lunch they talked of plans for school and of what they would take.

"I'm going to get all of the dramatics and English I can absorb,"
declared Helen. "Perhaps a little history, too."

"How about you, Janet?"

"I think my major courses will be journalism, and perhaps just a little
in the way of dramatics."

"Not thinking about going back to Hollywood and joining Billy Fenstow's
company when you're through, are you?" chided the director.

"Well, I might have that idea in mind if no newspaper will take me on as
a reporter," conceded Janet.

Luncheon over they went directly to the administration building where,
after a short wait, they were ushered into the office of the dean of
women.

Mrs. Laird was a pleasant woman of about fifty and Janet saw her keen
eyes take in every inch of their costumes in a glance and she thought
she saw just a trace of suspicion arise in the dean's eyes.

Janet's father explained their mission, pointing out that because of
their coming trip to Radio City they would be late in taking up class
work.

"It's a little unusual to arrange registration in this way," said the
dean, "but I believe you can be accommodated."

For an hour they went over class schedules, the dean advising them on
the courses best suited to what they had in mind. She assisted them in
filling out the final registration cards and paused at one question.

"Do you hope to join a sorority?" she asked.

"We won't be here in time for the rushing parties," replied Janet.
"Perhaps that had better wait until another semester, that is, if any of
the groups should want us for membership."

The dean's cool eyes surveyed the fashionably dressed girls.

"I rather imagine you could take your pick of the sororities right now
if the girls were here," she said.

The registration was over. The girls were to have rooms in Currier Hall,
an old but comfortable dormitory.

"The dean seemed a little cool," said Helen.

"I noticed that, too," Janet said. "Evidently she doesn't think much of
the plans which call for us hurrying away to New York."

"Can't be helped; we're going," said Helen.

When they returned home a telegram was waiting for Henry Thorne.

"This interests you girls more than it does me," he said, handing the
message to his daughter.

Helen read it eagerly.

"Have Janet and Helen report next Monday morning at Radio City at ten
o'clock," she said.

"That means we'll have to leave here Saturday night. Why, tha