The luminous eyes flashed their appreciation at this, and Jane felt as if even a rest room was quite inadequately furnished, with no piano, at that moment, in sight. This little artist should have some sort of pocket edition to carry around with her. She was different and artistic and her moods should be humored. Of a certainty they would go at once to the apartment with the home cured piano, as Judith called any instrument not installed in a school room. “Miss Jordan expects us,” said Mrs. Weatherbee, “I was sure a good cup of real tea would refresh you both after your journey.” She picked up the flat brief case Judith always carried in lieu of a suit case. Jane adjusted her own club bag, preparatory for the start. Helka insisted on taking the brace of umbrellas. So the little party wended their way to the surface car, Jane naturally falling in step with Helka and Judith trotting along with Mrs. Weatherbee. “Adorable!” Judith at last had a chance to exclaim. “I knew you would like her,” smiled Mrs. Weatherbee. “She is a wonderful girl. And she has such an interesting history.” Just as it had all been planned! “Jane’s luck,” commented Judith. “Mrs. Weatherbee, we are going to make Jane Allen, Center, this year. And we are going to make our team known all over the college circuit. Basketball is an American sport, and we are back from the war now with reconstruction energy.” “I believe you,” assented the matron, and her tone implied satisfaction. Jane was meanwhile becoming agreeably acquainted with Helka. CHAPTER IX—GIRLS’ LIFE A LA MODE Housekeeping, however irksome when a positive duty, is always a delight when “tried on” in miniature. So it was when the Wellington girls installed themselves in Miss Jordan’s apartment, they had no idea of the novelty in store for them. The house was one of the old mansions now falling into the shadow of the Village. The Village, we recall, is that part of New York City where artists of various sorts congregate, and live the life they term Bohemian. Incidentally, there are many within the village who will never have any claim to the title artist—other than to have possessed the ambition to be so classified, but like half the aspirants for honors, they may aspire, but not conspire, as they do not work honestly to achieve the place they pretend to appropriate. But our girls did not go within the village limits; they were just at its “gates” and so had an opportunity of observing the interesting types of girls and young women passing in and out, affecting the Bohemian. Long-haired men and short-haired women. Velvet-jacketed men and cloth-upholstered women—such persistent contradictions lending a peculiar picturesqueness to the otherwise prosaic Metropolis.