He had two keys, and one he had
loaned at the request of the senior class president to a fellow student.
The other key, for emergency use, hung on a nail in the fourth story
hall. That was the key Dave found in the door lock when he made his early
morning tour of inspection. "But the young folks must be having their
fun," he said indulgently, "and, short of burning down the place, 'tis
not Dave McGuire who will be interfering with 'em."
Mid-term tests were approaching. Bobby, who, with all her love of fun,
was a hard student, felt prepared and went around serenely. Constance
Howard had, most humanly, neglected, so far as the teacher of mathematics
permitted, the study that was hardest for her, her algebra. She now spent
hours in "cramming" on this, meanwhile complaining to those of her
special chums who would listen to her of "the unfairness of being made to
study algebra."
"I can add--with the use of my fingers--and subtract and divide and
multiply--at least I know the tables up through the twelves. Of what use
will a's and b's and x's, y's and z's ever be to me?"
"Constance, you know that's nonsense," Bobby told her.
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