“Truly, Leslie Cairns, you make me tired!” Natalie Weyman clasped her bare arms behind her head with a jerk so petulant as to plainly convey her complete dissatisfaction. She surveyed Leslie, who lay stretched at ease on a brocaded chaise longue, with cold, displeased eyes.

“So you’ve often said,” was the laconic return. Leslie did not even trouble to look toward Natalie. She was not in the least concerned at the ungracious opinion of her chum.—“Well, I mean it,” scolded Natalie. “Why must you go running off to Hamilton in the very middle of the summer when we’re having a good time here at Newport?”

“Glad you hail it as a good time,” Leslie’s plain, roughly hewed features relaxed from the stoical expression she carefully cultivated to a half satiric grin. “I think Newport’s a dead burg this summer. Never saw such a collection of stupids gathered in one village before.”

“You only say that,” derided Natalie. “You’ve simply taken a notion to go to Hamilton. Goodness knows why. You’re the most stubborn, obdurate girl!”

“I haven’t asked you to go there with me, have I?” The questioned bordered on a sneer.

“I wouldn’t go if you were to beg me to,” Natalie flashed back.

“You’d go if I made a point of it,” Leslie contradicted with assured insolence. She raised herself from the couch on one elbow and eyed her friend disdainfully.

“No, Leslie, I would not.” Natalie seemed very certain on this point. “I’d not go within fifty miles of Hamilton College again after the way we left it. I really wonder at your nerve in doing it.”

“Going to weep over one small flivver?” Leslie grew more ironical. “Forget it. You know how much I love to talk of it.”

“I don’t mention it very often,” Natalie said bitterly.

“The less often, the better. If I hadn’t business of my own to attend to I’d go after Dulcie Vale’s scalp. Venomous little traitor!” A deep scowl did not add to Leslie’s appearance.

“She’s in Europe. She crossed on the same steamer with Joan Myers. She tried to talk to Joan, but Joan couldn’t see her for a minute. I had a letter from Joan from Paris.” Natalie volunteered this information.

“Hm-m. Looks as though she’d keep her scalp for awhile,” Leslie observed with grim humor. “I’ll catch her sometime—coming or going. What I’d rather do is hang around dear old Hamilton,” Leslie put mocking sarcasm into the last three words, “and see what I can put over on Bean.”

“What do you mean?” Natalie looked mystified. “What could you do now? Bean has a home, I believe. One would naturally suppose she’d go to it after having been graduated with honors at Hamilton.” The bitterness of Natalie’s tone indicated the jealous envy which mention of Marjorie Dean had aroused afresh.

“That’s as much as you know about it. I happen to know that Bean will be in Hamilton and on the campus soon, if she’s not there already.”

“How do you happen to know it?” Natalie’s face registered incredulity, then curiosity. Second thought caused her to remember that Leslie had ways of her own of finding out things.

“Never mind how.” Leslie turned tantalizing. “‘Nuff’ said.”

“I can’t think of anything you could do to spite Bean. You tried your last trick when you bought that property you thought she wanted for her precious dormitory. What happened?” was the sarcastic retaliation.

“You’ll never be celebrated as a great thinker, Nat,” Leslie drawled, ignoring her companion’s displeasing question. “Leave it to me to make matters hum for Bean. I’m going to Hamilton on the six-thirty train in the morning. I’ll have something to tell you, you’d better believe when I come back.”

“Oh, yes, ‘Leave it to me,’” mimicked Natalie, an angry light in her gray-blue eyes. “You’re crazy, Leslie Cairns,” was her added scathing opinion.

“I’m not so much of a nut. What?” Leslie took no more umbrage at Natalie’s rudeness than she would have at the buzzing of a fly. “Try to get it across your brain that I’m a business shark now, Nat. Will you?” she said with exaggerated patience. “I’ve sixty thousand dollars tied in a hard knot in that bunch of rickety shacks just off the campus. Those ancient corn cribs have to come down. What about my garage?”

“That for your garage.” Natalie snapped contemptuous fingers. Leslie’s insinuation that she was “thick” was the final drain on her patience. “You’ll never make a go of it. It’s too far from the campus,” was her wet blanket prediction.

Leslie merely threw back her head and laughed in the noiseless, hobgoblin fashion for which she was noted among her few friends. Her silent, insolent merriment stung Natalie far more deeply than a retort could have done.

“Well it is.” Natalie repeated, determined to hold her own.

The laughter died out of the other girl’s face to be replaced by a lowering, bullying scowl.

