assertion. "I beg your pardon, too, Auntie, for
being so ungrateful. But I'm not really so un-
grateful as I may seem. I'm dying to see my
presents. Allow me to escort you to the dining
room while I gloat over them and count them
and thank you both."

With a return of the playful sauciness that
usually brought her exactly what she desired,
Jane offered both arms to her dear ones and they
paraded into the dining room three abreast. A
joyous session ensued as Jane unwrapped and
exclaimed over her gifts, while the two who loved
her best looked on happily. There was a bracelet
watch from her aunt, an emerald ring from her
father and a number of other gifts best likely to
please a girl.

"My special present to you is up in my room,
Janie," said Mr. Allen when the last package
had been brought to light and duly admired.

"Take me there this minute," commanded
Jane. "Come on, I'll take you instead." She
had seized her father's hand and pulled him to
the dining room door almost before she had fin-
ished speaking.

"Oh, Dad, you old treasure!" burst from her
lips three minutes later. "A real Mexican saddle
and silver-mounted!" Then her pretty face fell.

■i8 JANE ALLEN

In the midst of her joy she had suddenly remem-
bered that she could not use it. She was going
away from her beloved Western trails to a place
where girls were eminently proper and knew
nothing of the joy of racing over hill and dale
on the back of a horse like Firefly. Yet she had
promised to be brave. She would not spoil her
father's pleasure in his gift to her by ungrateful
repining.

"It's wonderful, Dad," she said brightly.
"I'm going to take it down and show it to Firefly
this instant. I'll tell him he must be good until
Christmas; then this beautiful saddle will be for
him and me when I come home."

"I'm afraid Firefly won't be here then," re-
turned her father, looking solemn, but a twinkle
in his eyes belied his gravity.

"Not be here! What do you mean?" The
light died out of Jane's eyes. "Dad, you don't
mean — you can't mean "

"Firefly is as sadly in need of an education as
some others I know," interrupted her father, "so
I have decided to send him to a place called Wel-
lington College."

Jane gave a little scream of rapture. "Firefly
is to go with me! Oh, Daddy, dearest! I might
have known you would plan something splendid.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 19

I'm too happy for words ! Firefly, my own beau-
tiful pet! I've simply got to hurry and tell him
the news. But first I'm going to hug you and
Aunt Mary for all I'm worth and promise you
that I'll succeed at college for your sakes, or my
name isn't Jane Allen!"

CHAPTER III

THE TOKEN

ONCE Jane had become resigned to the
inevitable she allowed herself no mo-
ments of repining. Despite Miss Mary
Allen's assertion that she had been thoroughly
spoiled, the girl possessed a firmness of purpose
and a desire to reach up for all that was highest
in life which was to carry her far in later years.
To be sure, occasional moments of sadness were
hers as she rode her favorite trails and lived those
last precious days at El Capitan. She was a
true child of Nature with aspirations and ideals
as lofty as the mountains under whose shadow
she had passed from infancy to childhood and
from childhood to young womanhood, and, al-
though in her heart she believed that nothing
which the East might hold could compare with
the wonder of the great Western outdoors, she

20

OF THE SUB-TEAM 21

was slowly but earnestly forcing herself to look
forward almost cheerfully to her new life.

Miss Mary Allen, however, was quite in her
element in preparing for her pretty niece's flight
eastward. She was a gentle little soul to whom
the sturdy life of the West appealed but little.
Now she spent her days in poring over the cata-
logues of the great New York stores and ordering
the thousand and one articles she deemed neces-
sary to complete Jane's wardrobe. In this fasci-
nating occupation she was ably seconded by Miss
Evans, who had elected to remain to see Jane
off on her journey before going on to fulfill her
destiny as governess to a little girl in Helena.
Two dressmakers had also been added to the
Allen menage and the four women worked nobly
in the cause of the girl who was soon to depart
for pastures new.

Jane resigned herself to long, tedious fittings
and the trying-on of countless garments with a
patience remarkable in one possessing so restless
a spirit as was hers. With the exception of rid-
ing clothes, she had little love for feminine "frip-
peries," as she was wont to term them. Her off-
hand acceptance of the dainty frocks which would
have kept the average girl awake at night think-
ing of them was a matter to be deplored by her

22 JANE ALLEN

aunt. "Wait until you are among other girls,
and you will appreciate your pretty things," was
Miss Mary's frequent cry when Jane exhibited
less concern than usual over her wardrobe.

But at last the final trying-on was over. Two
huge trunks held the fruit of the combined labor
of the quartette of women. There remained little
to be done and less to be desired, so far as Jane's
needs were concerned. The dressmakers departed
with much talk and good feeling. Miss Mary and
Jane saw Miss Evans off to her new field of
work, remaining on the station platform to catch
the last flutter of the tear-stained handkerchief
she waved from the car window.

It was then that the weight of parting settled
down upon Jane like a pall. One more day and
she, too, would be compelled to say farewell to
all she cherished. Firefly had already started
East, surrounded by every comfort possible to a
horse. Pedro went with him to establish him in
his new surroundings and look after his general
welfare. Jane had insisted on this, and expense
being of little object when compared with his
daughter's wishes, Mr. Allen had consented to
the arrangement.

Aunt Mary had loyally announced her inten-
tion of accompanying Jane to Wellington Col-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 23

lege, regardless of the horrors of car-sickness
which railway travel inevitably brought her.
Jane, however, would not hear of it. "You
sha'n't make a martyr of yourself for me,
Auntie," she declared. "I'm perfectly capable
of taking care of myself. You know how sick
riding on the cars always makes you. Dad thinks
I need a guardian. He'd go in a minute if he
weren't so busy here. Well, I'll excuse both of
you. Sickness and business are good excuses.
Don't worry over me. Nothing short of a rail-
way accident could happen to me, and neither of
you could prevent one if you went along." In
the end Jane came out a winner, and after much
earnest consultation it was decided that she
should make the trip East alone.

The last day on the ranch was a memorable
one to the young girl so soon to try her wings
in what would be to her an unexplored land.
She was up at dawn, determined to make every
second of that precious day count. After a hasty
breakfast she hurried to the stable and, mounted
on Donabar, her father's great bay horse, rode
slowly down the drive, her eyes drinking in every
familiar stick and stone of El Capitan as though
to impress its changeless beauty upon her mind
in view of the coming separation. She wondered

24 JANE ALLEN

sadly what this strange, self-contained East, of
which she had read with contemptuous disfavor,
could possibly offer her in lieu of the grandeur
she was about to give up. What were Eastern
girls like? She had met a few of them, tourists
for the most part, with whom she had come in
contact at the mountain resorts and in Helena.
She had not been favorably impressed with them
and they had not liked her. At home, the incar-
nation of joy and light-hearted youth, she had
always retreated into her shell when approached
by these ultra-modern girl-women whose lives
had been spent in Eastern cities.

There was one thing for which to be thankful:
she was to room alone. Already arrangements
had been made for her at Madison Hall. There
she was to make her home, provided she could
pass her entrance examinations to Wellington.
Perhaps she would not pass them, then — Jane
straightened herself in the saddle with a resolute
shake of her head. She would permit herself no
such doubt. She had sworn to her father that
she would do her best and she intended to keep
her word.

The morning winged by all too soon. Noon
found her miles from El Capitan. Jane took her
luncheon from a leather knapsack which hung

OF THE SUB-TEAM 25

^— — — — — ^ — ■ — —— ■— — ^ ^^— ^^^"^^^^^^

from her shoulder and ate her last meal in the
wild, her gray eyes fixed on the far horizon line,
where her world seemed to end. Long she ling-
ered in that sequestered spot, trying vainly to im-
agine what her new life would be like. Her ideas
on this subject were decidedly vague and she
could not see herself in the uncompromisingly
dull picture her imagination drew. Aunt Mary
had said that Wellington had long since ceased
to be a seminary. It was now a college of the
most modern order. That, at least, was a saving
grace.

Jane spent the rest of the afternoon in visiting
her favorite haunts. What a flood of memories
they recalled! Away over yonder in the foot-
hills she had been lost for a whole day. It was
when she had first owned Benny, her gray pony,
long passed away with the things of her child-
hood. She stopped for a little at Sentinel Can-
yon, where she and her father had so often gone
picknicking. Then she rode on to where Silver
Tongue Brook babbled noisily down its moun-
tain course. To the left of where she reined in,
where the water was deep, she had once fallen in
and been fished out by Pedro in a half -drowned
condition.

As she rode thoughtfully toward home, she

26 JANE ALLEN

wished that out of the vast silence there might
come some significant token of her long com-
radeship with Nature which she might treasure
and dream of until she returned once more to
her own.

The sudden shying of Donabar brought her
out of her day-dream in a hurry. A sinister whir-
ring sound filled the air. It meant but one
thing. Directly in the path of horse and rider
lay a huge, unsightly coil. Rising from its midst
was poised a wicked, triangular head, ready to
strike.

"Be quiet, Donny!" Jane leaped from her
horse and looked about her for a stout stick. Two
or three minutes elapsed before she found one.
Then, with the fearlessness of those accustomed
to the wild, she advanced upon the intruder of
her dream and attacked it.

The battle was short. This was not the first
rattlesnake which Jane had encountered and fin-
ished. Rattlers were common occurrences on El
Capitan. Despite the wicked threshing of its
tail, she stretched his snakeship to his full length.
"It must be five feet, at least. Ugh !" She gave
an involuntary shudder of disgust. "So this is
my token. This is the sign," she murmured.
"Snakes mean enemies. To kill one is to conquer

OF THE SUB-TEAM 27

the enemy, so the saying goes. I hope this is not
a prophesy of my future. I hoped I had deserved
something better than this. But I killed it, at
any rate, and if the new life brings me snakes in
the shape of enemies — well — I'll conquer them,
too."

Mrnp

CHAPTER IV

GOING EAST TO CAPTIVITY

HERE'S your train, Janie! I hear it
whistling."

■**- Three faces were turned simultane-

ously toward the distant bend in the railroad
track which as yet hid from their sight the train
that was to bear Jane Allen eastward on the
longest journey she had ever taken. It still
lacked several minutes to eight o'clock on this
hazy September morning and the platform of the
little station was practically deserted, save for the
three who awaited the oncoming train with the
dread of farewell in their hearts. Mr. Allen's
sudden exclamation had broken a heavy silence
which had fallen upon them after they had left
the automobile which had brought them to the
station. Of the three, Jane was bearing up best

under the strain of the inevitable good-bye so

28

OF THE SUB-TEAM 29

soon to be said. Mr. Allen looked unusually-
solemn, his stern, clean-cut features set in somber
lines. Every now and then Miss Mary Allen
wiped a furtive tear from her soft brown eyes and
inwardly berated herself for thus giving way to
her emotion. Jane, however, was keeping a tight
rein on her felings. She had vowed within her-
self to shed no tears on this, her going-away
morning, and she intended to keep her vow.

"Dont cry, Aunt Mary," she comforted, as the
train hove in sight and thundered down the shin-
ing rails toward them. "It is only until Christ-
mas, you know. I'll remember every word
you've said about taking good care of myself. I
won't hang over the observation platform until I
fall off the train, or speak to strangers, or do
anything else that is likely to bring disaster upon
my devoted head. I'll ask oodles of questions
so as to be sure to get on the right train when I
have to make changes, and conduct myself in a
highly commendable manner. There! Doesn't
that make you feel better? Smile your very
nicest smile and say, 'Jane, I am positive that
you could travel to Asia Minor and back without
even losing your timetable.' "

Miss Allen managed to smile faintly at her
niece's heroic effort to cheer her up. "Of course,

30 JANE ALLEN

I believe you are to be trusted, my dear," she
quavered, "but — but "

"No 'buts' about it," retorted Jane sturdily.
"I've taken lots of far more dangerous and excit-
ing rides on Firefly. This going-East pilgrimage
is easy. All I have to do is to mind the rules of
the railroad, provided I know them, sit in a Pull-
man car, sleep in a Pullman berth, not the upper
one, if you please, and all will be lovely."

"I'm sure I hope it will," began Miss Mary,
but the clanging of bells and the grinding of
ponderous iron wheels checked further remark
on her part.

Mr. Allen gathered up Jane's luggage, which
consisted of a small leather bag and a suitcase,
and with, "Come on, girls," led the way up the
car steps and into the train.

"I wish your father had reserved a stateroom
for you at Helena," deplored Aunt Mary as she
followed at her niece's heels.

"Nonsense, Auntie dear. I don't want one,"
retorted Jane over her shoulder. "Half the
pleasure of traveling into strange lands would be
spoiled. "I must be where I can see a lot of
other people, or I'll be so homesick I'll get off at
the first station and come trotting back to you
and dear old Capitan."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 31

"Remember," cautioned her aunt, "you've
promised not to speak to strangers."

They were now inside the car and Mr. Allen
was arranging Jane's effects.

"Hang on to your checks and your ticket, girl
of mine," he reminded. "Now give us a last kiss,
for the train is going to start in a minute and we
can't linger."

Jane threw her arms about her aunt and kissed
her twice. Her last caress was reserved for her
father. For an instant she clung to him. "For
your sake and Mother's, Dad," she whispered.
"Good-bye, God bless and keep you until I see
you again." A mist of tears blurred her vision,
obscuring the retreating forms of those she loved.
Dashing her hand across her eyes, she turned her
face to the open window. A brief instant later
Mr. Allen and Aunt Mary stood on the platform,
directly under it. There was a warning jar of
the train. Then it began to move. "Good-bye !"
Jane called, striving to make her voice steady.
"Good-bye until Christmas!" She strained her
eyes as the train gathered momentum to catch the
last glimpse of the two she was leaving. Her
handkerchief fluttered a white signal of fare-
well, then unmindful of possible curious eyes that
might be turned upon her, she allowed the grief

32 JANE ALLEN

she had so bravely suppressed to shake her.

It was a brief storm of silent weeping that
ended almost as soon as it began. Jane wiped
her eyes, with a smothered exclamation of impa-
tience for her moment of weakness, and sat up
very straight in her seat. She was somewhat
relieved to note that her fellow travelers had ap-
parently paid no attention to her tears. There
were not more than a dozen persons in her car
and they seemed fully occupied with their own
affairs.

Reaching for her bag, Jane opened it and took
out the first book of a series of stories which she
had been saving for the occasion. The series per-
tained to Eastern college life and she opened the
initial volume and absently studied the title page.
But she had not yet reached the point of settling
herself to read. Her thoughts were centered on
all she had left behind. She could see the spacious
veranda of El Capitan and her own favorite
chair, where she loved to idle an hour away,
watching the changeful skies as the morning sun
climbed upward and touched with warm fingers
the home she had lost. She could see her father
riding Donabar down the drive and almost hear
her aunt calling, "Come to breakfast, Jane."

"Oh, what's the use in thinking," she muttered,

OF THE SUB-TEAM 33

as her eyes threatened again to overflow. She
fixed a resolute gaze on the fleeing landscape, but
that was also conducive of retrospection. She
had made the journey to Helena so many times
she knew by heart the country through which she
was passing.

With a forlorn sigh she sought once more to
interest herself in her book. "Beatrice Horton's
First Year at Exley," she read, then she turned
to the first page of the narrative and began to
read. It was not long before her recent gloom
was swallowed up in the interest of the story. It
was a captivating tale, cleverly told and war-
ranted to hold the attention of one about to enter
a similar field. Unlike herself, Beatrice, the
heroine, was a poor girl who by reason of her
poverty was made to endure many slights and
insults at the hands of her fellow students who
came from more fortunate walks in life. Jane
found herself thrilling with anger at the unfair
treatment of the much-abused Beatrice. Then
and there she made a resolve that if she chanced
to find a girl at Wellington in the position of the
unfortunate freshman she would at once consti-
tute herself champion to the ill-treated one.

She wondered if such snobbery as was dis-
played by Katherine Stanton, a particularly dis-

34 JANE ALLEN

agreeable character in the story, really existed
among college girls. Long afterward, when she
had come to know the truth of many things which
were as yet veiled, she remembered that morning
on the train spent with the story girl, Beatrice
Horton.

It was almost dark when the train pulled into
Helena. Jane had eaten a lonely luncheon and
hurried from the dining car to continue the read-
ing of the adventures of Beatrice. Her train
east was due within a few moments after her
arrival at Helena, and she had no difficulty in
changing.

Nine o'clock that evening found her in the
berth which had been reserved for her by tele-
graph, but sleep refused to visit her and she
spent the greater part of the night staring out of
the window at the strange shapes and apparitions
into which darkness changes the most common-
place landscape.

Jane's ride to St. Louis was one of unrelieved
monotony. True to her promise to her aunt, she
eyed askance the companions of her journey, ex-
hibiting the reserve of a seasoned traveler. This
had been no hardship. She had seen not a single
face that interested her. There were fussy old
men whom it bored her to look at. There were

OF THE SUB-TEAM 35

still fussier women, young and old, who estab-
lished themselves in the dressing room and chat-
tered common-places until she hated the very
sight of them.

It was with distinct relief that she at last
boarded the train at St. Louis which was to leave
her at her final destination. It had been a tire-
some journey and she was glad that so much of
it had been accomplished. She had long since
finished "Beatrice Horton's Fourth Year at Ex-
ley," and had experienced the satisfaction of
leaving Beatrice a popular and triumphant grad-
uate. Now, as smoke-blackened St. Louis faded
from view and gradually gave place to the more
open country, she found herself wishing that
there was someone besides the obsequious porter
to whom she might speak. For the first time she
began to take a speculative interest in those about
her. Her attention finally became fixed upon a
girl of about her own age who was traveling with
her mother. Jane guessed that the stout blonde
woman, whose red face expressed a marked dis-
satisfaction with the world in general, was the
mother of the young woman she had noticed.
There was a decided resemblance between them,
although the younger of the two was tall and not
so distinctly blonde in type. Both faces wore

$6 JANE ALLEN

the same supercilious look, and Jane discovered
that she disliked the girl even more than she dis-
liked her mother,,

At dinner that night she saw them at uncom-
fortably close range, for they were seated at the
next table to hers, and as both spoke rather
loudly she could hear much of their conversation.
From it she gathered, as she had surmised, that
they were mother and daughter and that the lat-
ter was, like herself, going East to college.
Marian, she heard the elder woman so address
the younger, was a self-opinionated young per-
son who continually contradicted her mother, a
lapse of breeding which the latter bore with a
meekness that belied her arrogant look. "What
a disagreeable girl," thought Jane. "I'm glad I
don't know her."

Jane had leisurely begun her dessert when the
two women swept from the dining car with the
air of having conquered the universe. As the
girl, Marian, passed her, something white flut-
tered to the floor directly at Jane's feet. She
stooped mechanically and picked up the object.
It was a hand-embroidered handkerchief of very
fine linen. "I'll give it to the porter and tell him
to hand it to her," she decided, but when she
returned to her seat in the Pullman the porter

OF THE SUB-TEAM 37

was nowhere to be seen. For a little time she
held it in her hand, then with her natural impa-
tience of delay she walked boldly down the aisle
and tendered it to its owner with a curt, "I believe
this belongs to you. You dropped it in the dining
car."

A battery of four critical eyes was leveled at
Jane. With the unerring faculty which the eter-
nal feminine possesses for appraising the mem-
bers of her own sex, Jane's expensive traveling
suit of brown chiffon broadcloth, her smart brown
hat and faultlessly matched shoes and gloves
were noted and approved. Then the older woman
beamed blandly. The younger took the hand-
kerchief from Jane's outstretched hand, bowed
graciously and said: "Oh, thank you so much.
Yes, it is my handkerchief. I did not know that
I had dropped it. Awfully kind in you, I'm
sure. It is so hard to keep track of one's belong-
ings when traveling."

Jane acknowledged the other's thanks with a
courteous bow and turned away. She had no
desire for further conversation with the young
woman. The deceitfully sweet recognition of the
service made no impression on her. If the reci-
pient had snatched the handkerchief from her
hand it would have been quite in keeping with

38 JANE ALLEN

the rudeness to her mother which Jane had seen
her exhibit in the dining car.

She was, therefore, not particularly pleased
when the following morning she encountered the
object of her dislike in the dressing room and
the latter greeted her effusively. She returned
the salutation with polite indifference, but did
not encourage further conversation. Later in the
day she was distinctly annoyed when someone
dropped into the chair beside her and she found
herself staring into the cold blue eyes of the girl
she had privately decided she detested.

"I hope you won't think I'm intruding," apolo-
gized the girl sweetly, "but I'm awfully tired of
no one but Mamma for company. We never
talk five minutes together without contradicting
each other, and you looked so interesting yester-
day when you spoke to us that I made up my
mind, then and there, that I'd like to know you
better. One can always pick out really nice per-
sons by their clothes and manners. Don't you
think so?"

Jane smiled faintly. The innate snobbery of
the stranger's last speech was plainly apparent.

"I really couldn't say," she returned evenly.
Then she added, a trifle wickedly, "I suppose one
is frequently estimated by them, however."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 39

"Of course one is," agreed the girl, taking
Jane's remark with evident seriousness. "I can't
endure shabby, frumpy people. All my friends at
home belong to the best families in the city. My
name is Marian Seaton and I live in St. Louis.
I am going East to Wellington, a very fine col-
lege, to continue my education. I attended Carl-
ton Hall, a select prep, school, last year, so I
don't have to try any entrance examinations to
Wellington. I'm going to live at the most exclu-
sive house on the campus. The name of it is
Madison Hall."

CHAPTER V

AT THE JOURNEY S END

JANE listened to this astonishing revelation
in dismayed silence. Of all curious coinci-
dences this was surely the strangest. It was
on her tongue to exclaim, "Why, I am going
there, too!" but she held her peace. With sud-
den perversity she resolved to divulge nothing
pertaining to herself or her plans. She merely
inquired politely: "Have you friends at Wel-
lington?"

"Oh, yes. I know several girls there. Most
of them are upper class students. I have a chum,
too, from Buffalo, who is to be my roommate.
Her father is a millionaire and she owns a limou-
sine and a riding horse. We expect to have glori-
ous times. I can have a horse if I want one, but
I hate horseback riding. Do you ride?"

Jane nodded absently. At the words "riding

40

OF THE SUB-TEAM 41

« - _, - » ■

horse" her mind reverted to Firefly. She won-
dered if he had made the long journey safely.

"Have you a horse?" came the eager question.

"Yes." Jane's straight brows drew together
in a frown at having admitted even that much.

"And have you a car?"

"No, I hate automobiles. I only use them for
convenience."

"How funny!" The girl eyed Jane specu-
latively. She was not progressing so fast in ac-
quaintance as she had expected. Her revelations
as to her social standing and destination had
evoked neither surprise nor approval. This taci-
turn stranger who owned her own riding horse
seemed worth cultivating, however.

"Have you ever been to college?" she per-
sisted.

"No."

"Nor to a prep, school?"

"No."

"I suppose you are going to visit friends in
the East?"

"No; I know no one there."

"Where is your home?"

Jane's frown deepened as she briefly named the
town nearest to El Capitan.

"Oh-h! Why, you live in the country, don't

42 JANE ALLEN

you? It must be awfully wild and uncivilized
away up there."

"It is the most beautiful place in the world."
Jane forgot her late resolution, irritated into sud-
den defense of her home, by the patronizing
comment.

There came a moment of silence in which the
questioner endeavored to reconcile her smartly
clad companion to her grudging admissions.

"Do you imagine you will like the East?" The
curious one rallied to her task.

"No, I shall hate it," declared Jane with a
ferocious energy that caused the girl to stare,
then say hastily:

"I think I had better go back to Mamma."

Jane sighed grim relief at the retreating form.
"She didn't find ©ut much," was her inward com-
ment. "I hope she stays away from me in fu-
ture."

In the meantime the ©ther girl was relating
to her languidly interested parent the result of
her gleaning, and remarking that she was sure
Jane must be "awfully exclusive." She also
added that she intended to find out more about
her before the end of the journey.

But in this laudable effort she found herself
balked at every turn. Jane was uniformly ccmr-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 43

teous, but most uncommunicative. She experi-
enced considerable satisfaction in foiling these
persistent attempts to learn her business and des-
tination. She had no inclination to cultivate
Marian Seaton, her chum from Buffalo, or her
upper class friends. Her abhorrence of a snob
was ingrained. Over and over again her father
had said: "It's not fine clothes or riches that
count, Janie. It's the heart. The poorest per-
son may be the richest, after all." Marian Sea-
ton's views of life spelled snobbery with a capital
S, and Jane determined to steer clear of her.

The long journey drew toward its end. Jane
awoke at dawn on the last morning of her travel,
and sitting up in her berth eagerly scanned her
timetable. She would have time for breakfast
before reaching her destination. She hurried into
her lounging robe and bedroom slippers and made
an early dash for the dressing room. She was
glad to find it deserted. Early rising was evi-
dently not in order with her fellow travelers. It
was luxury indeed to have an opportunity to
make her toilet alone and undisturbed. She an-
swered the first call to breakfast, had finished
eating and was in her chair before Marian Seaton
and her mother had reached the stage of break-
fast

44 JANE ALLEN

Jane had planned to leave the train first at
Chesterford, the little city near where Welling-
ton was situated. She had faithfully perused her
college bulletin and knew that Wellington Col-
lege was situated three miles from the city. She
would hail the nearest taxicab, she hated busses,
and be driven at once to Madison Hall. Then
she need not encounter Marian Seaton's aston-
ished gaze until she was established in her new
surroundings. She had no doubt the latter
would be surprised. Jane smiled grimly at the
thought. The snobbish freshman would have
ample time to recover from her amazement.

"Chesterford! Chesterford!" came at last the
stentorian call of the brakeman.

Jane Allen gathered up her luggage and made
a hurried exit from the car. A fleeting back-
ward glance revealed the Seatons deep in the act
of collecting their effects. Disdaining the arm of
the porter, she swung down the steps. Then she
paused in sheer astonishment. The station plat-
form was peopled with girls. They stood in
eager, chatting groups or walked up and down in
twos and threes. Still more astounding were the
numbers of young women that were detraining
from the day coaches far up the platform. She
Jiad no idea that so many students of Wellington

OF THE SUB-TEAM 45

had come to college on her train. There were
tall girls and short girls, pretty girls and plain.
The majority of those who had awaited the ar-
rival of the train were dressed in white. Several
young women glanced at her curiously as she
hurried across the station platform. Just be-
yond it she had spied two or three busses and a
solitary taxicab. Jane made directly for it. She
was glad no one had addressed her. In the Bea-
trice Horton stories there had been committees of
upper class girls who had purposely met the
trains for the purpose of welcoming the newcom-
ers. This evidently was not the case in real life.
Jane smiled to herself a trifle satirically. She
had not expected recognition, and yet deep in
her heart she knew that she would have been glad
if some friendly voice had said, "Welcome to
Wellington."

With a contemptuous shrug for her own weak-
ness she hailed the driver.

"Yes, miss. Wellington, did you say? I'll
take you there directly."

Jane handed him her luggage and climbed into
the taxicab. "I hope he'll start at once," she
frowned.

But the man lingered. He did aot propose to
stop at a single fare.

46 JANE ALLEN

There followed what appeared to her an eter-
nity of waiting. Jane watched the busy scene on
the platform with absent eyes. Why didn't that
driver start?

"This way, ladies," she heard him bawl. Then
she gave a subdued exclamation of consterna-
tion. A trio of girls, walking three abreast, were
heading directly for her. One of them was stout
and dark, with bold black eyes. One of them
was small and slender, with thin, nervous hands
which she kept in continual motion. The girl
walking in the middle was tall and blonde, with
cold blue eyes and a supercilious air. Just ahead
of them stalked a stout and ail-too familiar fig-
ure. Jane's carefully laid plans had come to
naught. The Seatons had overtaken her and
their moment of surprise was at hand.

CHAPTER VI

A SERIOUS MISTAKE

JANE'S first impulse was to step from the
taxicab and scurry out of sight. The ad-
vancing quartette were too deeply absorbed
in their own affairs to have yet noticed her. Then
she remembered that the chauffeur was in posses-
sion of her luggage. She settled back in her seat
with a feeling of despair. She was in no mood
to explain to Marian Seaton and her mother her
reason for having kept her destination to herself.
It was no affair of theirs, and she did not pro-
pose to answer the avalanche of questions which
Marian was likely to hurl at her.

"Step in, Mamma," commanded Marian's
high-pitched voice. Suddenly her self-satisfied
expression changed to one of undisguised amaze-
ment. "Why What — where are you go-

ing?'

47

JANE ALLEN

"To Madison Hall," Jane replied calmly.
There was now no further use in concealment.
It was hardly worth while to evade answering
Marian's question.

Jane's announcement served merely to in-
crease Marian Seaton's bewilderment. "Madi-
son Hall!" she gasped. "Then you are to be a
student at Wellington College ! Why didn't you
tell me ?" A note of resentment replaced the sur-
prise in her voice.

"It was not a matter of very great interest,"
said Jane quietly, lifting her head a little under
the concerted gaze of four pairs of eyes. Mrs.
Seaton was glaring plain disapproval of Jane.
Marian's companions looked as though they won-
dered what it was all about. A dull flush of an-
ger had risen to Marian's cheeks.

"You might have told me," she returned with
a touch of sullenness.

The chauffeur stood watching them with ill-
concealed impatience. Time meant money to him.
"Step in, ladies. Take you straight to Madison
Hall," he broke in significantly, consulting his
watch.

"We aren't going back yet, Marian," drawled
the stout girl. "Alicia expects a freshman cousin
on the next train from the east. It's due here

OF THE SUB-TEAM 49

in a few minutes. Good-bye. We'll see you
later. Five in one taxicab is rather too many."

"Wait a minute." Marian whirled about and
began a low-toned conversation with her friends.
Mrs. Seaton had already disposed herself in the
wide seat beside Jane. She was regarding the
latter with open displeasure. Ignoring the now
frowning chauffeur, the trio continued their con-
versation.

"Don't keep this man waiting, Marian." Her
mother's sharp reminder had its effect. With a
last word to her friends, accompanied by a sig-
nificant gesture which caused them to burst into
laughter, Marian turned and entered the taxicab.

Jane's cheeks burned hotly. She did not doubt
that she had been the subject of that conversa-
tion and that the remark which had provoked the
laughter was at her expense. Still she had pro-
voked the rudeness. She could scarcely blame
Marian. Yet she found herself raging inwardly
at the latter's prompt retaliation.

With a snort of relief the driver turned to his
car.

"Wait a moment," called Jane. Stepping
nimbly on the running board, she slipped into
the seat beside the driver. He started his car
with an energy that plainly betokened his state

5o JANE ALLEN

«— — —^— — ^ ^ » — ^ -^-— » ^ ^— — — —

of mind, and it glided out of the station yard,
bearing a most antagonistic trio.

Jane felt rather than heard the remarks that
were directed toward her offending back. In
deliberately changing her seat she had thrown
down the gauntlet with a vengeance. She was
not particularly troubled, however, at the turn
her affairs had taken. Tolerance was not one of
her virtues. Nor was deceit one of her failings.
She had never pretended what she did not feel,
and from childhood she had refused to counten-
ance those whom she did not like. Living near
to Nature had given her an unusually keen in-
sight into character for a girl of her years and
she instantly detected and condemned insincerity
and artificiality. She had mentally set down the
Seatons as insincere and artificial and had quickly
decided against them. Therefore it took little
effort on her part to dismiss them from her mind
and center her attention on the clean, wide streets
of Chesterf ord, lined with charming residences of
wood and stone, set in smooth, closely clipped
stretches of living green, and shaded by fine old
trees. She had yet to reach the stage when the
longing for the companionship of girls of her
own age would change the atmosphere of her
whole life. She was still the free, untamed pro-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 51

duct of the wild, and the prison bars of civiliza-
tion had not yet closed about her.

The man at the wheel drove his car at as high
a rate of speed as he dared. He was grimly en-
deavoring to make up for lost time. He covered
the three miles between the station and Welling-
ton College in short order.

Jane stared ahead with eager interest as a vast
expanse of beautifully kept rolling green burst
upon her view. They had reached the edge of
the campus. On a gentle rise of ground, in a set-
ting of magnificent trees, rose the gray spires of
Wellington Hall. Here and there on the cam-
pus were ornamental gray stone buildings of
lesser grandeur. Some of them she immediately
concluded to be campus houses where the more
fortunate students of Wellington College were
domiciled. Others she took to be halls devoted
to the various arts and sciences included in the
curriculum of the institution.

The taxicab turned in through an open gate-
way of wrought iron upon a broad drive which
wound in and out of the vast sheath of velvety
green. Here and there it was dotted with the
figures of white-clad girls, with an occasional dash
of color to relieve the effect.

"Madison Hall/' called the man, slowing down

52 JANE ALLEN

to a stop before an imposing four-story structure.
Three' or four girls, seated upon the broad, vine-
clad veranda, looked indolent interest as the new-
comers alighted from the car.

Jane handed the chauffeur her fare with an
additional generous gratuity that brought her a
beaming smile from that disgruntled individual,
and hopped to the ground. It was not she who
had offended his commercial instincts, and heart-
lessly leaving the Seatons to await his pleasure,
before collecting his just dues, he carried Jane's
luggage to the veranda and deposited it on the
floor. She followed him, and mounting the steps,
cast an uncertain glance about her. A tall girl
in white, with soft brown hair and large blue
,tyes, rose lazily from her wicker chair and said in
a friendly voice: "How do you do? Can I be
of service to you?"

"Will you kindly tell me where I can find Mrs.
Weatherbee? She is the matron here, is she not?"
Jane answered the tall girl's pleasant smile with
one equally friendly. She was drawn toward
this courteous stranger.

"Come into the living room. I'll find her and
tell her of your arrival. My name is Judith
Sterns."

Jane bowed. "I am Jane Allen," she replied.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 53

"Are yo u Miss Allen? How funny! Pardon
me, I don't mean that there is anything funny in
the fact that you are you. I mean that my re-
ceiving you is quite a coincidence, isn't it?"

Jane regarded the speaker with puzzled eyes.
What was she talking about?

The tall girl interpreted her mystified glance.
"You don't understand me. Therefore I'll ex-
plain. You are to be my roommate."

"Your roommate!" Jane's straight brows
drew together in a frown. Then recovering her-
self, she said: "Pardon my surprise. I applied
for a single room. There must be some mis-
take."

"Perhaps it is I who am mistaken," returned
the girl with signal good humor. "I can't help
saying that I hope I'm right, though. I've been
looking forward to knowing a real Western
girl."

"Thank you." Jane could not bring herself
to echo the sentiment. She was distinctly per-
turbed at the prospect of sharing her room with
another. When she had bowed to her father's
decree in the matter of going to college she had
stipulated that she was to have her room to her-
self.

"Have a seat," invited Judith as they stepped

54 JANE ALLEN

into the living room, a long, light apartment with
creamy walls, bordered in brown, and furnished
in golden oak. "I'll find Mrs. Weatherbee and
bring her directly." Suiting the action to the
word, she left Jane to her own disturbed reflec-
tions and set off on her errand.

The sound of an electric bell followed by the
murmur of voices caused her to turn her atten-
tion to the door. Marian Seaton and her mother
were being ushered into the room by a trim maid.
They had tarried to haggle over the matter of
fare with the long-suffering chauffeur. With the
merest shade of a glance toward Jane, they seated
themselves on a brown velvet davenport at the
far end of the room. Jane turned an indiffer-
ent gaze to the open window near her. From her
chair she could view the veranda and its occu-
pants. The girl who had introduced herself as
Judith Stearns was apparently the only idler.
All the others were deep in books. She guessed
that they were preparing to face their coming
examinations and she afterward learned that she
had surmised correctly.

The entrance of the maid with, "Come with
me, please," addressed to the Selbys, who rose
and followed her, recalled to Jane the fact that
her messenger was slow in returning. Ten min-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 55

utes went by. Still she did not appear. Two or
three young women passed the wide, curtain-
draped door of the living room, on their way up
the open staircase in the hall. "Why doesn't she
come back?" was Jane's impatient reflection.
But twenty, then thirty minutes slipped by and
still she sat waiting. Suddenly Marian Seaton's
high-pitched tones assaulted her ears. A deep,
pleasant voice was heard speaking. Through the
doorway the Seatons stood revealed, in conver-
sation with a tall, stately woman in white with a
crowd of snow-white hair framing fine, sensitive
features. The three leisurely mounted the stair-
case, while the watcher clenched her hands in
sheer impatience, tinged with resentment. The
woman with the white hair must be Mrs. Weath-
erbee. If this were so, she, Jane, had been delib-
erately ignored. It was humiliating, to say the
least. Jane was obsessed with a wild desire to
rush from the house and back to the station, there
to catch the first train for the West. She had
been right in her presentiment that nothing good
could come to her out of this hateful East.

