After the minstrel triumph it was no surprise when, at class elections, Melissa Merriam became president of the Juniors. A few months before Missy would have been overwhelmed at the turn of things, but now she casually mounted her new height, with assurance supreme. It was as though always had the name of Melissa Merriam been a force. Raymond said no one else had a look-in. At the end of the term prominence brought its reward: Missy failed in Geometry and was conditioned in Latin. Father looked grave over her report card. “This is pretty bad, isn't it?” he asked. Missy fidgeted. It gave her a guilty feeling to bring that expression to her indulgent father's face. “I'm sorry, father. I know I'm not smart, but-” She hesitated. Father took off his glasses and thoughtfully regarded her. “I wasn't complaining of your not being 'smart'--'smart' people are often pests. The trouble's that this is worse than it's ever been. And today I got a letter from Professor Sutton. He says you evince no interest whatever in your work.” Missy felt a little indignant flare within her. “He knows what responsibilities I have!” “Responsibilities?” repeated father. Here mother, who had been sitting quietly by, also with a disapproving expression, entered the discussion: “I knew all that Iolanthe and class flummery would get her into trouble.” Flummery! Missy's voice quavered. “That's a very important part of school life, mother! Class spirit and all--you don't understand!” “I suppose parents are seldom able to keep up with the understanding of their children,” replied mother, with unfamiliar sarcasm. “However, right here's where I presume to set my foot down. If you fail again, in the spring examinations, you'll have to study and make it up this summer. You can't go with Aunt Isabel.” Lose the Colorado trip! The wonderful trip she had already lived through, in vivid prospect, a hundred times! Oh, mother couldn't be so cruel! But Missy's face dropped alarmingly. “Now, mamma,” began father, “I wouldn't-” “I mean every word of it,” reaffirmed mother with the voice of doom. “No grades, no holiday. Missy's got to learn balance and moderation. She lets any wild enthusiasm carry her off her feet. She's got to learn, before it's too late, to think and control herself.” There was a moment's heavy pause, then mother went on, significantly: “And I don't know that you ought to buy that car this spring, papa.” The parents exchanged a brief glance, and Missy's heart dropped even lower. For months she had been teasing father to buy a car, as so many of the girls' fathers were doing. He had said, “Wait till spring,” and now-the universe was draped in gloom. However, there was a certain sombre satisfaction in reflecting that her traits of frailty should call forth such enthrallingly sinister comments. “Lets any wild enthusiasm carry her off her feet”--“before, it's too late”--“must learn to control herself--”