Bob was passionately eager for what he called "regular schooling," that
is the steady discipline of fixed lessons, the companionship of boys of
his own age, and the give and take of the average large, busy school.
Normal life of any kind was out of the question in the poorhouse where he
had spent the first ten years of his life, and after that he had not seen
the inside of a schoolroom. He had read whatever books he could pick up
while at Bramble Farm, and in the knowledge of current events was
remarkably well-posted, thanks to his steady assimilation of newspapers
and magazines since leaving the Peabody roof. But he feared, and with
some foundation, that he might be found deplorably lacking in the most
rudimentary branches.

Betty, of course, had gone to school regularly until her mother's
death. In the year that had elapsed she had thought little of
lessons, and though she did not realize it, she had lost to a great
extent the power of application. Systematic study of any kind might
easily prove a hardship for the active Betty. Still she was eager to
study again, perhaps prepare for college. More than anything else she
craved girl friends.

"Let's go in for lunch at the first call," suggested Betty presently. "I
didn't eat much breakfast, and I don't believe you did either."

"I swallowed a cup of boiling coffee," admitted Bob, "but that's all I
remember. So I'm ready when you are."

Seated at a table well toward the center of the car, Betty's attention
was attracted to a girl who sat facing her. She was not a pretty girl.
She looked discontented and peevish, and the manner in which she