Suddenly a familiar figure appeared in the
doorway. There was a horrified, "Oh!" then
Judith Sterns hurried toward Jane, contrition
written on every feature.

$6 JANE ALLEN

"You poor girl!" she exclaimed. "I hope
you'll forgive me, but — well — I really forgot all
about you. I'll tell you a sad but bitter truth,
I'm dreadfully absent-minded. It's my besetting
sin. I started out to find Mrs. Weatherbee for
you, and a girl I met yesterday, who rooms on
the second floor, called me into her room to see
some Japanese prints she was unpacking. We
were so busy looking at them I forgot all about
what I started out to do. When I did finally
remember, I hustled down here as fast as ever I
could. It's a shame. I hope you'll forgive me."
She fixed her big blue eyes on Jane so implor-
ingly that the latter could not resist smiling a
little.

"It doesn't matter. I believe Mrs. Weather-
bee is busy at present."

'Oh, have you seen her?" asked Judith in patent
relief.

"I saw a tall woman with white hair," replied
Jane. "She went upstairs with a young woman
and her mother."

"That's Mrs. Weatherbee!" cried Judith,
brightening. "Well, whoever goes up must come
down. I'll go out in the hall and camp on her
trail. That sounds really Western, doesn't it?
'Camp on her trail,' I mean. Some ill-natured

OF THE SUB-TEAM 57

persons might spitefully say it was slang,
though."

Jane smiled again. The sudden change from
gloom to laughter made her face beautiful.

"How delightful you look when you smile,"
commented Judith naively. "I can't help saying
again that I'm really glad of that mistake about
your room."

The sparkle died out of Jane's eyes. She was
not glad. Judith Stearns might be a very
charming acquaintance, but she did not propose
to have her or any other girl at Madison Hall
for a roommate. The mistake must be rectified.
She would see to that.

I

CHAPTER VII.

THE END OF A TROUBLED DAY

[" AM very sorry, Miss Allen, but I am afraid
nothing can be done for you in the way of
a single room now. I acknowledge that
it was an error on my part. I cannot understand
how I came to overlook your request, but unless
one of the young women now here were to fail in
her examinations I could not put you by your-
self."

"But my aunt stated distinctly in her letter to
you that I wished to room alone, and you wrote
that you would arrange it," reminded Jane
sharply, her too-ready frown marring the beauty
of her smooth forehead. She was not used to
being crossed in her wishes and she did not intend
to submit tamely.

"I repeat that it was an error on my part."
Mrs. Weatherbee regarded Jane with dignified

58

OF THE SUB-TEAM 59

displeasure. Once her ultimatum had been de-
livered, she did not intend it should be contested.
Judith Stearns had not failed in her errand the
second time. True to her word, she had hung
about the stairway until Mrs. Weatherbee had
descended, then she had brought the matron to
Jane and presented her to the latter. She had
remained rooted to the spot, however, for hardly
had the introduction been given when Jane in-
quired coldly regarding her room, adding that
she wished the error rectified at once. In her
exasperation over what she mentally set down as
very stupid management on the part of the ma-
tron, Jane had quite forgotten the presence of
her roommate elect and her cheerfully performed
service, and delivered herself of a number of
rather candid remarks on the subject. Hurt to
the quick, Judith had quietly left the room with
a most unflattering opinion of Westerners in gen-
eral which it took many weeks of companionship
with Jane to change. The tall, beautiful girl
whom she had been prepared to hail as a comrade
did not wish to room with her. Perhaps Mrs.
Weatherbee might find a way after all to give
this haughty stranger her desire. If not, then
she made a solemn resolution that she would
never force her friendship upon Jane. And thus

60 JANE ALLEN

the spoiled darling of a too-adoring father and
aunt closed a door against herself that had
opened so hospitably, and which would only re-
open after she had learned the divine principle of
giving and taking.

"Perhaps you may be able to secure a single
room in one of the other campus houses, Miss
Allen." The quiet voice, freighted now with dis-
tant reserve, acted like a dash of cold water on
Jane's anger. She realized that she had met with
a force which no amount of battering could break
down.

"I know nothing of Wellington College or its
campus houses," she said sullenly. "My aunt
wished me to live in Madison Hall. I shall, of
course, abide by her wishes. It is unfortunate,
however, that the error occurred. Will you
kindly show me to the half of the room you have
reserved for me ?" Her inflection became slightly
sarcastic.

Mrs. Weatherbee studied intently the pretty,
belligerent face on a level with her own. Behind
it she glimpsed something of the troubled soul
within. "My dear," she said impulsively, "don't
begin your college life like this. You are looking
on the dark side of things. I know you must be
disappointed, and I feel myself entirely respon-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 61

sible for your disappointment. Cheer up and try
to make the best of things. Do not allow it to
cloud your freshman sky."

But Jane was in no mood for consolation, par-
ticularly when the consoler was at fault. "You
are very kind," she returned ironically, "but I
cannot help feeling that I have been rather un-
fairly treated. However, as you have advised, I
shall try to make the best of things. Will you
please show nie to my room? I am anxious to
begin reviewing for my examinations." She had
intended to inquire the particulars concerning
them, but disdained to do so.

"Come with me." Mrs. Weatherbee's kindly
interest in the newcomer vanished. "What a
thoroughly disagreeable young woman !" was her
thought. In silence she led the way up two flights
of stairs and opened a door at the end of the hall.
"This will be your room," she announced briefly.
With a courteously cold inclination of her head
she walked away, leaving Jane in possession of
the room in which she was to fight so many silent
battles with her proud self.

Jane set down her luggage and viewed her sur-
roundings with contempt. This bare, gray-
walled room, relieved only by narrow leaf bor-
ders in a darker shade, suggested little of the

62 JANE ALLEN

luxury of her own chamber at El Capitan. There
were two couch beds, at opposite sides of the
apartment, draped with tastefully-colored cov-
ers. There were two chiffonieres, a dressing
table, a wardrobe, two washstands, and a good-
sized center table. There were absolutely no pic-
tures. Jane learned in time that the college girl
prefers her own scheme of decoration to any that
may be devised for her on the part of the man-
agement. The despised room had two good
points, however. It was both large and light,
with a double window that looked directly out
on stately Wellington Hall.

Prowling about it with the uneasy glide of a
trapped animal, Jane explored the closets, of
which there were two, peered into the wardrobe
and tried the drawers of the chiffonieres. The
first one stuck. Under the force of her sturdy
arms it opened with a jerk. A quantity of hand-
kerchiefs and collars tumbled out. With an ex-
clamation of disgust she hastily replaced them
and continued her explorations. Then, without
removing her hat and coat, she threw herself dis-
consolately into a Morris chair, the only com-
fortable one in the room, and gave herself up to
resentful thought. How she hated it all!

For a long time she sat, staring gloomily out

OF THE SUB-TEAM 63

at the green campus. It at least was worthy of
notice. She longed to rush out of the house,
throw herself upon its emerald bosom and cry
her heart out. A mission clock on the wall, tick-
ing its imperturbable way toward noon, finally
reminded her that she must visit the registrar's
office and learn what lay in store for her. She
hoped that she would fail in her examinations,
then a vision of her mother's face rose before her
and she rebuked herself for her unworthy
thought.

It was almost noon when she descended the
stairs and passed out of the house to the veranda.
It was deserted save for a solitary student, too
deeply engaged in a book to raise her eyes as
Jane wended her lonely way down the steps and
across the campus toward Wellington Hall. She
encountered numbers of girls walking singly or
in twos and threes, but she was far too engrossed
in her own dreary thoughts to pay any attention
to them. She did not even note that a certain
tall, blue-eyed girl had bowed rather timidly to
her, then looked unutterably hurt upon receiving
no answering sign of recognition. Unwittingly
Jane had cut Judith Stearns.

Once inside Wellington Hall she had no spe-
cial difficulty in finding the registrar's office.

64 JANE ALLEN

That efficient person was already deep in the
business of interviewing prospective students
who were soon to face the ordeal of entrance
examinations, and attending to the wants of all
comers. Finding she would have to wait her
turn, Jane seated herself on a high-backed oak
bench and began a minute study of the woman
who was so important a factor of the college. She
watched the plain, kind features which every now
and then broke into a sunny smile at one or an-
other of the stream of girls who besieged her
desk, and decided that although she might be
worth knowing, there was every possibility that
she would prove as disappointing on acquaint-
ance as Mrs. Weatherbee. Jane had yet to dis-
cover that it was she, rather than those with whom
she had thus far come in contact, who was at
fault. But the moment of soul illumination was
still far off.

When at last she stood before Miss Howard,
the registrar, and made her inquiries, she was
received in such pleasant fashion that she actu-
ally forgot, for the moment, her hatred of all
things collegiate and met Miss Howard half-
way, thereby registering on that business-like in-
dividual's mind a favorable impression which she
never had reason to change. In the dark days

OF THE SUB-TEAM 65

r . „ ... ,. . -—

that were to follow, Jane found in hers once she
had learned to know her, a refuge in time of
storm.

After a friendly consultation with her over the
printed examination program, Jane said good-
bye and turned reluctantly away. She would
have liked to talk to Miss Howard for hours, but
she realized that even minutes were golden to
the busy, efficient woman at the desk. Consult-
ing her new bracelet watch, which she had set by
the mission clock in her room, she found that it
was nearly two o'clock. Luncheon must be over
at Madison House. That was of no consequence.
She had plenty of money. She would walk into
Chesterford and lunch at a hotel or restaurant.
She swung down the stone walk with a sudden
rush of exhilaration. She was free again, at least
for an hour or two.

She had not left the campus far behind her,
however, when she came to a charming little
house. Over the open doorway was cut in letters
of stone "Rutherford Inn." This was the very
place she had been seeking, but had not expected
to find so near the college. She did not then know
that it held a place in the affections of the Wel-
lington girls second only to the traditions of the
college itself. She now remembered passing it

66 JANE ALLEN

during her ride of that morning, but had given it
a mere cursory glance. Now she went boldly up
the flagstone walk and entered its shady, inviting
porch. Then she paused for a moment in dis-
may. It was fairly well-filled with laughing, chat-
ting girls. Her first impulse was to turn away,
then the quaint, massive tables of black walnut,
decked with spotless linen and heavy silver,
proved an irresistible temptation. She made her
way down a broad center aisle toward a smaller
table at the far end that was empty. Suddenly
her face brightened. At the next table to the one
for which she was aiming sat Judith Stearns, in
company with two other girls. Jane's talk with
Miss Howard had left her in a softened frame of
mind. Then, too, she had begun to feel a trifle
lonely. Seeing Judith's eyes fixed upon her, she
smiled and bowed. But Judith deliberately
averted her face and began a rapid conversation
with the girl seated beside her. She had been
once rebuffed, now she would show this haughty
stranger that it was her turn to do the rebuffing.
The red tide of mortification stung Jane's
cheeks. Her desire to be amiable vanished. She
hurried to her table and sank into a high-backed
chair, inwardly raging. So, this was the way
Eastern girls behaved toward a stranger ! It was

OF THE SUB-TEAM 67

bad enough to be deliberately neglected as Judith
had neglected her that morning, but it was worse
to receive the cut direct. If she roomed with this
rude freshman for a thousand years she would
never, never forgive her !

She picked up the menu and strove to hide her
mortification in a distracted consultation of its
pages. When the waitress carae to take her or-
der, she had settled upon nothing, but desper-
ately ordered creamed chicken and tea and after-
ward remembered that she did not like either of
them.

Luncheon was a dismal failure. Jane managed
to eat a roll and a few mouthfuls of the despised
chicken, drank half a cup of tea, and left Ruther-
ford Inn divided between anger and despair. She
did not cast so much as the flicker of an eyelash
toward her ill-mannered roommate. There was
but one thing to be done. She would return to
her room and begin her review. She would not
eat dinner that night. She would remain up-
stairs and study.

On the walk in front of Madison Hall she en-
countered Marian Seaton. Neither girl made
sign of recognition, beyond a haughty toss of
Marian's blonde head. Jane smiled cynically.
She did not object to being cut by Marian. She

68 JANE ALLEN

rather enjoyed it. But Judith was a different
matter. Jane could not forget her good-natured,
friendly advances. Why had Judith seemed so
nice at first and then behaved so rudely?

After a somewhat lengthy toilet, during which
Jane changed her traveling gown for a one-piece
frock of soft white China silk, the only gown she
had carried in her suit-case, her anger subsided
and she settled herself to study. At five o'clock
Judith Stearns entered the room. She glanced
toward the silent figure at the window, appar-
ently lost in study, then compressing her lips went
quietly about her preparations for dinner. She
bathed her face and hands, re-coiled her long
brown hair, and departed as mutely as she had
come.

Determined to make a martyr of herself, Jane
ignored the pangs of healthy hunger and stolidly
kept to her room. She heard the merry ring of
voices and the patter of fight feet in the corridor,
as the hungry girls of Madison Hall answered
the clang of the dinner bell. Hunger at length
compelled her to open her traveling bag and take
from it a box of wafers and a cake of sweet choco-
late. She dined in solitary state on these light
comestibles, drank a glassful of water and re-
turned doggedly to her text books.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 69

Gloaming fell, a soft, misty twilight with a
thousand purple shadows. A crescent moon ap-
peared and hung above the distant hills with
tender grace. Jane strained her eyes to her task
until darkness blotted out the printed letters, over
which she bent in an agony of loneliness. Then
her listening ears caught the soft tinkle of a man-
dolin, mingled with the deeper notes of a guitar.
A song rose on the still air. It was followed by
a ripple of girlish laughter. Another song fol-
lowed. Jane left her chair, and kneeling at the
open window, peered out. She could just see the
end of the veranda where the singers were evi-
dently seated.

For an hour the concert continued. Still she
crouched at the window, listening. There came a
brief lull in the singing. She heard a clear voice
call, "Give us 'Wellington, Our Alma Mater,'
Dorothy." Several voices joined in the request.
There came a particularly beautiful prelude,
then the song rang out that had thrilled the heart
of every student of Wellington for a generation.

"Wellington, our Alma Mater,
Hark, our voices rise to thee!
Heart and hand each ardent daughter
Pledges truth and loyalty.

To JANE ALLEN

Guard and keep us, noble Mother,
Turn our thoughts to deeds of love,
Kindliness to one another,
May we ever faithful prove — ■
To be ranked as thy dear children,
In thy halls of deathless fame,
Guide us, teach us, blessed Mother,
To be worthy of thy name!"

Jane laid her head on the window sill, swept
by a storm of tearless emotion. This was what
college might mean to her if she could truly live
up to its traditions. "Guide me, teach me, blessed
Mother," she whispered. "Dear Mother in
Heaven, and dear Alma Mater, for the sake of
one who loved me and the other Mother whose
child I hope to be, I'll begin all over again and
try to do my best!"

CHAPTER VIII

BEATRICE H0BT0N THE SECOND

LONG after the song of Wellington had
ended and the singers on the veranda had
gone on to others, Jane lingered at the
window. Her mind occupied with her desire to
do well, the music did not continue to thrill her
so profoundly. Lost in her own meditations, it
fell upon dimly listening ears. If she were to
begin afresh, first of all, she must have an under-
standing with Judith Sterns. Ashamed of her
rudeness of the morning, she did not wonder that
Judith had appeared not to see her while at
Rutherford Inn. Jane decided that she would
apologize to her roommate as soon as she ap-
peared. For an hour she waited patiently for the
pleasant-faced girl against whose companionship
she had openly rebelled. But Judith did not
appear.

71

72 JANE ALLEN

When ten o'clock came, Jane's natural impa-
tience of delay overcame her good resolutions.
She decided, somewhat resentfully, that Judith
was purposely absenting herself from the room.
As she had exchanged no words with her beyond
those of the morning, she could not know that
Judith was not with the singers on the veranda.
Being among those who had entrance examina-
tions to take, she was industriously carrying on
a review in the room of Ethel Lacey, the girl on
the second floor, whose fascinating Japanese
print had been responsible for her defect as a
messenger.

When at half-past ten Judith gathered up her
books, said good night to Ethel and sought her
room, Jane was fast asleep. Bodily tired by the
long journey and mentally worn out by her
troubled thoughts, she had succumbed to slum'
ber almost as soon as her head touched the pil<
low. Judith made her preparations for sleep
with the least possible noise. But before she
switched off the light, she stole across the room
to Jane's couch and stood for an instant regard-
ing her almost sorrowfully. If only this beauti-
ful, proud-faced girl had lived up to the reputed
whole-heartedness of the West. Judith felt that
she had been cheated of that which she had had

OF THE SUB-TEAM 73

reason to expect. She wished that she might
have Ethel for a roommate. The girl who was to
room with Ethel would not arrive until the fol-
lowing week. She wondered if she, too, would
prove a disagreeable surprise. Ethel had said
that her name was Adrienne Dupree and she
lived in New York City. Judith gave a faint
sigh of regret as she slipped into her bed. She
hoped Ethel, at least, would not be disappointed.

Though Jane's first day at Wellington Col-
lege had been one of unrest, her sleep was deep
and untroubled. Her dreams were of El Capi-
tan and the dear ones she had left behind. When
her drowsy eyelids lifted, it was to find the sun-
light of a perfect autumn day streaming in upon
her. She gazed about her in sleepy bewilder-
ment. This was not her room. Then recollection
rushed over her in a dismaying flood. She knew
only too well where she was. Her eyes traveled
to the couch at the opposite side of the room. It
was without an occupant. In sudden alarm she
glanced at the clock. It pointed to ten minutes
of eight.

"Oh!" she gasped. The remembrance that her
first examination began at half-past nine served
to stir her to action. In spite of the fact that
Judith had evidently kept away from her the

74 JANE ALLEN

previous night, Jane still intended offering an
apology. It now looked as though it would have
to be postponed indefinitely. She smiled bit-
terly. Judith was showing unmistakable signs
of hostility. She had not even troubled herself
to awaken her sleeping roommate.

Jane performed hasty ablutions and proceeded
to dress with commendable speed. Fifteen min-
utes later she was on her way downstairs to
breakfast. As this was to be her first meal at
Madison Hall she was assailed with a curious
timidity as she entered the attractive dining
room, done in green and white, with its array of
small tables, at which were seated the majority
of the household of the Hall. Outwardly calm
to indifference, her heart beat a trifle faster as
she paused just inside the doorway, uncertain
where to seat herself. A tall, slender, brown-
eyed girl whose plain white blouse and neat black
skirt bespoke the waitress, advanced to meet her.
"Will you come with me, please," she said. "I
will assign you to your regular seat at table."
Although she smiled faintly as she spoke, there
was an air of subdued melancholy about her
which keen-eyed Jane was quick to note.

"Thank you." Stirred by some unknown im-
pulse, Jane's studied reserve relaxed in a win-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 75

ning smile. The gray eyes met the brown
squarely, and in that one comprehensive glance
each girl found a friend.

The table, near an open window, at which Jane
sat down was already occupied by two young
women who nodded to her in pleasant fashion.
One of them was a vivacious brunette, whose
piquant face fairly irradiated sunny smiles. The
other was a fair-haired girl with eyes as gray as
Jane's. Jane had a dim recollection of having
seen her before. At least she bore a faint resem-
blance to some one she had known.

"Good morning," greeted the fair-haired girl.
"I was wondering where you were. I saw you
for a moment yesterday, but before I had time
to introduce myself, Mrs. Weatherbee marched
you off. After that you disappeared most effec-
tually. I am Dorothy Martin of the junior class
and this is Edith Hammond, a most worthy
sophomore."

"I am glad to know you." Jane spoke with
decided cordiality. She was greatly attracted to
both girls. Then, too, considering she had de-
cided to try to like college, she intended to make
herself as agreeable as possible. "My name is
Jane Allen, and I am from Montana."

"You're a long way from home." The viva-

76 JANE ALLEN

cious girl smiled brightly, and looked prettier
than ever, "You have the honor to be the only
far Westerner at the Hall. You do rather sug-
gest the West, too."

"In what way do I suggest the West?" Jane
asked the question rather abruptly.

Her imperative tone brought a faint color to
the other's cheeks. For an instant her smile van-
ished. Then it reappeared as she replied lightly,
"I'm afraid I can't quite answer that. It's just
my impression of you, I suppose. I've never
been West, but I've read a great deal about it,
and — well — you seem to have a kind of independ-
ence about you that makes one think of moun-
tains and vast distances. Oh, I can't explain
what I do mean," she ended rather confusedly.

"I think I understand what Edith means."
Dorothy Martin's gray eyes regarded Jane with
kindly interest. "She is really paying you a
compliment. You must have had a wonderful
trip across country."

"It was rather uneventful to me. You see, I
didn't care to come here to college, so the journey
east wasn't particularly exciting." Jane was in-
wardly surprised to find herself making this
frank admission. Then she suddenly under-
stood. The calm face of this splendid girl re-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 77

minded her of her mother's. And her name was
Dorothy, too. Jane immediately felt adoration
rise within her. Yes, she was sure to like Doro-
thy Martin. Some day, when she knew her bet-
ter, she would tell her of the resemblance. But
not yet.

"Not care to come to Wellington!" cried Edith
Hammond, arching her dark brows. "You won't
feel that way after you've been here for a while."

"Perhaps not." Jane's dubious inflection was
politely contradictory. She realized it as she
spoke, but a strain of sheer perversity in her
prompted the reply. She knew that she could
not expect to become friendly with these girls as
long as she persisted in it. "Now that I'm here,
I hope I shall like college," she amended rather
hastily0

"That rests entirely with you," was Dorothy
Martin's serious response. "A freshman is a
pioneer and to her college is a new country. If
she is brave and resourceful she soon makes a
home for herself and tries in every way to im-
prove the claim she has taken up. Of course she
is bound to meet with plenty of obstacles, big
and little, but if she makes up her mind to re*
move them, she is sure to do it, and this strange
new country becomes dearer to her every day.**

78 JANE ALLEN

Jane's face kindled into vivid interest as she
listened. Dorothy's forceful comparison had
sunk deeper than she knew. The idea of being a
pioneer appealed immensely to Jane's imagina-
tion. "I think that's a splendid way to look at
it," she nodded. "I shall always remember what
you have said."

Before Dorothy could reply the girl who had
shown Jane to her seat approached with a tray
and served her with the cereal with which the
breakfast began.

"Will you bring me another cup of coffee,
Norma?" asked Dorothy, smiling pleasantly at
the waitress.

The girl's sad face brightened. "With pleas-
ure," she replied.

Dorothy passed a few words of friendly con-
versation with her, to which she responded with
evident delight.

Edith Hammond's red lips took on a slight
pout as the waitress turned away. "How can
you be so chummy with that girl, Dot?" she asked
petulantly. "You have really spoiled her. She
acts as though she owned the earth."

"Please don't, Edith." Dorothy's calm fea-
tures grew suddenly stern.

Edith's expression of displeasure deepened.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 79

"Why shouldn't I say what I think?" she de-
manded hotly- "It's all very commendable in
her to be working her way through college, but
it doesn't follow that one needs to make her an
intimate friend. I believe in being civil, but I
think it's a mistake to go out of one's class for a
mere nobody. Don't you agree with me, Miss
Allen?" she turned expectantly to Jane. This
haughty stranger, who bore the unmistakable evi-
dence of affluence, was sure to prove an ally.

"No, I don't." Jane laid marked emphasis
upon her reply. "She seems to be a very sweet
girl, and if she is working her way through col-
lege she deserves a lot of credit. It's not fine
clothes or riches that count. It's the heart." Un-
consciously Jane repeated her father's oft-spoken
sentiment.

"Shake hands on that!" Dorothy reached an
impulsive hand across the table. In that brief
handclasp the two met on common ground and
Jane made another friend who was destined to
stand loyally by her through good and evil re-
port.

"You are both hopeless." Edith laughed
mirthlessly, shrugging her graceful shoulders in
disapproval. Though she appeared to treat the
matter lightly, there was an angry sparkle in her

8o JANE ALLEN

brown eyes. She found that she was far from
being pleased with this abrupt newcomer, whose
remarks verged continually on rudeness. She
had greeted Jane with smiles. She now wished
she had been less friendly.

"Edith doesn't truly mean that," laughed
Dorothy, with a view to palliating her friend's
outspoken snobbishness.

"Of course I mean it." Edith frowned dark-
ly, her vivacious prettiness disappearing like
magic. "Sorry I must leave you, but I promised
a freshman I met yesterday to show her about
the campus. There she goes now. Excuse me,
please." She slipped from her chair and hurried
toward the dining room door.

Jane's eyes followed her to see her accost
Marian Seaton, who was just disappearing
through the doorway. She smiled grimly as she
saw Marian stop and greet Edith with beaming
approbation. "Birds of a feather," was her men-
tal judgment. The memory of Beatrice Horton
rose before her. So she had come to life after
all, and on Jane's second day at Wellington. It
looked, too, as though she needed friends. Very
well ; she should have at least another firm advo-
cate besides Dorothy Martin.

"Edith is a perfect dear." Jane came back to

OF THE SUB-TEAM 81

her surroundings as Dorothy offered this apology
in behalf of her pettish companion. "It's all the
fault of her bringing up. Her father is a million-
aire and she comes of a very old Philadelphia
family. She is an only child, and has always been
allowed to do exactly as she pleased. I'm awfully
fond of her, but I wish she weren't quite so —

so " she hesitated, "peculiar about some

things."

"I understand," was Jane's brief response. It
was on her tongue to remark that in Marian
Seaton, Edith would undoubtedly find a ready
sympathizer. She refrained from saying so, how-
ever. She was determined on at least one point.
No matter what might be her opinions of the girls
with whom her lot had been cast, she would keep
them to herself.

CHAPTER IX

FRIENDS AND FOES

DURING the next two days Jane found
herself so completely engaged in the
ordeal of examinations as to devote very
little time to the girls of Madison Hall. Her
natural reticence prevented her from falling into
the quick acquaintance which is bound to spring
up whenever a number of young women are
thrown together to remain in one another's com-
pany for a long period of time. Discouraged by
the icy demeanor Judith Sterns had presented
when they found themselves alone together in
their room at the end of the first trying day of
examinations, Jane had put off the apology she
still wished to make. At the end of the second
day she grew angry at Judith's stony ignoring
of her presence and no longer desired to make it.

So far as she was concerned, matters could stand

82

OF THE SUB-TEAM 83

as they were. Judith sat at the same table with
Marian Seaton. No doubt Marian had enlight-
ened her regarding her brief acquaintance with
Jane. It was equally probable that she had ex-
aggerated the account. Jane was not troubled
by Marian's opinion of her, but she was still
slightly remorseful for her cavalier treatment of
Judith.

Aside from Dorothy Martin, Edith Hammond
and the meek waitress student, whose name was
Norma Bennett, she knew no one sufficiently well
to be on more than bowing terms. Having been
without girl friends all her life, she was now not
specially lonely. She was as yet too little used
to her new environment to begin longing for the
companionship of these Eastern girls, whom she
secretly scorned. To pass her examinations was
a matter of pride with her. Once she had set her
foot forward she could not brook failure. For
the sake of the adored dead and the faith of the
living, she must not fail. And so the end of her
first week at Wellington College found her estab-
lished among the freshmen pioneers.

The term "pioneer" pleased Jane immensely.
She frequently recalled Dorothy's comparison
and delighted to think of herself as one who had
settled in a new land, determined to win her way

84 JANE ALLEN

against overwhelming difficulties. It was a most
comforting make-believe, and she derived a con-
siderable amount of satisfaction from it. It had
been her aunt's wish that she confine herself to
the classical course, and the novelty of selecting
the various subjects for study and beginning the
regular routine of recitation kept her busily oc-
cupied. So far as her studies were concerned she
was genuinely interested. Her thorough train-
ing under Miss Evans, coupled with her alert
mind and power of concentration, combined to
make her a student who might be depended upon
for brilliant recitations.

It was not until Sunday that for the first time
since her arrival Jane experienced a decided de-
sire for companionship. At El Capitan, Sunday
had always been a day of infinite happiness. Ac-
companied by her father and aunt, she usually
attended the morning service at a church some
miles from the ranch. In the afternoon she and
her father were in the habit of taking long horse-
back rides together, eating an al fresco supper,
which they took with them, and riding home un-
der the stars.

During the service in the chapel that morning,
which she had attended in company with Dorothy
Martin, Jane's thoughts had traveled persistently

OF THE SUB-TEAM 85

Westward. The singing of the hymns filled her
with wistful longing for her lost home. Wrapped
in her own dreams, the religious discourse fell as
far-off sounds on her unheeding ears. The mo-
ment dinner was over she put into execution a
plan which had been in her mind since early
morning. The beauty of the day invited a ride
on Firefly, who had arrived safely and who was
comfortably established in a stable not far from
the college. Jane hurried to her room and hastily
slipping out of the embroidered pongee frock she
had donned in honor of the day, dived into one
of her trunks and brought forth her riding
clothes.

Half an hour afterward a decorous group of
girls who were taking their ease on the veranda
of Madison Hall were distinctly astonished to see
a russet-haired young woman in ultra-modern
riding habit, crop in hand, march past them, down
the walk and across the campus. Sufficient unto
herself, Jane had no notion of the profound sen-
sation she was destined to make, and went on her
way, mercifully unconscious of the buzz of com-
ment she had left behind her.

"Well, of all things!" burst forth Edith Ham-
mond, as she viewed Jane's serenely retreating
back.

86 JANE ALLEN

"The great American cow-girl," giggled Alicia
Reynolds maliciously, waving a thin hand in
Jane's direction.

"I can't endure that hateful Allen girl,"
snapped Marian Seaton. "If I had known that
she intended coming to Madison Hall, I would
have tried to get into another campus house. I
met her on the train, you know. I lost my hand-
kerchief and she saw me drop it and brought it
to me. She tried awfully hard to be friendly
after that, but Mamma didn't like her, so we
paid no attention to her. We hadn't the least
idea she was coming here until we bumped
squarely into her at the station. We rode to the
Hall in the same taxicab and she was very rude
to us. You remember, don't you, girls?" She
turned to Alicia and Maizie Gilbert, who nodded
confirmation.

"She sits at our table," remarked Edith, "but
I can't say that I like her. She makes a great
deal of fuss over that Miss Bennett who waits
on us. She only does it to keep on the sunny side
of Dorothy. You girls weren't here last year,
so I'll have to explain what I mean. Dot is a
dear, but she's always taking up with these
frumpy persons who are trying to go through col-
lege on nothing. She feels sorry for them and

OF THE SUB-TEAM 9?

— — ^— — — ^ »— «— — ^— — ^— i^^— ^

wants to drag them into having good times, re-
gardless of the fact that they are totally un-
suited to our standard. She is awfully nice to
this Bennett girl, who comes from goodness
knows where and hasn't a cent to call her own.
Last year Dot took her to the freshman dance,
and I wish you might have seen the dress she
wore. It was about five years behind the times
and couldn't have cost more than four or five dol-
lars at the most. Dorothy is "

"Well, what is Dorothy?" demanded a laugh-
ing voice. Dorothy Martin had stepped out
onto the veranda just in time to hear Edith speak
her name.

Edith turned pink to the tips of her small ears.
"Oh, hello, Dot," she greeted. Casting a side-
long glance of warning toward the others, she
said, "We were just speaking of that Miss Allen.
Did you see her?"

"Not since dinner." Dorothy shook her head,
her gray eyes fixed with grave regard upon
Edith's flushed face. She was fully aware that
Edith had purposely evaded her question.

Alicia Reynolds' disagreeable giggle broke
forth anew. "Wait until Mrs. Weatherbee sees
her," she prophesied pertly.

"What do you mean, girls?" Dorothy seated

88_ JANE ALLEN

herself on the top step of the veranda and looked
interrogatively toward the group above her.

"She marched out of her about ten minutes
ago dressed in a riding habit. It wasn't one of
the long-skirted, old-fashioned kind, either. It
consisted of high boots, riding breeches and a
coat. She looked like a movie actress! And on
Sunday, too!" Edith tilted her chin in active
scorn at Jane's misdemeanor. "You know how
strict Mrs. Weatherbee is about Sunday."

Instead of being shocked at this revelation,
Dorothy's musical laugh rang out. "I think that
is really funny!" she exclaimed. "It's worthy of
the freshman grind book. Poor Jane! She
hadn't the least idea that she was doing anything
out of the ordinary."

"I fail to see anything funny about it," cut in
Marian Seaton acridly. "She must have known
that no one who has the slightest respect for
Sunday or Mrs. Weatherbee's good opinion
would think of going horseback riding to-day.
I'm only a freshman, but I can respect traditions,
at least. But of course, being brought up in the
wild and woolly West, she is probably ignorant
of a great deal she ought to know."

"I am quite sure that Miss Allen had no idea
©f proceeding contrary to Mrs. Weatherbee's

OF THE SUB-TEAM 89

wishes," returned Dorothy quietly. Her even
tones hinted of rebuke.

"I don't believe she knew," broke in Judith
Stearns, who had hitherto taken no part in the
conversation. Honest to the core, Judith re-
sented Marian's arraignment of Jane. Her own
private differences were for the moment forgot-
ten. "Miss Allen had a little disagreement with
Mrs. Weatherbee about her room on her first day
here. Since then I imagine she hasn't been
haunting Mrs. Weatherbee's office to inquire into
her likes and dislikes."

"Disagreements seem to be her specialty,"
drawled Maizie Gilbert. "So far as I can learn
she has been on the outs with everyone since she
came. That is, everyone she knows. Her royal
highness hasn't deigned to trouble herself to get
acquainted."

"Oh, she is a friend of Miss Bennett's," snick-
ered Alicia with spiteful mirth.

"She is my friend, too," announced Dorothy
gravely. She rose as she made this statement.
"I don't wish to be critical, but I think it is
hardly fair in any one of you to speak so slight-
ingly of a person you hardly know. Jane Allen
may have peculiar sides to her nature which as
yet none of us can possibly understand. Until

90 JANE ALLEN

we do know more of her it is not right to criti-
cize. Speaking of traditions, one of Wellington's
finest is 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.' Per-
sonally, I like her very much. Some day I think
you will find yourselves in a position to agree
with me." Without further words, Dorothy
walked across the veranda and disappeared into
the house.

"I suppose as humble freshmen we should con-
sider ourselves properly rebuked," sneered Maizie
Gilbert.

"You may, if you choose," flung back Marian
Seaton derisively. "All the upper class students
of Wellington can't make me alter my opinion.
I detest that Miss Allen and I am perfectly
frank in admitting it. I'm surprised at your
standing up for her, Judith, after the way she
has treated you."

It was Judith's turn to color. In the heat of
her resentment against Jane, she had rashly con-
fided her woes to Marian, whom she had sworn
to secrecy. Marian's deliberate betrayal of her
confidence made her very angry.

"Tell us about it, Judy," begged Alicia Reyn-
olds, in gleeful anticipation of more gossip. She
was not keen enough to note Judith's plainly
ruffled feathers. Of the type who rush into in-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 91

timacy in a day, she had already shortened
Judith's name. Now she entreated her with con-
fident familiarity.

"I have nothing to tell," Judith spoke with cold
finality. "What I said to Miss Seaton was in
strict confidence. I am sorry now that I said it.
However, it will teach me to keep my personal
affairs to myself in future." Flashing angry re-
proach at Marian, Judith rose from her chair and
marched into the house, her head very erect.

"Miss Allen's influence seems to be extending
itself to her roommate," commented Edith Ham-
mond dryly. "What did Miss Stearns tell you,
Marian? Having proved yourself a fafthless
confidante, you might as well live up to your
crime."

Edith's flippant words lashed the already
nettled Marian to further irritation. Judith's
exposure of her breach of confidence was de-
cidedly hiimiliating to her. No girl likes to be
reminded publicly that she cannot keep a secret.
She was too shrewd not to know that were she to
acquire a reputation for indiscriminate talking
she would never be able to live it down.

"Judith Stearns had no reason to accuse me of
breaking my word," she declared resentfully. "I
merely reminded her that this Allen person had

92 JANE ALLEN

been hateful to her. I had no intention of saying
anything further than that about it."

"That means you won't tell us," smiled Edith,
faint scorn flickering in her eyes.

