Jane's hat box! Her black hair now fell fearlessly over the
embroidered forget-me-nots, and her bare feet shot in their usual
skating strike.

"Good thing that hat box is the new kind," commented Jane, "but even
at that it will hardly serve as a divan. Still, I am glad you are
up. Do you know where you are, Judy Stearns? And what you are
expected to do today?"

"All of those things and additional horrors are seething through my
poor brain," moaned Judith, "but a moment ago I was having a fast
set of tennis with adorable Jack St. John--Sanzie they call him.
Have I told you about him, Jane darling?" Judith gathered herself
and her feet up from the black enameled box and glided over to her
own corner.

"No, Judy, I do not recall Sanzie," replied Jane, who was already
armed with soap and towel for the lavatory. "But keep the story. I
shouldn't like to get interested in boy tennis just now. We must
forget--" proclaimed Jane in tones so dramatic a poet calendar on
the wall trembled in the vocal waves. "Forget! forget----" and Jane
was outside the door with a sweeping wave of her big fuzzy towel and
a rather alarming thrust of her fist full of soap.

"Ye-eah," groaned Judith, "forget is the word, Sanzie and tennis."
She glanced at the tiny clock on a shelf of the bracket type. It was
Jane's idea the clock should not be cluttered with surroundings.

"Gee-whiz! It is late, and this the first day. Glad the others on
this corridor are all nice and punctual."