take
the wheel, Doctor?"

"I do not. I have a wife and children at home. I cannot afford to place
my life in jeopardy." The doctor's eyes twinkled as they rested a moment
on his youngest nephew.

"Now, Uncle Phil, that's mean of you. You ought to see me drive."

"I have," commented Dr. Holiday drily. "Come on over here, one of you
twinnies, if Phil must go. See you to-night, my boy?" he turned to his
namesake to ask as Charley accepted the invitation and clambered over the
back of the seat while the doctor took her brother's vacated post.

Phil shook his head.

"No. I was in on the dress rehearsal last night. I've had my share. But
you folks are going to see the jolliest Rosalind that ever grew in Arden
or out of it. That's one sure thing."

Phil smiled at Tony as he spoke, and Dick, settling himself in the small
seat beside Ted, felt a small barbed dart of jealousy prick into him.

Tony and Phil were obviously exceedingly good friends. They had, he
knew, seen much of each other during the past four years, with only a
river between. Phil was Tony's own kind, college-trained, with a
certified line of good old New England ancestry behind him. Moreover, he
was a darned fine fellow--one of the best, in fact. In spite of that
hateful little jabbing dart, Dick acknowledged that. Ah well, there was
more than a river between himself and Tony Holiday and there always
would be. Who was he, nameless as he was, to enter the lists against
Philip Lambert or any one else?

The car sped away, leaving Phil standing bareheaded in the sunshine,
staring after it. The mocking silver lilt of Carlotta Cressy's laughter
drifted back to him. He shrugged, jammed on his hat and strode off in the
direction of the trolley car.

Dick Carson might just as well have spared himself the pain of jealousy.
Phil had already forgotten Tony, was remembering only Carlotta, who would
never deliberately do a mite of harm to the moon, would merely want to
play with it at her fancy and leave it at her whim for somebody else to
replace, if anybody cared to take the pains. And what was a moon more or
less anyway?

CHAPTER II

WITH ROSALIND IN ARDEN

Of course it is understood that every graduating class rightfully
asserts, and is backed up in its belief by doting and nobly partisan
relatives and blindly devoted, hyperbolic friends, that _its_ particular,
unique and proper senior dramatics is the most glorious and unforgettable
performance i