"Certainly not." Marian assumed an air of
virtuous dignity. "I hope I am not quite so
treacherous as all that."

"Noble little Marian," praised Maizie Gilbert.
"Of course we know you wouldn't break your
word. Let's drop the subject for something
more pleasant."

Marian cast a sharp glance at Maizie. Her
imperturbable features seemed to indicate her
good faith in the former. Maizie was merely
biding her time, however. As Marian's room-
mate and friend of long standing, she had few
illusions regarding her. She knew that, once in
the privacy of their room, she, at least, was cer-
tain to learn every word that Judith had said.

"I'm sure Td rather talk about something
else," Marian said half sullenly. "Suppose we
four take a walk around the campus, There
doesn't appear to be anything more exciting to
do. I hate Sunday — when one has to spend it
like this."

"I'll take you over to Preston House and in-
troduce you to the crowd there," volunteered

OF THE SUB-TEAM 93

Edith. "Two of my intimate friends, juniors,
room on the second floor. They have a piano and
always entertain on Sunday afternoons."

"That will be fine," glowed Marian. "I am
anxious to make friends among the upper class
girls. Most of the freshmen I've met so far are
anything but interesting. I'll be glad when I'm
a sophomore."

"So will I," echoed Alicia Reynolds eagerly.
She made it a point always to agree with Marian.
She had a wholesome respect for the latter's pre-
tensions.

The four girls left the veranda to stroll arm in
arm across the broad green campus. In the mat-
ter of ideas, they were well matched. Meeting
on the level of pure snobbery, they, as well as
proud, misjudged Jane Allen, were fated to learn
during their fours years at Wellington a num-
ber of things which did not appear in the curricu*
lum of study of that college.

CHAPTER X

THE LETTER THAT WAS NOT MAILED

BUT while the group on the veranda were
airing their opinions of her, Jane was
enjoying the first taste of happiness that
had been hers since her arrival at Wellington.
Allowed unlimited liberty at home, it had not
occurred to her that, in following the dictates of
her own will, she was outraging Sunday pro-
priety. At El Capitan she had worshipped God
in the open. Her reverence for sacred things in-
variably deepened with each long Sunday ride
that she and her father took together. To won-
der at and to worship the grandeur of Nature
was to be in tune with the Infinite. Her loftiest
emotions and highest aspirations had been born
of the earnest talks she and her father had en-
gaged in, as they rode side by side, perfect com-
rades of the trail.

94

OF THE SUB-TEAM 95

Her impulse to mount Firefly and flee, for a
brief time, from the unpleasantness of her sur-
roundings had prompted her to go for a ride that
Sunday afternoon. Once out in the beautiful
stretch of country beyond Chesterf ord, she would
have space to breathe and opportunity to think
and grow strong of spirit.

Firefly's delight at the touch of her soft hand
on his nervous head was only equalled by her joy
in having him to herself again. Weary of his
dull stable quarters, he behaved like a frisky
young puppy let out to gambol on the grass for
the first time. His little feet fairly flew over the
dusty country road, and Jane swept along, in-
toxicated with the joy of living which for a long,
doleful week had been denied her. How many
miles she rode, she did not know, neither did she
care. An expert trail-maker, it was easy for her
to keep track of her course, and she knew that
when she decided to turn back she would have
no difficulty in making the return to the college.

Reaching a bit of woods where a narrow road
wound its way in and out among the trees, she
explored it for a short distance. The sound of
gurgling water urged her onward and at the
edge of a shallow brook that chattered musically
along its stony course, she dismounted and al-

96 JANE ALLEN

lowed Firefly to refresh himself with a long drink
of the clear, sparkling water. He waded to the
middle of it and, tossing his head, neighed an
invitation for her to follow him.

"Can't do it, old dear," laughed Jane. "My
wading days are over until next summer. That's
a long way off, and you and I will have to be
patient until then. We came to college to live
and learn, and we're learning altogether too fast
for comfort," she added a trifle bitterly. "The
best we can do is to console each other and see
things through. As long as I have you, I don't
care much about the others."

Jane said this very bravely, but immediately her
face fell. Out there in the stillness, broken only
by the complaining brook, she realized that she
had not spoken truthfully. For some unknown
reason she had begun to care very much. But
why? was her silent question. The companion-
ship of girls of her own age had never before
seemed necessary to her scheme of life. Now that
she was among them she did not like them, and
they did not like her. Jane paused to consider
this last thought. It did not ring true, for there
were now two persons whom she decided that she
liked very well. One was Norma Bennett; the
other, Dorothy Martin. She experienced a swift

OF THE SUB-TEAM 97

warm rush of fellowship for Dorothy. What a
splendid girl she was! And how kind and com-
forting she had been to the lonely outlander, her-
self. And there in the silent wild Jane developed
her first "crush," which was eventually to change
her entire point of view.

It was well toward sunset when she rode into
the stable yard, and after seeing Firefly safely
to his limited quarters, walked slowly back to
Madison Hall. She glanced indifferently toward
the deserted veranda as she strolled up the walk
to the steps. Once inside the hall, sounds from
the dining room proclaimed the fact that the Sun-
day night supper was on. Hungry by reason of
her ride, Jane hastened up the stairs to change
her riding clothes for the pongee gown, and de-
scend presently to her supper.

"Miss Allen!" A stern voice, freighted with
disapproval, caused Jane to wheel about when
half-way down the hall. The voice belonged to
Mrs. Weatherbee. In her black satin gown, her
placid face a stu^y in outraged dignity, she ap-
peared to the astonished Jane to tower above her
like an avenging deity.

"You wished to speak to me?" Jane inquired,
without moving from where she had halted. She
Wondered vaguely as to what was impending, but

98 JANE ALLEN

she controlled her face to show no sign of curi-
osity. It would take more than this exhibition
of displeasure on the part of the matron to intimi-
date her.

"Have you forgotten that to-day is Sunday?"
Mrs. Weatherbee's tones indicated that a sacri-
lege had been committed.

"Certainly not." Jane elevated her chin and
gazed levelly at her questioner. "It would be
hard to forget."

"Nevertheless your memory seems to be treach-
erous," retorted the older woman. "I can hardly
credit the fact that one of my girls should have
deliberately ignored the day to go horseback
riding."

Jane's gray eyes widened in genuine amaze-
ment. So this was what it all meant. "I was
not aware that it was forbidden," she returned,
striving to control the temper which threatened
to rise at this unlooked-for rebuke. "At home,
my father and I always ride on Sunday."

"But you are not at home," reminded Mrs.
Weatherbee, her stern features relaxing a little.
She found herself confronting a situation on
which she had not reckoned. Just to a degree,
she could now hardly doubt the innocence of
Jane's motive. The girl had not intended dis-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 99

obedience. She was simply ignorant of the con-
ventions. "It is quite proper that you should
ride, my dear, if you wish," she explained in a
milder tone, "but not on Sunday. At Welling-
ton "

"Is it forbidden in the rules of the college?"
was Jane's curt interruption.

"Not in the rules of the college, but "

"Then I see no reason why I should not ride
my horse on Sunday if I choose," cut in Jane
laconically.

Sheer vexation prevented Mrs. Weatherbee
from answering. Never, during her long experi-
ence with girls, had she encountered one who so
aggravated her. The indifferent contempt with
which Jane met her well-meant admonition
aroused in her a feeling of animosity quite for-
eign to her usual serenity. Confident of her
power to compel obedience by the merest show
of displeasure, it irritated her beyond measure to
be thus coolly defied

"Have you no regard for my wishes?" she
asked, her tones quivering with exasperation.

"Every regard, if they are reasonable." Jane
was privately astonished at her own reply. "I
cannot understand, however, why you should ob-
ject to a perfectly harmless recreation," she went

ioo JANE ALLEN

on boldly. "My father says that it is the spirit
in which one does things that counts. I went rid-
ing to-day on purpose to get away from this
stupid, narrow life of the East, where I am hardly
allowed to breathe. For certain reasons I must
learn to endure it, but no one can hope to teach
me reason by forbidding me to do what harms
neither myself nor anyone else. Oh, I hate it
all!" Jane accompanied her vehement exclama-
tion with a gesture of loathing that patently in-
cluded the woman who had presumed to inter-
fere, and turning ran down the hall into her
room, slamming the door behind her.

Mrs. Weatherbee's first impulse was to pursue
her and, demanding admittance to her room, lay
down the law with unsparing severity. She did
not yield to it. Instead she proceeded in the
opposite direction. It came to her with disagree-
able force that were she to put the matter before
the dean, she might meet with defeat. Miss Rut-
ledge was a Calif ornian, with the distinct atmos-
phere of the West about her. She would per-
haps treat the affair lightly. Mrs. Weatherbee
herself was a New England woman of the old
school. She had little sympathy with the out-
door sports which the girl of to-day finds so neces-
sary to her happiness. Jane's mannish riding

OF THE SUB-TEAM 101

clothes had shocked her far more than the girl's
disregard for the Sabbath. She prudently de-
cided to think well before taking further steps
toward managing the recalcitrant Jane. But
her active disapproval of the latter now deepened
into a rooted dislike which later she took small
pains to conceal.

Jane burst into her room to encounter Judith
Sterns in the act of leaving it. The two girls
collided with a force that sent Judith reeling
backward.

"I beg your pardon. I hope I did not hurt
you," Jane made frowning apology. She was
not in the least out of sorts with Judith. Her
lowering brows were the result of her recent in-
terview with Mrs. Weatherbee.

But again Fate appeared to connive to keep
the two apart. Judith translated Jane's frown
as pertaining solely to her. When she had an-
grily left the veranda, she had resolved to make
a speedy peace with Jane. The unkind criticism
of Marian and her friends had served to disgust
her with them. Dorothy's defense of Jane had
sunk deep. If Dorothy found Jane likeable,
she, too, would try to know her better. After
all, she could not blame Jane for being provoked
over her room. Perhaps Jane had not seen her

102 JANE ALLEN

that first day on the campus. Judith recalled
guiltily that Jane had bowed to her when she
entered Rutherford Inn, and had been rebuffed.
Several times the latter had seemed to be on the
point of making friendly overtures. And she,
Judith, had pretended not to see them.

Noting Jane's absence at supper, Judith had
hurried through the meal and to her room. When
her roommate returned she would apologize to
her for ignoring her salutation that day. Per-
haps they might come to a frank understanding
that would serve to draw them together. That
would be Dorothy's way of adjusting the diffi-
culty. Judith had also become devoted to the
pretty junior. *

Jane's violent entrance, coupled with her curt
apology and frowning face, completely! upset
Judith's plan of tender reconciliation. With
a freezing, "I am not hurt, thank you," she
switched from the room, with the conviction that
Marian could hardly be blamed for disliking this
rude Westerner, and that Dorothy would un-
doubtedly discover in time that her idol was made
of very common clay.

As for Jane, the moment the door closed be-
hind Judith, her belligerence fell from her like a
cloak. Dropping down on a little stool, she drew

OF THE SUB-TEAM 103

off one riding boot, stared savagely at it and
hurled it across the room. It just missed sailing
through the open window, struck the casing with
a thud and landed on the floor beside it. In her
misery, Jane laughed rather hysterically. The
laugh ended in a sob. Throwing herself face
downward on the floor, she cried as though her
stubborn heart would break.

Fortunately for her, Judith did not return.
Finally quieting her grief, she picked herself up
and began a spiritless removal of the other boot.
Surveying it dully, she went on undressing. Her
desire for supper had vanished. Arraying her-
self in a soft blue silk neglige, she began a search
for her fountain pen and note paper. Seating
herself at the table which served the purpose of
a desk, she wrote:

"Daddy Dear:

"I can't stand it. Please let me come
home. If you only knew how horrible
everything here is, you'd fly to rescue me
from this miserable place. I've tried, but
everything goes wrong. No one under-
stands me and no one cares to. I know that
if Dearest were alive she would say "

104 JANE ALLEN

Jane paused abruptly, her pen poised above
the paper. What if somewhere in the Infinite
her mother saw and knew. If so, what then must
be her thoughts? Surely she would not blame
her own little girl for all that had happened.

And yet Had she honestly tried to do her

very best? Dorothy Martin's earnest speech,
"That rests entirely with you," rang in her ears.
What was it she had said about being brave and
resourceful? Word for word she recalled that
one sentence: "Of course she is bound to meet
with plenty of obstacles, big and little, but if she
makes up her mind to remove them, she is sure
to do it."

With an impetuous sweep of her hand, Jane
whisked the sheet of paper from the table. Tear-
ing it across, she tossed it into the near-by waste-
basket. Seizing her pen, she began on a fresh
sheet:

"Dearest Dad:

"Here is a good-night message to you
from a verdant freshman.

"I went for a long ride on Firefly to-day
and all the time I wished you were with me.
I am trying to like college, and I suppose I
shall be really in love with it about the time

OF THE SUB-TEAM 105

g

I graduate. At any rate, I'm living and
learning as you said I must. There is a
splendid girl here named Dorothy Martin.
She looks a little like Dearest, and she has
been very sweet to me. Dad, I wish you
would send me the portrait of Mother that
hangs in my room. I need it to help me be
a pioneer. Dorothy says freshmen are
pioneers and that it rests with them whether
they can be good settlers in the new country
of college. Some time I hope to bring her
home with me to dear old Capitan.

"Firefly is in fine condition* only he hates
to be shut up in a stable. I shall take him
out for an airing as often as I can. Give
my love to Aunt Mary and tell her I'll write
soon. Give Donabar a pat and an apple for
me. With my dearest love to you,

"Your fighting pioneer,

"Jane."

As Jane folded her letter and slipped it into
the envelope, a curious peace descended upon
her. She had not given up, after all. How much
more pleased her father would be at this second
letter, that contained no hint of defeat. Rising
from the table, she walked to the window and

io6 JANE ALLEN

looked out on the calm starlit night. As she
lingered, dreamily wondering what the future
held in store for her, she saw a taxicab roll up
the drive. A girl skipped nimbly out of it be-
fore it came to a full stop. In the moonlight
Jane could see her quite plainly. She was small
and slender and dark, and moved with incredible
lightness. She turned a lovely impish face
directly toward Jane, as she proceeded up the
walk, followed by a luggage-laden chauffeur. As
Jane had held small communication with the ma-
jority of the Madison Hall girls, she had no idea
as to whom the newcomer might be. But in the
brief glimpse Jane caught of her she realized that
this elfish little person was totally different from
any girl she had seen thus far. It was as though
she had slipped suddenly from a stray moonbeam
and landed in front of Madison Hall, rather than
descended from a prosaic taxicab. "She looks dif-
ferent," was Jane's thought. "I hope she won't
be like the others." She watched her in fascina-
tion until she disappeared from view. Then she
turned from the window, little dreaming that the
attractive stranger was one day to fill a very
large place in her college life.

CHAPTER XI

A PLEDGE OF FRIENDSHIP

ALTHOUGH Jane had fought another
battle with self and come out victor, she
was imbued with anything but the spirit
of a conqueror as she took her place at breakfast
the following morning. Thus far there had been
a vacant chair at the table which she shared with
Dorothy Martin and Edith Hammond. She had
observed that all the other tables in the room
seated from four to six girls. Several times she
had wondered if Madison Hall were not yet full
to capacity and if the vacant place were destined
to hold some late arrival. She had asked no
questions, however, even of Dorothy. Trained
to use her own eyes to the best advantage, Jane
scorned to resort to interrogation in order to
satisfy her curiosity regarding the members of

the household of the Hall. Of an impersonal

107

108 JANE ALLEN

nature, she resented being questioned; therefore
she took good care not to inflict her queries upon
anyone else. Whatever she could not find out
for herself about people she preferred to let

go.

Then, too, she had vowed never to give Edith
Hammond the satisfaction of learning that she
was in the least interested in what went on at
Wellington. During the brief time in which the
three were thrown together at meals, she ad-
dressed her remarks principally to Dorothy. She
did not like Edith, and Edith had evinced small
fondness for her. Although Edith showed evi-
dent preference for Dorothy, she and Marian
Seaton had lately become very friendly, and she
was frequently to be seen in the latter's company.
Whole-souled Dorothy tried, in her earnest,
kindly fashion, to bridge the rapidly yawning
gap between her table companions, but it proved
an uphill task. They found plenty to say to her,
but little or nothing to say to each other.

Jane was distinctly relieved as she slipped into
her chair to find herself alone at table. For once
she had a question to ask, but it was for Norma
Bennett's ears. As the latter came smilingly up
to her with a pleasant, "Good morning," Jane
began in her abrupt fashion: "Who is the girl

OF THE SUB-TEAM 109

who arrived last night after supper? I saw her
from my window. I thought you might know
about her."

"Oh, yes. I do know. Her name is Adrienne
Dupree. She is rooming with Miss Lacey, and
she will be placed at your table when she comes
down to breakfast. I haven't seen her yet, but I
knew she was expected last night. What does
she look like, Miss Allen?" Norma had never
presumed to address Jane other than formally.
Poverty had taught her that, for herself, reserve
was always wisest.

"I caught only a glimpse of her. She is very
small and pretty. She looked like a sprite in the
moonlight last night." Jane was unaware of the
enthusiasm in her voice.

Norma noticed it, however, and mentally hoped
that this newcomer would be nice to Jane. This
proud, reserved girl seemed so alone. No one
except herself and Dorothy Martin appeared in-
terested in her. She was rich. She wore beauti-
ful clothes and carried herself like a young prin-
cess. Yet Norma's cogitations came to a

sudden end. Edith Hammond was approaching
the table. "I must go," she murmured, and
walked quickly away.

"Good morning," Edith greeted Jane coldly.

no JANE ALLEN

"Good morning." Jane's salutation held an
equal amount of ice.

Neither made any attempt at conversation.
Norma served the breakfast and they proceeded
to eat in silence.

"Oh, good morning, Jane." Dorothy Martin
put in a breezy appearance. "Did you enjoy
your ride yesterday?" Her gray eyes twinkled.

Jane looked up with a frown. It changed to a
sudden smile as she read genuine amusement in
Dorothy's eyes. "Very much, thank you," she
returned demurely. Then they both laughed
outright. Although Dorothy did not know of the
scene with Mrs. Weatherbee, she guessed that the
news of Jane's ride had not escaped that worthy
woman's ears.

"Do you ride?" asked Jane suddenly.

"No ; I wish I knew how. It's splendid exer-
cise. You'll laugh, I suppose, but I'm rather
afraid of horses. Father would like me to have a
horse."

"Let me teach you to ride," Jane offered eag-
erly. "You can learn on Firefly. He's as gentle
as can be. I have two habits here, and you are
about my height. Either of them would fit you."

"Oh, will you teach me?" It was Dorothy's
turn to grow eager. "When can we begin?'*

OF THE SUB-TEAM iii

The two girls fell into an energetic discussion
of Jane's proposal. The fact that Dorothy was
anxious to become her pupil was of sufficient in-
terest to cause Jane to forget the presence of a
third person.

Edith Hammond's changeful face wore an ex-
pression of patent chagrin as the talk went on.
She did not wish Dorothy and Jane to become
friends. Dorothy was by far the most popular
girl in the junior class, and Edith felt that she
had a special claim on the pretty junior's atten-
tion. It was all very well for Dorothy to make
it pleasant for the freshmen, but it was not neces-
sary for her to become chummy with any of them,
particularly this detestable Allen girl. She
hoped Dorothy would not invite her to the fresh-
man dance. It looked as though Jane was exert-
ing herself to be agreeable with that end in view.
The coming dance being just now an important
topic of conversation, she knew no doubt that
owing to the fact that 19 — was the largest fresh-
man class for some years, the seniors and juniors
had agreed to help out as escorts. Aside from
Norma Bennett, who didn't count socially, Doro-
thy was Jane's only hope in the way of an escort.

Edith's sulky reflections took wing as her eyes
wandered to the entrance to the dining room. A

ii2 JANE ALLEN

mite of a girl had paused on the threshold. Not
more than five feet in height and boyishly slen-
der, her small head running over with short, blue-
black curls, she looked like a child masquerading
in young women's clothes. Her large black eyes
sparkled with mischievous interest, as they darted
here and there. Her clear, white skin, small
straight nose and the vivid coloring of her curved
red lips combined to make a face of unusual
beauty. Her smart little one-piece frock of
white pongee reached just to the tops of her tiny
white kid shoes. As she stood in the doorway
she made a charming picture.

"Look, Dorothy !" Edith was glad of a chance
to interrupt the conversation of her companions.
"There's Miss Dupree. I saw her last night
when she first came. Isn't she a darling?"

Jane's glance followed Dorothy's in the direc-
tion of the door, just in time to see Norma Ben-
nett approach the stranger and lead her toward
their table. Mrs. Weatherbee, who rarely break-
fasted with her household, had directed Norma
to look after the newcomer and introduce her to
her tablemates. From Jane and Dorothy, Norma
knew she might expect courtesy, but Edith Ham-
mond might misunderstand her effort to carry
out instructions as an attempt to overstep the

OF THE SUB-TEAM 113

line of caste she had drawn so sharply between
herself and one who was obliged to work her way-
through college.

"Miss Dupree, this is Miss Martin," she began
a trifle nervously. She then named the other two
young women, and with a timid, "Mrs. Weather-
bee asked me to introduce Miss Dupree," walked
quickly away without looking back to see how
Edith had regarded her temerity.

"We have been wondering what you would be
like," was Dorothy's opening speech. "You fill
the last empty niche in Madison Hall. We are
now a complete household."

"I have the bad habit of being always last when
I ought to be first," shrugged the fascinating
little girl. "Since first ma mere said, 'Adrienne
must go to college/ ah! how I ruined my voice
explaining that for me the student life was too
sad. But ma mere had the original ideas of her
own. So — I am here." She made a gesture of
deprecation that was as purely French as her
name.

A gleam of interest shot into Jane's eyes at
this naive confession. Here was some one else
who didn't like college.

"I wept. I shrieked. I raved. I implored,"
went on Miss Dupree dramatically. "Poor old

ii4 JANE ALLEN

Blacky made the great fuss, too. Blacky is of a
truth my governess and for many years. She
wept also many tears. There were such sad
partings! You may believe it." She rolled her
black eyes as though to express the precise degree
of sorrow of her governess. "So far, I have seen
nothing of an excitement here, but the worst is
yet to come." She cast an impish glance about
the table that brought ready smiles from her
listeners.

"Oh, you only imagine you are not going to
like college," Dorothy assured her. "We have
the best kind of times here." Dorothy did not
adopt the serious tone which she had used to com-
fort Jane. This elfish young person required a
different method of treatment.

"Do you really?" The black eyes opened very
wide. "If it is so, then I shall play around awhile
in this huge college and see what happens."

"You are from New York City, are you not?"
inquired Edith with polite interest. Judging
from appearance, Adrienne Dupree was a spoiled
darling of luxury.

"Indeed I am," came the quick response.
"There is no place in the world like it! It is a
great pleasure to see the dear old town after one
has traveled about the big world for a long time.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 115

It makes happiness." Unconsciously she had
dropped into an idiom purely of the French.

"Have you traveled much?" Edith questioned
curiously.

"Almost all my life. You cannot he of the
profession and sit hy your own fireside, you know.
But of course you do not know. That is, you
know nothing of me. I had better begin ; then I
shall enlighten you. You may be shocked. I
cannot be sad if you are. Frankness is the soul
of virtue, though. Is it not?" She did not wait
for an affirmative, but rattled on. "My mother is
Eloise Dupree. Now do you understand?"

"I do," nodded Jane, her somber face lighting
to actual beauty. "I saw her dance last winter
in Denver. She is wonderful." Jane's voice held
a note of awed admiration.

"Then you must have seen me. I was one of
the poppies in 'Midsummer' and a fairy in the
'Princess of Illusion.' That is why I am so cross
because I must go to school. I wish to keep on
dancing and become famous like ma mere. But
no, little Adrienne must go to college. Hard
indeed for little Adrienne."

"I've heard and read a great deal of Eloise
Dupree," said Dorothy warmly. "She is world
famous as an artiste, I believe. Her interpreta-

n6 JANE ALLEN

tions are marvelous. And to think that her
daughter is to have Wellington for her Alma
Mater ! It's the most interesting thing I've heard
since I came back to college." Dorothy beamed
her enthusiasm.

"You are too sweet for anything." The little
girl flushed with genuine pride at this praise of
her mother. "There are many stupid persons
who have not the understanding of the profes-
sion. They seem to think it a — a — disgrace to
use the talents God gave one in order to give
pleasure to others," she went on quickly. "Not
that I would care the least little bit if any of the
girls here were to be horrid to me, because, like
ma mere, I have danced. It is an honor. I am
very proud of it."

"Why shouldn't you be proud of it?" de-
manded Jane. "You ought to be glad that you
are different from ordinary, everyday persons."

"Now you speak the truth," encouraged the
mite. "I am glad. I will tell you a great secret.
I have never cared for the girls of my own age.
I have been always with my parents. Mon pere
is the business manager, you know."

"I never cared for girls, either," confessed
Jane, "until I met Dorothy. I wish the rest of
the Wellingtonites were like her." It may be set

OF THE SUB-TEAM 117

down to Jane's credit that her impulsive remark
was not intended to offend Edith Hammond. In
the interest of the moment she had forgotten the
sophomore's existence.

"Thank you for your very frank opinion of
me, Miss Allen." Edith's voice quivered with
sarcasm. "It doesn't surprise me in the least."

"I was not " Jane paused. Her brows

drew together in an ugly frown. She was about
to state that she meant nothing personal. Then
she changed her mind. If Edith chose to mis-
construe the remark, she was privileged to do so.
Jane had not purposed insult, but her dislike for
Edith choked back her budding apology. What
she did say hardly mended matters. "Pardon
me, I forgot you were present," she drawled in-
differently.

Anger robbed Edith of a fitting retaliation.
With a contemptuous toss of her head, she rose.
Ignoring Jane, she smiled rather patronizingly at
Adrienne. "I'm so glad I met you, Miss Du-
pree," she said sweetly. "Sorry I can't stay, but
I must see a friend before my first recitation.
I'll drop in on you later, Dot."

"Amiable child," mocked Miss Dupree lightly,
the moment Edith's back was turned. "She is
shocked. I read it in her eye. What is the col-

n8 JANE ALLEN

lege coming to, I wonder, to take in the stray
dancer that she may acquire knowledge?" Ad-
rienne's animated features assumed an expres-
sion of horrified disapproval that provoked
laughter. It was not against Edith, however.
It was born merely of the French girl's droll
mimicry of outraged propriety.

Unluckily Edith Hammond had glanced back
in time to see Jane and Dorothy laugh. The red
of hurt pride stung her cheeks as she left Madi-
son Hall. They should pay, all three of them,
for their ridicule of her. Dorothy would find
that it was not wise to preach one thing and
practise another. As for Jane Allen and that im-
pertinent little dancer — they would be sorry, too.
She would go straight to Miss Rutledge and tell
her that she, for one, objected to the latter's pres-
ence in college. Better still, she would have a
talk with Mrs. Weatherbee. She would under-
stand and together they would put the matter
before the dean. Sooner or later the chance
would come to even her score with Jane Allen,
too.

"You are a very droll youngster," said Dor-
othy indulgently, "but I am afraid your frank-
ness will get you into trouble if you are not care-
ful. Please don't think I am trying to be a

OF THE SUB-TEAM 119

goody-goody or give you a lecture. As a staid
junior I have the privilege of counseling my little
freshman sister. Edith Hammond is a delight-
ful girl, as you will soon learn. We have been
friends since first I knew her."

"Appearances are sometimes deceitful," ack-
nowledged Adrienne with naughty emphasis.
"But there, forgive me." She slipped from sar-
casm to pretty penitence. "If she is your friend,
I promise to like her, to please you. That is, if
she will allow me to do so."

"I don't believe she can help herself." Doro-
thy returned Adrienne's implied compliment with
fond sincerity. She was greatly attracted toward
this tiny, colorful person. "Your roommate,
Ethel Lacey, seems nice. I haven't had time to
call on her yet." Dorothy resolutely turned the
talk from Edith. She was inwardly provoked
at Edith's attack upon Jane, but her calm face
betrayed no sign of it.

With the strain of Edith's presence removed,
however, the remainder of the meal passed off
pleasantly enough. Jane finished her breakfast
first, but she lingered at the table, fascinated by
Adrienne Dupree.

"I suppose my first duty is to hold the inter-
view with the registrar. I hope she will not cause

120 JANE ALLEN

me to feel of the height of two inches, or perhaps
gobble me up." Adrienne made an impish grim-
ace. "I'm to be a special victim of examinations,
it seems."

"Shall I take you to her?" proposed Jane.
"My first recitation is Livy, and it doesn't come
until ten. You can go to chapel with Dorothy
and me, then afterward we can go on to Welling-
ton Hall."

"Very fine and truly hospitable," accepted
Adrienne gaily. "Does chapel mean morning
devotions ?"

"It does," smiled Dorothy, "and you must be
very good and as quiet as a mouse, or the faculty
won't like you."

"Perhaps I shall not like the faculty," dimpled
Adrienne.

"It's your duty to, unless you're conditioned.
Then your lack of devotion will be excusable."

Jane and Dorothy felt themselves to be actual
giants as they crossed the campus to the chapel
with the diminutive Adrienne between them. At
the door Dorothy left them to take her place
among the juniors. Jane and Adrienne found
seats in the pews reserved for the freshman class.

During the short devotional service, the French
girl was a model of discreet silence. Her bright

OF THE SUB-TEAM 121

eyes, however, kept up a constant roving over
the rows of students, and like all impressionable
persons of her type she drew quantities of con-
clusions concerning them.

"I'm glad that's over," she announced with a
sigh of relief as the two complex children of im-
pulse, so opposite in nature, yet so alike in spirit,
left the chapel to go to Wellington Hall. "I
hate being solemn. I like to laugh and sing and
dance. Oh, how I love to dance !" She paused in
the middle of the campus and clasped her small
hands in fervent ecstacy.

"Chapel always makes me feel blue," was
Jane's gloomy comment.

"What's the matter with you?" Adrienne had
now resumed her walk at Jane's side. "You are
— oh — you have the unhappy look, as mon pere
would say. Is it because you hate this college?
You said at the breakfast table that you did not
wish to come here. Where do you live? In the
wide West, I suppose. You spoke of Denver.
I always remember everything I hear."

Jane spoke briefly of herself and her home.
Yet she told Adrienne more than she had admit-
ted to anyone else since her arrival.

"I see the reason, indeed." Adrienne gave
Jane's arm a reassuring pat. "But never mind."

122 JANE ALLEN

Her quaint phrasing was reminiscent of her for-
eign parentage. "Be of good cheer. I had the
feeling of liking for you, the minute my eyes saw
you. You are nicer even than the Dorothy girl.
We are both of the same mind. Let us be great
friends. Je vous aime. Je vous ador. Que
voulez vous encore?" She stopped again, hold-
ing out her small hands to Jane in a pretty ges-
ture of invitation.

Jane caught them in a firm clasp. "I'd love
to be best friends," she said, deeply moved. And
as she pledged herself to friendship, Jane took
her first definite step toward being a real girl
among girls.

CHAPTER XII

A LOSS THAT PROVED A GAIN

AFTER the advent of Adrienne Dupree
into Madison Hall, Jane took a new
lease in college life. She no longer felt
so unutterably alone. The arrival of the piquant-
faced French girl had wrought a welcome change
in the tiresome routine to which she was bravely
trying to accustom herself. She found it hard
to credit that she, the Jane Allen who had scorned
the society of girls, should have at last succumbed
to it. Over and over she wondered how it had
happened that this lovely little person, who over-
flowed with high-spirited gaiety, should have
been attracted to her. Jane was as yet too full
of the wrong of being banished from El Capitan
to realize her own claim to a type of beauty quite
as convincing as Adrienne's. Her regular fea-
tures, slender, graceful figure and erect, proud
bearing combined to make her singularly attract-

123

124 JANE ALLEN

ive. But the stubborn, rebellious spirit that
dwelt within robbed her fine face of its natural
charm, thus repelling rather than attracting
those who were forced to concede that she was
"stunning," but

Adrienne, however, rapidly grew in popular-
ity at Madison Hall. Once her trial of examina-
tions had been met and disposed of to her credit,
her restless nature demanded a thorough explora-
tion of her habitation and an acquaintance with
all who dwelt within its walls. Edith Ham-
mond's indignant protest against her to Mrs.
IWeatherbee met with no dire results. That
august individual was by no means anxious to
lay a complaint against the elfish child of the
theatre before Miss Rutledge. She sympathized
prettily with Edith, thereby showing her own dis-
approval of Adrienne. She stated with a nice
amount of regret that she had learned from Miss
Kutledge of a firm friendship that had existed
for many years between President Blakesly and
Miss Dupree's father. This was equivalent to
saying that her hands were tied regarding this
newest arrival at the Hall.

Beaten at this point, Edith was forced to drop
all thought of ousting Adrienne from Welling-
ton. She therefore turned her attention to a

OF THE SUB-TEAM 125

study of ways and means of making the little girl
uncomfortable. She had quickly abandoned her
plan to belittle Dorothy Martin in the eyes of
her fellow students. Dorothy stood so patently
for all of Wellington's highest traditions that to
attack her strongly fortified position would mean
Edith's ultimate defeat. As freshmen, Jane and
Adrienne would be far easier to discredit. Jane
had already made several enemies and Adrienne
bore the stamp of the theatre. It was splendid
capital on which to proceed.

But, in the clever little French girl, she found
a foeman worthy of her steel. Brought up in
the atmosphere of the theatre, Adrienne had
learned to read human nature with surprising
accuracy. Born of a people to whom diplomacy
is second nature, she divined Edith's intentions
and immediately lined up her forces. With the
exception of Marian Seaton, Maizie Gilbert and
Alicia Reynolds, the girls of Madison Hall
flocked to her standard. Her mother's prestige
in the world of the fine arts, her friendly footing
with the Blakeslys, and lastly her own prettiness
and charm were points indisputably in her favor.
Then, too, the very fact that she had been on the
stage as a professional dancer lent an irresistible
glamor to her sayings and doings.

126 JANE ALLEN

Edith's animosity toward herself she met with
a joyous air of innocence that was highly divert-
ing to Jane and Dorothy. But there were occa-
sions when her roguish black eyes could flash
forth unmistakable danger signals. Then she
would tantalizingly lead Edith on to angry dis-
cussion, merely to deliver a lightning thrust that
left her gasping. She was quite sufficient unto
herself, as Edith discovered to her chagrin, and
after several disconcerting encounters, she found
it advisable to treat Adrienne civilly.

Jane, however, was a fruitful subject for an-
noyance. Hers was a nature too intense to meet
sneers with laughter, and thus bring about the
discomfiture of her who sneered. True, she sel-
dom deigned to reply in kind to Edith's veiled
flings, but her lowering brows gave strong hint
that she felt the sting. Privately, Adrienne had
begged Jane to allow her to do battle in her be-
half. Jane had refused her good offices with a
curtness that warned her not to interfere. De-
spite her fondness for the taciturn Westerner,
Adrienne was a trifle afraid of her. At times she
was sure she understood Jane. Again she felt
that she did not understand her at all.

Due largely to the popular little girl's open
fondness for her moody friend, a few of the

OF THE SUB-TEAM 127

Madison Hall contingent made half-hearted ad-
vances toward acquaintance with Jane. But the
caustic criticism of Marian Seaton and her
friends, Edith Hammond's dislike for her, Ju-
dith Stearns' wrongs, which Marian had secretly
confided to Maizie Gilbert, who had in turn re-
lated them to half a dozen others, and Jane's own
antagonistic attitude combined to put her in dis-
tinct disfavor.

Yet there was one person at Madison Hall
who had received a deeper insight into Jane's
true disposition than even Adrienne Dupree.
That person was Judith Stearns. Quite by
chance the key had been placed in her hands.
On the Sunday evening when Jane had written
her impassioned plea to her father, torn it across
and flung it into the wastebasket, she had no
notion that eyes other than her own would read
it. On that same evening, absent-minded Judith
had spent the evening in Ethel Lacey's room,
writing a theme for the next day's English. She
had remained there until the half -past-ten limit,
and hurried to her room, one hand holding the
original draft of the theme, the other the finished
work. She had crumpled the discarded sheets
together and carelessly tossed them into her
wastebasket.

