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CHAPTER XIII.
IMPRISONMENT

Elizabeth turned the key in the lock the instant Mary stepped from the room. Then, as quickly as possible, she got into her roommate’s white gown. Mrs. Jones, with a broad smile playing over her ebony features, stood by with pins and ribbons. From her mysterious boxes, that Mary supposed contained the switches with which one could do wonders, she brought forth a wig of yellow-brown hair.

“’Pears like this ’ud do. The other young lady hab hair what just come to her shoulders.”

“It is just fine,” exclaimed Elizabeth, “as near the color of Miss Wilson’s as I can hope for.” She studied herself in the mirror as Mrs. Jones adjusted the wig. “I know every gesture that Mary makes except this.” She gave her head a toss, shaking back the fringe of hair about her shoulders.

She hurried dressing for it was almost time for the curtain to rise. “There!” she cried. “I’m ready. I hope the way is clear for me.”

Hastening to the door, she peered into the hall. Not a ‘noble Senior’ was in sight. The girls flitting through the dormitories were Middlers and Freshmen. Confident that she was safe from interference, Elizabeth, her white gown trailing after her, started forth for the chapel. Nancy Eckdahl and Mame Welch joined her at the foot of the stairway.

“Don’t I look like a boiled lobster?” cried Nancy. “But this was the only dress anywhere near my size. It’s Nora O’Day’s. Isn’t it handsome? It is unfortunate that she is so dark and I so fair. But it was this or nothing. Think of a yellow-haired girl in an orange-colored gown.”

The effect was startling. Nora, with her dark eyes and coloring, would have looked like a picture in this vivid orange; but Nancy, with her blue eyes and flaxen hair, looked anything but picturesque.

“But you are comfortable,” gasped Mame, in short breaths. “If Min Kean had had a little more flesh on her bones when this dress was fitted, I would have felt better now. Nancy had to use a shoe-hook to fasten the buttons.”

“Have you seen Laura Downs? She looks exactly like Landis. The dress fits except it is a little short in the waist; but Azzie pinned up the skirt. It doesn’t look bad. She was in our room before she went down. And she ‘did’ Landis to perfection – that same haughty manner that Landis has when she means to impress one.”

As they moved along, their number increased. The leading spirits of the Middler class were there, each decked out in the new gown that some Senior, whose manner and tricks of speech she had been studying for weeks to impersonate, would have worn had she not been locked up in the little greenroom near the stage of the chapel.

There had been no Middler of sufficient height and dignity to impersonate Dr. Morgan. Yet she was a light of so great magnitude that she could not be ignored. Miss Hogue, a special student, a girl devoted to the classics, and a writer for all the school papers, had been pressed into service. Dr. Morgan when she had appeared upon the rostrum during the commencement exercises had worn a gown of black lace, its sombre tone relieved by cuffs and collar of cream duchess. She was very slender and erect. Her mass of brown hair, touched with gray, was always dressed in the same style. During all the years she had been at Exeter, it had been worn in a great coil on the top of her head. Dr. Morgan was no longer young. During the last year, she had been compelled to use eye-glasses. These were attached to her bodice by a gold chain. As she talked they were held in her hand the greater part of the time. In physique, Miss Hogue was Dr. Morgan’s double. Robed in the black gown, which she had borrowed from Dr. Morgan’s maid, and with her hair powdered, she could have easily passed as the doctor herself.

Miss Bowman, in company with her fourteen Seniors, sat in the greenroom and waited. There was no lack of conversation, although Miss Bowman took little part in it. However, she was an interested listener, and laughed heartily at the remarks of her charges. They threatened her; they cajoled; they flattered; they offered her all the good things that could be laid at a Senior’s feet during Commencement. When these availed nothing, they expressed themselves strongly. At intervals of a few minutes, one of the girls would try the doors, shaking them, and pounding with her fists on the panels.

“There are other Seniors somewhere,” cried Mary Wilson. “If we could make them hear, we ’d soon be out of here. We’d stop the Middlers’ banquet.”

Miss Bowman laughed. “Do you still think it is a banquet? Well, it isn’t. They hadn’t the least idea of giving one.”

“But I saw the letter that Elizabeth Hobart sent to Achenbach, the caterer. Isn’t that proof enough?” And Mary looked as if, had this been a legal case, she had Blackstone on her side.

“I saw the orders myself,” she asseverated.

“Of course you did! Elizabeth intended you should!”

“But if there was not going to be a banquet, why should they take all the trouble to make us believe there was?”

