“No, Beauty, I haven’t gone back on my word. How can you harbor such suspicions against a fine old Irish gentleman like myself? Such a regard as I have for you, yet you will doubt me.” Leila Harper rolled reproachfully sentimental eyes at Marjorie. “Since it is a Beauty contest you demand, your Celtic friend will rise to the occasion.”

“I wish you’d rise soon then.” Marjorie met Leila’s effusive promise with a coaxing smile.

“Name the day and the hour.” Leila gave vent to a resigned groan, quite at variance with her fulsome mood of the moment before.

“There you go. One minute you blow hot; the next cold.” Marjorie shook an arraigning finger before Leila’s face. “I’m going to take you at your word and name the day and hour. The day will be next Friday. The hour, eight P.M. The place, the gym, the promoters of the contest—” Marjorie paused with a dubious, questioning look toward Leila.

“Aye, Beauty; there’s the rub!” Leila exclaimed. “The contest ought to be pulled off by either the sophs or freshies. We P. G.’s are beyond such trifling vanities. So some would be pleased to say we should be. Now we come to the reason why of things. I’m wisely in favor of letting the sophs perpetrate the beauty walk.”

“My own opinion,” Marjorie concurred. “How would you turn it over to them and still manage it, Leila. I mean the details. Only you know how to manage a Beauty contest like the one you got up long ago.”

“I’m going to be the power behind the throne and manage the contest through the Bertram girls,” Leila made shrewd declaration. “They are popular sophs. Besides they will do as I tell them. They’ll not spoil my fine arrangements.” Leila favored Marjorie with a whimsical grin. “Let me warn you, beforehand, Beauty. It will be dangerous for you to attend the contest.”

“Your warning is wasted. I shall sit in the gallery and watch the Beauty parade. Not because I imagine for a minute that I—that I—” Marjorie stammered, growing suddenly rosy with confusion.

“That you would certainly win it if you appeared on the gym floor,” Leila finished with mischievous affability. “No fair decorating the gallery, Beauty. It’s a most important part you must play on the floor.”

“No, designing villain. You dragged me into one Beauty contest; but never again.” She wagged a decisive head at Leila who merely continued to beam on her.

“This time I have a fine plan for you,” Leila continued, unabashed. “You are to be one of the judges. I’ll paint lines of age on your lovely face; give you a snow-white frizzy wig and a shapeless brown bag of a gown to wear. Even your captain could not pick you out as a Dean. Now tell me, am I not your devoted Irish friend?” she demanded ingratiatingly.

“You’re a jewel, Leila Greatheart.” Marjorie’s face grew radiant. “The very thing I’ll like best. I’d forgotten all about the judges. Their were three of them at the other contest. It seems ages since that night, doesn’t it?”

Leila nodded. “Happy ages,” she said, a soft light shining from her bright blue eyes. “And you were not pleased with me that night, Beauty, for putting you in your rightful place on the campus.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Marjorie replied with smiling candor. “I recall that I was almost angry with you. I thought you did it merely to nettle the Sans. I thought you were very clever, but I wasn’t sure whether or not I truly liked you.”

“Ah, but I have won dozens of golden opinions from you, Beauty, since then. I will tell you something quite remarkable about myself. I am never disliked by a person who likes me.” Leila made the statement with due impressiveness.

“I’ll tell you something else. You’re an affable old fake, and I’ve been here just one-half hour longer than I intended to be.” Marjorie rose from the chair she had been occupying in Leila’s and Vera’s room. “I needed that half hour for a bout with a terrific bit of old French poetry. Now it’s gone—the hour, I mean. I wish the poetry was nil, too! And I’ve not opened my book! It’s almost dinner time, and after dinner we’re due at Silverton Hall to help Robin rehearse that house play. You hadn’t forgotten about it, had you?”

“I never forget anything I happen to remember,” was the re-assuring response.

“Then keep on remembering the Beauty contest,” begged Marjorie laughing. “This is Monday. I wish you could arrange it for Friday night. I’m so anxious for Miss Monroe to win it. It will strengthen her position on the campus.” Her lovely face grew suddenly serious. “You know so well the way I feel about her, Leila. I’d love to have her free herself from Leslie Cairns’ influence; to help her raise up a pride in herself that will place her above doing the contemptible things the Sans used to do.”

As she talked Marjorie’s voice took on a wistful earnestness which Leila found irresistible. She did not share Marjorie’s views concerning Doris Monroe. Nevertheless, Marjorie’s appeal to Leila for help in the difficult conquest of the more difficult sophomore was in itself sufficient cause for co-operation on Leila’s part.

“Watch the bulletin board tomorrow, and have no fears,” was Leila’s parting advice as Marjorie reached the door. “We shall meet again,” she added portentously.

“In about ten minutes; at dinner. And in my room, after dinner; and after that, on the campus; and still after that, at Silverton Hall,” flung back Marjorie over a shoulder as she went out the door. She ran lightly down the hall to her room, inspirited by Leila’s promise. She swung open the door with a gay little fling and entered to find Jerry deep in the perusal of a letter.

“I’m going to be one of the judges at the Beauty contest,” she breezily informed Jerry. “I forgot to ask Leila who she’d picked for the other two judges.”

“It’s a good thing for the Ice Queen that you are going to wear a disguise; efface your face from the college map for the time being,” Jerry commented, eyes still on her letter. “No judge rig-out for Jeremiah, I shall appear in all my fatal beauty. But I don’t expect to get a fair deal,” Jerry sighed loudly. “When is the momentous Beauty gathering to grace the gym?”