128 JANE ALLEN

On the following morning, after Jane had left
the room, Judith had found to her consternation
that it was the final copy which she had discarded.
A frenzied rummaging of the basket yielded the
cherished but badly treated theme. As she
brought forth the wrinkled sheets of paper, half
of Jane's note came with them. Before she real-
ized that she was perusing strictly private cor-
respondence she had read enough of poor Jane's
acknowledgment of defeat to cause her to catch
her breath sharply. Honor now awoke; she
would not allow herself to search in the basket
for the missing half. The potent phrases,
"Daddy, dear, I can't stand it," "how horrible
everything here is," "miserable place," danced
before her eyes and filled her warm heart with
an overwhelming sense of pity for her room-
mate.

She now knew that Jane Allen's indifferent
face masked an unhappiness of which she alone
had chanced to learn. If Jane had suddenly en-
tered the room, Judith would have flown to com-
fort her. But as she did not appear, Judith
thoughtfully reduced the betraying paper to un-
readable bits and dropped them in the basket.
In her abstraction over her discovery she picked
up a sheet of her theme and was about to demol-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 129

ish it. Providentially catching sight of her own
handwriting, she giggled softly at her near
blunder and began smoothing out its crumpled
folds.

Later, as she hurried across the campus to her
English recitation, the rescued theme in her hand,
she pondered so deeply over how she might
straighten matters with her despondent room-
mate that she meandered dreamily into the hall
where her classroom lay, opened the wrong door
and broke in upon a recitation in French, much
to the instructor's disgust.

When she and Jane were finally alone to-
gether, which was not until just before dinner
that evening, Judith tried vainly to think of some
way in which she might speak of her discovery.
Fear of being misunderstood and accused of pry-
ing held her silent. She did not know how to
begin or what to say in explanation. So she put
off speaking, and, as the autumn days glided by,
she could never screw up her courage to say what
she wished. But, although she was unconscious
of it, Jane's need of a friend had brought her one
who was only waiting for an opportunity to de-
clare herself.

Opportunity has a well-known habit of crop-
ping up unexpectedly. Late one afternoon Jane

130 JANE ALLEN

came hurrying into her room, cheeks aglow, her
curls flying. She had just come from a long ride
through the crisp fall air on Firefly, and the old
joy of living had returned to her with a rush.
She was no longer the silent, sullen person who
kept everyone at arm's length. She was again
the radiant, impulsive Jane of El Capitan, who
won her way to whatever she desired by the f oree
of her bubbling high spirits.

An unexpected sight brought her to a quick
halt in the middle of the room. Face downward
on her bed lay Judith, her shoulders shaking.
The unmistakable sound of muffled sobs pro-
ceeded from her immediate vicinity.

"What's the matter, Miss Stearns?" The
sounds of distress caused Jane to forget herself.
She knew only that a fellow being was suffering,
and her natural sympathy, which she had hitherto
doggedly stifled, rose to the surface.

"It's — g-o-n-e!" wailed Judith, too deeply im-
mersed in her own woes to realize that her
hitherto unapproachable roommate was moved by
her tears.

"What's gone?" demanded Jane, walking over
to where Judith lay. "Have you lost some-
thing?"

"Y-e-s." Judith gulped, sighed and slowly

OF THE SUB-TEAM 13^

sat up, pushing a refractory lock of hair out of

her eyes. "I've lost " Her lips quivered

ominously. "I've lost my locket and chain!"

"Oh!" Jane's sympathy began to ebb. Ju-
dith's trouble was nothing serious after all. She
could not imagine herself reduced to such a state
of grief over a mere bauble. "That is too bad,"
she said rather lamely. "Was it very valuable ?"

Judith nodded. "My mother gave it to me,"
she returned huskily. Two big tears rolled down
her cheeks. "I had it on when I went to English
this morning. I'm quite sure I had. I didn't
miss it until I started for the Hall. I put my
hand to my neck and it — was — g-o-n-e." Judith
began to weep afresh. "I'm — always — losing —
things. I'm — so — absent-minded."

"Don't cry about it any more," counseled Jane
impatiently. "I'll help you find it. Describe it
to me and I'll write a notice and put it on the
bulletin board. Did you go back and look for
it?"

"Ye-s. I put a notice on the bulletin board
downstairs and asked every girl I met if she'd
heard of its being found. Nobody had. It was
just a round, plain gold locket on a thin gold
chain. It had my mother's picture in it and a
curl of her hair. She had beautiful curly golden

132 JANE ALLEN

hair," Judith groped about on the bed for her
handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

Jane cast a startled glance at the dejected
weeper. Judith had spoken in the past tense of

her mother. Did she mean that "Is your

mother dead?" she asked, her voice dropping on
the last dread word.

Judith nodded again. She raised her blue,
tear-wet eyes with a look so unutterably pathetic
that it went straight to Jane's heart. Swayed by
an excess of pity, born of their common loss, Jane
sat down beside Judith and slid a sympathetic
arm about her neck. "I know how dreadfully
you feel," she said unsteadily. "I — my mother's
dead, too." Jane stared at the opposite wall with
blurred, unseeing eyes.

Judith reached out and slipped a timid hand
into Jane's. The deep sorrow they had both
known made them one in spirit.

For a little they sat in silence. It was Judith
who broke it. "I've been trying to say something
to you for a long time," she faltered. "It is "

"I've something to say to you, too," interrupted
3ane gently. "Please let me say it first." She
had sprung to the conclusion that Judith intended
to blame herself for certain things of which she
was hardly guilty. Whatever apology was to be

OF THE SUB-TEAM 133

made Jane decided must emanate from her lips4
"I'm sorry I was so hateful that first day. Y&Y
thought I didn't wish to room with you, and .l*
was so angry with Mrs. Weatherbee I didn't care
what you thought. I liked you when you first
spoke to me. I was sorry afterward for all I
said. Then when you didn't speak to me at the
Inn, I was mortified and angrier than ever."

"But I met you on the campus before that and
you didn't speak to me," reminded Judith.
"That made me cross, too."

"I didn't see you. If I had, I would have
bowed to you," Jane replied with convincing
earnestness.

Judith's sad face brightened into a shy smile.
"I'm afraid we misunderstood each other all
around," she murmured. "I'd love to be your
friend." Her fingers tightened on Jane's.

"And I yours." Jane returned the friendly
pressure. "Tell me about — your mother."

Judith soberly complied with a brief descrip-
tion of her mother, long an invalid, who had
passed away while she was in her freshman year
at high school. The locket had been a birthday
present; her mother's last gift to her in com-
memoration of the anniversary of her birth.

"No wonder you prized it," was Jane's sympa-

134 JANE ALLEN

jhetic comment. "We must try to find it." She
n>.id no more for a little. Then she began hesitat-
igly: "I'd like to tell you about my mother. I
ilways called her Dearest. She was a student at
Wellington when it was just a seminary. She
wanted me to come here." Jane went on with a
recital of those dark days at El Capitan that had
followed upon her father's disclosure of his plan
for her education.

"It's been very hard for you, hasn't it?" sighed
Judith. A bright flush suddenly dyed her fair
skin. "I told you I had something to say to
you." She recounted her accidental reading of
the torn half of Jane's discarded letter to her
father. "I didn't realize what it was until after
I read it," she apologized. "I tore it up and,"
her gravity merged into a soft chuckle, "I was so
upset I almost tore up a page of my theme, too."
She went on to relate how she had blundered into
the French recitation.

True to the marvelous faculty youth has of
rushing in a breath from tears to smiles, the sad
heart-to-heart talk ended in a burst of laughter
over Judith's unfortunate failing.

"I guess I must have been born absent-mind-
ed," she conceded ruefully. "I can never keep
my mind on two things at once. I start out to do

OF THE SUB-TEAM 135

something and then somebody comes along and
I forgot all about it and rush into trouble. My
blunders are generally funny ones, though. But
losing my locket isn't." Her face fell.

"Perhaps you didn't wear it to-day," sug-
gested Jane hopefully. "Maybe it's somewhere
about the room. Suppose we hunt for it here."

"I'm afraid I wore it." Judith rose from the
bed and going to her dressing table disconsolately
poked its contents about. "No; it's not here."

Jane began a systematic prowl about the room,
her sharp eyes scrutinizing every object that
might harbor the missing locket. Judith ambled
aimlessly along after her. "You won't find it
there," she discouraged, as Jane opened the closet
door and peered into the closet. On the inner
side of the door were several hooks. One of them
held Jane's walking hat. The opening of the
door dislodged it, causing it to fall to the floor.
Jane picked it up and was about to replace it.
Then she gave a little amused laugh. Depending
from a hook, which usually held Judith's b2ue
velour hat, was a slender gold chain. From it
dangled a gold locket. "Here's your lost locket,"
she announced jubilantly, "but how in the world
did you happen to hang it there?"

Judith stared at her with the air of a sleep-

136 ' JANE ALLEN

walker who has awakened in the midst of a mid-
night perambulation. "I might have known it,"
was her sheepish comment as she seized the locket
and patted it lovingly. "Now I remember. I
had it in my hand this morning. I was in a
hurry. I opened the closet door and my hat fell
down. I was so busy worrying for fear I'd be
late for class that I picked up my hat, put it on
my head, hung the locket on that hook and never
knew it. I don't wear my hat half the time and
I thought there was something different about
me, but I couldn't tell what it was. I'm afraid
I need a keeper." She giggled softly.

"I'm afraid you do." Jane echoed the giggle,
thereby proving herself on an equality with the
average girl. "I think I'd better apply for the
high office. Hereafter I shall watch you like a
hawk."

"I wish you would. I need to be reformed.
I'm glad to have my locket, but I'm glad I lost

it, too. If I hadn't " Her eyes met Jane's

in a gaze of dawning affection.

"We'd have gone on misunderstanding each
other," finished Jane soberly. And although she
could not find words to say so, she wondered
dreamily if the mothers they mourned had con-
spired together in Heaven to roll away the clouds
of misunderstanding.

CHAPTER XIII

IN THE CLUTCH OF HATE

THE affair of the locket forged another
link in the chain that was one day to bind
Jane heart and soul to Wellington. Now
that she and Judith had made peace, she discov-
ered that a roommate was a blessing rather than
a curse. With the lifting of the heavy constraint
which had made them both so unhappy, Judith's
sunny good-nature blossomed like a flower. She
no longer felt afraid of Jane. The latter's many
moods did not now dismay her. Hers was a
nature that preferred to follow rather than to
lead. When Jane was silent to moroseness,
Judith went quietly about her own affairs, pre-
tending not to notice. But during Jane's lighter
moods, she met her roommate with whole-souled
cheerfulness.

"What shall you wear to the freshman dance,
Jane?" asked Judith one rainy afternoon. Jane

137

138 JANE ALLEN

had come in from her last class to find Judith in
the midst of a wholesale overhauling of her trunk.
Three evening frocks were conspicuously laid out
on her hed, while Judith stood in rapt contem-
plation of them, trying to decide which of them
should adorn her tall, slender person.

"I'm not going." Jane's face clouded as she
made this succinct answer.

"Not going?" Judith shifted her gaze from
the gowns to Jane. "But you must. No good
freshman ever stays away from that dance. It's
our duty to be present."

"It's not mine." Jane's jaw set stubbornly.
Not even to Judith would she admit that her
chief reason for staying away from the much-
discussed dance was due to the lack of proper
escort. From Dorothy Martin she had learned
that it was the custom of the upper class students
to extend personal invitations to their freshman
sisters. Judith had already been invited by a
sophomore who lived at Argyle Hall. No one
had taken the trouble to invite her, therefore
Jane scorned to be one of those who, minus an
escort, were forced to attend the festivity singly
or in company with other freshmen who had not
been fortunate enough to receive personal invita-
tions from their big sisters.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 139

"But think of the good time you'll miss," ar-
gued Judith. "And you have so many pretty
frocks, too. You'd look perfectly stunning in
that dull gold chiffon frock. Don't you like
dancing?"

"I don't care so very much about it." Jane
shrugged her shoulders with a brave show of in-
difference. She did care a great deal, however.
Privately she had half hoped that Dorothy might
invite her. She had scornfully dismissed the
thought when she remembered the junior's high
standing at Wellington. Dorothy knew many
girls whom she probably liked far better than
Jane. If Dorothy had purposed inviting her she
would have done so before now. It lacked but
four days of the Saturday evening set for the
affair. But Dorothy had not even spoken of it
to her, and she knew no other upper class student
well enough to count on an invitation.

"Perhaps you'll change your mind before Sat-
urday evening," Judith insisted. As she said this
an inkling of the true state of affairs dawned
upon her. "She hasn't been specially invited,"
was her guess. Regretting her persistency, Ju-
dith said hastily, "I don't know which of these to
wear." She waved a hand toward the spread-out
finery.

I4Q JANE ALLEN

"Why don't you wear the white one?" Jane
made resolute effort to banish her own disap-
pointment and interest herself in Judith's prob-
lem. "That frilly lace dress is exactly suited to

you."

"I believe I will." Judith picked up the soft
lace frock and smoothed one of its many ruffles.
"I've a perfectly sweet blue ribbon sash to go
With it."

"Haven't you a white one? I think I'd like a
white sash better than a blue."

"No ; I've only a white ribbon belt and I don't
care much for it."

"Wait a minute." Jane crossed to the chif-
fonier. Opening a drawer, she fumbled in it for
a moment. "How do you like this?" She held
up a wonderful sash of sheer white silk. It was
embroidered here and there with tiny white
daisies. The ends bore a deeply embroidered de-
sign of the same flower and were finished with
heavy white silk fringe.

"Oh!" Judith gasped in admiration as Jane
tossed it into her outstretched hands. "Isn't it
exquisite? I never saw anything quite like
it."

"Dad bought it in Mexico. It was embroid-
ered by a nun in the San Sebastian convent. I've

OF THE SUB-TEAM 141

never worn it. You may keep it, if you will. It
really belongs with that dress."

"I couldn't accept it. It's far too beautiful for
you to give away," protested Judith. "I don't
believe I ought even to wear it to the dance.
Something might happen to it."

"You are to keep it." Jane's tones held final-
ity. "I wish you to have it. Dad can get me
another just as pretty when he goes across the
border again. His business takes him to Mexico
several times a year."

"Jane Allen, you are too sweet for anything!"
Judith laid the sash on top of the white gown and
proceeded to hug her roommate with grateful
fervor. "I won't refuse it, becanse I know you
would truly like me to keep it."

"There goes my hair." Jane laughed and dis-
engaged herself from Judith's devastating arms.
A faint flush of embarrassment tinged her
cheeks. She was not used to caresses. Still, it
was pleasant to know that one was appreciated.

But Judith yearned to show further appreci-
ation, as she stood gloating over her newly ac-
quired riches. The delighted freshman had
quietly made up her mind that she would make
it her business to see that some one invited Jane
to the hop. She would put the matter before

142 JANE ALLEN

Dorothy Martin. Dorothy would help her to
bring about the desired result. Judith, too,
though it strange that the junior had not offered
herself to Jane as an escort. Jane had been un-
tiring in her zeal to teach Dorothy to ride, and
the two spent considerable time together.

Judith's good offices were not required, how-
ever, for when Jane came upstairs after dinner
that evening her radiant face was the forerunner
of pleasant news. She tried to keep the excite-
ment out of her voice as she said casually, "Doro-
thy Martin has invited me to the freshman hop."
But a happy little thrill in her tones told its own
story.

"I'm ever so glad." Judith made hearty re-
sponse. "Of course, you'll go now."

"Yes; I believe I ought to accept. In fact
I've already accepted." Jane looked unutter-
ably happy. "I'll wear the gold-colored gown
you said you liked. I've a pretty gold necklace
with flat carved links to wear with it, and a sweet
pair of slippers to match the gown."

"We'll be freshmen belles," prophesied Judith
gaily when Jane had exhibited the necklace for
her edification. "With that necklace and my sash
as fine touches of ornamentation, behold the ob-
served of all observers.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 143

"Let's have a grand trying-on of finery," she
proposed. "I'm crazy to see you in that golden
dress. Besides, I'd like to try the effect of my
embroidered sash. It won't take long if we hurry,
and we can study for all we're worth to make up
for lost time. I'll put a busy sign on the door,
so we won't be disturbed."

"All right," agreed Jane with ready eagerness.
She could not repress a wry smile at Judith's
precaution, however. Someone was always com-
ing to the door in quest of her genial roommate.
Aside from Adrienne Dupree and Dorothy, no
one ever came to see her.

The two girls spent a happy session dressing
up. Judith looked girlishly pretty in her fluffy
white frock, and Jane exclaimed warmly over the
dainty picture she made. She was a trifle startled,
however, when Judith cried out admiringly,
"Jane Allen, you are positively beautiful! You
look exactly like a princess." Taking Jane by
the arm she led her to her dressing-table. "Deign
to gaze upon yourself, your Highness," she
laughingly ordered, making a low bow.

"You're a dear old goose, Judy." Neverthe-
less Jane's color heightened at the story the mir-
ror told. The long, graceful lines of the golden
frock, which brought out the red lights in her

144 JANE ALLEN

bronze hair, gave her a stately appearance, such
as princesses are fabled to possess. The square-
cut neck showed the white column of her beauti-
ful throat and a little of her sloping shoulders.
The short sleeves fell away from her softly
rounded arms, the contour of which was particu-
larly lovely. Jane did indeed present the ap-
pearance of royalty. Face to face with herself,
she could not deny her own beauty.

"It will do very well," she said shortly, turning
away from the mirror. Vanity was not one of
her failings. She did not propose to yield to it
even briefly. Yet as she put away the party
dress, preparatory to studying her lessons, she
could not help hoping somewhat wistfully that
Dorothy would be pleased with her freshman.

For an hour after the two had settled them-
selves to their work, silence reigned supreme.

"Oh, bother!" Judith was turning over the
books on the table, an expression of annoyance
on her placid face. "I've left my notebook on the
living-room table. I stopped there to talk to
Mary Ashton this afternoon and you can guess
the rest. I'll have to dress and go downstairs for
it. I don't dare go as I am. If Mrs. Weather-
bee saw me parading about down there in my
kimono she'd never survive the shock."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 145

"Let me go for you," offered Jane. After the
try-on she had resumed the one-piece gown of
blue serge that she had worn all day.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, but if you would
I'd be eternally grateful." Judith looked relief.
"You can't miss it. My name's written on the
cover. It's on the library table."

Jane was already at the door as Judith spoke.
Running lightly down the stairs, she approached
the doorway of the living room. Her feet were
on the threshold when the sound of Edith Ham-
mond's high-pitched tones caused her to halt.
Ordinarily she would have walked in unmindful
of the latter's presence. Unfortunately she heard
that which rooted her to the spot. From between
the portieres the room appeared to be deserted
of occupants. She could not see Edith, for she
was occupying an oak settle at the right of the
door, but she could hear distinctly. "I think it's
a burning shame, Dot, that you are going to
saddle yourself with that horrid Allen girl,"
Edith was complaining pettishly. "She will com-
pletely spoil your evening. She's thoroughly dis-
liked here at the Hall. You'll find yourself with
an elephant on your hands Saturday night."

"You don't understand, Edith," replied Doro-
thy's patient voice. "She has been very sweet to

146 JANE ALLEN

me and it's only fair that I should try to make
some return. I'm sorry for Jane, Edith. It's
really too bad "

But Jane did not wait to hear more. She
faced about and fled upstairs as though pursued
by demons. Dashing into her room, she flung
herself down in the chair she had lately occupied,
her face dark with fury.

"Did you get it?" Judith did not raise her
eyes from her book. She was quite accustomed
to Jane's abrupt fashion of entrance. Receiving
no answer to her question, she looked up.
"What's the matter?" Jane's storm-ridden fea-
tures filled her with sudden dread. Something
disagreeable had happened. That was evident.

Still Jane made no response. She sat with her
chin in her hands as though turned to stone. "I
hate Edith Hammond!" she muttered between
set teeth. "I hate her. Do you hear me?"

"I'm not deaf," Judith reminded smilingly
with a view to scattering the storm that seemed
about to break. "Don't pay any attention to her.
She isn't a strictly genial person. I'm not ex-
travagantly fond of her, either. What's her
latest crime, Janie?"

"I hate Dorothy Martin, too," Jane continued
to glower savagely. "I'll show her that I don't

OF THE SUB-TEAM 147

need her pity. I despise deceit. I never would
have believed that she could be so hateful."

Real concern now leaped into Judith's eyes.
"You can't mean that of Dorothy," she said in-
credulously.

Jane raised her head with a jerk and glared
angrily at Judith. "Don't try to defend her. If
you do I shall hate you, too. And don't say an-
other word to me about the dance. That's all."

"But " protested Judith.

"I said, 'That's all.' " Jane snatched her books
from the table, slammed them down on it in an
uneven pile and stalked to the window.

Judith sighed softly and dropped her eyes to
her book. It was useless to continue her inquiry.
She wished that she had not allowed Jane to go
for her notebook. As it was she had not brought
it with her. Instead she had returned in a tem-
pest of ill-humor. Whatever had occurred in that
brief space of time, Dorothy Martin and Edith
Hammond were concerned in it. Now Jane
would not go to the hop. It was too provoking.
She tried to fix her mind on her lessons, but
Jane's furious face stared at her from the printed
pages.

"I'm going to bed," she announced finally,
timidly addressing the immovable figure at the

148 JANE ALLEN

window. "You'd better come, too. It's almost
half-past."

"I'll go to bed when I get ready," came the
rude answer. "Please let me alone."

Having announced her intention, Judith
dawled through her preparations for sleep, now
and then stealing a pitying glance at Jane. She
was not angry at Jane's rudeness. She under-
stood dimly that her roommate was wrestling in
the grip of some dark misfortune which she pre-
ferred not to reveal. When at last she laid her
wondering brown head on her pillow, Jane still
stood at the window, staring fixedly out at the
night.

CHAPTER XIV

THE OUTLANDER

AT breakfast the next morning Jane coldly
informed Dorothy Martin that she could
not accept her invitation to the coming
dance. She felt wickedly satisfied at the result.
Dorothy's tranquil face was visited with a quick
flush that Jane construed as guilt. "Why not?"
she demanded in a tone of astonishment that Jane
chose to consider counterfeit.

"Because I don't wish to go," returned Jane
with brusque brevity.

Edith Hammond smiled maliciously, while
Adrienne Dupree's childlike eyes grew very
round. "That is the best answer in the world, if
you mean it." Dorothy tried to cover her annoy-
ance with an attempt at being pleasant.

"I mean it." Jane devoted her attention to
her grape fruit, her brows drawn in the old

140

ISO JANE ALLEN

frown that had not been in evidence of late<

"Why won't you go, Jane?" burst forth Ad-
rienne. "I shall be most disappointed if you're
not there on the great night."

Jane merely glanced at her, and dug her spoon
savagely into her grape fruit.

An angry sparkle showed itself in the little
French girl's eyes. Although she was fond of
Jane, she did not enjoy being thus ignored.

"Very likely Miss Allen has reasons of her
own for not going which she prefers to keep to
herself," suggested Edith with mocking sweet-
ness.

"You, at least, are not likely to hear them,"
was Jane's sharp rejoinder.

"I should not be interested in hearing them,"
snapped Edith.

"No; I don't think you would be." Jane's
retort caused Edith to stir guiltily. She won-
dered uneasily what the emphasis on the "you"
meant. There was more behind it than appeared
on the surface.

"As your big sister, girls, I can't allow you to
quarrel like this." Dorothy's tone was very
grave. "I am sorry, Jane, that you won't accept
me as an escort. That is all that need be said, I
think.^

OF THE SUB-TEAM 151

Breakfast proved a dismal repast. Jane's
glowering face put a damper on conversation.
Adrienne was slightly ruffled at being ignored
by her friend. Dorothy was too greatly hurt to
talk much. Edith was also sulky at being re-
proved by Dorothy.

Jane left the table first, silent and morose.

"I wonder what ails her Highness," sneered
Edith. "It is evident that "

"We will not discuss Jane, if you please.''
Dorothy's lips were firmly compressed.

"Oh, very well." Edith tossed her head. She
rose almost immediately and strolled out of the
dining room.

"I'm going to interview naughty Jane," an-
nounced Adrienne. "It is I who will find out
what has given her the unhappiness."

But Adrienne reckoned without her host. Pur-
suing Jane to her room, she besieged her with a
rapid fire of questions, to all of which she received
no reply except, "I have nothing to say. I'm
not angry with you. I'm not going to the dance
and that settles it."

"Then it is for nothing that I have come to
offer the sympathy!" cried Adrienne at last in
exasperation. She left the room distinctly out
of sorts with Jane, resolving that she would let

i5 2 JANE ALLEN

her severely alone until her ill-humor had van-
ished.

During the remaining days preceding the fes-
tivity, Jane behaved in the formidable fashion of
her first week at Wellington. At table she
shrouded herself in a garment of indifference that
was most trying to Dorothy. She had not the
remotest idea of Jane's mysterious grievance.
She had knocked at Jane's door on the evening
of the day she had been rebuffed. Judith had
admitted her joyfully, but Jane had ignored her
very presence. A swift rush of hurt pride hur-
ried her out without having said that which she
had come to say. Quietly accepting her defeat,
she did not again attempt to make peace.

Good-natured Judith found Jane hard to live
with during those four gloomy days that pre-
ceded the dance. Her roommate was suffering
from a return of her former moroseness. When
Judith strove to make conversation, Jane simply
stared or answered in monosyllables. During
study hours, she developed an annoying habit of
suddenly shoving aside her books, to spring from
her chair and pace the room with a long, gliding
movement that reminded poor Judith of a caged
lion in a Zoological garden. Weary at last, she

. OF THE SUB-TEAM 153

would fling herself in a chair to mope discon-
solately.

On the evening of the hop she went to Ruther-
ford Inn for dinner, there to brood in solitary
grandeur. It was her intention to remain away
from the Hall until its residents had set off for
the gymnasium where the affair was to take place.
She had learned from Judith that the receiving
party was to be in line at half -past seven, for
President Blakesly had set eleven o'clock as the
time limit for the dancing, and the participants
were anxious to make the most of their revel.

It was twenty minutes to eight when Jane
wended her gloomy way to Madison Hall. As
she entered, she encountered Mrs. Weatherbee,
who was emerging from the living room. "Some-
thing came by express for you to-day, Miss Al-
len. It is in my office. You will find it just
inside at the left of my desk." Mrs. Weatherbee
spoke coldly. From Edith Hammond she had
heard of Jane's latest freak of temper, and she
felt completely out of sympathy with her.

"Thank you." Jane stalked through the hall
to the office to garner what was rightfully hers.
A ray of light pierced her darkened vision as she
viewed a square but narrow crate that stood up-
right against the wall. So, it had come at last,

154 JANE ALLEN

and in her hour of need. Despite its weight,
Jane raised it in her strong young arms and bore
it up the stairs to her room.

Setting it down, she tore at the thin tough
slats that encased it so sturdily. She succeeded
in tearing one of them loose, but the others re-
sisted the strength of her importuning fingers.
"I'll have to go downstairs for a hammer," she
muttered, and set off in her usual whirlwind
fashion for the kitchen.

Jane had never before entered the kitchen of
the Hall. She had not the slightest idea as to
where else she might find a hammer. No doubt
one of the servants could furnish her with that
useful article. As she swung open the kitchen
door she just missed coming into violent collision
with a girl who was seeking exit from the room.
The girl's eyes were suspiciously red. She
averted her face, and, with a murmured, "Excuse
me," was about to pass on.

"Norma!" Jane's voice rang out with real
concern. "What is the matter?" She halted
directly in front of the girl, barring her passage.

"Nothing." Nevertheless Norma appeared on
the verge of bursting into tears. She brushed
Jane gently aside and started down the hall al-
most at a run.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 155

Jane's first impulse was to follow her. Re-
membering that, in her darker moods, she her-
self resented questioning, she walked slowly into
the kitchen where the servants were busying
themselves with the washing of the dinner dishes.
Her polite request for a hammer met with instant
response. Speeding to her room, Jane lost no
time in demolishing the stubborn crate. She
gave a cluck of satisfaction as she snatched a
heavy, paper-wrapped, square object from its
excelsior packing. Tearing away the paper, her
sober features broke into tender radiance. "Dear-
est!" she whispered, drawing a quick sobbing
breath. Then she laid her lips to the gentle face
that looked lovingly out at her from the painted
canvas.

Depositing her mother's portrait on her bed,
Jane stood before it, her eyes reverently drink-
ing in the changeless beauty of the loved fea-
tures. Long she worshipped there. As the mo-
ments went by the rancor of the preceding days
vanished, leaving her overwhelmingly sad and
heartsick. She had promised her mother so much,
only to break her word. If only she had been
more patient, less ready to flame into futile rage
over what now struck her as being merely trivial.
Would she never succeed in conquering that hate-

156 JANE ALLEN

f ul side of her nature which seemed always bound
to overshadow her finer impulses? She longed
for an opportunity to make swift restitution for
her faults. But what was there to do?

Suddenly Jane remembered the sad, tear-
stained face Norma Bennett had turned to her
as she slipped past her into the hall. Jane re-
called heavily her resolution to help Norma fight
her battles. Like the others she had made, it had
amounted to nothing. But it was not yet too
late. Like herself, Norma had so few friends,
perhaps she would not resent sympathy if it were
sincerely offered.

Jane tore her eyes from her mother's portrait
and walked hesitatingly to the door. Norma
roomed on the top floor in a narrow cubby-hole
situated at the back of the house. Jane had
obtained this information from Norma herself,
during one of their conversations. Although
Jane had invited Norma to drop in on her, the
girl had never taken advantage of the kindly
invitation. Neither had she ever invited Jane to
call on her.

Climbing the stairs to the fourth floor, Jane
paused before the closed door of the room she
guessed to be Norma's and knocked rather diffi-
dently. Receiving no answer, she repeated the

OF THE SUB-TEAM 157

knock, this time in resolute fashion. She heard
a stir of footsteps within, then the door opened.
The eyes that regarded Jane were considerably
redder than before. Norma had evidently been
indulging in a solitary burst of weeping. "Oh !"
she exclaimed in confusion. "Why, Miss Al-
len!"

"I came," began Jane. She had no idea as to
what she had best say next. Inspiration seizing
her, she repeated, "I came — to see if you would
not like to see my mother's portrait. I have just
finished unpacking it."

An expression of mingled surprise and hesita-
tion swept Norma's face. "I " She hesi-
tated, as though about to refuse.

"Please come," urged Jane. "I am anxious
that you, in particular, should see it."

"All right, I will — and thank you."

Jane had already wheeled to go downstairs.
Norma followed her, wondering a little what had
prompted this sudden whim on the part of this
peculiar, though always to her, kindly girl.

Three minutes later the two stood side by side
before the portrait that was the inspiration of all
Jane's better impulses. Norma was strangely
stirred by the gentle loveliness of the pictured
woman. "How beautiful!" she said softly. "I

158 JANE ALLEN '

never knew my mother. She died when I was
three weeks old."

"I was twelve when Dearest died," returned
Jane, her gaze fastened on the portrait.

"I didn't know — I thought " stammered

Norma. "How you must miss her."

"I do." Jane's answer came with a sharpness
born of the lonely years. Squaring her shoulders
as though about to perform a difficult task, she
began abruptly: "It's none of my business, but
I wish you'd tell me why you've been crying?"

Norma's lip quivered. "I'm a silly to cry,"
she answered rather unsteadily, "but — well, I was
dreadfully disappointed because I couldn't go to
the dance to-night. I know I ought not to mind.
I'm here for business, not pleasure. Still, I can't
help feeling bad sometimes at being so com-
pletely out of things. I went to it last year.
Dorothy Martin invited me. This year it was
my right to do the inviting, but I couldn't."

"Why not?" demanded Jane.

Norma colored painfully. She wished Jane
had not asked this searching question. She
stared fixedly at the portrait. Was it her imagi-
nation, or did the clear gray eyes seem to smile,
encouraging her to make frank reply? Raising
her head a trifle proudly, she said: "In the first

OF THE SUB-TEAM 159

place I haven't an evening dress. Then, too, I
am too poor to buy flowers for my freshman.
All the upper class girls do, you know. I couldn't
invite anyone only to make her feel ashamed of
me. I don't believe any girl would have ac-
cepted, if I had. I'm just a nobody at Welling-
ton."

Jane frowned ferociously as she listened. Her
drawn brows were not an evidence of displeas-
ure at Norma. She was thinking how greatly
she despised the absurd social system which puts
fine clothes and wealth ahead of all else. "It's
the heart that counts, Janie." She could almost
hear her father's hearty voice. Suddenly her
frown gave place to a broad smile. Into her mind
flashed the old tale of poor, neglected Cinder-
ella. But CindereDa had found a fairy god-
mother. Very well. Norma should have a fairy
godmother, too, for she, Jane Allen, would play
the part.

CHAPTER XV

PLAYING FAIRY GODMOTHER

MEASURING Norma's tall, but slightly
drooping figure, in a keen glance, Jane
burst forth with nervous energy. "Nor-
ma Bennett, you and I are going to that dance
together. It's not quite half -past eight. There
won't be time to get any flowers, but we don't
need them. I'm going to be your fairy god-
mother. I've lots of pretty dresses. You are
about my height and build. I am sure you can
wear one of them."

"Oh, I couldn't!" gasped Norma. Neverthe-
less the proposal brought a gleam of sunshine to
her dejected features.

Jane appeared not to hear her. She was on

the other side of the room before the larger of

her two trunks. Flinging back the lid she lifted

the shallow tray and deposited it on the floor. A

160

OF THE SUB-TEAM iSt

bewildering succession of feminine finery fol-
lowed it. "Here you are." She sprang to her
feet, holding up a gown of shimmering pale blue
and white. The lower foundation of blue silk
was laid in tiny pleats. It had an over-drapery
of white chiffon, caught up with graceful sprays
of blue velvet forget-me-nots. The short white
chiffon sleeves were drawn back into artistic
folds and ornamented with the same flower. The
round neck ended in a bertha of pleated chiffon
that fell almost to the short waist.

"This will fit you," she nodded. "It's a trifle
tight for me. I've never worn it. Aunt Mary
was determined I should have it. Blue's not my
color. I'm sure it was made on purpose for you.
Try it on. If it fits, I wish you to take it as a

present from " her eyes sought the portrait,

"from Dearest. You can't refuse her gift, now
can you?"

Jane felt that this was the most clinching argu-
ment she could advance. Norma couldn't pos-
sibly refuse the frock now.

Norma eyed the frock in distressed silence.
She wanted it, oh, how she wanted it. Never in
her short life had she dreamed of possessing such
a wonderful gown. Yet pride sealed her lips.
She wished Jane had not brought her mother into

1 62 JANE ALLEN

the problem. It made refusal so very hard. "I'd
love to accept it," was her honest reply, "but I
don't believe I ought."

"Here, take it. It's yours." Jane boldly prof-
fered the blue and white wonder. "I'm a deter-
mined person who won't take 'no' for an answer.
Wait a minute. I'll dig up the slippers that go
with it." Jane dived into her trunk and rum-
maged with a will. "Here they are." She held
up a pair of narrow pale-blue satin slippers. "I
hope they will fit. What size shoe do you wear?"

"Four B." Things were happening so rapidly
that Norma saw the slippers through a mist of
happy tears.

"These are five A. You can wear them." Jane
rose and, going to the chiffonier, returned almost
instantly with a pair of blue silk stockings and a
pair of long white gloves. "Oh, yes. I almost
forgot." Her last invasion of her trunk was pro-
ductive of a petticoat of sheer white silk. "Now,
Cinderella, prepare for the ball," she laughed.
"You don't mind my calling you Cinderella, do
you? She had a fairy godmother, you know.
Now we must hurry, or the party will be over
before we arrive in all our glory."

Jane set about her preparations for the hop as
though fche matter we^e definitely settled. Norma

OF THE SUB-TEAM 163

s

watched her shyly for a little, then she began
slowly to unfasten her plain white blouse. The
temptation to be a real butterfly among butter-
flies was too great to be resisted.

"How pretty you are!" was Jane's generous
praise, as twenty minutes afterward she viewed
the formerly meek Norma, whom the magic wand
of kindness had transformed into a radiant vision
in blue and white.

"You are simply stunning," was Norma' s ad-
miring cry.

Jane did indeed deserve the tribute. Forget-
fulness of self had brought her undeniable beauty
to the front with a bound. She was a study in
gold, and her gray eyes glowed like lamps under
her dark brows, now unmarred with the ugly
frown which so frequently visited them.

