't it, Miss Kingston?"

"A great deal certainly depends on that," agreed Miss Kingston. "But
it's much too early to decide that you can't get a good Shylock."

"Why, who else is there?" demanded Clara, dismally. "Surely every
possible and impossible person has tried to-day."

Nobody seemed ready to answer this argument, and Betty, glancing at the
doleful faces of her fellow-workers felt very much depressed until a new
idea struck her.

"Miss Kingston," she said, "there have been fifteen senior plays at
Harding, haven't there? And hasn't each one been better than any of
those that came before it?"

"So each class and its friends have thought," admitted Miss Kingston,
smiling at Betty's eagerness, "and in the main I think they have been
right."

"Then," said Betty, looking appealingly at Clara and Barbara, "I guess
we can safely go on thinking that our play will be still better. 19-- is
the biggest class that ever graduated here, and it's certainly one of
the brightest."

Everybody laughed at this outburst of patriotism and the atmosphere
brightened immediately, so Betty felt that perhaps she was of some use
on the committee even if she couldn't understand all Clara's easy
references to glosses and first folio readings, or compare Booth's
interpretation of Shylock with Irving's as glibly as Rachel did.

Just then there was a smothered giggle outside the door and six lusty
voices chanted, "By my troth, our little bodies are a-weary of these
hard stairs," in recognition of which pathetic appeal the committee
hastily dismissed the subject of Shylock in order to hear what the
impatient Portias had to say. They did so well, and there was such a
lively discussion about the respective merits of Kate Denise, Babbie
Hildreth and Nita Reese that the downcast spirits, of the committee were
fully restored, and they went home to dinner resolved not to lose heart
again no matter what happened, which is the most sensible resolution
that any senior play committee can make.

When Betty got home she found a note waiting for her on the hall table
addressed in Tom Alison's sprawling hand and containing an invitation to
Yale commencement.

"I'm asking you early," Tom wrote, "so that you can plan for it, and be
so much the surer not to disappoint me. Alice Waite is coming with Dick
Grayson, and some of the other fellows will have Harding girls. My
mother is going to chaperon the bunch.

"Do you remember my kid roommate, Ashley Dw