“Friday evening at eight.” Marjorie went on to recount hers and Leila’s recent conversation.

“You old politician. You’ve everything fixed for your candidate,” Jerry humorously accused. “What has become of the traditions of Hamilton? Shocking!”

“They’re right in the foreground, AS ALWAYS,” retorted Marjorie. “I’m neither old, nor a politician. Nothing has been fixed for my candidate. Yes; I’ll admit I have one,” she declared in answer to Jerry’s comically questioning glance. “Just the same, she can only succeed on her own merits. Giving her a chance to do that isn’t pulling strings for her.”

“I get you, Bean. I humbly apologize for any dark suspicions I may have entertained against you. You are a Bean of rare pulchritude, enterprise and integrity. You are not the only enterprising person on the campus, though. I hate to speak of myself, but—er-her-r, ahem!” Jerry loudly cleared her throat. “I’m a credit to the noble profession of the sleuth.” Her tone of raillery held an undernote of triumph. Her round face wore a victorious expression which Marjorie did not miss.

“What is it, Jeremiah? You’re brim full of something interesting. I know you’re aching to tell me. Do go ahead.”

“It’s about those two letters,” Jerry began abruptly. “I mean the two that were sent to you in the fall when the sophs were warring among themselves, and Gentleman Gus drew the class presidency.”

“I haven’t forgotten them,” Marjorie said dryly. “You said you’d find out all about them. Have you?” She gazed interestedly at Jerry. “Now I begin to understand why you were praising yourself,” she tacked on, with a teasing smile. “You’ll have just time to tell me before the dinner gong sounds. Go to it.” She dropped easily down upon her couch bed, eyes still intent on Jerry.

“You know, and so do I, that the sports committee letter was a fake. We decided that first thing. Well, I’ve not discovered who wrote it. I’m still suspicious of three different sets of girls on the campus. But I haven’t a shred of proof against any of them. Being an honorable sleuth I don’t prowl ignobly about the campus after my quarry. I set legitimate traps for ’em. I deduce in a scientific and marvelous manner. My methods are above reproach, but they take time.”

“So do your remarks,” Marjorie impolitely reminded. “The gong’s going to ring very, very soon.”

“Oh, is it? So glad you told me. My, but you are rude at times. This is one of ’em. Back to my subject. I never believed that Miss Walker wrote the letter to you signed with her name. I made up my mind to find out whether the handwriting was hers, but I failed to capture a specimen of her penmanship. I tried a half a dozen nice, lady-like little schemes. Not one worked. One day luck was with Jeremiah. I picked up a fine and fussy handkerchief, monogrammed, L.M.W.”

With one eye on the clock Jerry hurriedly recounted the writing of the note to Louise Walker and the subsequent mailing of it and the handkerchief to the sophomore.

“Here’s the answer. Found it in the bulletin board this P. M. Look at it. Next cast your eyes over this piece of bunk.” Jerry laid two unfolded letters on the study table for Marjorie to examine.

Marjorie obediently left the couch where she had cosily disposed her slim length. She reached Jerry’s side with one lithe bounce. Hastily she picked up the letter Jerry indicated. Then she read:

“Dear Miss Macy:

“How fortunate for me that you should have found my pet handkerchief! I bought it in Europe last summer of one of those wonderful Belgian lace makers. I prize it highly on account of the beauty of the embroidery. Consequently I rarely carry it. Broke my rule for once and lost it. I had no idea where. It is my good luck, and quite remarkable, I think, that you should have guessed the initials on it to be mine. Thank you for your courtesy. Assuring you of my appreciation,

As she finished reading Miss Walker’s impersonally friendly note of thanks Marjorie s eyes immediately sought the other letter. It was the hateful letter she had received directly after the sophomore election from Miss Walker. She had read if enough times to know it by heart.

“Why, Jerry!” she cried, letting the two letters flutter from her hand to the table. “She—Miss Walker—never wrote that miserably mean letter to me! It’s not written in the same hand as the note she wrote you about the handkerchief. We feel quite positive she wrote that note. So she couldn’t have written the other.”

“Of course she didn’t write it,” Jerry asserted. “I’ve been keeping an explorative P. G. eye on her since the basket ball season began. She has some fine traits, Marjorie.” Jerry nodded her head in sober confirmation of her opinion.

“I’m glad she didn’t write this.” Marjorie touched the condemnatory letter with the tip of a finger. She picked up both letters again and proceeded to a critical examination of the handwriting of each.

“I couldn’t be sure she had not until I had seen her handwriting. I hadn’t the least excuse for writing her, and I didn’t care to ask the girls to do it. I’d begun to harbor dark thoughts of waylaying her on the campus in the misty twilight and appropriating her note-book. She had a twice-a-week late trig period at Hamilton Hall. Then I found the handkerchief in the main corridor. Maybe Jeremiah wasn’t pleased with herself!” Jerry gave an elated little spin around on one heel. “I wrote her and enclosed the hankey, and this is the reward of honesty plus great forethought.” Jerry significantly tapped her forehead.

“I’m glad,” Marjorie said again; “glad you are a great detective, Jeremiah.” She smiled indulgently at Jerry. “But gladder still that Miss Walker never wrote that spiteful letter. I’m gladdest of all that it is more despicable even than if it were anonymous. It’s a forgery. A person so unprincipled as to commit such a forgery is too unprincipled to be dangerous.”

“Pearls of truth and wisdom, Bean. I get you, and agree with you,” Jerry returned the smile. “I hate to say it, but I know only one person who could qualify under that head—Leslie Hob-goblin Cairns.”