"Here's a cape." Jane handed Norma a
white broadcloth wrap lined with white brocade.
"You are to keep that, too. It will come handy
all year." As she spoke she slipped her arms
into a fur- trimmed evening coat of old gold plush.
"Now we are ready. We can walk to the gym-
nasium. It's not far and a beautiful night."

There was a great craning of necks and more
than one murmur of admiration as two resplend-
ent figures entered the gymnasium, which was

164 JANE ALLEN

disguised by many palms, draperies, cushions,
divans and whatever decorative loot the sopho-
mores could lay hold on, into the semblance of a
ballroom. The receiving party had forsaken their
duties at half-past eight to mingle with their
guests. As it was nine o'clock when Jane and
Norma made their triumphal entry, they were
denied the privilege of that august body's polite
welcome. A one-step had just ended and the
dancers were scattered about the room in little
groups, or walking about the polished floor in
couples. Here and there a solitary girl rested
on a divan or chair, with which the sides of the
gymnasium were lined, but the majority of the
guests preferred the entertainment of numbers.
Now that she was actually a part of that laugh-
ing, chatting company, Jane felt her courage
oozing to the very toes of her gold-colored slip-
pers. Suppose no one came near them or asked
them to dance In her anxiety to give Norma
pleasure she had quite forgotten her own unpopu-
larity. Now the unhappy knowledge returned
full force and with it the remembrance of Nor-
ma's humble status in college. Tossing her head
with a sudden access of bravado, Jane determined
that Norma should have a good time if there were

OF THE SUB-TEAM 165

any possible means by which she might bring it
to pass.

As she stood deliberating on what should be
her first move, a cheery voice called out: "Jane
Allen, you old fraud! I was never more sur-
prised in all my life." Judith Stearns had come
up behind her and slipped a welcoming arm
about her waist.

"Norma and I decided at the last minute to
come. She's my escort." Jane flushed prettily
as she made this statement.

"You are two gorgeous creatures, and you
positively dazzle me," laughed Judith. "Have
you your dance cards? I intend to have the
honor of several dances with each of you. Wait
a minute until I bring Ethel." Judith glided
away to return with Ethel Lacey, a small, rather
stout girl with a good-natured, broadly smiling
face. In their brief walk across the ballroom,
Judith had instructed Ethel regarding her duty
and the latter now expressed herself as anxious
to dance with Norma and Jane.

They had hardly finished scribbling their
names on the dance cards of these latest arrivals
when Adrienne fluttered up, looking for all the
world like a frolicsome young imp in her smart
gown of flame-colored silk crepe. Adrienne had

166 JANE ALLEN

spied Jane from afar and hastened to welcome
her. To her beauty-worshipping soul, Jane's re-
splendent dawning upon the dance more than
made up for her previous shortcomings.

"Is it that you are really here, ma belle?" she
gurgled, slipping a small hand into Jane's. "And
you are glorious! Je vous salut" She made a
low bow. "We will dance together. Is it not
so? We shall be admired of many." In her
joyful excitement she had lapsed into the quaint
phraseology of her parents. "Oh, it is of a hap-
piness parfaitement!" She clasped her mites of
hands and revolved about the embarrassed Jane
in a kind of slow dance. "And la petite Norma!
She is also quite wonderful."

The announcing strains of a waltz checked her
rippling flow of admiration. "I must go," she
pouted regretfully. "A very grand senior is to
be my partner for this. Afterward I shall look
for you."

The "very grand senior" walked up at that mo-
ment to claim the scarlet sprite, and she floated
away on her partner's arm, her tiny feet seeming
scarcely to touch the floor, her black head bobbing
an impish farewell over her shoulder.

Jane waited only long enough to see Norma

OF THE SUB-TEAM 167

dance off with Ethel, then with Judith as a part-
ner she swung into the waltz.

"How in the world did it all happen?" was
Judith's first speech.

"Don't ask me here to-night. When we get
home I'll tell you. But, Judy, I wish you'd
promise me that you'll help Norma to have a
good time. It doesn't matter about me. I'm
not so much in love with all this."

"Of course I will," promised Judith. She was
wondering mightily at Jane's astonishing change
of view. It was the very last thing she had ex-
pected of the girl she had so lately seen pacing
the room like an untamed animal beating against
the bars of captivity.

As the evening wore away, Jane discovered
that Judith had more than kept her word. She
took Norma under her special eye and rallied the
girls to the retiring sophomore's standard, until
that timid young person felt herself almost a
guest of honor rather than a humble toiler whose
duty it was to serve rather than to be served.
Jane herself was not left to languish. Although
she was not in favor at Madison Hall, in that
targe assemblage of students she came into con-
tact with more than one gn*l who seemed disposed
to be friendly.

1 68 JANE ALLEN

Once during the evening her good humor came
very near to deserting her. As she strolled about
the room, during an intermission, with Adrienne
Dupree, a curious feeling that she was the subject
of discussion drew her wandering glance to a
group of girls gathered about the lemonade bowl.
Her eyes encountered another pair, pale blue and
glittering with cold animosity. They belonged
to Marian Seaton. Her thin lips curled scorn-
fully and she turned to whisper to Maizie Gilbert,
who stood at her side, looming like a young moun-
tain in her much-shirred pink silk gown. Maizie
was considerably too stout to wear pink, but she
was complacently unaware of that truth. Mari-
an's whisper brought an insolent laugh from
Maizie that made Jane's cheeks burn. She ex-
perienced a wild desire to fly at them both and
tear them to bits. Instead she looked away as
though she had not noticed either of them. She
would not spoil this gala night by allowing her
dislike of Marian to trouble her.

There was one bitter drop in her cup of pleas-
ure, however. Dorothy Martin had appeared not
to see her. She could hardly blame Dorothy for
this. She was remorsefully conscious that she
had treated the kindly junior with discourtesy.
Still, Jane could not forget what she had over-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 169

heard in the living room. If only Dorothy had
not spoken so patronizingly of her to Edith
Hammond. She had actually apologized to
Edith for inviting Jane to the hop. Poor Jane
was extremely fond of Dorothy, or rather she
admitted to herself that she "had been." It was
now a thing of the past. She could never again
care for this deceitful girl. Yet in her heart
she was half tempted to go to Dorothy and have
matters out. Her indomitable pride alone held
her aloof.

Dorothy, on her part, was righteously indig-
nant with Jane. She felt that she had been very
badly treated. She was too fair-minded not to
recognize that in bringing Norma Bennett to the
dance Jane had, somehow, performed a miracle.
She herself had urged Norma to take part in the
affair, and Norma had obstinately refused to con-
sider it. She had tearfully confided her reasons
to Dorothy, who had generously offered her one
of her gowns. Norma had remained adamant.
It had been left to Jane to work the wonder.
Dorothy was divided between admiration of
Jane's method of bringing about miracles and
disapproval of her bald discourtesy.

And so, while the freshmen danced their merry
way to acquaintance with their elder sisters, two

170 JANE ALLEN

young girls, so lately devoted friends, but now
firmly entrenched in their own particular griev-
ance, held rigidly aloof, misunderstanding and
misunderstood.

CHAPTER XVI

THE LUBE OF BASKET-BALL

* A T last! Just read this, Jane." Judith
JL\ Stearns' tranquil face wore a delighted
^ "^ smile. The triumphant ring in her voice
indicated that her cursory glance at the bulletin
board had furnished her with a piece of valuable
information.

"What is it?" Jane turned half impatiently
and walked back to where Judith stood in rapt
perusal of a notice, typed in capitals, and flaunt-
ing itself conspicuously at the top of the board.
What the daily press is to a news-hungry pub-
lic, the bulletin board becomes to the college girl.
By means of its kindly legion of notices she is
able to keep in direct touch with the doings of her
limited world. Many and varied are the bits of
information gleaned from its daily array of no-
tices of which she would otherwise remain ig-
norant.

171

172 JANE ALLEN

To Judith the faithful perusal of this treasure
trove, situated just inside the entrance to Wel-
lington Hall, had become a fixed habit. Quite
to the contrary, Jane seldom deigned to glance
at it. Whatever it held of interest she was sure
to learn from Judith's obliging lips. Still par-
tially indifferent to what went on about her, Jane
regarded it as a tiresome succession of college
club and society notices, with an occasional
"Lost" or "Found" thrown in by way of reliev-
ing its monotony. Now, as her eyes followed
Judith's indicating finger, she was not thrilled
to read that a try-out for basket-ball, to be held
with a view to the making of the freshman team,
was scheduled to take place in the gymnasium at
.half -past four o'clock on Friday afternoon.

"I've been waiting for this," rejoiced Judith.
"Dorothy Martin said that the team is usually
made soon after the freshman class election. This
year there was an argument among the sopho-
mores about basket-ball. They happen to be the
smallest class for a number of years, and most
of them weren't in favor of the good old game."
. "What difference need that make to the freshr
men?" asked Jane indifferently. "Can't they
play without the sophomores?" Jane had not
the slightest knowledge of basket-ball, nor did

OF THE SUB-TEAM 173

she yearn to become familiar with its intricacies,
"Of course they can," nodded Judith, "but it
wouldn't be much fun. If the sophomores had
decided to drop basket-ball this year — thank for-
tune they didn't — the freshmen could have made
up two teams among themselves, and one team
could have played against the other. That's all
very well in practice games, but there's no special
glory in it. A picked team needs real opposition.
That's the reason they challenge the sophomores.
If they can beat them, it's a decided feather in
the freshman cap."

"Can't the freshmen challenge the juniors or
seniors?" Jane had now become mildly inter-
ested. Hitherto, basket-ball had occupied small
place in her thoughts. The idea of contest ap-
pealed to her, however.

"They have never done so at Wellington, so
I've been told," returned Judith. "When one
reaches junior estate a great many other things
crowd basket-ball out. Whenever there has been
a junior team, the members of it have never con-
descended to go below the sophomores. As I'm
a rabid basket-ball enthusiast, I've taken pains
*to gather all this information. The seniors
hardly ever play, although they are useful as
referees, time-keepers, etc. It really rests with

174 JANE ALLEN

the freshmen and sophomores to keep basket-ball
alive. While Miss Winslow was dean, she didn't
encourage the noble sport, but Miss Rutledge is
quite different. She's from California, you
know, and believes that girls ought to be inter-
ested in college sports. You must go to the try-
out with me, then you'll understand why I like
to play basket-ball. I hope I'll make the team.
I shall try my hardest."

"I don't believe I care to go. If it is anything
like the class election was, deliver me from it."
Jane frowned at the memory of the recent fresh-
man election of officers. It had taken place
directly after the dance and had been a far from
peaceful affair. A number of freshmen had ener-
getically electioneered for Marian Seaton for
class president. She had lost the office by a large
majority in favor of Barbara Temple, a most
popular freshman at Argyle Hall, and the de-
feated electioneers had accepted their defeat with
anything but good grace. There had also been
considerable petty wrangling over the other offi-
ces. Afterward Jane had returned to Madison
Hall distinctly disgusted with the whole affair.
It had been a matter of satisfaction to her, how-,
ever, to know that the disagreeable Marian

OF THE SUB-TEAM 175

Seaton had not gained the high office she had so
greatly coveted.

"Oh, it won't be like that" Judith hastened to
assure her. "The team is to be picked. Those
who are anxious to play are to be tried out on the
floor. It's quite exciting. Please promise you'll
go. If you aren't interested, then you needn't go
to the practice games."

"All right, I'll go, Judy," promised Jane. "If
I don't find it interesting, I won't even stay to
see it through."

"You'll stay. See if you don't," predicted
Judith. "I hope Dorothy Martin will be one of
the deciding committee. One can depend on fair
treatment from her."

"Aren't the judges fair?" Jane smiled rather
cynically. She was not surprised at Judith's re-
mark. The majority of the girls she had en»
countered at Wellington had proved themselves
anything but fair in their treatment of their fel-
low students. Privately she included Dorothy
among them. Dorothy had been most unfair to
her, at least.

"It's not quite loyal to say they aren't," Judith
amended. "Yet sometimes they show favoritism.
Not here, perhaps. When I was at Morrison,
the prep, school I attended before I came here,

176 JANE ALLEN

there was a great deal of that sort of thing. I
nearly missed a chance to play in a big game
because the physical culture instructor didn't
like me. She found fault with my passing, and
tried to put another girl, a pet of hers, in my
place. The rest of the team made such a fuss,
she finally let the matter drop. But if the team
hadn't backed me, you can see where Judy would
have landed."

"How could she be so despicable!" exclaimed
Jane. "That's the chief reason I've never cared
much for girls. Most of them are disloyal."

"Oh, no, they aren't. It's just the other way.
Ninety per cent of them are true blue. It's the
other ten per cent that make loyal ones appear
under false colors. I'm very fond of most of the
girls I know. Some day you will feel the same
about the girls here."

"I doubt it." Jane shrugged her shoulders
with the air of a misanthrope.

During the week, however, she heard so much
of basket-ball that she began to wonder if, after
all, it might not prove worthy of passing atten-
tion. The subject appeared to be on everyone's
tongue. She heard snatches of it during recita-
tion hours and still more of it at Madison Hall.
Although the Hall was not strictly a freshman

OF THE SUB-TEAM 177

house, owing to the large number of vacancies
due to the graduation of last year's seniors, these
vacancies had been quickly filled by entering
freshmen. Of the thirty-six girls who dwelt in
it, not more than ten of that number were upper
class.

Even vivacious little Adrienne Dupree had
caught basket-ball fever. Delighting in anything
that promised activity, she had calmly announced
her intention of taking part in the try-out. At
table she daily besieged Dorothy Martin with
eager questions concerning the rules of basket-
ball. She enveigled Judith Stearns and good-
natured Ethel Lacey into going with her to the
gymnasium, there to furnish a course of instruc-
tion in the various mysteries of the game. She
soon mastered the main points and delighted her
willing teachers with her lithe, cat-like move-
ments and fleetness of foot. "But indeed I am
not so slow," she would complacently remark,
after performing some particularly agile feat.
"Perhaps it is I who will be chosen to play on
the great team."

While at meals, Adrienne entertained Dorothy
v/ith a voluble flow of chatter concerning her am-
bitions, but to Jane, the three short periods of
time she spent daily at table were absolutely

178 JANE ALLEN

painful. She had not minded being on the outs
with Edith Hammond. With Dorothy and Adri-
enne as staunch supporters, Edith's barbed
shafts were seldom returned. Jane could afford
to overlook them Since Dorothy had turned
against her, as Jane obstinately chose to believe
was the case, she felt extremely ill at ease when in
her presence. To be sure, she and Jane ex-
changed civilities, but that was all. There were
no more pleasant talks; no more riding lessons;
no more friendly hailings when they chanced to
meet outside the Hall.

Adrienne and Edith were alike curious re-
garding Jane's grievance against Dorothy. The
former longed to question both interested parties,
but being an extremely wise child, she held her
tongue. Jane had rebuffed her for presuming
to inquire into her reasons for not attending the
freshman dance. As she was really fond of this
strange girl, she did not yearn to introduce a
subject that might result in sharp words between
them. As for Dorothy, Adrienne felt that she
would as soon inquire into the personal affairs
of Miss Rutledge as to cross-question this stately
junior.

Edith entertained no such awe of Dorothy.
Aware that something had gone wrong, she had

OF THE SUB-TEAM 179

button-holed Dorothy for a confidential talk at
the first opportunity that presented itself, follow-
ing Jane's refusal of the junior's invitation. To
her first sneering speech, "It is evident that your
dear Miss Allen doesn't appreciate your kind-
ness, Dot," Dorothy had endeavored to silence
her with, "I do not wish to discuss Jane with
you, Edith." But Edith had persisted until in
sheer vexation Dorothy had cried out : "I haven't
the slightest idea why Jane refused my invita-
tion. If I had, I would not tell you. Will you
please be kind enough to drop the subject?"

From Norma Bennett, Dorothy had ascer-
tained the details of the generous part Jane had
played on the evening of the hop. Knowing
Norma to be the soul of discretion, she had ven-
tured to tell her of Jane's refusal, in the hope
that Norma might be able to throw light on that
which was still a mystery to her. Norma could
offer no solution. During that happy time of
preparation for the dance, Jane had discussed no
one. Norma did relate, however, the incident of
the portrait, causing Dorothy to experience the
desire to batter down the wall between herself
an A the proud girl she had grown to love so
dearly. On reflection she decided it would not
be best. Jane had erected the barrier, therefore

i8o JANE ALLEN

y

it was incumbent on her to do away with it. Time
alone could teach the perverse freshman that,
once given, true friendship was a gift to be cher-
ished, not abused.

When, at a little past four on Friday after-
noon, Jane and Judith entered the gymnasium,
they found an excited bevy of bloomer-clad
freshmen already on the scene, industriously at
work with the ball. The four sides of the large
room were thickly sprinkled with spectators from
all the classes, who had come to see what the
freshmen could do. The sophomore team had
already been organized. They were grouped to-
gether intently watching the players and com-
menting on their respective merits.

"Wait here for me," directed Judith. "I'm
going to the dressing quarters to get into my
regalia. I'll come back to you as soon as I'm
togged for action." She had already donned her
rubber-soled canvas shoes, and as she trotted
across the room, her basket-ball suit swinging on
one arm, Jane almost wished that she, too, could
get into a like costume and run about the wide
stretch of floor after the ball. Contrary to expec-
tation, she was decidedly interested. She had
not thought basket-ball would be like this.

Judith had just returned and stood explaining

OF THE SUB-TEAM 181

to Jane the meaning of the various maneuvers
the players were making, when a shrill whistle,
blown by an imposing senior who wore eye-
glasses, sent the active figures scurrying off the
floor to the place reserved for them. The try-out
was about to begin.

While she stood eagerly viewing the spirited
play, Jane had identified at least three of the
contestants. They were Adrienne, Marian Sea-
ton and Alicia Reynolds. She also noted, when
the judges took their station at a point in the
room where they could best observe what went
on, that Dorothy Martin was one of them. She
now remembered that Judith had said that Doro-
thy was to serve in that capacity. The other two
young women, seniors, she did not know.

As over half of the freshman class had designs
on team membership, they were quickly divided
into squads of five, and set to work, two squads
at a time, the one to play against the other.

Jane thrilled with excitement as she heard the
screech of the warning whistle and saw the ball
put into play. After ten minutes' hard work, the
players were called off the floor, to be replaced
by a second ambitious ten. Altogether, thirty
girls were tried out, while the selecting commit-
tee put their heads together and noted on paper

182 JANE ALLEN

the most promising aspirants. These were finally
sifted down to ten names, the owners of which
formed two squads and strove against each other.
Jane smiled with delight to see Judith and Ad-
rienne among the favored ten. She frowned with
disgust to £nd Marian Seaton and Alicia Reyn-
olds also of that number.

When, after twenty minutes' desperate en-
deavor, the ten girls ran off to their corner, the
judges consulted afresh, amid a loud buzzing of
conversation on the part of the spectators. A
hush fell upon the room at the sound of the
whistle for silence. That meant that the fresh-
man team had been selected and the names of the
lucky members were to be announced.

It was one of the seniors who made the an-
nouncement. After a polite little speech which
was intended as a consolation for the disap-
pointed who had failed to play up to the de-
manded standard, she read out the names. Judith
Stearns, Adrienne Dupree, Alicia Reynolds,
Marian Seaton and Christine Ellis, an Argyle
Hall girl, had been chosen to play on the official
freshman team. Five other girls had been se-
lected to play on a practice team and act as sub-
stitutes. Jane knew them, merely by sight.

A moment after the announcement, which was

OF THE SUB-TEAM 183

received with some applause, Adrienne pranced
up to Jane, looking like a frolicsome young sprite
in her dark blue bloomer suit. "For me it is
indeed the great joy that I, poor, small Adrienne,
have been chosen," she gurgled. "Tell me, most
serious one, how does my costume become me? I
had it fashioned in the great hurry, by a most
stupid dressmaker, who waited long to finish it.
It is most comfortable in which to dance." She
pirouetted gaily about Jane, keeping up a ripple
of quaint remarks. "But you have not yet said
how I look." She paused and fixed Jane with an
expression of mock reproach.

"You look exactly like a tiny young imp,"
laughed Judith Stearns, who had come up in
time to hear Adrienne's latest remark.

"You are of a truth droll, Judy," she giggled.
"You have at last guessed the name that mon
pere loves to call me. At home, I am the great
Imp. So you and Jane shall thus call me, if you
wish. It is the pet name and I adore it. Com'
prenez vous?"

"Oui, ma chere enfant" returned Jane, her
gloomy face lighting at the little girl's merry talk.
"Vous etes vraiment le petit drole"

teJe vous ador. Vous parley ma belle langue"
Adrienne patted her hand.

1 84 JANE ALLEN

"I wish I could speak French as well as Jane
does," said Judith rather wistfully. "It's awfully-
hard for me. I can never remember the verbs."

"I wish I could play basket-ball like you and
Adrienne," was Jane's astonishing retort.

"What do I hear?" Judith's lifted brows in-
dicated her surprise. "Didn't I tell you you'd
like the dear old game?"

"I do like it." Jane flushed as she made this
confession. "I'd give half my kingdom to be on
the freshman team. Of course I know that I
never will be. But just the same, I'm going to
learn to play, if only to please myself."

CHAPTER XVII

HELPING JANE'S CAUSE ALONG

WHEREAS basket-ball had at first been
a matter of indifference to Jane, it now
became a delightful obsession. Here
was a phase of college life which she was quite
willing to embrace. Reared to the activity of
the ranch, the conventional monotony of her sur-
roundings irked her beyond measure. Aside from
her reckless gallops across country on Firefly, she
had no other outlet for her stored-up energy.
Basket-ball promised to supply a long-felt need.
Still she could not play the game alone, and there
seemed small prospect of being asked to serve
even on a practice team.

When she had enrolled as a student of Wel-
lington College, Jane had not wished to become
friendly with any of her fellow-students. She
had deliberately built up a wall between herself

18s

186 JANE ALLEN

and them. Now she wished she had not been in
such a hurry to condemn them as scarcely worth
her consideration. It was hard indeed to find
herself a comparative outsider, especially since
she had discovered that it prevented her from
taking part in the sport which had so signally
aroused her enthusiasm.

True, she was not entirely without friends.
Adrienne, Judith, Norma Bennett and Ethel
Lacey had become really dear to her. She had
never believed that she could become so entirely
at home in the society of girls. Hardly a day
passed without bringing forth some new proof of
their regard for her. She and Judith now fre-
quently studied their lessons in company with
Adrienne and Ethel, Norma Bennett often mak-
ing a fifth. Jane was secretly amazed at the
amount of good cheer that was to be extracted
from a chafing dish. Judith was past master of
the art of fudge-making, while Adrienne, true
child of France, knew how to concoct a variety
of appetizing dishes, which could be prepared in
this same useful article, so dear to the heart of
the school girl.

"We ought to have a stunt party, Jane," re-
marked Judith casually, one evening in early
November. "I've been entertained by quite a

OF THE SUB-TEAM 187

number of the girls outside the Hall, and I'd love
to make some return." Judith spoke with her
usual placidity, but inwardly she was far from
being calm. She was not sure that Jane would
look upon the proposal with favor. Of an ex-
tremely sociable disposition, Judith had hitherto
refrained from inviting a number of her friends
to her room for a jollification, for fear of dis-
pleasing her roommate.

"What is a stunt party?" Jane looked up
from her book, a curious gleam in her gray eyes.

"Oh, it's a sort of social session." Judith was
relieved to observe that Jane was not frowning.
"Everyone who comes has to do a stunt. Sing,
or recite, or dance. Perhaps tell an interesting
story. Then we have eats, of course, and every-
body goes home happy at the very last minute
before the ten-thirty bell. Eight girls will be
about as many as this room will comfortably
hold. If we have too many, it won't be so much
fun. Let me see. There are Adrienne and
Ethel, Norma of course, Mary Ashton, Barbara
Temple, Christine Ellis, you and I. If it weren't
for Marian Seaton and Alicia Reynolds, I'd
invite the girls of the freshman team on another
evening, but those two dear creatures make it
quite out of the question. I'd as soon think of

i-88 JANE ALLEN

t-„ . ... . -n

inviting a snapping turtle, or a nice wriggly-
snake, as either of them." Judith giggled cheer-
fully as she made this unflattering comparison.

"The idea of a stunt party sounds interesting."
Jane wagged her head in serious approval of
Judith's plan. "Speaking of snakes," she went
on slowly, "that reminds me of something that
happened to me just before I came east to Wel-
lington. It was on my last day at home. I went
for a long ride. All the time I kept wishing that
I might be given some last lucky sign to show
that all would go well for me this year. It came,
but in the form of a huge rattlesnake. Very
lucky, wasn't it? At any rate, I killed it. I re-
membered then that snakes meant enemies. So
you see it was a true omen," ended Jane bitterly.

"How strange!" Judith's eyes had grown
round with wonder as she listened to Jane's re-
cital. "If you were brave enough to kill a great,
horrible rattlesnake, you are certainly brave
enough to conquer your enemies. I couldn't kill
even a garter snake." Judith shuddered at the
bare idea of dispatching even this harmless vari-
ety of reptile.

"I've killed lots of rattlesnakes," returned
Jane. "They're a common sight out West, but
so far I've made plenty of enemies, and havenft

OF THE SUB-TEAM 189

conquered one of them. I never thought I'd care

about " Jane hesitated. "About girls," she

went on slowly. "Perhaps I wouldn't, even yet,
if I had not found such nice friends as you and
Adrienne and Ethel. What I do care a lot about
is basket-ball. I'd love to be on a team, Judy,
even if it were only a scrub team." Jane made
this confession rather shame-facedly.

"I understand." Judith struggled to keep the
surprise she felt out of her voice. Proud, re-
served Jane Allen had at last come to her senses.
She wished to be liked, in order that she might
play basket-ball, and she was making an indirect
appeal to Judith to help her to that end. It was
the nearest approach to a favor that she had ever
asked. Judith wondered how she might best
serve her roommate. Then she reflected that the
stunt party might do much toward helping Jane's
cause along. She and Christine were on the
regular team, while Barbara Temple captained
the practice squad against which the picked team
had been playing.

"Wait until the night of the stunt party," she
now counseled. "I'll casually introduce the sub-
ject to the girls. Barbara told me yesterday that
Lillian Barrows was ill and might not be able to
play for a week or so. Perhaps you might take

190 JANE ALLEN

— — ^

her place on the practice team. I forgot, though,
You don't know much about the game. That's
too bad. You'd have to work on a scrub team
first. The practice team has to do really fast
playing."

"But I do know the game !" Jane's tones car-
Tied repressed excitement. "I sent for an official
guide book on basket-ball the day after the try-
out. I've been studying it ever since it came. I
know every point. All I ask is a chance to play.
I'm so sorry I didn't go to the gym with you
girls when you were teaching Adrienne. Then I
could have tried to make the team, too. It's my
own fault." Jane frowned darkly.

"Never mind," comforted Judith. "There's no
use in worrying over that now. What you must
do is to try to get a chance to play on the practice
team. If you become a star player and anything
were to happen to one of the regular team, you
might be asked to play in her place. Of course,
that's all very indefinite. Still, it wouldn't do any
harm to work and get ready. The date for the
big game hasn't been set. Very likely it will be
played early in December. Dorothy Martin told
me the other day that there was some talk of
holding a series of games between the freshmen
and sophomores for a pennant. That would be

OF THE SUB-TEAM 191

lots of fun and wildly exciting. It would keep
basket-ball to the front all year."

"I don't expect to have a chance to play on
the regular team this year." Jane spoke very
humbly. "Besides it wouldn't be right for me
even to dream of it when it would mean sup-
planting one of the regular girls." For all her
moods, Jane had the virtue of being strictly hon-
orable even in thought.

"But suppose one of us were suddenly taken
ill or had to go home," argued Judith. "You'd
have a perfect right to substitute, if your playing
warranted it. As long as you like basket-ball so
much, go in and learn it for all you're worth.
Don't bother to think about what might happen.
Just be ready. If your chance should come, take
it. If not, then you'll be in line for next year's
team. But there is one thing you will have to do,
if you hope to make good on any team." Judith
paused and eyed Jane significantly.

"I know." Jane colored hotly. "You needn't
say it. I'll try, Judy ; truly I will."

"There's something else you ought to do," pur-
sued Judith relentlessly.

"What do you mean?" Jane's sharp question
indicated that there were several things Judith
might mean.

192 JANE ALLEN

i . , , . =

"You ought to square yourself with Dorothy
Martin. I'm not saying that because I wish to
pry into your affairs," apologized Judith. "You
really need Dorothy's friendship. You two were
such good comrades. Then, too, Dorothy is such
a splendid girl and could help you in so many
ways."

"I don't wish Dorothy Martin's help." Jane
shook her head with stubborn decision. "I can
get along very well without it." She had no in-
tention of taking even Judith into her confidence
concerning her grievance against Dorothy.
Neither would she admit how greatly she missed
the latter's inspiring companionship. If there
were any question as to which of them should sue
for peace, she would never be the suppliant.
Dorothy had done her a wrong, therefore Doro-
thy alone could right it.

Realizing that though she had made her first
point she had failed to make the second, Judith
wisely dropped the subject and began to plan
cheerfully for the stunt party. "We'd better
give it on next Monday night," she decided.
"I'll have my allowance money by that time.
That's a very necessary thing when it comes to
giving a party."

"I have plenty of money," reminded Jane. "I

OF THE SUB-TEAM 193

haven't yet spent half of my last check. There's
nothing much to spend money for here."

"I wish I could say that," sighed Judith. "My
check looks like a good deal of money when I
first see it. But after it's cashed it simply melts
like snow in the sun."

"That's because you can find so many ways to
spend it. You're a social success, Judy, and I'm
not."

"You could be if you would," declared Judith
staunchly.

Jane merely shook her head in mute contra-
diction. She had not Judith's ability for making
friends.

As the week wore away, however, she found
herself looking forward to Friday night with con-
siderable anticipation. Judith had decreed that
the affair must be a stunt party. She had al-
ready announced that her contribution to the af-
fair would be a funny little monologue she had
once given at a stunt party while at Morrison
Preparatory School. Jane racked her brain for
a stunt suitable to the occasion. Finally she hit
upon an idea that seemed feasible, and after a
visit to her trunk, laid her plan before Judith.
The latter was in raptures over it. She forth-
with lost no time in informing the guests that a

194 JANE ALLEN

costume party was in order and that no one could
hope to gain admittance to the festal chamber
unless properly conforming to her edict.

For the first time Jane began to experience
the feeling of delight with which a girl looks for-
ward to her first party. Never before had she
been active in bringing about an affair of the
kind which the coming Friday promised. The
few hops she had attended at various Western
summer resorts in company with her Aunt Mary
had invariably bored her. True, she had in a
measure enjoyed herself at the freshman dance.
The stunt party, however, was to be quite dif-
ferent from any other she had ever attended.
And it was her suggestion to Judith that had in-
spired at least one feature of it. Jane could not
help being a trifle pleased over this. At heart
she was just as eager for simple, wholesome en-
tertainment as any other girl of her age. She
suspected this dimly, but nothing could have in-
duced her to say so to Judith. Although she
could not then know it, her restless longing for
variety was destined to one day make her a bril-
liant leader whose name was to be set down on the
honor roll of Wellington's brightest and best.
But it was alike decreed that she should not reach
this height until the last battle against self should
be fought and won.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE STUNT PABTY

AT half -past seven o'clock on Monday eve-
ning, two gaily attired damsels, quite
foreign in appearance to their usual
everyday selves, stole cat-footed down the hall
and were admitted to Judith's room amid much
stifled laughter. They were received by an awe-
inspiring person whose huge, shell-rimmed
glasses and severe mannish attire proclaimed to
them that a reformer of no mean pretensions had
condescended to grace the scene.

Attired in plain black skirt, topped by Jane's
black riding coat, this particular disciple of re-
form was distinctly imposing. The coat was ar-
tistically thrown open to disclose a marvelous
expanse of white pleated shirt front. With a
stand-up collar and black bow tie, her brown hair
dragged upward into a tortured knot, until the

195

196 JANE ALLEN

corners of her blue eyes fairly seemed to follow
that upward slant, Judith was a sight to behold.
Beside her stood a ferocious Indian chief, whose
feathered headdress and formidable tomahawk
might well have proclaimed him to be one of the
immortal redskins of Fenimore Cooper lore, ex-
cept that these fabled warriors were not recorded
to possess luminous gray eyes and feinininely
regular features.

"How!" grunted the warrior, in polite wel-
come as a fluffy-skirted premiere of the ballet
seized his august hand and gurgled her fluent
French admiration of him.

"Ladies, be seated," invited the reformer's dig-
nified voice. "The worst, I mean the rest, is yet
to come." This information trailed off into a
most un-ref ormer-like giggle.

"Judy Stearns, you are the funniest thing I
ever saw." Ethel Lacey, transformed for the
time being into a broadly-smiling gypsy, a violin
tucked under her arm, accepted the invitation to
sit and broke into a fresh burst of chuckles which
had begun the moment she spied Judith. "As
for Jane, she looks fierce enough to tomahawk a
whole settlement."

"Ah, but she is le grand sauvage!" exclaimed
Adrienne. "But hark! Someone knocks."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 197

Judith hurried to the door to admit two
raincoated figures, their heads discreetly scarf-
wrapped. Divested of their coats and scarfs, a
golden-haired Dresden shepherdess and an ele-
gant Turkish-trousered lady, with a flowing,
rippling veil, burst upon the scene. On the cam-
pus they were known respectively as Christine
Ellis and Barbara Temple, but for to-night they
had sunk their identities to play the favorite
childhood game of "dressing up."

They were welcomed with due ceremony and
had hardly begun to take stock of their com-
panions when a timid rapping at the door an-
nounced the arrival of another guest.

A ripple of approbation swept the little com-
pany as a black clad figure of princely mien
stepped across the threshold. Was it really
Norma Bennett who had entered, or had Hamlet,
the ill-starred Prince of Denmark, suddenly
come to life? Norma had copied her costume, so
far as she was able, from one she had seen in a
picture. Though of common black cambric, she
had fashioned it so cleverly that the material was
forgotten in the general effect. Long black
stockings and flat-heeled slippers, an old circular
cape she had discovered hanging in the back hall
and a quaint cap of her own making helped to

i98 JANE ALLEN

carry out the representation. Around her neck
hung a heavy silver chain that had been her
mother's. The crowning glory of her costume,
however, was a wide flat-linked metal belt from
which depended a sheathed short sword.

"For goodness' sake, Norma Bennett, wherever
did you manage to lay hands on that belt and
sword?" Judith forgot her dignity as she called
out her eager question.

"Isn't it splendid?" The melancholy look on
Norma's face, which went so completely with her
representation, vanished in a pleased smile.
"You'll laugh when I tell you. Sarah, the cook,
lent it to me."

"She looks fierce enough to harbor such deadly
weapons," laughed Ethel. "I can't imagine them
being of this ancient type, though."

"It was used long ago by some of the girls here
who gave 'Hamlet' for their own amusement,"
explained Norma. "The girl who owned the belt
and sword was a senior. After she was gradu-
ated and left the Hall, it was found hanging in
her closet. She never sent for it and it was put
in the storeroom. When I told Sarah about my
costume, she remembered it and got it for me.
Wasn't I lucky? It was the one thing needed
to complete poor Hamlet."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 199

"But la petite Norma is indeed as the real
Hamlet!" admired Adrienne. "She has the sad
eyes, the bearing of le pauvre Prince of Den-
mark."

"She has indeed," echoed Jane warmly. She
was secretly wondering at Norma's ability to do
so much with so little.

"Now that Hamlet is with us, there is only one
distinguished personage missing," said Ethel.
"She's commonly known as Mary Ashton, but
who knows who she may be to-night?"

"There she is now!" cried Barbara Temple as
a knock sounded on the door.

A quaint Japanese person in a gorgeous flow-
ered silk kimono and obi sidled into their midst,
giggling deliciously behind her fluttering fan.
With her straight, high-coiffured black hair and
heavy-browed black eyes, Mary Ashton might
well have stepped off the painted fan she flut-
tered.

