theaters in New York, or of the
difficulty, for a novice, in obtaining a part in a show. And the idea of
Frieda Hammer--rude, awkward, and uncouth--on the stage, was absolutely
grotesque.

"I hardly think she'd be able to get the job, Marj," she replied,
succeeding in hiding her amusement. But in order to forestall any more
such remarks, she decided to change the subject.

"We're going to the game to-morrow," she announced, "with papa and mama,
and----"

But Marjorie was only politely enthusiastic.

"We surely won't see Frieda there," she remarked. "Isn't it dreadfully
expensive?"

"Not only that, but she wouldn't be interested. Of course, Frieda Hammer
wouldn't understand football! But I'll tell you who will be there!"

"Who?"

"Guess!"

"The boys?"

"Yes; John Hadley and Dick Roberts!"

"Oh, I'm awfully glad!" exclaimed Marjorie. "I haven't seen John for
ages."

And in the conversation that followed, the Girl Scouts' runaway ward was
forgotten.

Thanksgiving day was bright and clear, and just cold enough to give a
bracing tingle to the air. The boys arrived only a few minutes before
the time to start for the game, and among so many people, Marjorie and
John exchanged only the most formal greetings.

During the automobile ride, and later at the game, it seemed to Marjorie
that John was unusually quiet. Perhaps, she decided, it was because he
was with strangers,--or perhaps it was because he had changed. She knew
that he was working his way through college, and she wondered whether
the responsibility was weighing him down. Or perhaps, she thought, he
was no longer interested in so youthful a person as herself.

But to John Hadley, Marjorie Wilkinson was the same merry, charming girl
who continued to hold first place in his affections.

Mrs. Andrews invited the boys to dinner after the game, and they
accepted gladly. It was not until after the meal was over, and Marjorie
and John were dancing in the hotel ball-room that the girl lost her
shyness and felt herself back again on the old familiar ground with him.

"May I come to see you at Christmas time?" he whispered, as they glided
across the floor.

"But I'm not sure that I'll be home," replied Marjorie, thinking of
Frieda Hammer, and wondering whether she might not try to trace her
again at that time, if she failed now.

"Are you going far away?" he pursued, in a woeful tone.

"I don't know. But you can write!"

The young people danced until