“And Fifteen is vacant, you say? How queer.” Marjorie commented, her eyes on Leila Harper, who was arranging a row of glasses on her study table preparatory to filling them with imported ginger ale.

“As queer as the pea green hat that Mother Molly O’Toole found hanging on a gooseberry bush the day before the fair at Dongerry,” agreed Leila Harper with her broadest smile. She kept on smiling as she recited in her inimitable Celtic accent:

“Certainly some remarkable things have happened in Ireland,” Muriel Harding declared mischievously. “Please, Irish witch woman, may I pass the glasses?”

“You may; but spill not a drop out of one of them,” Leila cautioned. She picked up a cake knife from the table and flourished it over a huge black chocolate cake with thick white icing.

“You haven’t told me yet how it happens that Fifteen is vacant, Leila Greatheart,” Marjorie reminded.

“In a minute. Let me start Midget going with the cake and I will tell you anything,” was Leila’s rash promise.

“Whether you know it or not,” slyly added Ronny Lynne.

“Whether I know it or not,” Leila repeated firmly.

A burst of laughter rose from her six companions. The little group of seven girls who had been the first Travelers at Hamilton College five years before were gathered once more in the room occupied by Leila Harper and Vera Mason at Wayland Hall during that long happy period. It lacked only a few days of the formal opening of Hamilton College and the seven post-graduates were already back on the campus eager to begin what would undoubtedly be to them their most momentous year at Hamilton College.

Readers of the “Marjorie Dean High School Series,” “The Marjorie Dean College Series” and “The Marjorie Dean Post Graduate Series,” each comprising four volumes, have followed Marjorie through many of her girlhood adventures as a student, first at Sanford High School, later at Hamilton College, where she found her work and brought happiness to Miss Susanna Hamilton, the embittered great-niece of Brooke Hamilton, who was the distinguished founder of Hamilton College.

Marjorie, having been chosen by Miss Susanna as best fitted, in her estimation, to write the biography of Brooke Hamilton, had returned to Hamilton Arms once more there to bring to completion the delightful literary task she had begun the previous March.

As yet, her General and her Captain alone were in possession of her plan for a violet wedding at the Arms on the evening of May Day. Miss Susanna had not yet been made acquainted with what would seem to her a visitation of good fortune. Marjorie was saving the request she purposed to make of her devoted friend until a particularly propitious occasion.

“Hurry and pass the cake, Vera. This tyrannical Celtic person says you must before she will tell us a thing,” Marjorie urged, laughing.

“Here, help yourselves.” Vera hastily set the plate of cake Leila had handed her upon the table with a hospitable gesture. “You can’t even have paper plates to put it on. We forgot to buy them. We used to boast of four china plates, but our guests are so rough.”

“Too bad. Never mind. Luciferous has a notebook. Delighted, Luciferous.” Muriel laid calm hold upon the notebook in Lucy’s hand. “Yes, you must,” she said with reproving stress as Lucy clung to the book. She captured it, tore sheets of paper from it and handed them round to the tune of Lucy’s grumbling at such a waste of good paper. “Just as good as plates,” Muriel declared jovially. She hastily transferred a slice of cake to her make-shift plate and beamed encouragingly upon Leila.

Leila returned the smile in kind. “The reason Fifteen is still vacant,” she began, “is because no one has applied for it. Now what could be queerer?”

“Not anyone?” Jerry Macy’s eyes grew round.

“Not anyone. All Miss Remson’s other vacancies have been filled. She thinks it is odd, but she doesn’t mind. She will probably have an application for it soon. It is a very desirable room, you know.”

“We surely do,” Marjorie and Jerry answered in merry chorus.

“Perhaps two girls from one of the other campus houses may hear it is vacant and take it. Undoubtedly they will. It will never go begging,” was Jerry’s opinion.

“Fifteen is one of the best rooms at the Hall. We can speak from experience, can’t we, estimable Bean?” Jerry remarked, turning humorous eyes upon Marjorie.

“Can we?” Marjorie returned the glance of affection. “When will Miss Remson be home, Leila? It seems odd to come back to the Hall and not see her first thing.”

The five Sanford chums had arrived at Hamilton late on the previous afternoon. They had been met at the Hamilton station by Leila and Vera and triumphantly whisked to Hamilton Arms in Vera’s car. There Miss Susanna Hamilton had been awaiting their arrival with fond impatience. Exuberant celebration had followed their arrival at the Arms. There had been a delightful dinner in the famous Chinese room and the buoyant guests had remained at the Arms overnight.

It was now early afternoon of the next day. Marjorie and Jerry had come over to Wayland Hall for one of their old-time social sessions in Leila’s and Vera’s rooms. The latter had returned from a summer spent in Ireland over a week previous to the Sanford girls’ arrival on the campus. They had come direct from the big ocean steamer to Hamilton campus and Wayland Hall.

“She’ll be here tomorrow.” Miss Remson, the brisk little manager of the Hall, was away on a brief vacation of a week at the seashore. “She was going to refuse an old friend’s invitation on account of expecting you girls. Midget and I made her change her mind, and go.”

“I’m so glad that you did,” Marjorie returned. “I’m anxious to see her. I hope two dandy girls will take Fifteen.”

“We shall need them,” Leila said with a suspicion of dryness.

“Why do you say that, Leila Greatheart?” A little pucker of anxiety showed itself upon Marjorie’s smooth forehead. “You must have some very good reason for such an opinion.”

