three years.

There were only two nominations for the office of president, and it was
difficult to judge toward which of the nominees the sentiment of the
class leaned. Nance had nominated Molly, who had tried to drag her
friend back on the bench.

"Don't you see they might think I had put you up to it?" Molly had
exclaimed.

"They never would think that about you, Molly," whispered Nance, and
promptly had announced her candidate and the nomination was immediately
seconded. Then Molly shot up blushingly and nominated Margaret
Wakefield, almost taking the words out of Jessie's mouth. Margaret
smiled at her rather shamefacedly, knowing full well that she would not
have nominated Molly for that coveted office.

Other nominations followed. Edith Williams and her sister were rival
candidates for the office of vice president, and Caroline Brinton and
Nance were put up for secretary.

"Has anybody anything to say?" asked Margaret, still sucking the lemon
frantically as a last effort to clear her fogbound voice.

Molly stood up.

"I think I'd like to speak a few words, Madam President," she said.
Then, blushing deeply and trembling in her knees she turned toward the
familiar faces of her classmates and began:

"I'm not much of a speechmaker, girls, and I don't know that I ever
really addressed you before, but I feel I must say something in favor
of my candidate, Miss Margaret Wakefield, who has made us such an
excellent president for three years."

There were sounds of hand-clapping and calls of "Hear! Hear!"

Molly paused and cleared her throat. She did wish they wouldn't
interrupt until she had finished.

"I think we ought to remember, girls, that when we elect a president for
this last year, we are choosing some one to represent us for always; at
class reunions and alumnae meetings and all kinds of things. When there
is a distinguished visitor, it's always the senior president who has to
step up and do the talking. The kind of president we want is some one
with presence and dignity. We want a handsome president who dresses in
good taste and can talk. Girls,"--Molly raised her hand as if calling
upon heaven to strengthen the force of her arguments,--"we don't want a
thin, lank president without any shape" (sounds of tumultuous laughter
and the beginning of applause)--"one of those formless, backboneless
people who can't talk and who dress in--well, ragtags. I tell you,
girls, Margaret is the president for us. S