listened to Cousin Pete's talk of college life with respect,
admiration, and some unconscious envy. There was one word that rose,
like cream on milk, or oil on water, or fat on soup, inevitably to
the surface of his conversation. "Does Polly Currier like college?"
once inquired Missy, moved by politeness to broach what Pete must
find an agreeable subject. "Naturally," replied Pete, with the
languor of an admittedly superior being. "She's prominent." The
word, "prominent," as uttered by him had more than impressiveness
and finality. It was magnificent. It was as though one might remark
languidly: "She? Oh, she's the Queen of Sheba"--or, "Oh, she's Mary
Pickford."

Missy pondered a second, then asked:

"Prominent? How is a-what makes a person prominent?"

Pete elucidated in the large, patronizing manner of a kindly-
disposed elder.

"Oh, being pretty--if you're a girl--and a good sport, and active in
some line. A leader."

Missy didn't yet exactly see. She decided to make the problem
specific.

"What makes Polly prominent?"

"Because she's the prettiest girl on the hill," Pete replied
indulgently. "And some dancer. And crack basket-ball forward--Glee
Club--Dramatic Club. Polly's got it over 'em forty ways running."