“Because, while you were hunting on the wrong scent, they could go on with their plans. You poor Seniors,” compassionately, “how you did work to stop that banquet! Landis had her trip to the city for nothing. Do you know, I don’t believe you could have had it served in the laundry! It gets chilly and damp there in the evening.”

“I’ll get out of this! I won’t stay locked up,” cried Mary. “Come, girls, let’s all yell together and pound on the floor.”

Pandemonium reigned for a few moments. Miss Bowman, exasperatingly cool, sat smiling. When the clamor ceased, she said, “Really, you are very childish. Why not accept this with the spirit of philosophers? You are here – you cannot get out until the Middlers see fit. Why not sit down and converse sweetly? There’s the weather. It’s a safe subject. Nothing personal about it. Or if you wish – ”

“Shut up!” cried Mary, stamping her feet, and wholly losing her temper. “If you had that key we’d fall upon you tooth and nail.”

“And take it from you!” It was Landis who finished the remark.

“So I thought!” responded Miss Bowman complacently. “That’s why I haven’t it.”

It was Min Kean who first showed the spirit of a philosopher. “Oh, what’s the use of fussing about it? We’re here, and I suppose we shall stay here until those Middlers see fit to let us out. The more fuss we make, the more fun for them.”

At this Landis drew herself erect. “That is just what I was about to say. A great deal of their fun will vanish when they discover that it is all one to us whether we get out or stay here. I’m about as well satisfied. My throat was a little husky anyway. Perhaps I would not have been able to make that high note. How mortified I should have been!”

She spoke in seeming sincerity. Mary Wilson eyed her suspiciously. She sighed. “Landis believes that we are what we make people believe we are. You would make a capital actress, Landis. The only fault you have is that you would always be playing to the gallery.”

Her hearers laughed, accepting the remark as a bit of pleasant chatter. Mary did not fully grasp how much truth her remarks contained. Landis alone appreciated the words. Her face flushed and she turned her head aside for an instant that the girls might not see she was hurt.

“I don’t know but that it is a good thing,” Mary rattled on. “We’re sure of an audience, at least. What shall we do now?”

“What can we do!” wailed a meek-looking little Senior from the darkest corner of the room. “There’s nothing except ask conundrums. I’ll begin. Why did we ever – ?”

“What more do you want?” asked Landis, turning about quickly to face them. “I’ll begin. What goes around a – ”

“Hush hush,” came a chorus of whispers. From the chapel below music could be heard. It was the Germania orchestra of twelve pieces from the city, to secure which the Seniors had heavily taxed themselves.

“All that music going to waste,” wailed the little figure from the dark corner.

“It’s not going to waste, dearly beloved,” came the response from Miss Bowman. “The Middlers will enjoy it even more than you would have done. They are not paying the bill.”

The instant the music ceased, the drop went up. Again a groan arose from the prisoners. They could see all that was enacted on the stage, yet could not hear the words.

“There’s Dr. Morgan,” whispered Mary. “She can’t know that anything is wrong, and that we are locked up here. When she turns toward us I’ll tap, and she’ll see to it that we are set free.”

A tall and stately figure, in an imported gown of black lace, crossed the stage. Reaching the center she paused, raised her eye-glasses and swept the audience with her characteristic glance. She began her remarks, and had said but a few words when she was stopped by a round of applause. The Seniors who had not been booked for that evening’s performance understood that something had gone amiss. There were hurried remarks – “It isn’t the Doctor;” “It’s that Miss Hogue;” – “That’s the girl that’s in our classics;” – “This is the Middlers’ work.”

Miss Hogue, following Dr. Morgan’s manner, gave almost word for word the address of the morning. She did it well. A round of applause followed her from the stage. She returned to receive the flowers which were intended for Dr. Morgan, then announced as the next number an oration by Miss Wilson.

“Well, I couldn’t hear what she was talking about,” sighed Mary from her place in the greenroom. “But it was just the way Dr. Morgan would have done. Did you notice how she raised her glasses, then turned her head to look sharply? The Doctor does that every time. Who’s this dressed in – ” She didn’t finish her question. She paused to look closely. Then exclaimed, “Oh, Elizabeth Hobart, you little Spaniard! And with my dress on, too.”

Elizabeth swept across the stage. She paused a moment, then tossed back her hair.

“Miss Wilson!” “Miss Wilson!” came the appreciative cries from the Freshmen and specials sitting below. The Seniors, in little groups of twos and threes, had their heads together arranging for a general action. They were so scattered throughout the house that quick planning was impossible.