"Now I'll put up the 'Busy' sign," announced
Judith with a relieved sigh. After triumphantly
bolting the door she proceeded to climb on a chair
and hang her striped bed cover over it, fastening
it with several brass-headed tacks. "There !" she
exclaimed. "This is a strictly private affair. If
some of the girls find out what's going on they

200 JANE ALLEN

may be tempted to take a bird's-eye squint
through the keyhole. I wish I knew where the
key is. Anyway, the bolt will keep out intruders
and the curtain will deaden the sounds of revelry
within. It's a good thing for us that this is an
end room."

Reassuming the judicial air she had for the
moment dropped, she began in a deep voice:
"Distinguished friends, we welcome you to our
humble cot. What is your pleasure? Don't all
speak at once. Our watchword to-night must be
the greatest enjoyment with the least noise. In-
dividual stunts are not included in this, but con-
cert acclamation must be gentle and ladylike."

"Let's have a grand looking-over first, then
do our stunts," proposed Mary Ashton. "The
earlier we get them out of the way, the better it
will be for us. Afterward, if our gracious host-
esses have kindly remembered that we are human
and very fond of eating, we can settle down to
food and not be so noisy. You know how quiet
descends around here after nine-thirty."

"That's wise advice from a mere Oriental,"
laughed Judith. "Go ahead, children, and stare
one another out of countenance."

The strangely assorted company proceeded to
carry out Judith's invitation, accompanying the

OF THE SUB-TEAM 201

looking-over with frequent bursts of laughter and
much explaining as to costumes. While they
were thus engaged Judith and Jane busied them-
selves in lining up the chairs at one end of the
room, with a view to allowing as much space as
possible for the performance of the stunts.

"If you will kindly seat yourselves, the show
will now begin," announced Judith. "The nois-
iest artiste will please hold forth first."

"That will perhaps be I," concluded Adrienne.
"I shall perform the steps of the ballet, while my
clever Ethel shall make the music. Of a truth, I
dance lightly, but the voice of the violin is of
some noise. Still we have practiced in our room
and no one has noticed."

"We shall be pleased to witness the dance,"
boomed Judith, mclining her maltreated head
toward Adrienne with wooden graciousness.

Ethel obediently tucked her violin under her
chin, drew the bow across the strings in a soft
chord, then began the beautiful ballet music from
"Le Cid." Adrienne pirouetted gracefully into
the open space on her toes. Pausing for an in-
stant, like a white butterfly about to take flight,
she began an exhibition of terpischorean art that
held her watchers fairly breathless with wonder-
ing admiration. Back and forth she floated,

202 JANE ALLEN

whirling, bending, swaying, her tiny feet appear-
ing scarcely to touch the floor. To the entranced
watchers she seemed a direct importation from
fairyland, allowed for a brief season to leave her
beautiful realm of fancy and show herself
among mortals. It was not her dancing which
so strongly conveyed this idea to them. The
little girl's elfish personality had more to do with
producing the illusion.

Concluding her remarkable exhibition with a
peculiar leaping run on her toes, her slender arms
outstretched as though she had at last actually
taken wing, Adrienne dropped gracefully into
her chair. "It is not then so easy to dance on the
carpet," she murmured plaintively.

"Did you dance?" inquired Jane soberly. "It
seemed to me that you flew."

"Ah, that is quite the sweet compliment." Ad-
rienne dimpled with pleasure. Her further
speech was drowned in a buzz of warm approval
from the others. The tiny danseuse garnered
admiration from all sides at once.

"It is too much!" She raised two prettily pro-
testing hands. "Would that you might see ina
mere! Little Adrienne must then of a necessity
be forgotten."

"No one could forget your dancing," smiled

OF THE SUB-TEAM 203

Barbara Temple. "I wish you'd do it all over
again."

"But no, there is yet much to be done," re-
minded Adrienne modestly. "Let us hurry on
to another of the stunts. Who has yet one of
some noise to give?" She glanced inquiringly
about.

"You'd better do yours next, Jane," advised
Judith. "It's not exactly quiet."

"Very well." Outwardly composed, Jane
stalked to the center of the room. She was in-
wardly quaking, however, at facing at least three
girls whom she hardly knew. Posing for a brief
second, she began a curious, sing-song chant and
swung into one of the weird dances she had
learned from seeing them performed by the In-
dians on a reservation not far from El Capitan,
Gradually warming to her work, she left her
present surroundings behind, seeing only the
grotesque figures of the painted dancers gyrat-
ing madly in the moonlight of a perfect Western
night.

The last eerie, wavering note of the chant
brought her back to a knowledge of where she
was. "That's all," she stammered somewhat con-
fusedly and made a dive for the chair on which
she had been sitting when the stunts began. She

2Q4 JANE ALLEN

was, therefore, quite unprepared for the ovation
she received. She had not reckoned that her
stunt would elicit much applause. All her life
she had seen Indians dance, and thought little
of it.

Mary Ashton next toddled to the front and
sang a Japanese song of several verses, accom-
panying it with much graceful fan play.

"Where in the world did you ever learn all
that Japanese, Mary?" wondered Christine when
Mary had finished singing and been duly praised.

Mary giggled. "You had no idea I could
speak Japanese, now had you? I'm sorry to in-
form you that I can't."

"Then who taught you that song?" demanded
Christine.

"I made it up," confessed Mary. "I'm ex-
travagantly proud of it, though. It sounds like
the real thing." She beamed cheerfully.

"You ridiculous fraud! I might have known
it." Christine looked supremely disgusted.

"I'm anything but a fraud," contested Mary.
"I never told you it was a Japanese song. I'm
not to blame if you took it for one. I think I
deserve a great deal of credit for making it up.
It took me a whole evening to learn it, too."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 20|

"Did you make up the tune, too?" teased Bar-
bara.

"No, I borrowed that from a song I used to
sing in my grammar school days. I decided on
my tune first, and then made up the words to
fit. I'm sorry I can't translate them, but unfor-
tunately I haven't the least idea what it's all
about." Mary's infectious giggle went the round
of the party.

"You're next, Barbara," stated Judith. "We
must on with the stunts or we'll not have time
for the eats."

Barbara's contribution to the affair was also in
the nature of a dance. It was a slow, stately
affair of many postures, and she used her long
veil with graceful effect. She had seen a similar
dance performed by a famous Oriental dancer
and had been so taken with it that she had after-
ward tried to imitate it, as far as her memory
would allow, with the idea of some time using it
at a stunt party.

Christine Ellis followed her with a clever
monologue, depicting the coming to life of a
Dresden shepherdess who had grown weary of
being merely an ornament and decided to walk
about after the household had gone to rest for
the night. Her stiff-legged imitation of the re-

206 JANE ALLEN ^^

bellious shepherdess, who after standing still all
her life found walking a difficult matter, was
funny in the extreme, and her song, "It's no fun
being a Shepherdess," which she warbled in a
high, delicate little voice, supposedly belonging
to a lady of such ornamental pretensions, sent
the girls into muffled shrieks of mirth.

"You are all star performers," lauded Judith,
when Christine had finally subsided after being
obliged to sing her song twice. "Now, Norma."

"Mine isn't much of a stunt," demurred Norma
as she advanced rather reluctantly to the center
of the impromptu stage. Rather hesitatingly she
began Hamlet's melancholy solioquy, but she had
not proceeded far before her hearers realized that
they were listening to an unusually fine rendition
of the immortal Shakespeare's words. Perhaps
it was due to the fact that her own short life had
been made up of a continual succession of doubts
and fears that Norma put into the lines the pent-
up anguish of a tormented soul. The silence that
followed her last word caused her to wonder if,
after all, she had attempted something which lay
beyond her power to do justice.

"That was really wonderful, Norma." Jane's
earnest tribute broke the spell.

"Why, Norma Bennett, I never dreamed you

OF THE SUB-TEAM 207

could recite like that!" cried Mary Ashton. "I
predict that you'll make the Dramatic Club the
minute they find you out. You quiet little thing!
You'd have gone right on hiding your light under
a bushel, too, if it hadn't been for this stunt
party."

"La petite Norma has the Heaven-sent tal-
ent," bubbled Adrienne. "You will perhaps one
day enter the profession, ma cherie."

"Don't let's talk about me," protested Norma,
rosy red. She was a trifle bewildered at her un-
expected success. "See, it's nine o'clock. We
have no time to spare." Her warning served to
check the tide of approbation and she was re-
lieved when Judith motioned to Ethel Lacey to
take the floor.

"You first, Judy," said Ethel. "Mine is a last
variety kind of feature."

Judith strode majestically to the fore and set-
ting her good-natured face into the stony expres-
sion of one with a resolute duty to perform, de-
livered a capital lecture on "The College Girl
and the Reform Movement." As Judith's pro-
posed reforms were purely of a local nature, her
sage counsel tended to convulse rather than im-
press. The more energetically she waved her
arms and drove home her points, the wilder grew

2Q8 JANE ALLEN

the mirth of her listeners. She was forced,
therefore, to conclude her address somewhat hur-
riedly and endeavor to bring order out of the dis-
order she had created.

"Stop laughing, girls," she entreated. "If you
don't you'll have Mrs. Weatherbee here in about
three minutes." Catching sight of herself in the
mirror, she could not refrain from laughing a
little, too. "A lot of good it does to talk reform
to such a disrespectful audience."

"Go away back and sit down, Judy, if you
expect us to behave," chuckled Barbara. "Just
to look at you makes me positively hysterical."

"Go ahead, Ethel." Judith grinned broadly
and accepted the advice.

"My stunt is fortune-telling," announced
Ethel. Drawing a chair directly under the light,
she continued winningly: "Come, pretty ladies,
let the poor gypsy read your palms."

The "pretty ladies" needed no second invita-
tion. They flocked about Ethel, eager palms ex-
tended.

"While Ethel reads their palms, you and I will
get the feast ready," proposed Jane to Judith.
"She can read ours afterward."

Judith nodded and the two girls began the

OF THE. SUB-TEAM 209

pleasant task of setting forth the good cheer they
had provided in honor of the guests.

While Ethel predicted startling futures for at
least five girls, a lavish array of toothsome deli-
cacies was being sprea-d invitingly out on the
study table by Jane's nimble fingers. Judith had
taken charge of the making of the chocolate, and
by the time Jane had completed her labor of hos-
pitality, her roommate announced that it was
ready. Happening to glance in Judith's direc-
tion. Jane observed that which caused her to emit
a soft chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?" Judith marked
the chuckle and inquired into the cause.

"I'll tell you later." Jane straightened her
face and joined the fortune-seeking group.

"I'll be through in a minute." Ethel looked
up from Christine's pink palm. "You will live
to be at least a hundred." she assured gravely.
"but you will never marry. The absence of your
heart line indicates that you have no heart. So
you can't possibly fall in love. This line shows
that you will very sood be asked to sit at a table
where "

"You're invited this minute."' interrupted
Judith. "Come on, girls. Christine, you'll have

210 JANE ALLEN

'. i

to postpone further dark revelations of you*

future until after eats."

"I know as much about it now as a certain
fortune-teller, whose name I won't mention,"
laughed Christine.

"No one ever appreciates a seeress," retorted
Ethel. "Powers of second sight are wasted on
most persons. I won't mention names, either."

"Very polite, both of you," jeered Barbara.

"I love to read palms, but oh you spread!"
confessed Ethel. "Hard work has made me
hungry."

That she was not the only hungry one was soon
plainly manifest. No one of the eight girls com-
plained of a failing appetite, as they gathered
about the table.

"Please pour the chocolate, Judy," requested
Jane, a sly twinkle in her gray eyes.

Judith amiably rose to her duty. It was then
that she made an appalling discovery. The china
chocolate pot had mysteriously vanished.

"Why, where can it be ?" Judith cast a startled
look at Jane, as though suspecting her of black
magic. "It was here a minute ago. Jane Allen,
you hid it."

"I haven't touched it." Jane was now laugh-
ing openly.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 211

i ,

"Then where is it?" Judith's eyes desperately
searched the room. The amazement in them
deepened as she saw Jane approach the closet,
open the door and draw from the depths the miss-
ing adjunct to the feast.

A little scream of glee went up from the girls.
They understood perfectly what had happened.

"I knew I'd do something," muttered Juditht
her fair face very red.

"I saw you when you did it," declared Jane,
amusement written on every feature. "It struck
me as being so funny I decided not to say a
word."

"What I meant to do was to put the sugar-
box back in the closet," explained Judith sheep-
ishly. "I was so busy trying to hear what Ethel
was telling Adrienne that — well — I made a slight
mistake. It's a good thing you saw me, Jane.
I would never have thought of looking in there
for the missing chocolate pot."

Judith's "slight mistake" served to help the
fun along. It was a wondrous merry little feast
and when it came to an end at twenty-five min-
utes past ten the chocolate pot was empty and
only one lone sandwich remained to keep com-
pany with a forlorn trio of macaroons.

"We didn't have our fortunes told after all,"

212 JANE ALLEN

reminded Jane, as the door closed on the last
guest.

"That's nothing. I never said a word to Bar-
bara about basket-ball," was Judith's penitent
cry. "I forgot all about it."

"Oh, never mind." Jane tried to cloak the
slight disappointment she felt with an assump-
tion of cheerful indifference. She had not forgot-
ten, even if Judith had failed to remember. "Per-
haps it was just as well that you didn't mention
it. I'd hate to have any of those girls get the
idea that I was trying to crowd in where I wasn't
Wanted."

"None of them would think that." Judith
shook her head. "They aren't that sort. I'll
have a talk with Barbara to-morrow. She told
me to-night that she thought you were perfectly
lovely, and that she was so glad of a chance to
know you better."

"Did she say that ?" Jane flushed with delight.
She was rapidly learning that approval of her-
self was very sweet. "I think she is a splendid
girl. I'd love to play on her team."

"And so you shall," promised Judith. "I'll see
that you get your chance to play or my name is
not Judy Stearns."

CHAPTER XIX

THE WINNING FIGHT

JUDITH lost no time in putting her promise
into execution. The very next afternoon,
her recitations over for the day, she set out
for Argyle Hall to call on Barbara. Finding
her alone in her room, Judith came directly to
the point, confiding to Barbara Jane's ambition
to play on the practice team.

"I hadn't the least idea Miss Allen wished to
play basket-ball." Barbara looked interested
surprise. "Why didn't she try to make the
team?"

"She didn't even know how to play, then. She
wasn't interested," admitted Judith. "It was the
try-out that aroused her interest. She sent for
an official basket-ball guide and has been study-
ing it ever since."

"But she can't hope to play even on a practice
213

214 JANE ALLEN

team without some actual experience," demurred
Barbara.

"Jane says she is sure she can make good if
she has the chance," pleaded Judith. "I believe
she can, too. She is strong and lithe as an In-
dian. You must remember she has been brought
up on a ranch. She can run and ride and handle
a lariat like a cowboy. She ought to take easily
to basket-ball. Won't you try her on the prac-
tice team in Lillian's place?"

"Supose, after a trial, she doesn't make good?"
Barbara spoke doubtfully. "She is so — so —
peculiar, she might become very angry if I told
her she wouldn't do. Personally, I'm agreeably
disappointed in her. Before I met her I'd heard
she was awfully proud and disagreeable. I
thought her actually beautiful and fascinating
last night."

"She's a wonderful girl," was Judith's earnest
assurance. "Norma, Adrienne and I are so fond
of her. She's queer sometimes; not a bit like
any other girl I've ever known. She has a fright-
ful temper. I don't mean by that she scolds and
rages. When she's angry she never says a word,
just glowers like a thundercloud."

"I've heard of her famous scowl." Barbara
smiled reminiscently.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 215

"That's merely an unfortunate habit," de-
fended Judith. "You see, she'd never known
many girls until she came here." Judith
launched into a brief sketch of Jane, ending with,
"If she shouldn't make good at practice you
needn't be afraid to tell her. She's too sensible
to get angry over that."

"Very well, Judy, I'll take her on just to
please you," nodded Barbara. "Tell her to re-
port at the gym at four o'clock this afternoon for
practice. Has she a gym suit?"

"Thank you, Barbara. You're a darling!"
Judith beamed joyfully. "Yes, she has one. If
you don't mind, I wish you'd write her a note.
She would like that, I know."

For answer, Barbara went to her writing desk
and sitting down before it, penned a friendly
note of invitation to Jane. "Here you are, Judy.
Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, indeed. You've already proved yourself
a perfect treasure. I hope I can some day do
something in return for this." She patted the
note.

After Judith had taken her leave, Barbara
indulged in a little serious thought. Anxious to
oblige good-natured Judy, who was always so
ready to help others, she wondered if she had

216 JANE ALLEN

»— i — ^ ^ —————— ^^— »

acted wisely. She had hardly liked to repeat to
the latter the many harsh criticisms of Jane she
had heard on the campus. The fact that Jane
Allen was plentifully endowed with good looks,
wore exquisite clothes and had more money than
she could spend, had not advanced her popular-
ity at Wellington. Instead, she was disliked,
feared, and, as Barbara now honestly believed,
misunderstood. If she had not been possessed
of some redeeming traits, it stood to reason that
Judith would hardly have become her staunch
ally. According to rumor Jane had not treated
her roommate very cordially in the beginning.

"I'll take Judy's word for it," Barbara mur-
mured half aloud. "If the rest of the girls on
the team make a fuss, I'll simply tell them that
as captain I've a right to do as I please in ap-
pointing a sub until Lillian comes back. I'll
not say a word to them beforehand. I'll call
practice the minute she arrives. Then they won't
have a chance to talk it over until afterward. If
she plays well — I hope to goodness she will —
then they won't care so much. Perhaps it will be
all right, anyway. But Jane shall have her
chance. I've promised Judy, and I'll keep my
word."

If Barbara had been present in the room when

OF THE SUB-TEAM 217

Judith handed Jane her note she would have felt
wholly repaid for her kindly decision. Jane read
it through a mist of happy tears, that sprang
unbidden to her gray eyes. It was really true.
At last she was to have her wish. Barbara Tem-
ple was willing for her to substitute on the prac-
tice team until Lillian returned.

"How can I ever thank you, Judy?" she
faltered. She would have liked to hug the
placidly smiling Judith, but her inner reticence
held her back. She could only look her intense
gratitude.

"By playing up to the reputation I gave you,"
returned Judith bluntly. "I had to tell Barbara
that you'd never played. I don't imagine she'll
say a word of it to the others. Just be on the
alert, and act as though you'd played basket-ball
all your life."

"I can play. I know I can." Jane's tones
were deeply positive. "If I find that I'm wrong
about it, I'll give up the ghost as gracefully as
I can. I won't wait to be asked to resign."

"That's a sensible way to look at it," approved
Judith. Recalling Barbara's doubts, she was re-
lieved to hear Jane make this statement. "You
must try to do your level best. Next Saturday
afternoon the practice team will work against

218 JANE ALLEN

the regular freshman squad. Then, look out !"
"I know." Jane understood only too well the
significance of her roommate's reminder. With
Marian Seaton and Alicia Reynolds on the offi-
cial team she was quite likely to encounter
squalls. "I'll be a pioneer player," she added
laughingly. Her face suddenly clouded. The
word "pioneer" was synonymous with Dorothy
Martin. She could not help wishing that all was
well between herself and Dorothy. The Doro-
thy she had first known would have rejoiced at
the good fortune that had come to her. Jane
resolutely thrust the now offending junior from
her thoughts. Her pride whispered that she had
now no desire for Dorothy's approval.

The gymnasium clock was ringing out the hour
of four when a tall, russet-haired girl, looking a
trifle less than her usual height by reason of her
trim navy blue bloomer suit, hung her smart tan
raincoat on a hook in the dressing room and
stepped confidently out upon the floor.

"I'm glad you're here," welcomed Barbara
Temple. She had seen Jane emerge from the
dressing room and had trotted across the wide
floor to meet her. "I saw you come in, but was
busy just then. Come with me. I wish you to
meet the other girls."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 219

Taking Jane by the arm, she piloted her across
the room to where a group of three young women
stood, their heads together in absorbed conver-
sation. Jane now knew them all by name, but
had never met any of them. She now had an
uncomfortable feeling that they had been dis-
cussing her.

"Miss Allen, this is Miss Swayne, Miss Hurst
and Miss Westcott. Girls, this is Miss Allen.
She is going to play left forward until Lillian is
able to come back to the team."

The trio acknowledged the introduction po-
litely but with no show of cordiality. Jane ex-
perienced a desire to frown fiercely and retire
into her shell. It was evident that she was not
welcome. Recollection of her promise to Judith
to do her level best caused her to greet her team-
mates in outwardly serene fashion.

"Suppose we go to work at once," suggested
Barbara. She did not intend to give the three
an opportunity to question Jane regarding her
capabilities as a player. It would be quite like
Olive Hurst to inquire how long and where Jane
had played basket-ball.

Thanks to her careful study of the game, Jane
knew exactly where to take up her position of
left forward, and when the ball was put in play

22Q JANE ALLEN

she went to work with a will. So far as agility
and fleetness of foot went, it soon became appar-
ent that she could more than hold her own. She
was obliged to listen intently, however, for the
orders that Barbara continually called out.
Later, when she had learned more by actual prac-
tice, Jane was confident that her playing would
be fast enough for even the regular team.

"You are doing splendidly," Barbara whis-
pered to her during a brief resting spell. "No
one would suspect you of never having played be-
fore."

"I love it." Jane flashed her a brilliant smile
of such sheer happiness that Barbara felt fully
repaid for her effort to please Judith. "I am
anxious to learn everything I can about it. Of
course the signals bother me now, and I'm not
always sure what to do next. Another day or
two of practice and I'll be in much better trim.,p

"You play very well, Miss Allen." Olive
Hurst had come up while Jane was speaking*
"I suppose you have played "

"Let us try that new play I was telling you
of, Olive," interrupted Barbara. She blew a
sharp blast on a small whistle, calling the other
two girls from one end of the gymnasium.

Jane understood that Barbara had purposely

OF THE SUB-TEAM 221

interrupted Olive and was grateful. She could
hardly have evaded answering her without giving
offense. Here it seemed was a fresh proof that
one girl could be very loyal to another in time
of need.

Practice lasted until half -past five. When it
was over Jane walked as far as Argyle Hall with
Barbara, asking numerous questions about bas-
ket-ball which showed how greatly her interest
had centered in the fascinating sport.

"Don't forget we practice again to-morrow,"
called Barbara after her as she turned to seek
the Hall, there to regale Judith with an account
of all that had taken place.

"As though I could forget that'* she murmured
as she hurried across the campus in the soft fall
darkness. As she sped lightly along, filled with
a quiet elation for her recent success, it came to
her forcibly that, after all, she was glad she had
come to Wellington. She began to understand
dimly that in this new life, against which she had
rebelled so bitterly, there were to be found many
pleasures hitherto undreamed. At home she had
but to ask and whatever she desired was promptly
made hers, but here one had to work for that
which one coveted. Influence and money might
open some few doors, but true worth was the

222 JANE ALLEN

only key to those she aspired to open. How dis-
agreeable and disobliging she had been. Jane
blushed hotly when she recalled her cavalier treat-
ment of Judith on that first hard day. How
glad she was that they had now become such fast
friends. How much she owed to Judith. No
wonder her roommate was well liked! She de-
served to be* Jane vowed within herself to fol-
low Judith's example. Then she, too, would be
liked and respected.

For the next few days she went about her
usual routine of study in a beatific state of mind.
Everything progressed so smoothly and pleas-
antly that it fairly amazed her to think that she
had so recently despised college. This unusu-
ally tranquil state of affairs was largely due to
the fact that Jane had missed running afoul of
anything more disagreeable than being obliged
to sit at the same table with Edith Hammond
and Dorothy Martin. She had grown used to
that, however, and Adrienne's presence greatly
assisted in lightening the strain which would
otherwise have been extremely unpleasant.

Adrienne was openly jubilant over Jane's ad-
vent to the practice team, and said considerable
about it at meals. Dorothy listened and was
honestly glad that Jane was carving a niche for

OF THE SUB-TEAM 223

herself at Wellington. She regretted only that
she could not tell her so. Although Jane did
not know it, the generous junior had said more
than one good word for her, and had conscien-
ciously kept a starboard watch on her. She felt
that some day things would right themselves be-
tween herself and Jane.

Edith Hammond had no such tender regard
for the "wild, woolly cowgirl," as she was fond
of terming her. At the first inkling she caught
of the news that Jane was playing on the prac-
tice team, she thoughtfully carried the informa-
tion to Marian Seaton. Marian had laughed
spitefully when she heard it. Further inquiry
developed the fact that Jane was more than hold-
ing her own on the team. Marian smiled even
more hatefully at this and bided her time. She
had definitely decided upon one thing at least.

Saturday afternoon found a goodly audience
of students from all four classes lining the sides
of the gymnasium and partially filling the front
seats of the gallery. Though the game to be
played between the practice and regular teams
was not in itself important, still it held enough
interest to draw many students to the scene of
jvc*ion.

The freshman team had already procured their

224 JANE ALLEN

official uniforms for the season. They were of
dark green, the blouses ornamented with a large
yellow F, as green and gold were the freshman
colors for 19 — . The practice team wore their
usual gymnasium suits, which luckily were all of
dark blue. Dorothy Martin had been asked to
act as referee, and two other upper class girls
were to be score and timekeepers.

As Jane Allen stood with the others of her
team, waiting for the game to begin, she could
hardly credit her good fortune. Was it really
true that when the referee's whistle sounded she
would become a part of the game to which she
had so eagerly looked forward? Five minutes
more and she would be in the thick of the fray,
struggling with all her might for the honor of
her squad. She hoped they would win, of course,
even though three of her friends were on the
opposing side. As for Marian Seaton and Alicia
Reynolds, she would heartily enjoy worsting
them.

The ball was already in Dorothy Martin's
hands for the toss-up. The first blast of her
whistle would call the two squads to their places.
Then

Her eyes fixed on Dorothy, who had raised the
whistle to her lips, Jane saw that which changed

OF THE SUB-TEAM 225

her alert, happy face into its old frowning mask.
Marian Seaton and Alicia Reynolds had closed
about Dorothy and were addressing her in low
bat vehement tones. With them was another
girl whom Jane did not know. She was dressed
in a dark blue bloomer suit and looked as though
she might be a substitute player. Jane saw
Dorothy start, flush, then glance uneasily in her
direction. Marian Seaton was also regarding
her, triumphant malice in her pale blue eyes.
Jane returned the look with all the scornful
hatred she could summon. Marian merely smiled
sneeringly, then went on talking rapidly to
Dorothy.

"Barbara Temple, look!" exclaimed Olive
Hurst. "There's Lillian. I didn't know she in-
tended to play. I thought " Jane's level

gaze caused her to break off in sudden embar-
rassment.

Barbara had looked at Olive's command. Now
she was heading straight for the trio clustered
about Dorothy.

"Oh, Barbara, I was just going to call you
over here." Dorothy's usually placid voice shook
with annoyance. "Miss Seaton tells me that Miss
Barrows has decided to play on her team this
afternoon. I am afraid I shall have to ask you

226 JANE ALLEN

to straighten out this tangle. It's really not in
my province as referee."

Surprise and annoyance held Barbara dumb
for an instant.

"I came just in time, didn't I?" asked Lillian
cheerfully. "When Marian boasted to me that
our team was due to get a whipping, I decided
I was well enough to do my share toward proving
her in the wrong. I wrote a note to you saying
I'd be on hand, but it looks as though you didn't
receive it." She rolled a pair of innocent blue
eyes in Jane's direction.

"No, I did not receive it," snapped Barbara.
She was growing angrier every second. Know-
ing something of Marian's attitude toward Jane
Allen, she readily saw through the former's con-
temptible method of revenge. Yet what was she
to do? Lillian was a regular member of the
squad, while Jane was merely her substitute.
"Did you send it by a messenger, and when?"
she asked with curt directness.

"I mailed it," was the serene answer.

Barbara noted that Lillian's reply did not
cover the question she had asked. Determined to
pin her down to a definite statement, Barbara
repeated: "When did you mail it?"

"Really, Miss Temple," broke in Marian Sea-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 227

ton coldly, "I think your question is rather im-
polite. From it one might gather that you were
not anxious for Lillian to take her rightful place
on the team. It is surely not her fault if you have
not received her note." The emphasis on the
"if" implied doubt. "I happen to know that she
wrote it, also that she handed it to me yesterday
to mail for her. I think she deserves a great
deal of credit for coming to play to-day after she
has been so ill." Marian neglected to add that she
had postponed mailing the note until noon that
day.

"Miss Barrows is welcome to play to-day if
she chooses." Barbara shrugged her shoulders.
"I have no desire to prevent her. I will tell Miss
Allen that she will not be needed. Wait just a
moment, Dorothy, before you signal the game.
I wish to explain matters to Jane." Barbara
walked away from the detested trio, her brown
head held high. She felt ready to cry out of
sheer vexation. She dreaded to speak the words
that would bring humiliation to Jane. It was a
burning shame, she angrily reflected. Jane was
already a far better player than Lillian could
ever hope to become.

Intent in watching the bit of drama that was
going on so near to her, poor Jane had already

228 JANE ALLEN

put two and two together. Olive's exclamation
had told her much. Her own eyes had told her
even more. She now understood only too well
the meaning of Marian's hateful smile. It was
she who had planned the whole affair, with a view
to belittling the girl she disliked and turning her
hard-earned happiness into humiliation.

Jane was seized with a mighty impulse to dash
over to where her smiling enemy stood and pour
forth a torrent of bitter denunciation. She made
a sudden step forward, brows drawn, hands
clenched at her sides. Then she halted abruptly.
It flashed across her that this was precisely what
Marian was hoping she would do. Knowing that
Jane possessed a high temper, she had calculated
on a display of verbal fireworks that would
merely serve to make this "wild, woolly cowgirl"
supremely ridiculous.

Jane privately thanked her stars that she had
divined Marian's despicable motive in time. She
would show these petty plotters that she could
rise above them. Like magic the disfiguring
frown vanished from her forehead. She greeted
the approaching Barbara with a particularly
bright smile. "I understand," she nodded pleas-
antly. "Miss Barrows has come back to the team.
I'd love to play, but it seems I'm not needed."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 229

"It's a burning shame," burst forth Barbara
in low, vehement tones. "I'm so angry."

"Never mind, Barbara." The eyes of the two
met in an understanding glance. "Even if I
can't play to-day, I'm going to stay here and
watch the game. But, if you love me, tell Doro-
thy Martin to blow that whistle."

"You're a positive angel, Jane Allen." Bar-
bara caught Jane's hand in hers. Turning, she
ran back to Dorothy, while Jane walked calmly
off the field of conquest to take her place among
the spectators, feeling that if she had lost a great
deal of pleasure, she had for once, at least, ruled
her own rebellious spirit.

CHAPTER XX

A QUESTION OF HONOR

a

I

CAN'T help saying it. I'm almost sorry
we won!" was Judith Stearns' passionate
exclamation. "I'll never forgive that
tricky Marian Seaton for this afternoon's work!"
The practice game to which Jane Allen had
so eagerly looked forward, only to meet with
black disappointment, was over. The freshman
team had not won an easy victory. Four of the
five girls on the practice squad had been dis-
tinctly out of sorts when the game began. Dis-
pleasure had added unusual snap to their play-
ing. In the short time that Jane had worked
with them she had ably demonstrated her superi-
ority as a player over Lillian Barrows. From
the first day of practice Lillian had been the
weak spot on the team. Luck had been with her
at the try-out and she had made a good showing.

Afterward she had not played up to it. From

230

OF THE SUB-TEAM 231

the start, Jane had completely outstripped her.
With the good of the team at heart, the other
members of the squad could not bring themselves
to feel sorry that Jane had replaced her.

They had entered the gymnasium that after-
noon with high hopes of beating the regular team,
and Lillian's return to her own was both unex-
pected and unwelcome. Quite correctly they
placed the major share of the blame on Marian
Seaton's shoulders, and anger against her petty
spitefulness inspired them to play as they had
never played before. At the end of the game
the score stood 22-20 in favor of the regular team,
and it was wrathfully conceded among the four
that they had not done so badly after all.

Lillian had gained nothing by taking Marian's
advice. In reality she had been in anything but
fit condition to keep up with the fast playing of
the others. She left the floor, dizzy and shaken.
Yet she dared not utter a word of complaint for
fear of bringing down upon herself the storm of
criticism she knew she deserved.

The four players on the practice team, how-
ever, were not the only ones with a grievance.
Judith, Adrienne and Christine Ellis were
equally incensed. The moment the game ended
they made a concerted rush for the spot where

232 JANE ALLEN

they had last seen Jane standing, only to find
that she had disappeared. She had waited just
long enough to hear the winners announced, then
hurried to the dressing room for her raincoat and
made a quick exit through a side door. She felt
that she could not remain to wait for even Judith
and Adrienne. She had borne up bravely in the
face of disaster, but she was in no mood for the
sympathy of even her best friends.

Nevertheless she had that sympathy to the ut-
most, as was plainly testified by Judith's vehe-
ment declaration, made as she and Adrienne
hurried across the campus in the direction of
Madison Hall. Judith's usually calm features
were dark with righteous wrath, while Adrienne's
black eyes snapped belligerence.

"It is the great shame!" she sputtered. "Some
time I shall take the grand revenge upon this
most hateful Miss Seaton."

In spite of her vexation Judith was obliged to
laugh at this threat. She had a sudden vision of
tiny Adrienne faring forth in the role of
avenger.

"Oh, you laugh now! But wait a little. I
shall not forget. Nor will you. Jane is of us
both the dear friend."

"Of course she is." Judith grew instantly

OF THE SUB-TEAM 233

grave. "I wish she were on our team. To tell
you the truth, I came very near to resigning
after the game to-day."

"I had the same thought," confessed Adrienne.
"It would be of small use. We should please too
greatly Miss Seaton and Miss Reynolds."

"That is precisely the reason I didn't resign,"
nodded Judith. "We ought to do something to
cheer Jane up. Supose we invite her to Ruther-
ford Inn for dinner this evening."

"We might also invite the others who attended
our stunt party," proposed Adrienne.

"That's a brilliant idea," lauded Judith. "You
go on to the Hall and invite Jane, Ethel and
Mary. Poor Norma won't be able to go. She
will have to be on duty." Judith sighed. "I do
wish we could find some other way for Norma to
earn her education. She is a regular slave. I
don't see how she finds time to study her lessons."

"Perhaps the way may yet be found." Ad-
rienne rolled her black eyes in a fashion that
hinted of mystery. Since the evening of the
stunt party she had been busy considering Nor-
ma's case and her active mind had already sug-
gested a remedy.

Absorbed in the thought of Jane and her
wrongs, Judith had failed to note the significance

£34 JANE ALLEN

of Adrienne's remark. As the little girl was not
ready to unfold her plan, even to her intimate
friends, she was quite content to find that Judith
had attached no special importance to her utter-
ance.

"I'll go back across the campus to Argyle
Hall," decided Judith. "While I'm inviting
Barbara and Christine, you can invite the others.
I'll meet you at the Inn within the next half-
hour. I hope Barbara and Christine have no
other engagements. Good-bye. I'll see you
later."

Judith wheeled and set off briskly in the oppo-
site direction, while Adrienne sped toward the
Hall on light, impatient feet. She was longing
to comfort the abused Jane and extend her invi-
tation of good cheer.

Alone in the one spot of sanctuary which Wel-
lington afforded her, Jane stood in sore need of
the kindly offices of her friends. Wholly intent
on her errand of consolation, Adrienne did not
stop to knock. She turned the knob and pranced
into the room, to find Jane pacing the floor in
her old restless fashion, her head bowed, her fine
face clouded with resentful suffering. She raised
her head as Adrienne entered, then muttered:
""Please go away. I wish to be alone."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 235

"Ah, but that you shall not be." Adrienne was
not dismayed by this ungracious reception. She
advanced boldly upon Jane and encircled her
with affectionate arms. "Are we not, then, the
sworn friends? It is I who should now be with
you. You were brave this afternoon, cherie; so
brave. To the brave belongs the worship. See,
I kneel to you." Adrienne dropped to her knees
and lifted her black eyes to the frowning face
above her with such an exaggerated air of sympa-
thy that Jane was forced to smile.

"You are a ridiculous child," she said, the smile
deepening. "You know only too well that I can't
resist such a display of devotion."

"Oh, see! She smiles." Adrienne sprang to
her feet, well pleased with the success of her
maneuver. "Now all is well. I have come to
invite you to the great feast at the Rutherford
Inn. All those from whom you have the friend-
ship will be there. Make haste to become ready.
I shall go now to find Mary and Ethel. We will
return for you in a short time. Only poor Norma
cannot be with us. Think how much more we
have than la pauvre petite, for which to give
thanks."

