II.
It so happened that the chairman of the history section of the Woman's Club of Olympus cherished just the faintest atom of aversion for Miss Eleanor Redway. To a man, the thing was wholly incomprehensible, for Eleanor was not only the very sweetest of our Olympian girls, but also one of the prettiest and most womanly. Very young, too—and that may possibly have been the seat of the trouble, for Miss Jenks was a maiden lady, with all the recognized social requisites but youth. At any rate, the chairman had opposed Eleanor's admission, ostensibly on the ground of age; and after the election she was astonished and somewhat abashed to discover that Eleanor was perfectly capable of holding her own with her elders in the tortuous paths of French art, medieval literature, and dramatic reading. After the first two or three meetings there was even some talk of decorating her with the historical chairmanship for the next term; so that the present incumbent, who had been interested—platonically—in a State senator, borrowed a leaf from the tome of politics, and bestowed upon her twenty-year-old rival the highest honor in her keeping. Naturally it was an honor with a rider attached to it. It was the distinction of the longest paper of the year; the subject, announced in the Reporter one day before Eleanor was notified by mail, was "A Critical Analysis of the Frankpledge System." The chairman got it out of a dictionary, and felt rather clever over it.
Eleanor, walking downtown on a shopping excursion for a spool of thread at the Five and Ten, and a chocolate sundae at the Sign of the Green Teapot, ran full tilt into Hector Blanding, who was also thinking too diligently, to watch his step.
"Oh, I didn't see you!" said Eleanor, settling her hat. "You're awfully—solid, Hector!"
"I didn't see you, either," declared Hector. "I hope I didn't damage you."
"Not a bit." A sudden inspiration illumined her already expressive eyes. "Hector! Don't you want to do a favor for a lady?"
"Certainly—if you're the lady."
"I am," she admitted. "Tell me—do you by any chance know anything about the Frankpledge System?"
"Do I?"
"Well," she told him, "then you're the man I need. I don't even know what it means. For a minute I thought it had something to do with loan sharks. The library hasn't a single thing about it—but, of course, I knew that before I looked."
"Not that I grasp the logic, but"
"It's absurdly simple," she explained. "It's a paper for the Woman's Club two weeks from next Friday. That's also the date of the annual election of officers. I don't see how anything could be much more logical."
Hector shook his head.
"I don't see the point, Eleanor, but if I can help you with your paper, say the word."
"The word is 'Thank you.' "
"If you could drop in this afternoon or to-morrow, I'll start you on a course of reading—or, better yet, I'll give you an old notebook of mine. After you've been over it once or twice, you can write your essay with a pair of scissors. Will you come?"
"Three o'clock?"
"That's convenient for me if it is for you. I'll try to inveigle my housekeeper into letting us have some tea."
"You're an angel!" said Eleanor fervently. "I'll be there at three, Hector. Who says a college education isn't worth while?"