“I am charged with pride and ambition,” began Elizabeth, in the same tones and with the same gestures she had heard and seen Mary use hundreds of times while practicing. Even those in the greenroom caught her words.

“I’ve another charge against her,” exclaimed Miss Wilson. “She’s purloined my dress. Oh, I wish she would look this way.”

But Elizabeth was wise. She let no glance wander toward the greenroom. She tossed back her locks again, threw out her hands and continued, “The charge is true, and I glory in its truth. Whoever achieved anything great in letters, arts or arms who was not ambitious? Cæsar was not more ambitious than Cicero. It was only in another way.” She went through the oration without a pause, and bowed herself from the stage in the midst of a round of hearty applause from the delighted audience.

Dr. Morgan, with her usual dignity, announced that Miss Landis Stoner from Potter County being absent by foreseen circumstances, Miss Mame Welch would sing the “Jewel Song” from Faust.

Mame, resplendent but uncomfortable in the finery belonging to Landis, then appeared. She raised her head, straightened her shoulders, looking unutterably bored and weary, although self-confident enough for a score of such songs. But the instant her voice arose, the Seniors who had gotten together started to sing. Their voices filled the chapel, drowning out even the laughter and applause.

 
“Where, oh, where are this year’s Seniors,
Where, oh, where are this year’s Seniors,
They are not in the cold, cold world.
Every one sing for the grand old Seniors,
Every one sing for the grand old Seniors,
For they’re not in the cold, cold world.”
 

The moment there was a lull, Miss Welch caught her own tune and started bravely on her song, only to be again drowned out. She did not give up. She sang in spite of all opposition, for the most part out of the tune. Then with the airs and manner of one who had succeeded beyond all expectations, she left the stage, in some disorder but not vanquished.

The pseudo Dr. Morgan then arose, and with the dignity born of her position and years, requested order, saying that if there was further interruption she must ask the watchmen present to expel the disturbing element. Her speech was a master stroke. Exeter then had a dozen special officers about the grounds and buildings. Most of them had never been in Dr. Morgan’s presence. Those in attendance, not understanding the state of affairs, took the request in good faith, believing that it was the real Dean of Exeter addressing them.

Then the farce which the Seniors had prepared was played.

Nancy, or the “boiled lobster,” as she had nicknamed herself, was last to appear.

She played on Nora O’Day’s guitar “The Spanish Cavalier,” the only selection she could pick out, and sang it in a weak, trembling soprano. Nora both sang and played well. Nancy, in her vivid orange gown, did her best. Her audience, by this time conscious that there was something amiss, could no longer be suppressed.

 
“Oh, say, darling, say,
When I’m far away,
Some times you may think of me, dear – ”
 

“Could he ever think of anything else?” came in a stage-whisper from below. Every one heard, and every one smiled. Nancy sang on:

“I’m off to the war – ”

“I don’t blame him,” came again. Laughter swept over the hall.

“To the war I must go – ”

“Don’t bother about returning – ”

Nancy laughed aloud. The curtain fell. The program for the evening was finished.

CHAPTER XIV.
RETALIATION

The Seniors accepted the Middlers’ fun in good part. Even Mary forgave Elizabeth the wearing of her new gown.

“Oh, well,” Mary had exclaimed after the affair was over, and a group of girls had gathered in her room, “‘Every dog has his day.’ We had ours last year; and next year you will pay the fiddler for a new set of Middlers.”

“If they don’t pay before that,” said Landis, sententiously.

“It’s a long lane that has no turning,” said Min.

“But we will leave before the turn comes,” laughed Elizabeth.

“What will you do?”

“Jump the fence and take to the fields,” was Elizabeth’s reply.

“If I wear my orange gown to-night will I look like Nancy?” asked Nora O’Day.

“I hope not,” said Nancy, while a chorus of strong negatives arose from the other girls.

“Then I’ll wear it,” said Nora.

The excellent spirit with which the Seniors took their imprisonment was quite enough to awaken suspicion in the minds of Middlers had they been in a cautious mood. But they were too uplifted with their recent success to think of aught else. Beside, there was little time now for planning and executing vengeance. Dr. Morgan gave a tea to the Seniors and their friends late that afternoon. Thursday evening was the date for the ball and banquet. Friday the general exodus would begin.

“What have you on hand for this morning?” asked Mary, as she and Elizabeth were dressing for breakfast.

