“Oh, Jane!” almost prayed the Wellington fans, as the ball was thrown back to center by the confused forward who was unable to pass it to her partner under the basket. In the center Jane was surrounding her opponent like a veritable troop. The Bee was confused. Moments were counting, and she still held on to the ball. “One—two and——” rang out in the gym. Then she tried to throw, but Jane was everywhere. The confusion was obvious, even to the onlookers. “Oh, for that count!” wailed someone. “Throw it!” yelled the captain to the confused Bee. She raised the ball as if to comply, then with an astonishing fumble, the ball slipped and rolled to Jane’s feet. Quick as a flash Jane was after it. Then the dribble, and Jane took one bounce, and with one toss of the ball to her forward under the basket, the ball went home to a goal! And the goal was made for Wellington! “Oh! Oh! ho! ho! Rah! Rah! Rah Wellington! Center! Center! Rah! Rah! Rah!” The cyclone broke. That strategy on Jane’s part won a victory for which she would have been more content to have had any other of the team, than herself, strike the decisive blow. “You did it. We knew you would. Good old Jane.” “Can’t lose her!” “Brains tell!” Came the almost indistinguishable tumult of sound. “Sheer luck,” Jane insisted. “Luck!” mocked Judith. “Even luck knows where to light. Jane, if we lost I should have drowned myself. I have bet away a whole week’s stamps and fudge, and goodness knows what all. But we won, and I may open up shop again. Just look over there at Marian. Have her friends all deserted her?” “Oh, call her in,” suggested Jane. “It’s a shame, here in a strange school.” “Not little Judy,” replied the other. “I may take a chance on betting fudge against Breslins, but I would not be so rash as to take a chance on anything like that. Oh, there she goes with our reporter! What if she gives any news of the Barn Swifts?” “Oh, she wouldn’t!” but Jane’s voice sounded apprehensive. “Well, if she does, we will simply—that is, we certainly will,” stuttered Judith, too overcome to talk coherently. She was waving her arms and indicating dire calamity on Marian’s unfortunate head. “Still, Judy, we should have kept track of that nice little reporter. It would be perfectly awful if Marian gave her any news about Helen’s hidden talent.” “Oh, Jane, I am absolutely sure she will do just that. I never before saw her so abject to a mere business woman. By the way, dear, where is Helen?” “Oh, didn’t I tell you? Mrs. Weatherbee asked me if we would not all agree to leave the child pretty much alone for a few days. She thought it would be so much better for her nerves, not to be talked to. I agreed with her, as I have found Helen absolutely impossible lately. She will not come out, and she just sits and hugs her letters.” “Does she ever show you any of her letters, Jane?” “No,” faltering. “But why should she?”