together, Dulcie, my child!" said Gowan calmly. "You'll
either be turned bodily out of the Mafia, or you'll do your bit the
same as everybody else. Don't for a moment imagine you're coming to
listen to other people's industry, and bring nothing of your own with
you! That's not the way we manage things here. If you don't show up with
a manuscript in your hand, you'll find yourself walking down the passage
with the door slammed behind you. Yes, I mean it! You're a decent enough
little person, but you're apt to be slack. You must get some stiffening
into you this time."

"Poor little me!" wailed Dulcie.

"No poorer than all the rest of us!"

"Yes, I am, for I haven't got the same thingumbobs in my brains!
Couldn't make up poetry to save my life! May I write a letter?"

"Why, yes, if you'd rather!"

"I feel it would be my most adequate form of self-expression," minced
Dulcie, mimicking Miss Walters' very best literary manner. "I trust my
contribution will be kept for publication. Later on, when I'm famous, it
may become of value. The world will never forget that I was educated at
Chilcombe Hall. A neat brass plate will some day be placed upon the door
of the Blue Grotto to mark the dormitory I slept in, and my bed will be
preserved in the local museum!"

"With you (stuffed) inside it, labeled 'Specimen of a Champion
Slacker'!" snorted Gowan. "Now, no nonsense! If you don't turn up at
the meeting with a manuscript, you won't be admitted!"

"Bow-wow! How very severe we've grown, all of a sudden!" mocked Dulcie,
as she danced away. "You take it for granted," she called over her
shoulder, "that my contribution is going to mark the literary low tide.
Perhaps, after all, it will make as big an impression as anybody else's.
There!"

On the evening fixed for the meeting, nine girls put in an appearance at
the Blue Grotto, all flaunting manuscripts in a very conspicuous
fashion. They seated themselves upon Bertha's and Dulcie's beds, and
having as a kind of foregone conclusion, elected Gowan as President of
the Ceremonies, got straight to business. Gowan was justice personified,
and fearful of even unintentional favoritism, she insisted upon the
company drawing lots for the order in which their effusions were to be
read. The Fates decided thus: Carmel, Noreen, Edith, Lilias, Gowan,
Bertha, Prissie, Phillida, Dulcie.

Carmel, hustled off the bed to be given first hearing, took the chair of
honor reserved for each literary