“There’s plenty. I’m undecided what to do. One party is going boating; another plans to take a tally-ho ride, and have lunch under the trees which mark the place of the Wyoming massacre. The Freshmen are having a small “feed” down in room B. Everyone in this hall is invited. It’s a mild affair. Just drop in, eat a sandwich and salad, exchange addresses, and bow yourself out. I think I’ll go out boating first and then attend the Freshmen’s ‘drop-in.’ And you?”

Mary sighed. “I must rest a little for Dr. Morgan’s ‘at home.’ I haven’t had enough sleep for a week. I know I look like Medusa. I’ll start my packing, sort of get my personal belongings into shape. If I have time, I may walk down to the boat-house. But don’t wait for me. Any one of a score of trifles may delay me.”

This conversation took place about eight o’clock. That was the last the two girls saw of each other until Mary, decked out in her new gown, came down the hall on the way to Dr. Morgan’s apartments. Elizabeth, dusty and tired, had that moment returned from the day’s outing.

“You’ve been out in the sun, with only that brimless cap on your head,” was Mary’s greeting. “I should have warned you how sunny that boat ride is. I see two new freckles on the bridge of your nose now.”

“Well, if there’s only two, I shan’t mind. When will you be back?”

“In half an hour or so. Put on your cream colored dress for dinner. There’s to be doings afterward, and you’ll be ready. Were any of our girls with you?”

“No; I haven’t seen one to-day; neither at the boat-house nor on our ride.”

During commencement week, the regular order of meals was infringed upon. Dinner began earlier and lasted later than usual. The students took second place, giving precedence to the guests and Seniors. So it came about that the Middlers and Freshmen had scarcely finished before time for the beginning of the evening festivities.

“Every one is to go to chapel after dinner,” someone started the order. It was passed on and on until all the girls of the first and second classes received the word.

The dresses which they had worn to dinner answered for such an informal affair as this must be, to judge from the manner of issuing the invitations.

As they quitted the dining-hall, Elizabeth looked about for Mary, but could not find her. Nora, Landis, Min and Anna Cresswell also were among the missing. Then she hurried to join Nancy and Mame.

“Mary is not to be found. Perhaps she has already gone to chapel.”

The audience hall was almost filled when they entered. Bright fans on the wing looked like a swarm of gay butterflies. The subdued hush of conversation came from all parts of the room. Elizabeth looked about but could not see her roommate.

“How perfectly awful the stage looks!” whispered Mame, who possessed the artistic temperament. “I think I could have decorated it better than that. I feel mournful at the mere looking at it.”

The stage had been robbed of its furniture. A high-backed chair and reading-desk of black walnut were the only pieces in sight. White roses were there in profusion but not one bit of color.

While conversation buzzed, and fans fluttered, Azzie, dressed as somberly as the rostrum looked, walked slowly down the main aisle. Her gown was of some thin black stuff. She suited her walk and expression to match the color of her dress. She wore no flowers. A big roll of music was in her hand.

“She’s going to play.” Each one straightened her shoulders and leaned eagerly forward, fairly holding her breath in anticipation, for Azzie’s fame as a pianist was far-reaching.

Moving slowly to the front of the rostrum, she seated herself at the piano. So she sat for a few moments without touching the keys.

Slowly following her came Anna Cresswell, in gown but no cap. Her linen collar and cuffs showed white against the dead black of her student’s robe. With glances neither to right nor left, she slowly advanced, mounted the rostrum, and solemnly seated herself in the high-backed chair of polished walnut. Then Azzie touched the keys and gave expression to the most melancholy dirge one could conceive. So sympathetic was her music that a hush fell over the chattering audience.

“What has possessed the girl?” whispered Mame Welch, almost in tears but determined to keep a brave front. “I feel as though I was about to attend my own funeral. This is so unlike Azzie. Her music is generally brilliant.”

Still the wail of sorrow sobbed itself out from beneath Azzie’s fingers. In a moment more, the audience would have been in tears. She sat for a moment silent. When she touched the keys again, it was to give expression to a march, measured, heavy, solemn. At this, emerging from the rear of the chapel came the Seniors, in caps and gowns, two by two, with heads bowed, and “faces as long as the moral law,” whispered Mame to Elizabeth.

The first six carried between them a long narrow box, over which the Middler class colors, green and white, had been draped, and on which rested a stiff wreath of white artificial flowers tied with streamers of vivid green. Advancing to the front, the six bearers deposited their burden before the rostrum, then took their places with the other robed figures upon the front seats. All the while Azzie played her solemn dead march.

