touchdowns? Do you remember that game you saw with us--and how
Jimsy ran down the field and shook hands with the boy who'd scored
on us? And how that gave every one confidence again, and we won? We
_always_ won!"--and standing there with her arms full of flowers
and all sorts of really important people waiting to pat her on the
head, she hummed that old battle song:

_You can't beat L. A. High!_
_You can't beat L. A. High!_

and her eyes filled up with tears and she gave me her jolly little
grin and said, "Oh, Miss Bruce-Drummond, I can hardly wait to get
back to real living again!"

Honor was honestly happy over her success. It was good to satisfy--and
more than satisfy--the kind _Signorina_ and all the genial and
interested people she had come to know there; to send her program and
her clippings home to her mother; it was jolly to be asked out to
luncheon and dinner and tea and to be made much of; it was best of all
to have something tangible to give up for Jimsy. If she had failed,
going back to him and settling quietly down with him would have seemed
like running to sanctuary; now--with definite promises and hard figures
offered her--it was more than a gesture of renunciation. She could
understand adoring a life of that sort if she hadn't Jimsy; as it was
she listened sedately to the _Signorina's_ happy burblings and said at
intervals:

"But you know, _Signorina_ dear, that I'm going to give it up and be
married next year?"

"You cannot give it up, my poor small one. It will not give you up. It
has you, one may truly say, by the throat!"

There was no use in arguing with her. The interim had to be filled until
summer and home. She would do, docilely, whatever the _Signorina_
wished.

Jimsy was happy and congratulatory about her concert but he took it no
more seriously than Honor herself. His letters were full, in those days,
of the unrest at Stanford. Certain professors had taken a determined
stand against drinking; there was much agitation and bitterness on both
sides. Jimsy was all for freedom; he resented dictation; he could hoe
his own row and so could other fellows; the faculty had no right to
treat them like a kindergarten. Honor answered calmly and soothingly;
she managed to convey without actually setting it down on the page that
Jimsy King of all people in the world should take care not to ally
himself with the "wets," and he wr