table, the foundation of the elaborately decorated counter where
Rena and other girls would serve the fruit punch. All the time she
dressed she had been listening for the music of Dugan's orchestra, and
caught only tantalizing strains of tunes that she could not identify.
There was a sameness about the repertoire. Most of the tunes sounded
unduly sentimental and resigned. But now they were playing their star
number, a dramatic piece of program music called "A Day on the
Battlefield."

The day began with bird notes and bugle calls, but was soon enlivened by
cavalry charges and cannonades. The drum, and an occasional blank
cartridge, very telling in effect, were producing them now. Judith
listened eagerly.

She needed friends of her own age for the next two years, but she must
not identify herself with them too closely, because she would have wider
social opportunities by and by; that was what her mother said, and she
did not contest it; by and by, but this party was to-night.

Willard was coming for her now, half an hour ahead of time, as usual. He
crossed the lawn, and sat heavily down on the steps.

"Hello. Don't talk," said Judith.

Willard was silent only long enough to turn this remark over in his
mind, and decide that she could not mean it, but that was five minutes,
for all his mental processes were slow. Down in the hall the last of the
heroes was dying, and Dugan's orchestra rendered Taps sepulchrally.
Judith drew a long breath of shivering content.

"Cold?" inquired Willard.

"No."

"You're looking great to-night."

"In the dark? In an old polo coat?"

"You always look great."

Judith was aware of an ominous stir beside her, and changed her
position.

"Oh, Judy."

"When you know I won't let you hold my hand, what makes you try?"

"If I didn't try, how would I know?" said Willard neatly.

"Oh, if you don't know without trying," Judith sighed. The cannonade in
the hall was over, and the night was empty without it.

"They took in thirteen dollars and fifty-two cents selling tickets for
to-night." Willard, checked upon sentimental subjects, proceeded to
facts. He had so many at command that he could not be checked.

"Who did?"

"The team. They divide it. Only this year they've got to let the
sub-team in on it, the faculty made them, and they're sore. And there's
a sub on the reception committee."

"I don't care."

"You ought to. A sub, and a roughneck. The sub-team is a bunch of
roughne