Adrienne flashed from the room as suddenly
as she had appeared. She had left behind her

236 JANE ALLEN

food for thought, however. Even in her hour of
bitterness the contrast between her own affluent
circumstances and Norma's bleak poverty struck
Jane sharply. What she had endured in humilia-
tion in one afternoon, poor Norma was forced to
endure continually. For the first time in her
short life Jane realized the pettiness of her own
misfortunes as compared to Norma's infinitely
greater ills. Yet Norma never whimpered. She
bore her hurts uncomplainingly and with serene
fortitude.

Jane walked to the mirror and surveyed her-
self with open scorn. "You are a coward," she
accused, indexing a contemptuous finger at her
reflection. "I'm ashamed of you, Jane Allen.
But you are going to take that frown off your
face and smile. Do you hear me ? I said smile"
The reflection obligingly obeyed her command.
"Now hurry," she ordered, "and get yourself
dressed for the feast."

Luckily for Adrienne, she found Ethel and
Mary in their rooms. They were only too willing
to dine outside the Hall. Dispatching Ethel to
inform Mrs. Weatherbee that the dining room
would be minus the presence of the five girls that
evening, Adrienne hurried out of her bloomer
suit and into a frock suitable to the occasion.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 237

Once re-attired she did not forget Norma. Flit-
ting downstairs to the dining room, she beck-
oned the latter to the door and delivered the
invitation she knew could not be accepted. But
she carried away with her Norma's happy smile,
born of the knowledge that she had not been left
out of the fun.

Half an hour later the three girls knocked at
Jane's door. A serene young woman in a soft
brown silk gown that brought out the ruddy
lights in her curly hair, graciously admitted them.
Jane had forced all signs of disappointment from
her face. These girls had come in the name of
fellowship. It behooved her to show her appre-
ciation of them.

Ethel and Mary had each determined in her
own mind to offer Jane sympathy for the unfair
treatment she had received at Marian Seaton's
hands. Her calm, self-possessed manner advised
them not to open the subject. As the quartette
swung across the campus, a stiff November wind
in their faces, they chatted volubly about every-
thing save basket-ball. For the time, at least, it
was a tabooed topic of conversation.

"My, but you girls are laggers," greeted Chris-
tine Ellis, as the four joined Barbara, Christine
and Judith, who were seated at a round table at

238 JANE ALLEN

the far end of the trysting place. "We have been
here at least five minutes."

"Sit here, Jane," dictated Judith. "You are
to be the guest of honor to-night."

Jane flushed at this announcement. "Girls,"
she said in clear, direct tones, as she took the
place Judith had assigned to her, "I wish to
thank every one of you for your loyalty. You
can't possibly know how much it means to me
after what happened this afternoon. I know you
are anxious to talk about it, and I wish you
would. It won't hurt my feelings."

"Jane Allen, you're a perfect gentleman!" ex-
claimed Barbara, stretching a slim hand across
the table. "You were simply splendid this after-
noon, and we were all furious because you were
so badly treated."

"I felt like walking straight up to that Miss
Hurley and resigning from the team," said
Christine Ellis. "So did Judith and Adrienne.
Dorothy was dreadfully vexed, too. It was a
shame."

Jane saw the circle of sympathetic faces
through a blur of unbidden tears. Though she
knew their loyalty, the spoken admission of it
brought the impulse to cry.

"I felt like taking Lillian Barrows by the

OF THE SUB-TEAM 239

shoulders and marching her off the floor," put in
Barbara indignantly. "The idea of her allowing
Marian Seaton even to suggest such a thing to
her is past my comprehension. She didn't gain
much by it. She looked ready to drop when the
game was over."

"I was disappointed, naturally." Jane had
regained her self control. "Nevertheless, she had
the best right to play. I'm sorry not to be on
the practice team any more. Still, I understood
when I began to work with you that it was only
for a short time."

"You may be on the practice team all the
time," emphasized Barbara. "I am going to
make a complaint about Lillian's playing to Miss
Hurley. She's the senior manager of the basket-
ball teams. Lillian can't work fast enough for
our team. As captain, I've the right to demand
that Jane shall replace her."

Jane regarded Barbara with wondering eyes.
She had not dreamed of this. To thus oust Lil-
lian from the team would indeed be a royal recom-
pense for all she had suffered. How angry
Marian Seaton would be. Jane honestly knew
herself to be a better player than Lillian. She
had watched the latter sharply during the game
and had easily recognized her inability to keep

240 JANE ALLEN

up with her teammates. Lillian deserved the
humiliation. She had chosen to come back to
the team at the last moment, not because she
really desired to play, but to help Marian con-
summate a spiteful revenge. Now, thanks to
Barbara, the tables would be turned.

"Go ahead and do it, Barbara," urged Chris-
tine. "Nothing would please me better. It will
teach Lillian Barrows a much-needed lesson in
honor, and show Marian Seaton that we can
strike back."

"It will indeed be the grand revenge!" Adri-
enne spoke with an enthusiastic roll of "r." "Will
it not then be a happiness to you, Jane, to thus
replace the dishonorable one?"

Jane did not reply. Somehow the words "re-
venge" and "dishonorable" jarred upon her in-
ner self. Now that the opportunity to retaliate
had come she was strangely disinclined to seize
it. Barbara's proposal was absolutely above-
board, yet it seemed an inglorious means to the
end. Jane's was a nature too great for petty
retaliation. She preferred to win her way to
whatever she desired rather than receive it at the
expense of another, no matter how ignoble that
other might be. Still, if she refused to allow
Barbara to interfere in her behalf, she ran the

OF THE SUB-TEAM 241

risk of incurring her friend's lively displeasure.
Barbara had evidently taken it for granted that
Jane would fall in with her plan.

"What makes you look so serious, Jane?" An
impatient pucker appeared on Barbara's smooth
forehead. "What I propose to do is perfectly
fair. You needn't worry about what others may
say or think." She had divined that some sort
of conflict was going on behind Jane's solemn
face.

"I'm not worrying about what may be said or
thought of me," began Jane slowly. She paused
as though trying to determine how she might best
speak without giving offense. "It's only that —
well, I'd not care to go on the team in that way.
Please don't think me ungrateful. I know you
are all my friends. I never believed, until I came
to know you, that girls' friendships meant much.
I was entirely wrong about that. You've proved
yourselves more than loyal. If Miss Barrows
couldn't play any more on the team, on account
of illness, then it would be different. But for
her to be asked to resign, just on my ac-
count " Jane colored painfully. Her eyes

strayed in mute appeal about the circle of tense
faces as though seeking confirmation of her mo-
tive in declining Barbara's well-meant offices.

242 JANE ALLEN

A brief moment of silence ensued. It was
broken by Christine Ellis. "Jane is right," she
staunchly defended. "Were I in her place I
hope I'd have the courage to say just what she
has said. Shake hands, Jane. You are true
blue."

" 'Them's' my sentiments," Judith beamed af-
fectionately upon the now astounded Jane, who
had dared criticism in order to remain true to
herself. Secretly Judith had not favored Bar-
bara's plan. It savored too much of fighting fire
with fire.

"I hope you aren't angry with me, Barbara."
Jane regarded the other girl with anxiously
pleading eyes. Barbara's lips had been set rather
forbiddingly while she listened to Jane's unex-
pected declaration.

"No; I'm not angry." The compressed lips
curved into a smile that betokened growing ad-
miration. "I am disappointed. We need you
on the team, Jane. Perhaps it wasn't fair in me
to plan to get you there by dropping Lillian.
Still, if she doesn't play faster than she played
to-day, someone will have to take her place."

"But she was ill to-day," reminded Jane
gently. "Another day she may be quite up to
the mark."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 243

"I doubt it," retorted Barbara with a profes-
sional air. "However, just to please you, I'll
give her a fair trial. If she fails to keep up,
then " Barbara's shoulders shrugged an elo-
quent ending to her unfinished comment.

"Has it occurred to any of you that we haven't
ordered dinner yet?" broke in Mary Ashton
plaintively. "That poor waitress over there has
circled this table half a dozen times. Now she's
leaning against the wall looking unutterable
things at us. Let's order our 'eats,' then we can
go on lauding Jane with clear consciences."
Mary's good-humored grin indicated that her
last remark contained no sting.

The rights of the justly incensed waitress were
tardily acknowledged and she departed kitchen-
ward with the order, there to express her candid
opinion of college girls behind swinging doors.

"What are you girls going to do during the
Thanksgiving holidays?" inquired Jane. She
was eminently desirous of turning the talk away
from basket-ball. She did not propose to be fur-
ther lauded.

"Only four stingy little days," pouted Mary
Ashton. "That means none of us can go very
far from Wellington."

This disgruntled reminder set in motion an

244 JANE ALLEN

enumeration of the ways and means that might
be employed to extract fun from the brief vaca-
tion. No one of the seven lived near enough to
Wellington to dream of spending Thanksgiving
at home. Before the feast was over, however,
they had managed to lay out a programme of
enjoyment which amply proved that resource
plus the zest for pleasure could accomplish won-
ders in the way of Thanksgiving entertainment.
It was half -past eight when the feast ended
with three subdued cheers for the guest of honor.
Jane was in a maze of bewildered delight as she
set off across the campus, with Barbara and
Christine clinging to either arm. Her sudden
rise to popularity astounded her. The ending of
a dark day had brought a perfect night. She
felt curiously humble, rather than proud, in the
midst of her good fortune. She did not know
that she had at last laid the cornerstone upon
which was to be erected, little by little, a glorious
structure that would mark her as a shining ex-
ample to those who came after. She regarded
herself only as a pioneer who had that day
cleared away one more obstacle from her difficult
bit of college land.

CHAPTER XXI

THE TRUE MEANING OF CHRISTMAS

TO the students of Wellington College the
brief Thanksgiving holiday slipped by
like magic. Those who were fortunate
enough to have friends or families within visiting
distance departed jubilantly to partake of
Thanksgiving cheer and returned grumbling
over the shortness of the vacation. The major-
ity of the Wellington girls, however, spent the
four days within college bounds and made the
most of them. Aside from being requested to
attend an unusually impressive service in the
chapel on Thanksgiving morning, no special re-
strictions were placed upon the students. Due
to a generous inpouring of holiday boxes of good
things, feasting was an important feature in the
campus houses and a perceptible falling off in
numbers ensued at meal time. Lavish hospital-
ity was in order until the last delectable morsel

245

246 JANE ALLEN

had vanished and the feasters were obliged to
return to regular fare with sighs of heartfelt
regret.

Jane was the recipient of an especially bounti-
ful offering which Mr. Allen had thoughtfully
ordered sent to her from New York. She was
therefore able to dispense largesse long after the
dainties that had fallen to her friends had been
consumed. Nevertheless she had been the victim
of more than one spell of homesick longing for
El Capitan. It was her first holiday away from
the ranch and not even the gay little social ses-
sions which she and her friends held in their vari-
ous rooms or at the Inn could quite make up for
the past glories of that particular day as she had
been wont to spend it in her far Western home.
The only reminder of it was Firefly, and to him
she gave all her spare moments. Not for one
day out of the four was he neglected. The sea-
son had been unusually mild and those last No-
vember days were ideal for horseback riding.
Jane reveled in the long gallops she took in the
crisp, sunlit weather, and rejoiced in the fact that
this much of her old lif e was still left to her.

Firefly was equally elated at receiving so much
attention. To garner daily, delectable lumps of
sugar and luscious apples, along with lavish pet-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 247

ting, then to be allowed to exercise his restless
little feet in long runs over the hills and far
away, exactly coincided with whatever ideas he
may have entertained of horse Heaven. He
whinnied with pure delight whenever Jane ap-
peared in his stall and made such ardent demon-
stration of appreciation that she reproached her-
self for past lapses. She vowed that in future
she would visit him every day, if only for a few
minutes, and promised him with many pats that
she would take him out for the good of his health
whenever she could spare the time.

The morning following the last day of vaca-
tion broke in a heavy downpour of rain. It con-
tinued to fall unceasingly, washing away all
traces of the light snow that had whitened the
campus the preceding day. True to her prom-
ise, Jane braved the storm to visit Firefly, affec-
tionately assuring him of her good intentions.

Unmindful of her dripping raincoat and un-
ruly umbrella, which threatened to turn inside
out with each fresh attack of the rapidly rising
wind, she plodded back to the Hall in a most,
serene state of mind. She was beginning to ex-
perience a strange, unbidden pride in Welling-
ton; a kind of proprietary interest. It thrilled
her to feel herself a part of so great an institu*

248 JANE ALLEN

tion of learning. How much she would have of
good to tell her father, when she went home for
Christmas. How glad he would be to know that
she had really accepted college and was learning
to love it.

Absorbed in these pleasant reflections, Jane
mechanically shook the water from her umbrella
and entered the vestibule of the Hall. Her hand
on the knob of the inner door, she discovered that
it was locked. As this frequently occurred, she
placidly rang the bell and awaited admittance.

"Mrs. Weatherbee wishes to see you, Miss Al-
len," announced the maid who admitted her. "I
knocked on your door, but no one answered."

"Where is she?" questioned Jane, frowning.
She could only speculate regarding the nature of
that estimable person's business with her.

"She's in her office."

Jane stalked down the hall without further
words. Pausing in the open door of the tiny
cubby-hole which Mrs. Weatherbee dignified with
the name of office, Jane coldly addressed the
white-haired woman at the desk. "You wished
to see me, Mrs. Weatherbee?"

The matron swung about in her chair, her
florid face alive with censure. "I sent for
you, Miss Allen, to inform you that I have re-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 249

ceived several complaints regarding the noise
that goes on continually every evening in your
room. While I have no objection to my girls
entertaining their friends, I cannot allow any
one of them to annoy those who are engaged in
preparing their lessons."

"I was not aware that we had annoyed any-
one." Jane's old belligerence came to the front
with a bound. "Will you kindly tell me whom
we have disturbed?"

"That is neither here nor there," came the
acid retort. "I do not consider it necessary to
go into detail. The fact that you have annoyed
others and that it must be instantly stopped is
the point I wish to bring forward to your no-
tice."

A maddening smile played about Jane's lips.
"I think I understand," she said with scornful
sweetness. "Thank you, Mrs. Weatherbee, for
calling my attention to the matter. In future
Miss Stearns and I will try not to offend. I
shall appreciate it if you will kindly exact the
same pledge from Miss Seaton and Miss Gil-
bert."

Jane turned and walked down the hall toward
the stairs. She half expected Mrs. Weatherbee
would call her back. The summons did not come.

250 JANE ALLEN

Mrs. Weatherbee was struggling in the throes
of angry amazement. Jane had hit the mark alto-
gether too squarely to suit her. She longed to
call back this high-handed rebel who had all but
accused her of favoritism and put her in her
place. This was the second time she had seized
upon an opportunity to vent her personal dis-
like of Jane in an impersonal manner. On both
occasions she had been worsted. Deep in her
heart she knew Jane had not failed to attribute
her rebuke to its true source. In the face of the
girl's shrewd retort, discretion prompted her not
to continue the argument. Jane was quite likely
to accuse her of interfering on the grounds of
personal dislike. But on one point she was
fully determined, Jane Allen should not pass her
sophomore year in Madison Hall.

The disagreeable scene drove Jane's peaceful
humor far afield. Once in her room she thrashed
stormily about, stirring up a little tempest of her
own.

"What on earth is the matter?" Judith
Stearns entered just in time to see Jane's brown
walking hat sail madly through the air to land
in one corner with a flop; her umbrella whizzed
helplessly after it. "It looks like a clear case of
tempest without; tempest within."

OF THE SUB-TEAM 251

^— i— ^ — — — ^ ^ —

"I'm so furious with that miserable woman."
Jane eyed Judith savagely. "She hates me
and I hate her!" She burst into an angry re-
cital of Mrs. Weatherbee's recent arraign-
ment.

"Hm!" Judith raised significant brows. "Our
dear Marian has been busy again. Much good
it will do her. Still, I don't like it. I wish she'd
let you alone."

"I'm not afraid of her." Jane's lips curled in
scorn.

"Of course you aren't. Yet it isn't pleasant
to have her always stirring up trouble. One
never knows when she may step in and create a
wholesale disturbance. 'Great oaks from little
acorns grow,' you know. You must be on your
guard, Jane. I understand she is simply furious
with all of us for standing up for you. That
reminds me. Lillian Barrows went to her home
in New York City for Thanksgiving and she
isn't coming back. I was speeding j oyf ully along
to tell you, but your indoor cyclone upset my
laudable intentions."

" 'Isn't coming back,' " repeated Jane, amaze-
ment and joy blended in her utterance.

"No; she had a relapse the day after the game
and her doctor says she can't come back to col-

252 JANE ALLEN

lege this year. Of course you know what that
means."

"Yes." Jane drew a long breath. "I am truly
sorry for her. I didn't blame her so much for
that — about basket-ball, I mean. I'm glad I can
play in the team, though."

"So are we all," caroled Judith happily. "Oh,
yes. I've another piece of news which isn't so
nice. Our Christmas holidays are to be cut down
to twelve days. It's outrageous. We always had
three weeks at Morrison."

"What!" Jane sat down heavily in a nearby
chair. "Oh, it can't be true! Who told you,
Judy?"

"It's on the bulletin board. I saw it this
afternoon. The girls are making a great deal of
fuss about it. Those who live very far away
can't go home. Why, Jane, I forgot. You
can't possibly go home, can you?" Judith be-
came instantly sympathetic. "That's too bad.
Why can't you spend the holidays with me? I'll
write to my aunt in New York that I'm going
to bring you. I expect to spend Christmas with
her."

"Thank you, Judy," Jane was frowning hard
to keep back her tears, "but I can't accept your
invitation. If I can't go home, I don't wish to

OF THE SUB-TEAM 253

go anywhere else. I shall see Miss Howard and
ask for a special leave of absence."

"You won't be able to get it." Judith shook
her head. "Some of the girls have tried already
and have been refused."

"I shall ask her, just the same," was Jane's
stubborn response.

But the next day merely brought her an un-
compromising refusal of her request. "I am
sorry, especially sorry in your case," was Miss
Howard's sympathetic reply, "but President
Blakesly has decreed that we are to make no
exceptions to the rule." Jane left her office with
the conviction that first impressions were invari-
ably correct, and that she now hated college more
than ever. She had always hated it. She had
merely tried to deceive herself for a time, but
now she again saw clearly.

As the days glided by and the Christmas holi-
days drew nearer, she descended deeper into the
Slough of Despond. Even basket-ball could not
wholly revive her drooping spirits. She played
with her usual dash and spirit, for the sake of
pride, but her heart was not in it. On the second
Saturday in December the great game came off
between the freshman and sophomore teams.
Jane watched the freshmen defeat the sopho-

254 JANE ALLEN

mores, too full of her own trouble to care much
which side won. She was glad, of course, for the
sake of her three friends, but she was still im-
mersed in her own sorrows and therefore not
enthusiastic. It was only the first game in a
series of three. She provoked Judith, who was
pluming herself over the victory, by pointing out
that the sophomores might win the other two
games yet to be played. The pennant was still
far from being won. Had Judith not fully real-
ized how bitterly her roommate was suffering, she
would have been decidedly piqued by Jane's pes-
simism.

Now that her plans had gone so completely
awry, it was a difficult matter for poor Jane to
interest herself in the business of Christmas giv-
ing. She made a list of names of those she
wished to remember and ransacked the few shops
of which Chesterford boasted for suitable gifts.
But in them she saw little that was worthy of
consideration. She had plenty of money to spend
and was prepared to buy with reckless disregard
for expense, but nothing appealed to her as good
enough for her dear ones at El Capitan and her
few friends at Wellington.

She finally solved the problem by applying to
Miss Howard for a short leave of absence.

OF THE SUB-TEAM "255

Knowing the girl's bitterness of heart over her
changed holiday prospect, Miss Howard reluc-
tantly granted her request after obtaining Presi-
dent Blakesly's consent. She enjoined her to tell
no one of her proposed trip. "I am doing this
as a special favor to you, my dear. Were it to
become known I should be besieged with similar
requests. As it happens, no one has ventured
to apply for a like permission, and as President
Blakesly has given his consent I can allow you
to go with a clear conscience," were the kind-
hearted registrar's words. So Jane had calmly
written a note to Mrs. Weatherbee stating that
she would be absent from the Hall from Friday
morning until Saturday evening, and slipping
quietly from the house had departed for New
York City. Not even to Judith did she reveal
her intention, although her affection for her room-
mate prompted her to leave a little note in which
she stated that she would be away until Sat-
urday.

Having never before set foot in the famous
metropolis, Jane found herself somewhat bewil-
dered by its intricacies. Many inquiries, accom-
panied by lavish gratuities, made her progress
comparatively easy. She sheltered at an exclu-
sive hostelry, the address of which Miss Howard

256 JANE ALLEN

had given her at her solicitation, which was justly
famed for its special accommodations for women,
and furnished feminine guides of education and
refinement to those who desired their services.
Jane had the good luck to secure the attendance
of a delightful woman of middle age, forced by
reverses in fortune to make her own living, and
the two found much in common.

Only one thing occurred to disturb her. While
at luncheon with her chaperon in a fashionable
tearoom, she became aware that a florid-faced
woman was regarding her out of curiously un-
amiable pale-blue eyes. Jane experienced an un-
comfortable sense of having seen her before, but
could not recall her identity. She quickly looked
away and afterward forgot the incident. It was
not until she was on the train for Wellington
that recollection dawned. Now she knew to whom
those cold blue eyes belonged. The florid-faced
person was Marian Seaton's mother. Jane en-
tertained as small regard for Mrs. Seaton as she
did for her daughter. She therefore dismissed
the incident with a shrug.

With the downfall of her hopes, Jane's first
thought had been to telegraph the bad news to
her father. A distinctly mournful letter had fol-
lowed the telegram. In it, however, lurked no

OF THE SUB-TEAM 257

hint of her renewed hatred of college. As a
fighting pioneer, Jane had resolved to keep that
hatred locked within her own breast. There was
at least a grain of comfort to be had in the gifts
she had chosen for those she loved. While in
New York she had purchased a steamer trunk in
which to convey them safely to Wellington. She
had thoughtfully decided on this method as the
least likely to attract the attention of the Madi-
son Hall contingent. The arrival of a trunk
would not be noticed, whereas if she returned to
the Hall laden with the spoils of her shopping,
comment was sure to run rife. She had promised
Miss Howard that no one should learn of the
registrar's leniency and she proposed to keep her
word.

Judith Stearns alone had a shrewd suspicion
of where Jane had gone, but she also preserved
discreet silence on the subject. She met the
several inquiries as to her roommate's where-
abouts with the vague information that Jane had
been obliged to go away on business, and with
that indefinite information they were forced to
be content.

"How do you like New York?" was her smil-
ing comment, when Jane walked into their room
at a little after four o'clock on Saturday after-

258 JANE ALLEN ^^

noon. "I cut my last class on purpose to welcome
the wanderer home."

"How did you know I went to New York?"
Jane voiced her astonishment. "Only one person
could have told you."

"No one told me. I put two and two to-
gether. I see that four is really the correct re-
sult." Judith's smile widened.

"Yes, I was there." Jane appeared relieved
at her roommate's explanation. "You did not
say so to anyone el^e, did you, Judy ? Miss How-
ard made me promise to keep it a secret. I
Wouldn't have told you if you hadn't guessed it."

"No; I was mum as an oyster. I had an
inkling that she gave you permission. You'd
better keep it dark. Marian Seaton, Maizie Gil-
bert and Alicia Reynolds planned to do the same
thing. They were the original mad hatters
when Miss Howard said 'no.' It seems that
Marian's mother is in New York. Marian had
planned to meet her and asked to leave here five
days ahead of vacation."

"I saw her mother there." Jane looked
startled. "She was in a tearoom where I had
luncheon. She stared hard at me, but I don't
think she remembered me. I couldn't recall who
she was until after I had boarded the train for

OF THE SUB-TEAM 259

Wellington. If she knew me, do you suppose
she'd write Marian about seeing me?"

"Hardly. She is probably too busy with
Christmas plans to think of it again. If she
should, Marian would raise a fuss about it. I
wouldn't worry over it, though. Tell me about
what you bought and where the products of your
shopping are. You haven't any excess baggage
that I can see."

Jane entered into a vivid account of her trip,
promising to show Judith her purchases as soon
as they arrived. Once or twice a thought of the
Seatons crossed her mind. She wondered if it
would not be wise to go to Miss Howard and
tell her of the tearoom incident. She deemed it
unnecessary, however. There was only one
chance in a thousand that anything would come
of it.

During the next three days the pleasant flut-
ter of Christmas preparations drove the affair
from her mind. College was scheduled to close
on Wednesday, as Christmas day fell on Friday.
On Tuesday evening Barbara Temple enter-
tained the girls who had composed the stunt
party in her room at Argyle Hall. The eight
young women spent a happy session together,
exchanging gifts and expressions of good will.

26o JANE ALLEN

Norma Bennett was perhaps the happiest of
them all. Added to the fact that never before in
her life had she received so many presents was
the blessed knowledge that she was to accompany
Adrienne to New York to spend the holidays
with the Duprees. Mrs. Weatherbee had strongly
opposed her going on the ground of needing her
help, but Adrienne had haunted her like a small,
persistent gad-fly until she gave chilly consent.
Tiny Adrienne had a purpose of her own in thus
carrying Norma off, which she had confided to
no one. She had begged Jane to go with them,
but the latter, having been denied the one thing
she craved, had no heart for visiting even the
fascinating Dupree family. If the weather were
good she would spend the most of Christmas day
on Firefly's back, then eat a lonely dinner at the
Inn. Madison Hall without her few particular
friends was a place to shun rather than abide in.
Wednesday morning brought her numerous
express packages from home, along with a little
sheaf of letters, two of which were respectively
from her father and aunt. Judith had already
left the Hall for chapel, but Jane lingered to
read her letters. Her father's message of sym-
pathy and cheer furnished her with untold con-
solation. His affectionate lines, "Never mind,

OF THE SUB-TEAM 261

girl of mine, the winter will soon slip away.
You'll be back at Capitan before you know it,
and then Dad will make it all up to you. You
can't possibly miss us as much as we miss you,
but the great day of reunion is hurrying along,
so brace up. You are a real pioneer, every inch
of you, and I'm proud of my brave Jane."

Her Aunt Mary's letter was equally tender
and hopeful. Jane smiled through her tears as
she laid it aside to pick up the next on the pile.
This proved to be a note from Dorothy Martin.
It read:

"Deak Jane:

"I can't possibly go home for the holidays
feeling happy without wishing you a Merry
Christmas. I was so sorry to hear that you
could not go home, too. I have been so
pleased to see you daily showing yourself an
intrepid pioneer. You were simply splendid
that day in the gymnasium and I honor you
for the dignified way in which you bore your
cross. When I come back to Wellington I
should like to have a long talk with you. I
cannot but believe that our misunderstand-
ing may be cleared away if we attack it heart
and soul. With love and best wishes,
"Your friend,
"Dorothy Martin."

262 JANE ALLEN

Jane's eyes filled afresh as she read the earnest
lines. They bristled with sincerity. She had
sworn never to forgive Dorothy. Now, facing
the blessed anniversary of the birth of Him who
counseled forgiveness not once but seventy times
seven times, she felt her animosity crumble. Who
was she that she dared brush aside that divine
counsel? As she re-read Dorothy's note the
sound of chiming bells was borne to her ears.
She listened, then remembered. It was the
Christmas call to chapel. Following a pretty
custom of Wellington, Christmas hymns were
always rung on the chimes on the last morning
service before the departure of the students.

"Oh, come, all ye faithful, joyful and trium-
phant,
Oh, come ye— oh, come ye to Bethlehem!"

pealed forth the bells. Jane heard them, her
heart swelling with reverent rapture. "Peace
on earth, good will toward men," she murmured.
Up from the ashes of her disappointment soared
the glorious thought that, though a continent
stretched between herself and those she loved,
she had come into an understanding of Christ-
mas which she had never known before.

H

CHAPTER XXII

JUDITH SPEAKS HER MIND

" T T ERE'S a letter for you, Jane. If I'm
not greatly mistaken, the handwriting
on the envelope is Miss Howard's."
"A letter for me?" Jane looked up casually
from her book as Judith entered. A faint shade
of alarm crossed her face as she took the envelope
and hastily tore it open. She knew of only one
reason why the registrar should write her. The
note was short. Its very brevity was suspicious.

"My Dear Miss Allen:

"Will you kindly call at my office on
Wednesday afternoon at half -past four
o'clock. I shall expect to see you promptly
at this hour.

"Yours sincerely,

"Caroline Saxe Howard."

263

264 JANE ALLEN

"Read that." Jane handed the note to Ju-
dith, who quickly glanced it over.

"Do you suppose " began Judith.

"I am quite sure that Marian Seaton has been
busy," interrupted Jane harshly. "Am I never
to be free from the spite of that girl?" Jane
threw up her hands with a gesture of angry de-
spair and springing from her chair began to pace
the floor in her caged-lion fashion.

"You look like an offended tragedy queen,"
giggled Judith. "I don't blame you for being
cross, though." The laughter went out of her
merry blue eyes. "If what we suspect is true, it
puts you in a horrid position. Of course you
can explain. Still it's not pleasant to be under
a cloud even for a day."

"It's contemptible in her," muttered Jane. "I
suppose her mother recognized me and mentioned
seeing me. But what do you suppose Marian
Seaton has said to Miss Howard?"

"That is hard to tell," was Judith's dubious
rejoinder.

"Exactly," emphasized Jane. "If she has not
told the truth, then I shall have to contradict her
statement or else say nothing."

"Surely you wouldn't be so foolish as to allow
her to put you in the wrong," argued Judith. "If

OF THE SUB-TEAM 265

she has been untruthful, she deserves to «we ex-
posed."

"That is just the point," cut in Jane impa-
tiently. "I despise her trickery, but I hate even
more to tell tales. It has never been my father's
way, nor mine."

Judith viewed this side of the argument with
unbounded interest. She had her own code of
honor and eminently tried to live up to it. Still
she had never drawn the line so sharply as had
Jane. Deliberately set upon, she would turn and
deal blow for blow. It was a matter of deep
curiosity that, when maligned, Jane, the belliger-
ent, seemed incapable of retaliation.

"You are a queer girl, Jane Allen," she said
meditatively. "You rage like a lion at the mean
things that are done to you, but you never strike
back. I know that you aren't a coward. It has
just occurred to me that the reason you don't is
because you are greater in spirit than the rest
of us."

"Nonsense!" Jane reddened at the compli-
ment. "It's all on account of my father that I
feel as I do about certain things. I've been
brought up on a ranch. Among ranchmen it's a
jpoint of honor to keep what they call 'a still
tongue in your head.' Take the boys on El

266 JANE ALLEN ,

Capitan, for instance. They'd never think of tell-
ing tales in order to 'square' themselves. Unless
it is something very serious, Dad makes them
settle their own difficulties without any help from
him. You see I've always lived in a man's world.
Can you wonder that I don't care much for
this world of girls that I'm now forced to
live in?"

"But you do like your little pal, Judy, don't
you?" Judith's question was tinged with wist-
ful anxiety. Her growing affection for Jane
prompted her to speak thus.

"You know I do. I owe every happiness I've
had here at Wellington to you. I don't believe I
could ever have endured college if I had been
obliged to room with someone else."

"It is sweet in you to say that." It was Judith
who now blushed her gratification. "I can't
help thinking of what you said about not telling
tales. I'm going to try to live up to it, too. I
hope when you go to see Miss Howard you may
find that she sent for you for another reason.
Perhaps we have been running out to meet calam-
ity"

"Perhaps." Jane's reply was not optimistic.
She had a premonition of impending catastro-
phe that would not be stilled.

OF THE SUB-TEAM 267

On entering the registrar's office the following
afternoon, she knew that her premonition had not
been an idle one. Miss Howard's unsmiling fea-
tures presaged trouble. Her cold salutation was
further proof.

"Miss Allen," she began stiffly, "in giving you
permission to go to New York City I made a
serious mistake. Kindly read this."

"This" proved to be a letter from the irate
Mrs. Seaton, in which she roundly censured the
registrar for refusing to grant her daughter an
earlier leave of absence. She flatly accused Miss
Howard of partiality, citing Jane's case as a
flagrant example. She continued to lay down
the law for a matter of three pages and ended
by signing herself, "With deep indignation."

Jane read the letter and handed it back with-
out comment. Her gray eyes were stormy, how-
ever, and her famous frown was most conspicu-
ous. For a long moment woman and girl stared
at each other in silence.

"Can you explain to me how this happened?"
It was Miss Howard who broke the uncomfort-
able stillness that had followed. "Miss Seaton's
letter places me, in a most trying position. Presi-
dent Blakesly will also be deeply annoyed. I
assured him that you could be trusted to be silent.

268 JANE ALLEN

He rarely grants a request of this nature unless
in a case of illness or death."

"I did not break my word." Jane's head was
haughtily erect. "I understand your position. I
am very sorry, but I think the explanation should
come from Miss Seaton. I have nothing to say."

"I have already talked with Miss Seaton. She
has refused to tell me the source of her informa-
tion. As she lives at Madison Hall I can only
surmise from whom that information came."
Miss Howard's hint was freighted with signifi-
cance.

"I did not break my word," repeated Jane
stubbornly. "I told no one that I was going to
New York. When I returned, Miss Stearns
guessed that I had been there. She asked me if
I had and I was obliged to tell her the truth. She
mentioned it to no one."

"Thank you for that information." The sar-
casm of the comment was unmistakable. "That
will be all, Miss Allen. Good afternoon." She
nodded a curt dismissal.

Jane hurried angrily from the office. Cut to
the quick at being thus dismissed, she was half-
way across the campus before it dawned upon
her that in adhering so strictly to her code of
honor she had implicated poor Judith. She set

OF THE SUB-TEAM 269

off on a run across the campus to inform her
roommate of what had passed. Not until she
arrived in her room and found Judith missing did
she remember despairingly that Judith had men-
tioned her intention to drop in on Miss Howard
that very afternoon after four o'clock to inquire
about a matter relative to her course of study.

Worse yet, Judith had admiringly announced
her intention to adopt Jane's tactics of silence.
Were Miss Howard to question her, as undoubt-
edly she would, Judith would keep her vow,
greatly to her own detriment. There was but
one thing to do. Jane did not fancy the humilia-
tion of returning to the office and renouncing
the stand she had taken. Nevertheless she faced
about and retraced her steps to Wellington HalL
Judith, the good-natured, should not suffer even
a suspicion of blame for what had occurred.

When half-way to Wellington Hall, Jane was
rudely jolted from her lofty height of abnega-
tion. A familiar figure in a blue, fur-trimmed
coat was descending the steps. She paused for
an instant, then swung briskly off in the opposite
direction.

" J-u-d-y !" Jane sent her clear call across the
snowy campus and hastened toward the blue-
clad girl. "Oh, Judith, dear, I'm so sorry!" she

27Q JANE ALLEN

cried as the two met. "I never thought she'd
blame you. I was just coming back to tell her."

"I told the whole sad tale!" Judith showed
her white teeth in a seraphic smile of vindicated
innocence.

"You — told — her!" stammered Jane. "But I
thought "

"So did I," Edith's smile widened, "but it
didn't work in this case, Janie. 'Truth crushed
to earth will rise again.' It rose like a cake of
yeast this time."

Jane tried to frown. Instead she burst into a
peal of laughter. The next instant the two girls
clung to each other, speechless with mirth. That
which had started out as tragedy ended in
comedy.

"Come on," commanded Judith at last. "If
anyone happens along, we are likely to be set
down as harmless lunatics."

"What happened?" Jane questioned as they
started for the Hall, arm in arm.

"Not so much. Miss Howard looked sur-
prised to see me. She was very frosty, too. You
can imagine how I felt when she asked me if I
had regaled our dear Marian with a full and pre-
tentious history of your trip to New York. She
said that you had admitted telling me, and then

OF THE SUB-TEAM 271

she proceeded to look unutterable suspicion in
Judy's direction. I knew you had made up your
mind not to say a word, so I added my little two
plus two correctly and established my honor and
yours in about three minutes. She said that she
was glad to know the facts of the case, and that
she would write you a note."