“I tell you it is not,” she emphasized in tones intended to forbid further contradiction. “Because it isn’t in the same vicinity as the other garages is no sign it won’t pay me to put up a garage on my new property. I’m going to build the kind of garage the Hamilton gang will cry for. I may run it myself.”

“Wha-t-t!” In her astonishment Natalie half rose from her chair. She sat down again and gave Leslie a long-suffering glance, as if she could not credit what she had just heard.

Leslie was enjoying her chum’s amazement. Of the eighteen girls who had composed the San Soucians, the club of girls who had been expelled from Hamilton College during their senior year, Natalie Weyman was the only one who had remained friendly with Leslie Cairns. The other members of the Sans, though betrayed into expulsion by the treachery of Dulcie Vale, chose to place the major share of the blame upon Leslie’s shoulders. If Leslie had not arraigned Dulcie and ousted her from the Sans in their assembled presence, Dulcie would not have betrayed them. Or thus they argued. Leslie, who had been their leader, became a detested stranger.

While Natalie Weyman had cultivated Leslie assiduously at college because of her unlimited purse and flagrant disregard for rules, she had grown to like Leslie for herself. Because she was thoroughly selfish she inwardly approved of Leslie’s calloused selfishness. After the Sans’ expulsion from college she had not failed to keep in touch with Leslie.

At present she was entertaining Leslie at “Wavecrest,” the Weyman’s Newport villa. Leslie had arrived there only three days before with the drawling announcement: “I may stay, if you can rustle up some excitement.” Natalie had gladly promised “the excitement” in the shape of a round of smart social events. Now with her plans nicely formulated Leslie had ungratefully taken it into her head to go to Hamilton.

“I’ll say it once more. Be sure you get it this time. I may run my garage myself.”

“You wouldn’t.” Natalie shook an unbelieving head.

“Why not?” Leslie coolly returned. “Think what an opportunity I’d have to keep a line on the knowledge shop.”

“Why should you care what goes on there now?” Natalie cried in exasperation. “You’re out of it, and ought to be glad of it. I am, I’m finding out every day that no one really in society cares much whether one was graduated from college or not. Smart schools for girls count for more.”

“I care, but not in the way you think.” Leslie suddenly swung her feet from the chaise longue to the floor. She sat very straight and viewed her chum somberly. “I don’t care a hoot for Hamilton because it is Hamilton,” she continued, her voice gruff. “It’s Bean’s performances that interest me. Not one of the Sans lost out as I did in getting the sack from Hamilton. I lost my father. He’s the only person I know that I ever loved. I like you, Nat, even though we can’t keep on affable terms five minutes at a stretch. But I worship my father.” Leslie’s heavy features went from merely heavy to downcast. “Bean is to blame for everything that went against me at Hamilton,” was her sulky accusation.

“Oh, Les, you know that is ridiculous—to blame even that little prig for everything!” Natalie had truth enough in her shallow composition to realize the utter fallacy of such a statement.

“She was there, wasn’t she? Well, then, what more do you want?” Leslie did not wait for her friend to answer her questions. “Bean was a disturber. I knew she would be the instant I first saw her. I did what I could to keep her down, but she bobbed up on every corner. Her crowd stuck to her; mine double-crossed me. She won; I lost my sheepskin and—my father. I’m not likely to forget that. She butted into the way the Sans had things regulated at Hamilton and tried to turn an exclusive college into a public school. She did it purposely. That makes her responsible, her and her Beanstalks, for everything. I chose to look at it in that way. So I’m going back to dear old Hamilton to mind my own business and maybe snarl up Bean’s affairs a trifle. What?”

“You are foolish to think of such a thing. Stick to your own affairs and let Bean alone. You’ll land in a snarl if you try to start mischief, Les.” There was anxious warning in the advice.

“Save your breath.” Leslie rose to her feet, her eyes on the jeweled watch encircling her wrist. “I’m going to hit the down. I must be up in time for the six forty-five train in the morning. Thank goodness I won’t have to trail Gaylord along this time.” Mrs. Alice Gaylord, Leslie’s hired chaperon, had been graciously given permission to visit a sister while Leslie visited Natalie. Leslie had determined that she would make the trip to Hamilton alone, defying convention.

“When are you coming back, Les?” At the last Natalie gave in half amiably to what she could not change.

“Ask me something easier. It depends upon how long Bean lingers on the campus. I’m only going up there now to plan my campaign. I may not pull down my corn cribs till fall. As for landing in a snarl—not friend Leslie.” She strolled to the door of Natalie’s boudoir, where the two had been lounging. Hand on the door, she paused. “Bean is in line for trouble.” Her heavy brows drew together ominously. “I told you I was a business shark. I intend she shall know it, too.”