"Isn't that perfectly ridiculous," came a clear soprano voice. Perry turned on his heels and reentered the school. He was in no mood to go back to Room 13. It was not his hour for Safety Committee duty; yet a sort of restlessness led him down to Room B-2. The committee quarters were deserted. Clothing, in neat piles over in a corner, told him that some lockers had been cleaned out that day. He began to look through the slips on his desk. George Hartford, Frank Mason, Elizabeth Lawton. Even as his eyes opened wide, there was a sound from the hall, a patter of feet on the floor, and then a voice.
"Oh, Perry, won't you please let me have my things? I'm in an awful hurry."
For just a moment Perry hesitated. Temptation to make political capital of the situation touched him—he who had vowed to handle the work with honor. This girl was a leader. She could influence votes. And then the temptation was gone, routed before his feeling for a higher duty and the stern necessity of upholding a Northfield ideal. Slowly he took from the desk the paper that bore her name.
"Won't you sit down?" he said.
She looked at him in surprise. "But I'm in a hurry."
"That's twice to-day you've been in a hurry.