"I am glad, too, that it all turned out well,"
sighed Jane. "I hope Miss Howard won't be
criticized for letting me go."

"She won't," was Judith's confident predic-
tion. "Nothing further will be said about it."
Judith had a reason of her own for making this
bold statement. On returning to their room she
left Jane and with lion-like courage marched up
the hall to Marian Seaton's door. It was opened
by Maizie Gilbert, who looked surprised displeas-
ure at her caller.

"I wish to speak to Miss Seaton," announced
Judith with dignity.

Marian came forward as she entered, her pale
eyes narrowing with dislike. "You came to see
me?" she interrogated with cool disdain.

"Yes. I came to tell you that Miss Howard
knows ail about how j^our mother happened to
recognize Miss Allen in the tearoom in New
York. Miss Howard allowed Miss Allen to go

272 JANE ALLEN

there for a special reason, after receiving Presi-
dent Blakesly's consent to do so. Perhaps she
has already told you. What I came here to say,
however, is this. As Miss Allen's case was ex-
ceptional she was requested to go and return
quietly. In a college of this size where a special
permission is granted to one student, others who
have no knowledge of the circumstances are alto-
gether too ready to accuse the faculty of favorit-
ism." Judith delivered this thrust with malicious
intent.

"Will you kindly cut your call short?" Mari-
an's cheeks were aflame with temper. Never
courteous, she was now brutally rude. "I have
no desire to listen to a further account of Miss
Allen's trip to New York."

"Oh, there's nothing more to be said," Judith
smiled maddeningly, "except," her smiling lips
tightened, "that hereafter you are to be very
careful what you say to anyone about Jane Al-
len. I am her friend. As such I intend to see
that she receives fair treatment in all respects.
If you try again to injure her by word or deed,
I shall put the matter before President Blakesly.
I am sure that he would not allow one student
to circulate malicious and untrue reports about
another. Think it over. Talk it over, if you

OF THE SUB-TEAM - 273

like. Just remember, though, that I mean every
word I've said."

Turning, Judith stalked from the room with-
out a backward glance, leaving Jane's oppressors
to digest her lecture as best they might. Outside
the closed door she drew a deep breath of satis-
faction. Whether her mission would be pro-
ductive of good results, time alone would show.
At least she had had the exquisite pleasure of
speaking her mind.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE UNSEEN LISTENER

JUDITH'S call on Marian Seaton and Maizie
Gilbert was attended with at least one good
result; Marian promptly dropped her holi-
day grievance against the registrar. When she
had urged her mother to write to Miss Howard,
she had entertained the idea that perhaps Jane
had slipped away to New York without obtain-
ing official permission. Granted this was the
case, exposure would mean trouble for the girl
she disliked. An interview with Miss Howard
showed the fallacy of this suspicion. Yet the
registrar's patent vexation plainly indicated
that she had not expected her leniency to be
thus noised abroad. Assuming this hypothesis,
Marian virtuously refused to divulge the name
of her informant, but took care to create the
impression that the news had proceeded from
Jane's lips.

274

OF THE SUB-TEAM 275

Her brief acquaintance with Jane on the train
had shown her that the reserved Westerner would
not submit to being questioned. She had, there-
fore, shrewdly calculated on thus bringing about
a rupture between the registrar and Jane. She
had not counted on Judith as a stumbling block.

Marian had not the slightest intention of drop-
ping her persecution of Jane. She had never
forgiven her for showing such open contempt for
herself, and she had determined to do her utmost
to drive her from Wellington. Jane's early un-
popularity delighted Marian. Later it galled
her to note that, despite her ill-natured gossip
and constant treacherous attempts to discredit
her, Jane was slowly gathering about her a few
staunch friends who were ready and willing to
fight for her interests. In the face of this un-
expected opposition, Marian was more deter-
mined than ever to cut Jane's newly gained
ground of friendship from under her feet. It
behooved her to be always on the watch, ready to
make capital of the smallest incident that chance
might throw in her direction.

Although Jane knew nothing of Judith's bold
interference in her behalf, she was fully aware
of what she might expect in future from Marian
Seaton. More than once she had seen the drama

•76 JANE ALLEN

of "Hatred" played on her father's ranch. She
had twice seen it enacted amid heavy blows, with
bloodshed for a final curtain. Often it had ended
in dismissal for one of the two prime movers.
On rare occasions it had scorched and shriveled
beneath the powerful white light of understand-
ing and from its ashes had sprung friendship.
In the brief season she had been at Wellington,
she had discovered that girls could hate as fiercely
as men. Among them sharp words became
deadly bullets, sly innuendo the proverbial stab in
the back, while scathing criticism could deal
sledge-hammer blows.

Hers was too sturdy a nature to quail before
the prospect of what might happen. Thus far,
almost every disagreeable experience which had
fallen to her lot had been balanced by another of
the opposite sort. The mistake over her room had
brought her Judith. Adrienne's pledge of friend-
ship had come to her in her darker hours. Lillian
Barrows' treachery had aroused the loyalty of
her teammates and resulted in placing Jane regu-
larly on the practice team. The friendly note of
apology she had received from Miss Howard had
wiped out Marian Seaton's attempt to harm her.
The wreck of her holiday plans had opened her
eyes to the true meaning of Christmas. Dorothy

OF THE SUB-TEAM 277

Martin's supposed disloyalty had been instru-
mental in giving happiness to poor, neglected
Norma. y

Best of all, Jane's faith in Dorothy had been
fully restored. On the evening of the day on
which Judith had risen to her standard, Dorothy
had come to her. Judith had discreetly retired
from the scene to visit Ethel Lacey. Left alone,
the two girlc had made short work of the barrier
which Jane had raised in the heat of her wrath.
When Dorothy had explained that the nature of
faer conversation with Edith had been defensive
rather than offensive, proud Jane had humbly
sued for pardon. Then and there the two had
vowed that never again would they allow the sun
to go down upon their anger. Whatever their
differences might be, they would discuss them
frankly and settle them speedily.

With the sinister ban of misunderstanding re-
moved, Jane's aversion to meeting Dorothy at
table vanished. As Edith Hammond was a young
person of many dinner engagements, she was fre-
quently absent from table at the evening meal.
On these occasions Adrienne, Jane and Dorothy
made merry together. Edith's presence was pro-
vocative of restraint. Without her the three en-
joyed themselves immensely.

278 JANE ALLEN

"Is it indeed so that we shall not see the
haughty Miss Hammond to-night?" inquired
Adrienne artlessly, as the three met at dinner
one evening in early January.

"It is indeed so," smiled Dorothy. "Edith has
been very busy entertaining and being enter-
tained since she came back to Wellington."

"It is well." Adrienne's animated features
betokened small sorrow. "I would that it were
always thus."

"You are a naughty child," chided Dorothy
playfully. In secret she echoed the little girl's
naive sentiment. Edith had been unusually
thorny since her return to college, and Dorothy
had lost all patience with her.

"I have the great secret to unfold. It is only
for yours and Jane's ears. All has been ar-
ranged for la petite Norma." Adrienne folded
her hands with the calm air of an arbiter of
destinies.

"So that is why Norma has been looking so
unutterably happy of late! I laid her smiling
face to the jolly vacation she spent with you. I
had no idea there was more than that behind it.
Tell us the secret, dear Imp. We can be trusted.
Can't we, Jane?" Dorothy appealed to Jane.

"I am a safe receptacle for secrets." Jane

OF THE SUB-TEAM 279

laughingly held up her right hand in mock oath
of her integrity as a secret-keeper.

"You remember when our clever Norma gave
the great soliloquy. Ah, then I whispered to
myself, 'What of la petite as an actress? Mon
pere is the manager who knows many other man-
agers of the profession. Norma shall go to New
York with me at Christmas. Then we shall see.'

"When we had been in the city several days
and Norma was, we will say, acclimated, I caused
her to recite for mon pere and ma mere. They
were, of a truth, delighted. So mon pere took
her to the office of a great manager. He also
heard her recite and then promised to obtain for
her the engagement next summer in a stock com-
pany. If she does well she can then earn enough
money to pay for her junior year at Wellington.
Thus she will not need to carry the tray or work
in the kitchen or receive the snubs of some ill-
natured students. Have I not done well?" Asa
child turns to its elders for approval, Adrienne's
black eyes searched the faces of her friends.

"You are not the Imp. You are an angel!"
Jane's hand reached across the table. "Ever
since the night of the freshman dance I have been
wondering what I could do for Norma. I knew
she wouldn't accept the money that would free

28o JANE ALLEN

her of this drudgery. She is too proud and
self-respecting. But your way is simply splen-
did."

"I agree with Jane." Dorothy's hand had also
gripped Adrienne's slender fingers. "I never
even knew that Norma could recite. I've tried

to help her in small ways, but this Well, I

am willing to sit at the feet of my freshman sisters
and learn a few things."

Adrienne looked highly pleased with herself,
as well she might. "It is not so much," she depre-
cated. "Norma has the talent; I have the power.
Voila! It is thus quickly arranged. Here is
Norma now. I have told the great secret, ma
petite" she hailed, as Norma approached the
table.

As Norma stood at least five feet seven inches,
the apellation of "little one" was quaintly incon-
gruous. Adrienne frequently used it merely as
a term of affection.

Norma flushed to the roots of her brown hair.
"It doesn't seem as though it has really hap-
pened to me," she said, as though in half-apology
for her good fortune. She wondered if Dorothy
had any objection to the stage as a means of
earning a livelihood. Of Jane she had no doubt.

Dorothy's warm pressure of her hand was in-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 281

finitely reassuring. "You are a lucky girl," she
congratulated. "Some day, when you are a great
actress, we shall be glad to remember that Wel-
lington was your Alma Mater. I think we ought
to celebrate to-night. My roommate is out for
the evening. After supper we will invite Ethel
and Judith and have a high tea. Then, Norma,
you must recite for me."

A sudden imperative summons from an ad-
joining table sent Norma scurrying about her
duty.

"When the next year comes la petite will not
have to obey the calls and bear away the dishes !"
exclaimed Adrienne with deep satisfaction.

"And she will have you to thank for it," re-
minded Jane. "You are a good fairy who
dropped down upon Wellington from a stray
moonbeam just to make Norma happy." Jane
was thinking of her fanciful comparison made at
first sight of Adrienne.

"You are the flatterer who makes me to blush."
Adrienne colored prettily. "Let us change the
subject and speak of basket-ball."

Basket-ball proved a fruitful topic for discus-
sion. Vacation over, it had again begun to loom
prominently on the college horizon. Public opin-
ion leaned toward the sophomores as winners of

282 JANE ALLEN

the pennant. It was conceded by all but the
freshmen themselves that the sophomores were
better players. To Adrienne's sturdy declara-
tion that the freshmen would win the two games
yet to be played, Dorothy shook her head. "I'm
afraid you can't do it," she doubted. "You have
one uncertain player in your squad. I won't say
her name. You know whom I mean."

Adrienne and Jane knew quite well to whom
Dorothy referred. While at practice Jane, in
particular, had mentally criticized the work of
Alicia Reynolds, and wished a trifle enviously
that she might for just once replace her. In the
privacy of their room Judith had often com-
plained of Alicia's uncertain playing. At times
she held her own. Frequently, however, she made
stupid blunders which Marian Seaton tried zeal-
ously to retrieve. Jane never commented, even
to Judith, on what she saw. She was not sorry
to hear her roommate voice what she had already
observed, neither was she surprised to hear Doro-
thy confirm it.

"I wish Miss Hurley would allow Jane to play
on the position of Miss Reynolds." Adrienne
had no delicate hesitation when it came to men-
tioning names. "The madamoiselle is without
doubt the favorite of Miss Hurley. N'est-ce pas ?'

OF THE SUB-TEAM 283

"That is a leading question. It wouldn't be
fair for big sister to answer it."

"It is answered," shrugged Adrienne. Doro-
thy's twinkling eyes had conveyed more than her
lips. "If this Miss Reynolds were some day to
tender the resignation, I should not weep."

Jane smiled faintly at this candid statement.
The possibility of such a thing happening was
remote. She could conceive of nothing short of
physical disability that would cause Alicia to re-
sign from the team.

The second in the series of three games played
between the sophomores and freshmen was sched-
uled to take place early in March. January was
rapidly winging its way toward the dreaded mid-
year examinations. Owing to the approach of
this ordeal which would occupy the greater part
of the first week in February, it had been sagely
decided by the basket-ball committee to allow a
considerable interval of practice after the affairs
of the new college term had been adjusted.

In spite of the approaching examinations,
brisk practice went on betwen the freshman and
substitute teams. This was partly due to the
fact that the girls of the sophomore squad were
devoting more time to study than to practice.
Taking advantage of this studious mood, their

284 JANE ALLEN

opponents were leaving nothing undone that
would tend to make them victorious in the com-
ing contest. Whenever they could steal an hour
or two after classes they prodded the sub-team
on to duty and worked with a will.

As it happened, the subs needed little prod-
ding. One and all they were devoted to the
game. They met the call to practice with the
utmost willingness and bade fair to outplay the
official team itself, so smoothly did they work
together. The week preceding the mid-year test,
basket-ball activities ceased and a wholesale
review set in, to an accompaniment of much mid-
night oil. Then followed a dread season of ques-
tion and answer, during which hope and fear
commingled. Its end was celebrated by numer-
ous social sessions in the various campus houses,
for no student was sorry when that fateful test
had passed on to keep company with similar har-
rowing shades.

The middle of February found the basket-ball
enthusiasts again hard at work. Little more than
two weeks stood between the freshmen and the
coming game. They were now glad of their
earlier practice, for the sophomores had awak-
ened to their need to work and frequently claimed
the gymnasium. As this was all fair enough they

OF THE SUB-TEAM 285

bore it meekly and, on occasions when the coveted
floor was theirs, they endeavored to make up for
lost time.

But when Saturday, the fifth of March, came,
they tasted the aloes of defeat. A score of 20-12
in favor of the sophomores sent them scurrying
to their dressing room on the verge of tears.
They had been so sure of themselves. %% wa»s
hard to credit that, with all their strenuous work,
they had been worsted.

For reasons best known to themselves three
members of the team were secretly burning with
indignation. Judith, Adrienne and Christine
knew exactly why defeat had overtaken them.
.Alicia Reynolds had perpetrated several glaring
blunders that had piled up the score of their op-
ponents. If only Jane had been on the team,
was the separate resentful thought of each of
the three as they silently slipped on their long
coats preparatory to leaving the dressing room.
The presence in the room of Marian Seaton and
the incompetent Alicia alone served to tie their
tongues. Marian was looking brazenly defiant as
she collected her effects. She knew that trouble
was brewing for Alicia. The latter was attempt-
ing to follow her companion's example, though
she felt more like crying. Noting Alicia's down-

286 JANE ALLEN ^^

cast air, Marian hurried her into her coat and out
of the dressing room. She did not propose that
her friend should disgrace herself by crying while
in the presence of this unsympathetic trio.

Hustling the drooping Alicia across the gym-
nasium to where Maizie Gilbert and a number
of her particular friends were standing, she left
her to their voluble expressions of sympathy and
made an excuse to return to the dressing room.
She was insatiably curious to know what was
being said about herself and Alicia. She was well
aware that the latter had played so badly as to
jeopardize her position on the team. What she
most wished to discover was whether the three
girls intended to enter complaint of the fact.

Excited voices within told her that she had
been wise to return. Though the door was closed
she could hear quite plainly. To avoid giving the
effect of listening, she paused, and stooping be-
gan a lengthy process of adjusting her shoelace.
Though a noisy admiration party was in full
swing around the triumphant sophomore squad,
she determined to run no chance of being set
down as an eavesdropper. After a fashion
Marian Seat on was clever, but her cleverness was
never put to good use.

She could make little of Adrienne's vehe-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 287

ment sputtering, half-English, half -French. Ah !
Now it wa& Judith's clear tones that came to her
ears.

"I have said right along that Miss Hurley has
no right to keep Alicia Reynolds on the team."
In her resentment Judith's voice rose. "It is not
fair to the rest of us. I don't like Marian Seaton,
but I must say she is a splendid player. So you
see I'm not prejudiced. For the good of the
team we ought to have Jane. She is a wonder.
Barbara says she is the best player on the sub-
team and ought to be on the official team."

"Then I shall try to have her placed there,"
broke in Christine with sharp decision. "As cap-
tain I think I ought to have some right, at least,
to say what shall be done. I shall see Miss Hur-
ley "

But Marian waited to hear no more. She also
was resolved to see Miss Hurley, and at once.
There was another point, too, on which she had
made up her mind, and it related intimately to
Jane Allen.

CHAPTER XXIV

TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE

BUT while three justly incensed girls were
working for the good of the team and
Jane's happiness, a fourth equally en-
raged young woman was unburdening herself to
Roberta Hurley. Her flow of expostulation
must have been attended with some degree of
success. When she left the gymnasium in com-
pany with the senior manager, her pale blue eyes
Were agleam with malicious triumph.

On the next afternoon Christine Ellis sought
Miss Hurley and put forth a straightforward
plea in the name of the freshmen. But she met
with a brusque reception. Coolly decisive, the
senior manager delivered her ultimatum. Alicia
Reynolds must remain on the team. Christine
promptly lost her temper and all but accused

288

OF THE SUB-TEAM 289

Miss Hurley of favoritism. The vexed captain
might as well have beaten her head against a stone
wall. The haughty manager merely treated her
as though she were an unruly child and snubbed
her in dignified fashion.

"Were I as unfair as you appear to think me,
I might take into consideration your decided im-
pertinence, Miss Ellis, and make a change in the
team that would hardly be to your liking," was
Miss Hurley's significant comment.

"If you mean me, you may ask for my resig-
nation whenever you choose," retorted Christine,
and marched off with her head held high. She
was too greatly exasperated to care whether or
not she remained on the team. She had fully
expected that Miss Hurley would be disinclined
to interfere, but she had not looked for such
flat opposition. She reflected resentfully that
"straws" indicated plainly which way the wind
blew. Afterward, in recounting the unsatisfac-
tory interview to Judith and Adrienne, the three
unanimously agreed that it would be best to say
nothing about it to Jane. What she did not
know would not trouble her. To confess to her
their failure to advance her interests would tend
to make her unhappy.

Stung by the memory of their recent defeat,

29o JANE ALLEN

the freshman team practiced harder than ever.
Adrienne, Judith and Christine spurred them-
selves on to fresh effort with intent to over-
come the handicap that menaced future victory.
Marian Seat on did brilliant work for the same
reason. Privately she commenced to nag Alicia
Reynolds about her playing, reminding her
sharply that she must keep up with the others,
for fear of incurring the criticism of the fresh-
man class. Basket-ball excitement had risen to
fever heat in both classes since the playing of
the second game of the contest. The third game,
which was to come oif directly after the Easter
vacation, was now a matter of compelling interest
to both organizations.

Among the freshmen, the sub-team was also
playing its way to heights of importance. Prac-
tice went on to the tune of noisy applause when
a particularly clever throw to basket was made.
There were always plenty of spectators to line
the gymnasium walls, for the sophomores were
not above dropping in on the busy scene to watch
and comment on the work of their team's oppo-
nents.

Jane Allen's spirited playing was frequently
commended. More than one girl whispered to
her neighbor that "Miss Allen ought to be on

OF THE SUB-TEAM 291

the regular team." It was a pity that she had
not entered the. try-out held at the beginning of
the season. Occasionally these pleasant com-
ments reached Jane's ears, inspiring her to
greater effort. As boisterous March bullied and
blustered out his remaining days, she grew more
than ever in love with basket-ball. She was
already an expert player and looked hopefully
forward toward trying next year for a place on
the sophomore squad.

It was while she was thus engaged in whole-
heartedly doing her best on the team that a sinis-
ter cloud appeared on the blue of her happiness.
It lacked a little more than a week until the
beginning of the Easter vacation and the rival
squads were utilizing every spare moment in
which to perfect their playing. Almost at the
close of an hour of spirited contest between the
sub and the regular teams, something occurred
to which at the time Jane paid no special atten-
tion. During a headlong scramble for the ball,
which necessitated general jostling, Alicia Reyn-
olds stumbled and fell. Swept onward in the
rush, Jane gave no heed to the fallen player.
Accidents of that nature were a part of the game.
Once down, the unfortunate one made it her busi-
ness to bob up promptly. Had Judith fallen, it

292 JANE ALLEN

would have made no difference to Jane. At such
a time personal feelings were non est.

Practice over, Jane was about to cross the floor
to the dressing room when her glance came to
rest on a group of girls of whom Alicia Reynolds
was the center. Her eyes flashed stormily as she
noted that they were staring at her in an any-
thing but pleasant fashion. She quickly looked
away. Nevertheless in that brief instant she had
observed that Marian Seaton, Edith Hammond
and Roberta Hurley were of the group. The
next moment Jane rebuked herself sharply for
allowing such a thing to disturb her, and reso-
lutely dismissed it from her thoughts.

Next day at practice she had quite forgotten
it. She even smiled a trifle grimly when, during
the progress of the play, Alicia lurched heavily
against her and through her own clumsiness
barely missed falling again. Several times that
afternoon fate seemed determined that she and
Alicia should run afoul of each other. To cap
the climax, before practice was over Jane and
Marian Seaton bumped their heads smartly to-
gether, causing the latter to exclaim angrily.
Again on leaving the floor she noticed the same
hostile group of yesterday watching her. This
time Marian was doing all the talking. Jane

OF THE SUB-TEAM 293'

wondered if Marian was airing the grievance of
her bumped head for their benefit.

On the third day she awoke to the fact that
she was receiving decidedly rough treatment from
both Marian and Alicia. Moreover, they seemed
perpetually in her path. Alicia fell down twice.
The second time she landed at Jane's very feet
and Jane narrowly avoided stepping on her. She
could have sworn that three different times
Marian deliberately crashed against her, re-
bounding with unnecessary violence. To an on-
looker it would appear that Jane was at fault.
This, however, did not then occur to Jane. In-
stead she was possessed of the idea that the two
girls were bent on annoying her with intent to
arouse her to an open display of temper. Merely
disgusted, she met these furtive attacks with an
impassivity she was far from feeling. So far as
she was concerned her tormentors should never
know that she even suspected them of treach-
ery.

Jane's consternation and surprise were un-
bounded when, on the following morning, she
found a note from Roberta Hurley in the Hall
bulletin board, requesting her resignation from
the practice team. The note was couched in the
most formal terms, and contained no reason for

294 JANE ALLEN

the request. Jane's alert faculties instantly set
to work to supply the omission. Her mind re-
verting to the disagreeable incidents that had
attended her practice of the past few days, she
now understood. Marian and Alicia had deliber-
ately purposed the frequent collisions and mis-
haps which she had regarded as accidental, with
intent to make her appear as an unnecessarily
rough and tricky player. On the day that Alicia
had taken that first tumble she had begun the
campaign. That accounted for the hostile eyes
which had afterward been directed toward her.
Once the seed of suspicion had been sown in such
fertile soil, it had instantly sprouted. Assiduous
cultivation had insured its lightning growth.

Jane's first impulse was to hurry upstairs to
tell Judith. Then she remembered that her room-
mate had already left the Hall. As she continued
to stare at the cruel lines she felt suddenly suf-
focated by her narrow surroundings. She was
assailed by an impetuous desire to mount Firefly
and ride away from it all. It was the first day
of April, but this was no hoax of All Fool's Day.
It was stark, bitter fact. From her windows that
morning the perfect blue of a spring sky had
awakened in her the longing to play truant. Now
she craved the balm of sun, sky and soft breezes

■ OF TffE SUB-TEAM 295

as an antidote for this avalanche of humiliation
that had so unexpectedly descended.

Jane dashed up the stairs to her room. Fif-
teen minutes afterward she was on her way to
the stable. Once on Firefly's trusty back, she
galloped furiously away from the college and
through the staid streets of the sleepy town, bent
only on putting distance between herself and
Wellington.

It was nine o'clock in the morning when she
rode away. It was five o'clock in the afternoon
when she went slowly up the steps of the Hall.
All that day Firefly, sturdy and untiring, had
borne her faithfully wherever she had willed him
to go. A wayside hostelry many miles from Wel-
lington had furnished refreshment for both girl
and horse. During those long sunny hours Jane
had been busily thinking. Her whole mind now
centered on reprisal. She would publicly con-
front Marian and Alicia and demand justice. If
they refused to retract their unfair accusations
against her, she would carry her grievance higher.
Miss Rutledge would sift matters to the bottom.
She, at least, was absolutely impartial and fair-
minded.

The longer Jane considered her plan the better
it pleased her. Hitherto she had endured in

296 JANE ALLEN ^^^

silence. Now the time had come to speak. Once
and for all she would end this hateful persecu-
tion. As she had missed practice that afternoon,
Miss Hurley would naturally take it for granted
that she was guilty of the crimes laid at her door.
By this time her own friends must have learned
what had happened. No doubt a girl of Miss
Hurley's choosing had played on the sub-team in
her place.

"I might have known it!" were Judith's first
words. A single glance at the tall figure in riding
clothes revealed to her in what fashion Jane had
spent the day.

"You've heard, I suppose." Jane stared
darkly at Judith, her crop beating a nervous tat-
too on her riding boot. "Have I been branded
as a disgrace to the team?"

"Heard!" Judith's voice soared to heights of
indignation. "I've heard nothing else. It was
outrageous in Miss Hurley to lend herself to such
trickery. As for Marian Seaton and that cow-
ardly Alicia Reynolds! It makes me sick to
think of them. I don't blame you for cutting
your classes and running away! I suppose our
dear manager sent you a note?"

"Yes. Would you like to see it?" Jane drew
the note from a pocket of her riding coat and

OF THE SUB-TEAM 297

bravely handed it to Judith. She had read it so
many times that day she knew it by heart.

"It's the limit!" In her disgust Judith found
in slang only the force to express her feelings.
"Never mind. Here is a note to match it. Read
that!"

She thrust the note at Jane, whose eyes trav-
eled unbelievingly over these pertinent lines :

"We, the undersigned, by reason of the
unfair treatment accorded to Jane Allen of
the substitute team, do hereby not only make
protest against the same, but cheerfully re-
sign our various positions on the regular and
substitute teams."

Seven bold signatures followed this amazing
declaration of independence.

"Why !" stammered Jane. "Why "

Here was justification in full force. The
resignation of the seven girls meant the down-
fall of freshman basket-ball for that year at least.
The great game would never be played. It
would be too late for an inexperienced team to
dream of facing the sophomores. Marian and
Alicia had plotted to force her from the sub-
team. But in her hour of need friends had loy-

298 JANE ALLEN

ally risen to her standard. Her enemies had cast
a boomerang, little dreaming how signally it
would strike home. There was now no need for
her to go to Miss Rutledge. Fate had already
decreed otherwise.

"What do you think of that?" Judith's tri-
umphant inflection brought Jane out of her
brown study. "Of course it's hard on the fresh-
men. They have certainly .been loyal fans. Still,
we can't stand by and let Alicia and Marian
Seaton and Miss Hurley have their own way.
It's a poor rule that won't work both ways, you
know."

CHAPTER XXV

THE GREAT GAME

ON Saturday afternoon the gymnasium of
Wellington College presented a scene of
unusual activity. Due to the untiring
efforts of the sophomores and freshmen it was
liberally decorated with their respective colors.
As nearly all of the students had elected to be-
come ardent fans, huge rosettes and streamers,
sophomore wistaria and white, or freshman green
and gold, ornamented their loyal persons.

Long before the game began the spectators
were in evidence. They crowded the gallery and
filled the roped-in portion of the playing floor to
the last inch of space. On one side of the gal-
lery was the freshman glee club, eager and ready
to burst into inspiring song, while opposite them
were their sophomore sisters who had been dc

tailed for a similar service to their team.

299

300 JANE ALLEN

i.. . ' =

As usual the front seats of the gallery had
been reserved for the faculty. President Blakes-
ly, Miss Rutledge, Miss Howard, in short, nearly
all of the members of the faculty had chosen to
honor the occasion with their presence. All this
tended to point to the importance of the contest
about to take place, and both classes were jubil-
ant by reason of such distinguished attendance.

The game was to be called at two-fifteen. Pre-
cisely at two o'clock the freshmen choirsters rose
in their places and burst into the vocal admoni-
tion:

"Our freshmen, 'tis of thee
We sing most loyally;
I Team of our pride!

To-day thy valor show,
The ball to basket throw,
Whitewash the haughty foe;
Score for our side."

They had hardly finished when the sophomore
singers responded with a defiant challenge to the
tune of "Forsaken."

"We'll beat them, we'll beat them!
We'll shatter their dream
Of stealing the pennant

OF THE SUB-TEAM 301

Away from our team.

Oh, let them be wary

And shake in their shoes !

The sophomores must conquer;

The freshmen must lose!"

The freshmen, however, had a ready and tune-
ful retort to this, but before they had finished
singing it the warning whistle of the referee
signaled to them to desist. At a second blast
of the whistle a slender, golden-haired figure in
a Greek gown of green, bordered with gold,
issued from the freshman dressing room. On
her head was a gilt crown, while in her hands she
bore a golden lyre, which freshman ingenuity
had fashioned with difficulty of pasteboard and
string, and painstakingly gilded. Both crown
and lyre modestly hinted at undoubted victory.

At the same moment a full-fledged Indian
chief burst into view from the sophomore dress-
ing room. In his belt was an enormous purple
tomahawk, of the proportions of a battle-axe,
while dangling carelessly from his shoulder was
a string of what perilously resembled five scalps.
He carried a huge purple and white banner and
waved it as he walked, with the air of a con-
queror.

302 JANE 'ALLEN

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced the gol-
den-haired girl. "We have with us this after-
noon the winning freshmen. To the brave be-
longs the victory!"

As she finished her speech, partially drowned
by tumultuous applause, the green and gold
players pattered across the floor, to the tune of
further acclamation.

"Big sophomore chief !" sonorously intoned the
distinguished representative of the sophomores,
waving his banner and brandishing his tomahawk
at the same time.

He also received his quota of applause. The
two mascots then bowed low and made a digni-
fied march off the floor.

"Tr-ill, tr-ill!" shrieked the faithful whistle,
and the two teams sprang into position for the
toss up.

To Jane Allen, as she stood ready for action,
it was the supreme moment of her lif e. The gay
decorations, the clamoring audience, the opening
ceremony of introduction by the mascots, thrilled
her to the core. Most wonderful of all, she was
at last a part of that which she had so often vainly
dreamed.

The sophomores won the toss-up and encour-
aged by the jubilant shouts of their fans pro-

OF THE SUB-TEAM 303

ceeded to show the freshmen a few things about
basket-ball. Their opponents, however, were of
the opinion that they could do better themselves,
and entered the fray with an energy and speed
that kept their elder sisters hustling. With
Alicia Reynolds off the squad and Jane on, they
made a most formidible combination and scored
repeatedly.

On learning of the change Alicia had willed,
Marian Seaton's anger was not pleasant to wit-
ness. On returning to the Hall just before half-
past ten of the previous evening, she and Maizie
Gilbert had learned of the accident. Early Sat-
urday morning she had sought Alicia in the hope
that the latter might be able to take her place
on the team. When Alicia had calmly apprised
her of the news that Jane Allen was to replace
her, Marian had flown into a rage and expressed
her opinion of Alicia in scathing terms. Deter-
mined from now on to stand by her colors, Alicia
had declared herself once and for all, thus ending
the intimacy between the two girls.

Marian had then sought Roberta Hurley, but
found that she had already written Jane the fatal
note, the sending of which Marian had hoped to
be in time to prevent. Miss Hurley had reluc-
tantly admitted that it was too bad, but had

3Q4 'JANE 'ALLEN

lamely explained that to refuse Alicia's request
after what had happened would bring censure
down upon her own head. So Marian had been
obliged to retire in wrathful defeat.

In the dressing room she had refused to notice
any of her teammates. This troubled them little.
If only Marian would play in her usual form,
they cared nothing for her personal opinion of
them.

As the game proceeded it was noted with relief
by at least three of them that Marian intended
to do her best so far as her work on the floor
went. Jane, however, was too much occupied
with her own business to remember Marian's per-
sonal existence. She was in her glory, and her
clever footwork, swift, lithe movements and
quick, catlike springs won for her that day a last-
ing reputation as a star player.

At the end of the first half the freshmen were
several points ahead. From the begimiing of the
second half they kept the lead and went on piling
up their score. The sophomores worked with
desperate energy and made some fine plays. Still
they lost several points on fouls and once or twice
their passing was not up to their usual standard.
The amazing manner in which their opponents
signaled and carried out their plays tended to

OF THE SUB-TEAM 305

unnerve them. They did not do as well in the
last half as in the first, and several minutes before
the final whistle blew they knew that defeat was
imminent.

To Jane fell the star play of the afternoon: a
long overhand throw to basket. Coming as it did
just before the end of the game, it awoke a per-
fect fury of acclamation and added one more bit
of glory to the freshman score. Jane Allen had
indeed proved her right to play on the team.

When the result of the game was announced,
18-10 in favor of the freshmen, there came an-
other wild outburst which good-natured Presi-
dent Blakesly made no effort to suppress;

Jane found herself the center of an admiring
throng from which she broke away with difficulty.
She had done her work and done it well, but now
that the game was over and the freshmen had
won she was anxious to be off on an errand of
her own. She had promised to visit Alicia and
give her an account of the game,

" 'The sophomores must conquer;
The freshmen must lose,' "

quoted Judith derisively, as the four friends
gathered in the dressing room. Marian Seatori

3o6 JANE ALLEN

had not put in an appearance as yet. She was
purposely loitering in the gymnasium until the
quartette she disliked had taken their departure.

"Yes; it looks like it now, doesn't it?" laughed
Christine Ellis. "It may sound conceited, but,
girls, I never saw a team work together so beau-
tifully as ours played to-day. As for Jane, she
is the original basket-ball artist."

"I was merely lucky to-day," deprecated Jane.
"Things seemed to come my way. Another time
I might disgrace you."

"I only hope there will be 'another time' next
year," declared Judith. "Then we shall be able
to prove to you that luck had nothing to do with
your playing. I envy you that last throw to
basket."

"Ah, yes," sighed Adrienne, "we are of a truth
green-eyed with jealousy. Is it not sad that we
shall play the splendid basket-ball no more this
year? It makes heartache." She laid a small
hand dramatically over her heart.

"It certainly does," agreed Christine practi-
cally. "All we can do is to try for the team next
year. Unless some of the subs outplay us at the
try-out, we ought to make it."

"I hope " began Judith, then stopped.

"You needn't say it," smiled Christine. "We

OF THE SUB-TiL/ii,. 307

understand. Personally, so do I. From the
standpoint of basket-ball, she's a clever player.
That's all I have to say on the subject."

No one else saw fit to comment upon Marian
Seaton. In the hour of victory they were dis-
posed to be charitable.

"You are cordially invited to attend a spread
this evening at the home of the Misses Stearns
and Allen," invited Judith, as a little later the
four girls halted at the parting of their ways for
a moment's further chat.

"I have a brilliant idea." Jane had had very
little to say until she made this sudden remark.
Her mind was on a white-faced girl who lay
quietly in her room awaiting the return of
strength.

"Name it," said Christine.

"Why not give the spread for Alicia, and in
her room? She would like it, I am sure, and I
feel as though we owed it to her." Jane spoke
with deep seriousness.

Her proposal rather electrified her friends.
Nevertheless they loyally rose to it.

"That is most sweet in you, Jane," approved
Adrienne. "It is very horrible to be shut in the
room and lie on the couch when the spring is
here and all is thus beautiful outdoors. Alicia J

3o8 1ANE ALLEN

do not know very well, and that little I have not
liked, but the accident has brought the reform."

"It was splendid in her to do what she did for
me. I like her very much." Jane emphasized
the last sentence.

"All those in favor of Jane's plan say 'Aye/ "
stated Judith. "That means you and Adrienne,
Christine."

"Aye, aye," came the response, and the four
separated, as Adrienne had an errand to do in
town and Christine was bound for Argyle Hall.

"Jane Allen, do you realize that the year is
almost over?" asked Judith as they strolled across
the campus. "In less than two months we'll be
homeward bound."

"I know it." Jane's heart beat a little faster
at the words, "homeward bound." Looking back
on the beginning of her college year, she won-
dered at the swift passage of time. Yes, she
would soon be speeding West to her father and
dear old Capitan. Yet into her joy crept a tinge
of regret. After all, she would be a little sorry
to leave Wellington.

THE END