At the conclusion, Miss Cresswell arose to announce they would begin the services by singing the popular ballad “Go tell Aunt Nancy.” At this, the mournful singers, with Azzie accompanying them, sang in wailing, heart-broken voices:

 
“Go, tell Doc Morgan,
Go, tell Doc Morgan,
Go, tell Doc Morgan,
Her Middler Class is dead.
 
 
“They’re unreliable,
They’re unreliable,
They’re unreliable,
Is what she’s often said.
 
 
“Their heads illustrate,
Their heads illustrate,
Their heads illustrate,
What a perfect vacuum is.
 
 
“Ofttimes she said this,
Ofttimes she said this,
Ofttimes she said this,
Teaching the Seniors ‘phis.’
 
 
“Go, tell the doctor,
Go, tell the doctor,
Go, tell the doctor,
Wherefore the class is dead.
 
 
“An idea came floating,
An idea came floating,
An idea came floating,
And struck its empty head.”
 

Each Senior did her part well, maintaining an expression which was the picture of grief. At the close of the song, Miss Cresswell advanced to the reading-stand. She assumed an oratorical tone. There was a note of pathos in all she said. “There came to Exeter Hall some ten months ago,” she began, “the class whose early demise we are now making famous with these ceremonies. They were young then. They continued to remain young – ”

“So young,” came in a sad-voiced chorus from the singers.

“They were green, – they remained so until their passing away. I repeat, they were green – ”

“Oh, so green,” came the sobbing chorus.

“The faculty looked upon them and sighed, a great sigh of disappointment. Yet with that noble heartedness, that philanthropic desire to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, minister unto the feeble-minded which marks our honored Dr. Morgan and her fellow workers, they took up the burden, determined to do their best. Yet, despite their great efforts, the class did not advance as other classes have done. Nor yet could it retrograde for it stood in a position where any backward movement was impossible. It was known throughout Exeter as the ‘caudal appendage’ class, being ‘away back.’

“The Seniors, too, did all that lay in their power to enlighten these Middlers both intellectually and morally. But our efforts were like ‘casting pearls before swine.’ The Middlers were not only no better for our efforts, but seemed wholly unconscious that they stood in need of moral and intellectual support.

“Yet none of us regret the work that we did in their behalf. We planted the seed, but the soil was barren. Our efforts toward their cultivation was like breathing a concord of sweet sound into a vacuum. There was no volume of matter to perpetuate and carry it forth. It is not that we wish to censure them. Lacking the capacity to enjoy the higher life of school, we can not blame them that they amused themselves with mere toys. We Seniors who wear the philosopher’s cap and gown must bear in mind that it would ill become the clown or jester. We listen to the music which rolls down the ages; but the tinkle of the bells won the ears of the Middlers. It is ever so. The world cannot be all of the higher ideal element. They cannot all be Seniors.”

She paused to touch the colors of the Middler class – green and white.

“These are the symbols of the late lamented Middler class. How appropriate! The white represents the conditions of the examination sheets they habitually handed in – not a line, not a letter. Blank, quite blank. It is the opinion of the faculty that this also represented the condition of their brains. I do not fully agree with this. I believe that at rare intervals, and when under the influence of proper environment, for example, the presence of some Senior, the minds of the Middlers did receive some impression; – slight, we acknowledge. Yet we hold an impression, a faint suggestion of an idea, was there.

“The second color! Green! How beautiful, how appropriate. It represents our lamented Middlers as they stood before the world. They were so verdant!

“As to the age of the departed class, both much and little might be said. The records show that as a class they existed just ten short months; to the faculty and Seniors it seems like ten long years.

“During their sojourn, the hospital of Exeter has been filled with – teachers suffering from nervous prostration. Dr. Morgan’s ebony locks have turned silver. During the holidays Miss Wilhelm, who tried to teach them classics, in a fit of desperation sought refuge in matrimony. We might speak more fully of the effects of their being among us were it not that we believe in interring the evil they have done with their bones.

“With this short eulogy, I close. Miss Stoner, a Senior, who has suffered much because of the shortcomings of the Middlers, will sing a solo appropriate to the occasion, the others joining in the chorus.”

Landis advanced. Azzie struck up an accompaniment, while the whole class of Seniors came out strong on the refrain.

 
“They were so young, this Middler class of ours.
They brought to mind the newly-opened flowers.
They to the grasses closely were related.
They were so green, so unsophisticated.
 

