“No need to do that,” snapped Marian Seaton, “for until this matter is adjusted, I, as leader, shall oppose uniting with the Allens,” she almost sneered at the word Allens. “And I will ask for a special investigation, in spite of the opposite views having been expressed,” grandiloquently finished the vanquished leader. “Any other business? If not, we stand adjourned,” called Jane resonantly, and the celebration which followed seemed to lack nothing from the fact that all the class was not represented in its numbers. A feature of the occasion, as reported in “The Trumpet,” was the new president, Jane Allen, seated on a pyramid of cushions, crowned with a glorious feather duster, meanwhile dispensing sweet music from her home-made uke. CHAPTER XVIII—THE WOES OF “ALIAS HELEN” A fall evening, dark, dreary and drizzling. The amount of work to be prepared for next day seemed heavier and more difficult than usual and Jane Allen, humanly responsive, felt keenly the natural reaction of the wild week of honors and excitement. It was almost time to “call it a day” when a very timid tap at the door, brought the bronze head up with welcome attention. “Come!” It was Helen—teary, and distrait. Helen with tie askew and hair tousled. Helen with eyes too bright and cheeks too red, and breath too short for normal. “Oh, Helen, do come in! What is the matter?” Jane brushed the papers from the wicker chair, and Helen sank in it. The red eyes were pressed with a small wet ball, and the unsympathetic curls from her forehead dug into teary lashes with pure teasing persistency. “Child, why do you cry?” asked Jane with a precision of manner suitable for an occasion such as this. Helen regarded abrupt speech as a mark of indifference, and Jane surmised this was no time for indifference. “Oh, my dear friend!” sobbed the crestfallen Helen. “It—is too much, I cannot to—stand it!” “What, Helen? What has happened? Tell your own Janey!” and with a caress, unmistakable in its sincerity, Jane dropped on a stool at the feet of the sobbing Polish girl. “I thought not to tell you—it is too much that I should be like a baby,” went on Helen, endeavoring with poor result, to check her choking sobs, “but to-night, I feel I must go!” “Why, child! Go where?” “That is what is too hard. I cannot know where, but to go—Oh, I must, Jane darling! I can no longer stand it all!” “Now, Helen, tell me about it. You know it cannot be so serious that we shall not find a remedy,” Jane coaxed. “First, when I came here you know I heard many words—of anger that I, Helen Podonsky, should be at an American college.” Something like triumph rang in the voice that now spoke the Polish name. “But I did not protest, I had the very good friends, and I loved them dearly.” The brown curly head tossed with unmistakable pride, and Jane was surprised and charmed at the note evolving in the hitherto docile little Helen.