mised something just about as interesting."

"You don't get me," returned Ethel. "The dry goods box filled with
excelsior would be the anti-climax of wondering expectations."

"You're too deep for a twentieth century bunch of girls, Ethel," Hazel
Edwards objected. "That might easily be mistaken for the promised big
stunt. They might compose a lot of ditties and mix them up with the
packing, something like this:

"'Believe not all big things that boys may tell thee, for
Great expectations may produce excelsior'."

"Very clever, indeed, only it sounds like an impossible combination of
Alice in Wonderland and an old maid," said Harriet Newcomb, with a
toss of her head. "I'm surprised at you, Hazel, for suggesting such a
thing. If the boys should put over anything like that, we'd break off
diplomatic relations right away. If they wanted to call us a lot of
rummies, they couldn't do it as effectively by the use of direct
language. Cleverness usually makes a hit with its victims, unless it
contains an element of contempt."

"That is really a brilliant observation," announced the Guardian who
had been listening with quiet interest to the spirited conversation.
"Continued thought along such lines ought to result in a Keda National
Honor for you, Harriet."

"I'll agree to all that if Harriet will take back what she said about
my being an old maid," said Hazel with mock dignity.

"I didn't call you an old maid, my dear," denied the impromptu poet
pertly. "I merely said, or meant to say, that the idea you expressed
might better be expected from an old maid, although I doubt if many
old maids could have expressed it as well as you did."

"Girls, Girls, are you going to turn our vacation into a two-weeks
repartee bee?" Marion broke in with affected desperation. "If you do,
you will force your hostess to go way back and sit down, and that
wouldn't be polite, you know. By the way, if you'll excuse me I'll do
that very thing now for another reason. I've got two letters in my
hand bag that I forgot all about. I'm going to read them right now.
You girls are making too much chatter. I can't read in your midst."

So saying, Marion retired to a chair just far enough away to lend
semblance of reality to her "go way back and sit down" suggestion, and
settled back comfortably to read the two missives that arrived with
the last evening's mail at the Institute.

"Settled back comfortably"--yes, but only for a short time. Mario