(Refrain)

 
Softly speak, and lowly bow your head,
We are alone. The Middler class is dead.
 
 
“We did our best. No duty left undone
Weighs on our hearts at the setting of the sun.
What though their choice was weeds instead of flowers
Censure not us. The fault was never ours.
From early dawn until the dim twilight
We were to them a bright and shining light.
 

(Refrain)

 
Weep if you can; slowly, lightly tread.
They are gone. The Middler class is dead.
Th’ Middler – class – is – d-e-a-d.”
 

With this, the Seniors arose. Six again took possession of the long box. The procession filed slowly from the room, while Azzie played a dirge.

The Middlers and Freshmen followed after them, and the laughing and chattering began again. Every one was humming “The Middler – class – is dead.”

The line of girls passed down the main hall, the audience following them to see what new thing was to take place.

The members of the faculty, with Dr. Morgan, stood here. At the sight of their smile-wreathed faces, the gravity of the Seniors gave way. Landis laughed aloud. The others followed her example. The lines broke. The girls gathered about the teachers, talking and making merry over their escapade.

“I never realized what a nervous strain it is to control oneself so long,” said Nora, joining Dr. Morgan. “I felt as though I must shriek and laugh, and there I had to sit and pretend to be overcome with sorrow.”

Dr. Morgan had been glancing over a special edition of the evening paper. She folded it quickly as Nora came up to her. “You did admirably, Miss O’Day,” she said. “I could not be present all the while.”

Nora O’Day did not hear. She was leaning forward, her lips parted; her eyes, bright with excitement, were upon the paper.

“May I see this for a moment, Dr. Morgan?” she asked excitedly. “What is it about the strike?”

She had the paper in her hand, reading the article before Dr. Morgan had time to reply. It was a full resumé of the trouble at Bitumen from early fall until the present, telling of the threatened attack upon Superintendent Hobart and the new miners and the call for State troops. The correspondent prophesied that the militia could not arrive in time to prevent bloodshed, the capital being two hundred miles from the scene of trouble, and the railway up the mountain having already been destroyed by the miners.

Nora grasped the meaning instantly. There was no mention made of the name of Dennis O’Day. He was not a miner. In the eyes of the world, he had no power. Miners themselves did not realize that it was he alone who instigated the strike, and that their leaders had been his choice. Outwardly, Dennis O’Day had washed his hands of the whole affair. So long as he escaped legal responsibility, he would shrug his shoulders, and stand by to watch the fight. He could be eliminated without effecting the result. But Nora O’Day, who understood her father as no one else had ever understood him, saw his work here. She knew that for years he had been the unseen moving power.

The bubble of laughter and fun was about her. She looked up piteously into Dr. Morgan’s face, her lips trembling with emotion. She loved her father. Shame and fear for him overwhelmed her.

“I – I know – some – some people there. That is why I – I was anxious.”

“I wish you would not mention the matter to anyone. We see no reason to distress Miss Hobart unnecessarily. Her knowing the condition of affairs would result in needless worry without helping matters any.”

“Why – Elizabeth – is she – has she – ”

“Her father, you know, Miss O’Day, is the superintendent of the Bitumen mines.”

At that Nora O’Day gave a startled cry, and buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t – know – I didn’t know. Poor Elizabeth – ” she sobbed.

Her behavior was claiming the attention of others. To shield her from the attention of the passing throng, Dr. Morgan drew her within the private office. She anticipated comforting an hysterical girl. But in a moment Miss O’Day controlled herself.

“When will the troops reach Bitumen?” she asked, drawing herself up, afire with purpose.

“Not before to-morrow night. That is the earliest possible time. It is presumed the miners, hearing of the call for help, will bring matters to a climax at once.”

“Dr. Morgan, will you telephone McCantey’s livery? They know my father down there. Tell them to send the man Jefferies if they can, and fast horses. Elizabeth Hobart and I will go to Bitumen to-night. I’ll stop the trouble.”

“Dear child, you’re – crazy,” said Dr. Morgan, surprised by such a suggestion.

“Far from it. I’m going, with or without your permission. Please telephone now, and I’ll explain while I await their coming. Tell them it’s a matter of life and death. If I kill the horses with hard driving, I’ll pay twice what they’re worth. Every minute counts! Won’t you telephone?”

Dr. Morgan obeyed the peremptory request. She believed that news of the strike had affected Nora until she did not know what she was about. She would accede to her request, and perhaps by the time the horses were at the Hall, Miss O’Day would listen to reason.