Watson was obligingly looking after him. Her father and mother weren't
coming until Saturday, and Jim could only make a flying trip between two
examinations to spend Monday in Harding, so Eleanor had plenty of spare
time with which to help out her busier friends.

"I'm going to make out a schedule of my hours," she told Mr. Blake
laughingly, "for it would be dreadful if I should forget an engagement
and promise to entertain two or three uncongenial people at the same
time."

"Indeed it would," agreed Mr. Blake soberly. "To-night, for instance, it
would have been fatal. I say, Miss Watson, keep an hour or two open
Monday evening. If Madeline should urge me, I believe I'd run up again
for that outdoor concert. It must be no end pretty. Ah, the carnival
scene. I never saw that put on more effectively, Miss Watson."

The next night the fathers and mothers and cousins and aunts went into
ecstasies over "that lovely Portia" and "sweet little Jessica," laughed
at young Gobbo's every motion, and declared that Shylock was "just too
wonderful for anything." A funny little old lady who sat next to
Roberta's father even went so far as to ask him timidly if he didn't
agree with her that Shylock was a man. "I've been telling my sister that
no college girl could act like that. I guess I know an old man when I
see one," she said, and blushed scarlet when he answered in his courtly
way, "Pardon me, madam, but Shylock is my daughter. She will appreciate
your unstudied compliment."

When the curtain finally went down on the last performance of the play
the committee were almost too tired to realize that they were through,
and Katherine Kittredge, alias Gratiano, sank down on the nearest grassy
knoll (made of green cambric) and expressed the universal sentiments of
the cast.

"Not for all the ducats in Belmont will I call Portia a learned judge
again."

"You needn't, K., but please hop up," said Barbara Gordon wearily.
"They're singing to us. Get into the centre, Roberta. We've got to let
them see us again; they won't stop clapping till we do."

And then you should have heard the noise!

"Three cheers for good old Shylock," called somebody, and they were
given with a will. Then they sang to her.

"Here's to you, Roberta Lewis,
Here's to you, our warmest friend!"

Then they sang to Barbara and to Kate Denise, and to both the Gobbos.

"I say, ain't you folks goin' home till mornin'?" shouted a jovial
stage-hand, thrusti