“I have,” Leila made prompt reply. “There is still danger at the Hall of the calamity of the house divided against itself.”

“Isn’t there less now than when Muriel was on the outs with the Ice Queen and the Ice Queen was on the outs with Gentleman Gus and the Bertramites?” Ronny humorously referred to the Travelers’ vernacular in the way of names. “This year, remember, they will all stand shoulder to shoulder with us.”

“You forget the Screech Owl, who was born a gossip and a disturber,” Leila reminded with a frown. “She was on her good behavior last spring when she had a part in my Irish play. Did not I write the part of the village gossip for her, on purpose, that she might see herself? She saw nothing but her own glory as an actress. But she was so pleased that she talked of herself and not of anyone else for a while. This much good I did. But I happen to know she went back to gossiping again.”

“Whom did she gossip about? Doris? She naturally would, since Doris had cut her acquaintance,” Muriel showed considerable interest. “That was directly after the Rustic Romp, you know. They disagreed over Leslie Cairns.”

“That was precisely where the shoe pinched,” Leila asserted. “It was Leslie Cairns who Miss Peyton chose to blame for her falling out with Doris. Then she could not resist the temptation to be spiteful.”

“What did Miss Peyton say about Leslie?” Marjorie asked with a suspicion of troubled annoyance in her question.

“What you might expect. That she had attended the Rustic Romp. That fine bit of news came to me through Miss Crawford, on the day before college closed,” Leila said sarcastically. “She came to me and asked me in horrified tones if it were true that Miss Dean had smuggled Miss Cairns, an expelled student, into the gym on the night of the Romp.”

“Who could have told Miss Crawford that except Miss Peyton?” Vera cried indignantly. “And why should she start such a tale about Marjorie?”

“Because she is still angry with me,” Marjorie returned composedly. “She wanted Jane to blow the whistle for unmasking. I asked Jane to wait a little. Miss Peyton does not know positively that Leslie was at the Romp.”

“That’s exactly the point. She has no real ground for circulating that story. It’s unjust to Marjorie. There has been too much of such unfairness in the past.” Leila’s lips set in a forbidding line.

“Don’t worry about it for a minute, Leila Greatheart,” said Marjorie soothingly. “I mean about anything Miss Peyton may choose to say of me. We’ll have to try to conquer her by winning over the Hall to our code of ethics. When she discovers that no one likes to hear gossip, perhaps she will stop gossiping.”

“That’s a fine, rosy Bean view of things. But will it ever come true?” Jerry propounded, tilting her head to one side and rolling doubtful eyes.

“It won’t if you scoff at it, and treat it lightly,” Marjorie retorted.

“Depend on the Screech Owl to start something. Screech Owl!” Muriel repeated the name with mock admiration. “What could be more appropriate? My nobility doesn’t extend to refraining from that fond title.”

“You are gossiping.” Lucy Warner pointed an accusing finger at Muriel.

“Never. Truth is truth, no matter where ’tis uttered. I’m merely saying to you girls what I should take great pleasure in saying to the Screech Owl herself. I long to tell her her right name.” Muriel accompanied her fervent declaration with a sweeping gesture.

“Perhaps vacation joys will make her forget the Rustic Romp and what she thinks she knows about Leslie,” Ronny made light prediction.

“Very optimistic, but not at all likely,” was Vera’s opinion.

“How did you answer Miss Crawford, Leila.” Marjorie had missed most of the gay exchange of raillery among her companions. Her brain was busy with the same problem that had invaded her thoughts on the last afternoon she and Leslie Cairns had been together on the Speedwell.

“I asked her a question in return for hers. I said: ‘Who told you that such a thing had happened?’ She tossed her head and said: ‘I prefer not to answer that question.’ Then I smiled at her with fine Celtic good humor, and said: ‘And I prefer not to answer yours.’ It was on the campus near the Bean holder that we met. She walked away in a miff. And I have not seen her since,” Leila ended genially.

“It’s too bad.” Marjorie stared at Leila with a troubled air.

“Now why should it be?” Leila demanded, smiling. “I have no admiration for Miss Crawford, nor never did have. She is too ready to believe unpleasant gossip.”

“I’m not thinking of Miss Crawford. I’m thinking of Leslie.” Marjorie’s winsome smile broke out.

“I suspected that you had sympathy for someone besides me. I kept quiet out of Irish politeness.” Despite her light retort Leila was surveying Marjorie with true Celtic shrewdness. She knew Marjorie to be at the point of announcing something of especial import.

The other girls were hardly less keen at reading the signs and arriving at the same conclusion. Thus far none of her chums knew of the intimate conversation she and Leslie Cairns had held on that last memorable afternoon the two girls had spent on the observation platform of Peter Cairns’ private car. Marjorie had regarded it in the light of a secret confidence. Now, however, she had decided to impart it to the little group of Travelers as a matter of interest to Leslie. The six Travelers present already knew of the part Leslie Cairns had played the previous spring in the Rustic Romp. Leslie had requested Marjorie to tell her intimates of the affair. “I’d like your Beanstalks to know the rights of that performance,” she had said to Marjorie with a tinge of humor.

“Girls;” Marjorie’s clear decided intonation brought all eyes to bear upon her; “Leslie Cairns wants just one thing above all others that I wish we could help her to gain. She wants to come back to the campus and do her senior year over again.”