applause, sauntered off the stage without a backward look, thankful, no doubt, that such a public appearance was over. It was different on the field. You were further away from the crowd and thought about what you were doing.

The next member of the team began a sentence and forgot what he was going to say. But the sympathetic if laughing faces of his audience made him feel more at home. He was “terribly rattled,” as one of the girls near Betty whispered, but managed to capture an idea, jerkily expressed it and succeeded in getting off the stage without falling over the band, as Dotty Bradshaw put it. But if there were anything clever or critical to be said Dotty never missed it. It was a pity, for Dotty was otherwise so attractive.

The captain of the football team was called upon next. He was somewhat more experienced in the line of speeches, or felt the responsibility more from his position, perhaps. At any rate his speech was a good one and all the more enthusiastically received from being short and to the point. At a signal (who could mistake the actions of the cheer leader) from the active six, the crowd rose in a body and to the tune of “On Wisconsin” sang “On Lions,” the Lyon High version:

A few fords and reminders from the principal himself followed this song, as his lifted hand quieted the natural slight disturbance of getting settled into seats again.

“Remember that you have in your hands the honor and reputation of the school and that this honor and reputation are even above winning the game. Remember that the other team, the other rooters, are boys and girls like yourselves, most of them fine, and both as worthy and as interested in their own team’s winning. Do not do anything that is planned to stir resentment. Continue to show the good sportsmanship for which this school stands. Have your fun and songs and root for your team, but show your visitors at our stadium the courtesy that is due them. And should any of them overstep the bounds of propriety, in their loyalty to their team, or their inter-plays parades, keep your own self-control and do not retaliate. Remember that Lyon High counts upon you.”

With this and a few announcements, the principal was through. The band struck up the regular Lyon High song, which the audience rose to sing. Then Budd dismissed the meeting and the boys and girls departed to classes to strains of the latest popular band tune.

“When can you show me the letter, Betty?” asked Carolyn.

“After the Lyon ‘Y’ meeting this afternoon, Carolyn. I have it with me. Here’s hoping I haven’t lost it. Oh, wouldn’t that be awful?”

“It depends upon how personal it is,” smiled Carolyn.

“Enough for me not to want anybody else to read it.”

It was a full day for Betty Lee. Most of her days were full, but Betty was well and happy and never worried over her various activities, which had increased since her freshman year, so mixed and full of decisions. One might as well be doing things, she said. If you didn’t do one thing you were doing another. So she had concluded. And as long as she kept on the honor list no one at home made any objection to the list of her interests.

Attractive, friendly, yet independent, showing her clear mind and stability in everything she undertook, Betty was in demand and found herself very well-known, indeed, at the beginning of her junior year. She was considered one of the school’s best swimmers, but had not taken the life-saving tests as yet. That was to come this year. She was working toward it. The hockey season had just closed with Betty rejoicing as captain of the champion team. There was every indication that Betty again would be captain of the junior basketball team, but there were some murmurs at home against this and another junior girl wanted the place. Betty loved the excitement and confessed to herself alone that she would like to be captain. In the spring she was going to take up riding if she could.

Life was a happy proposition for Betty Lee this year. At home she had less responsibility. Her father’s business relations were apparently solid. Amy Lou had started to school. Doris and Dick were freshmen in Lyon High this year. Betty often met them in the halls, when they would exchange salutes; but Doris particularly wanted no interference from her older sister and Betty respected her desire for independence. She had been of some help to them at the start, however, and Doris was secretly quite proud of her pretty junior sister that “everybody” knew for her athletic record and “everything.”

Recitation periods were necessarily shortened on account of the Pep Assembly, which made the schedule a more hurried one. Betty ran downstairs and hopped upstairs, as she went from one to another class, planning how to get in her study for the next day as well as marshalling her forces for the coming class. She read a hard sentence in Cicero to Kathryn as they walked through the hall to Miss Heath’s room. “That’s the way I got it!” cried Kathryn, “but it is so crazy that I wasn’t sure.”

“I may not have it right,” said Betty, “but I think that is what it is.”

“I’ll trust your reading every time,” Kathryn declared.

“Better not; but I found an old text of Mother’s that has grand notes in it and I use it along with my own. I could bring it to school and lend it to you in study hall some time.”

“Oh, don’t bother. I’ll ask you about anything too muddly.”

“I’m getting used to Cicero now.”

“So am I, but it’s harder than Caesar because he has a sort of argument, you know, that you have to get.”

Betty was glad that she had study hall the last period before lunch. It was all too short, but she concentrated and lost to all surroundings, “crammed” on two lessons. Latin and Math could be acquired that evening—no—Chet was coming over! There was a young people’s supper and party at the church! Oh, well. She’d get it in somehow. And Betty would.

The afternoon went as busily, though the periods were of the usual length. How was she going to get to that Lyon “Y” meeting when there was orchestra practice? She had not thought of that! But when school was out and she had put away her books in her locker, with the exception of what she must take home, she ran to the auditorium with her violin only to find a notice:

“Orchestra practice postponed until tomorrow. Same hour!”

The violin went back into the locker, for there would be no home practice tonight! Arm in arm with Carolyn Gwynne, who had also seen the notice and waited for Betty, she ran in fine spirits to the room in which the Lyon “Y,” or the older high school group of Girl Reserves, was to meet. “Got the letter, Betty?” asked Carolyn.

“Yes—but I’d better look to see!” Betty opened her little bag, which contained her street car fare and several other things, felt around and found the letter from the “Don,” folded to come within the compass of the bag. “You can read it after the meeting, Carolyn. But don’t you know I’d forgotten all about the church supper tonight and I’ll have to skip home to get a lesson or two before dinner.”

“Stay here and get out Cicero with me. It won’t take us any time because she had us do so much sight reading ahead today. There are two or three clubs meeting and the building will be open, you know.”

“All right. Here’s hoping that this meeting will not take too long. There’s a program, you know, and election of officers. Bess Higgins