is school?" asked the President.

"I promise!" replied Irene.

At that somebody switched on the electric light, and the members,
pulling off their black masks, disclosed their laughing faces.

"You stood it A-1. I was quite prepared for you to start hysterics and
had the sal volatile bottle ready right here," chirruped Delia gayly.

"We call it our 'strength of mind' test," explained President Agnes,
blowing out the guttering candles.

"If I _had_ screamed what would have happened?" inquired Irene.

"Probation for another week till you got your nerves. We'd a business
with Sheila just at first; she's rather fluttersome. Well, anyway,
you've got through the ordeal, and now you're a full-fledged 'bud.'
Aren't you proud?"

"Rather! Is the society limited to ten?"

"Sorority, please, not society. It's limited because there isn't anybody
else in the Transition who's worth asking to join. Most of them are a
set of utter sneaks. They may take Rachel's oath about preserving their
nationality and all the rest of it, but if they're to be counted
specimens of Anglo-American honor it makes one blush for one's mother
country whichever side of the ocean it happens to be on. Oh, you don't
know most of them yet! Wait till you find them out."

"You'll be glad then you belong to us."

"Not that we're perfect, of course."

"We don't set up as Pharisees."

"On the whole we're rather a lot of lunatics."

"We just have a little sport among ourselves to keep things humming."

"Well, now Irene understands, we'd best get her fixed up with a 'buddy'
and close the meeting."

"But I _don't_ understand. What, for goodness' sake, is a buddy, and why
must I have one?" demanded Irene tragically.

"Sit down there, child, and let Grannie talk to you," replied President
Agnes. "If you haven't heard of a buddy yet it's time you did. They're
the latest out. They had them at all the camps last summer, in England
as well as in America. A buddy is a chum with whom you're pledged to do
everything, and who's bound to support you. For instance, when the
bathing season is on you must never swim unless your buddy is swimming
with you; if you go on an excursion you stick to each other tight as
glue, and if one of you is lost the other is held responsible. You're as
inseparable as a box and its lid, or the two blades of a pair of
scissors, or a bottle and its cork, or any other things you happen to
think of that ought to go together, and aren't an