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“I’ll lend you a real French poster to cover those spots,” Madeline promised her, “and I can put up closet-hooks. I took manual training one summer, and I own a hammer.”

“Then let’s go down-town and buy the hooks,” suggested some one, “and have ices on the way back.”

“Oh, wait till to-morrow. Let’s hunt up Eleanor Watson first.”

“Where are the three B’s?”

“Has any one seen Nita Reese?”

How the evening flew! Nobody in 19— unpacked. It was much better fun to wander in gay exploring parties from one campus house to another, finding out who was back, and who had changed rooms, and hearing all the campus news. The reason why junior year is the nicest speedily became evident to Betty and her friends of 19—. By that time you know everybody and have found your place in the college world; but you are not yet weighed down by the responsibilities of seniority, nor oppressed by the nearness of the end.

When Betty returned to her disheveled apartment at ten o’clock, she found her Cousin Lucile sitting on the window-box in the dark, awaiting her arrival.