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“Oh, dear,” sighed Babe, when it reached her, “I wish I could be a prod. in something! I shall never go into Dramatic Club or Clio, because Babbie’s in one and Bob’s in the other, and they think two of us is enough to take. I couldn’t possibly get into any of the learned societies, like this one, and I’m not musical, so I can’t belong to the Glee or Banjo Clubs. I’ve lost my class-pin, and I shan’t have another till I’m an ‘alum.’ Besides everybody can wear the alumnæ pin, so who cares for that?” Babe’s long plaint ended in a dolorous sigh.

“Poor Babe!” laughed Betty. “Why don’t you B’s have a pin of your own? Three B’s would make a lovely monogram.”

Babe shook her head. “No, because when I came back to visit after I’m out nobody would know what it meant. I want to belong to something that will keep on always, and amount to something.” Babe tumbled back on the couch with a vehemence that upset the alcohol bottle, and sent its contents streaming over Betty’s desk.

When the dripping papers had been laid out to dry and order was once more restored, the silent Roberta electrified the assembly by making a suggestion. “I think it would be lots of fun for those of us who are here to organize a society. We could have a pin, and when we leave we could pass the society down to a crowd in one of the lower classes.”