“Judy, I will not stand for any more compliments. They make me feel so self conscious. You surely don’t want a perfect angel for a chum, do you?” “Couldn’t do a thing with a perfect angel but shoo her back to heaven. No, sister-chum, we are all very human, but I think rather prettily so,” and she stood before the small mirror over Jane’s dresser, framing her face with a satisfied smile, no one could have blamed her for. “Away away! Je-u-ty—calls,” mocked Jane, paraphrasing “Duty” to offset beauty. “Take thyself hence, and dig in. We are having a lovely time, but even a good time has its limitations—at Wellington.” CHAPTER XXVII—WHAT THE “BUGLE” BLEW Jane was going to New York with Mrs. Weatherbee. For some reason not fully explained the director wished particularly to have Jane with her. The long waits and short intervals possible with such talent as was to be sought out, for the Golden Jubilee Concert of Wellington, made it imperative that Mrs. Weatherbee have with her an assistant who could do some of the waiting, if not any of the interviewing, so for that reason, ostensibly, Jane was chosen. The reliable old car, paradoxically called the Cozy Roadster, waited at the broad stone steps, bright and early Thursday morning, and the wait even with prompt Peter at the wheel, was calculated to be of short duration with Mrs. Weatherbee as passenger. “Good bye, Jane,” called Judith, “give my love to little old New York.” “Oh, Janey! Here is the _Bugle_! Just out. You can read it on the train,” shouted Drusilla, thrusting a copy of the much-awaited paper into the gloved hand of Jane. Then they were off. The three hours train ride to New York City afforded both Mrs. Weatherbee and Jane a welcome opportunity to glimpse the world outside of Wellington. Also Mrs. Weatherbee might rest, and Jane might read. Jane could scarcely wait to fulfill the usual train formalities before running her anxious eyes over the short columns of print in search of Whispers from Wellington. There were the Breslin Breezes, and the Carlton Clatter. Yes, there it was! Wellington Whispers! Jane read over the usual announcements. The basketball news appeared and there was the report of the Barn Swifts Extravaganza. She saw the print as a whole, but one line stood out as if entirely capitalized. It was: “Helka Podonsky, the Mystery of the College!”