the same, she sees that Kendall Major is about to snatch the
laurel wreath from all our heads, and she doesn't want to do without
any of her ornaments."

"But Elinor didn't even get a criticism in the head class yet,"
protested Patricia, unconvinced. "Mr. Benton didn't get around to her
this morning, and she doesn't get any criticism in the night life till
tomorrow afternoon. I don't see how she could be jealous."

Griffin made a face over a sip of over-heated cocoa. "Just as you
please," she murmured benevolently. "Make the best of it, like a good
child. Charity is the chief Christian virtue and an ornament to all.
Are you going in for the prize design, Howes? I hear that it's open to
the whole class."

"Haven't heard of it," replied Margaret Howes, with eager interest.
"What is it? And who's giving it?"

"Roberts, the big New York decorator. He's offering a hundred dollars
for the best design for a panel for a library--originality to be the
chief feature. Popsy Brown told me. I thought it had been announced."

"It wasn't on the bulletin board this afternoon," said a girl across
the table, who had been listening to this last speech. "Tell us about
it, Griffie dear. We're all dying to hear."

"Spout it out loud!" called another from the end of the table. "We
can't catch your muffled accents down here."

The announcement of the prize was received with such lively interest
that it routed all other subjects, and even Patricia caught the
enthusiasm.

"I hope Elinor tries for it," she said excitedly. "She'll say she's
too green, I suppose."

"Tell her to make a hack at it anyway," urged Margaret Howes earnestly.
"Originality is the thing that counts, and she's got as good a chance
as any of us there."

"Better," said Griffin tersely. "We're so filled with other people's
ideas that we've degenerated into regular copy-cats. I can't undertake
any subject but that I have a lot of designs by famous painters popping
into my mind and mixing me up horribly."

"I wish I could draw," mused Patricia, absently sugaring her
Frankfurter. "I've got tons of ideas already."

"That reminds me," broke out Griffin. "There's a prize for the mud
larks, too. I've forgotten what it is, but it'll be posted in the
morning. There's your chance, young 'un. You're eligible for it."

Patricia was about to speak, but there was a general stir and a voice
cried, authoritatively:

"Eight o'clock. Time to break up! Th