“Polly, there’s no use talking, you must learn to play basket-ball.”

Lois had delivered this command a couple of days after the paper chase and Polly had therefore spent hours in the gym during the month which elapsed between then and the opening of this chapter.

It was now the first of November. There had already been one or two really cold days, and every one had settled down to the routine of school life. The strangeness had worn off for the new girls, so that they had forgotten they were new.

The chief sport at Seddon Hall was basket-ball. On the first of November every year six girls, from the Junior and Senior classes, were chosen for the big team.

Three days later six substitutes were elected. These twelve girls were the pick of the school, and twice a year they played against an outside team.

Although any girl from any of the four upper classes might be chosen as “subs,” the team had hitherto been composed of Juniors and Seniors, with an occasional Sophomore. The captain of the big team was elected early in the term and was always from the Senior class.

Owing to the rather stiff exams of the year before, only eight of the fourteen Juniors had made the Senior class. Those left had not all returned and, counting specials, the Juniors had only eleven girls this year. Fully a third of them were determined to work and had no time for athletics.

There were plenty of Sophomores, fifteen in all, but they were a queer lot. There is always a miscellaneous class and this year it was the “sofs,” who had been dubbed “the impossibles.”

It had been rumored that on account of the scarcity of girls it was just possible that the team might have to come down to the Freshman class for substitutes, and great was the excitement.

Betty, Polly, and Lois were discussing this unheard-of possibility on their return from practice.

“Of course it is just possible, but—” began Betty.

“No, it’s too good to be true,” sighed Lois. “Don’t let’s think about it. But I say those ‘sofs’ are terrible. Well, I’m going to dress; so long!” And she disappeared into her room.

“Betty, has a Freshman ever been on the sub team before?” Polly inquired.

“Never in my time,” answered Betty. “But, then, never, no, never was there such a set of impossibles as the ‘sofs,’ nor was there ever such a bully center to be found in the Freshman class.” This with a meaning glance at Polly, who had managed to get the ball after the toss-up a remarkable number of times that day.

“Bet, you’re crazy; why, I’m only a new girl. Lois would be first choice and you second.”

“You may be a new girl, but don’t forget the paper chase,” said Betty. “But you’re right about Lo; she is wonderful. She’s all over the place at once and she keeps her head. But as for me—no, I haven’t a chance.”

“Why, Betty, you’re splendid at making baskets.”

“What good does that do me when I can’t keep inside those darn lines? No, it’s Lo or you; the rest of us haven’t a chance.”

“Chance for what?” inquired Lois, poking her head out of her room. “Are you two still gabbing? You’ll both be late for study hour.” And giving each girl a violent push, she brought an end to the conversation.

The choosing of the big team on Tuesday was just about what every one had expected. There were four Seniors and two Juniors; most of them had been substitutes the year before. Louise Preston had already been elected captain.

The list of names had been posted Wednesday morning and the girls had come in for their share of congratulations, but every one felt that the real excitement would come on Friday.

Wednesday, as soon as Miss Hale dismissed them (the Freshmen had Latin the last period, and the Spartan had the most aggravating way of not hearing the bell), Lois, Polly and Betty dashed for the gym.

As they entered, Miss Stuart, the gym teacher, called to them:

“Seven and you three girls make ten. We need two more for a game. Some one go and get Angela and Connie; tell them I think they need some exercise.”

Miss Stuart was a large, handsome woman, with a firm but good-natured face. She was renowned for her fairness, and no one had ever even criticized one of her decisions. She had no favorites, and the girls all liked her tremendously.

In a few minutes Betty, who had gone off to search for Angela and Connie, came back, dragging them each by an arm.

“Here they are,” she called. “What’ll I do with them?”

“Better superintend their getting into their gym suits,” answered Miss Stuart, “and make them hurry.”

Ten minutes later she blew the whistle and tossed up the ball.

It was a good game. Polly was playing jumping center against Mary Reed, a big heavy girl, slow in her movements, but hard to budge. Connie was playing second center with Polly, and as she was no earthly help, Polly had to bounce the ball to the line and throw it to Betty, who was playing forward. Poor Betty was breaking her record for fouls.

Lois, guarding at the other end, was playing like a little fury. She had to work, for Harriet Ames was so long and lanky that she managed to pick the ball out of the air above her head, unless frantic efforts were used to stop her.

Every one was so busy with the game that the arrival of Louise Preston and two or three members of the big team passed unnoticed. They had slipped in after the game had commenced and were watching each play very carefully.

After the game the three girls met, as usual, in Roman Alley, as the water was running for their cold tubs.

“Hum, I don’t call that much of a score—fourteen to four.” And Polly sank down on the steps in disgust.

“That’s because you were not trying to guard a giraffe with four arms,” answered Lois, dropping down beside her.

Betty folded her arms in solemn dignity and stood looking at the two girls on the steps.

“Is it possible, my children,” she began, in a voice ridiculously like the school chaplain’s, “I repeat, is it possible that you have failed to grasp the full significance of this day’s work? Where were your eyes, and have you lost the sense necessary for putting two and two together?”

Polly and Lois looked at her with puzzled expressions.

“Elucidate, Elizabeth, if you please,” called a voice from the top of the stairs, accompanied by the click-click of a pair of Chinese slippers. Startled, the girls looked up, half expecting to see Miss Hale descending upon them, but beheld, instead, Angela’s grinning face and curly hair above a pale blue woolly wrapper.

“Hey, make room there, you two!” she continued in her own voice, and as she slipped in between Lois and Polly, she added:

“I repeat, elucidate, Elizabeth.”

“Lordy,” Betty murmured, “what a shock you gave me! The Spartan’s had it in for me and I’ve been trying to dodge her all day. But to continue, you all seem to have lost your share of intelligence. Did you or did you not see Louise Preston and some of the big team girls watching the game? They were writing giddy little lists and having all kinds of solemn powwows with Miss Stuart. Well, the reason is—”

“Stop!” exclaimed Polly. “Betty, you’re positively leaping at conclusions. You said yourself no Freshman had ever been chosen.”

“And besides,” interrupted Lois, “you’re making my heart beat twice as fast as it ought to.”

“Well, of course,” Angela remarked, getting up and stretching, “there’s no doubt in my mind that I will be chosen for the sub team. As for the rest of you, you have a chance.”

“You!” howled Betty. “A spoofy sub you’d make. You’d be helping CÆsar build his old bridges every time the ball came your way.”

Lois looked intently ahead of her.

“Now,” she said, “I understand why Bet made all those fouls. Pure flunk, we’d have all done the same thing if we’d known we were being watched. And you never told us—Bet, you’re a darling.”

“I didn’t mean that. I was done for, of course, and I knew it. But pass on the merry news? Certainly not.” And Betty, having delivered her pet phrase, made for her bath and slammed the door.

Thursday and Friday mornings passed somehow and the fatal hour arrived. Because of no school on Saturday, the Friday evening study hour was omitted. The time was usually taken up by a lecture or a musical.

There was nothing on for tonight, however, and after dinner the girls collected in the Assembly Hall. Miss Stuart, Louise Preston, and the team were on the platform, and in a few minutes the names of the chosen substitutes were to be read.

Betty, Lois, Polly, Angela, and Connie wandered off together to the farthest corner of the room and tried to look indifferent. Betty shivered.

“Shades of the Tower of London,” she whispered. “I couldn’t feel any creepier if it were the Black List that was going to be read.”

“It is uncanny,” agreed Connie. “I never miss less than four balls out of every five and yet I feel strangely excited.”

Lois and Polly exchanged understanding glances, and then every one began to say hush, and Miss Stuart and Louise stood up on the platform. When everything was quiet, Miss Stuart began:

“Good evening, girls. The captain has asked me to read this list for her. It’s the names of the substitutes. If you will answer by coming up to the platform, it will save time and keep the cheering for the end.

(And in spite of the gasp of surprise, Miss Stuart continued as if she had said nothing surprising.)

“Congratulations, girls, and may—” Miss Stuart’s voice was completely drowned in the cheer that went up.

Some one dragged Connie to the piano, and for the rest of the evening they sang school and basket-ball songs and cheered all the six subs in turn.

Of course Polly and Lois were wildly happy, and the entire Freshman class shared in their joy. They boasted of having broken a record and reminded everybody of what might be expected of them when they were lofty Seniors.

It was only when Polly and Lois were alone in their rooms after the “lights out” bell, that they remembered Betty.

Fifteen minutes later, when everything was very quiet along the corridor, two ghost-like figures stole out of two doors and met at a third across the way, and tapped gently.

Betty sat up in bed.

“Who is it?” she whispered.

“It’s Polly,” answered one ghost.

“It’s Lois,” answered the other.

A minute later, when they were both curled up on the bed, Lois found Betty’s hand and squeezed it.

“Betty, dear, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“So am I,” agreed Polly. “It’s the only disappointment in this glorious day.”

“You know you’re cut up about it, dear; no use pretending,” pursued Lois.

“We saw you leave long before the bell. Oh, Bet—” but Polly was cut short.

“Saw me leave? I should think you might have; I didn’t leave; I fled. But not because—well not because of what you think, I saw the Spartan coming.”

“Then you were not in the ‘blues’ all evening?” asked Lois doubtingly.

“Certainly not,” Betty assured her. “I was studying my Latin, and now do let me go to sleep.”

It sounded very well, but as Polly and Lois each gave her a good-night kiss, they noticed a suspicious dampness about her pillow.

They stole safely back to their rooms, conscious of having broken a rule for a good cause and, who knows, perhaps it was because the cause was good that they were not caught.