Chapter II: Part 2

Margie, who had taken shelter under Janet's coat, spoke up.

"It's all the bus driver's fault. We never should have left Youde's."

"But none of us wanted to spend the night there," said Janet. "Of course we didn't dream the snow would have drifted this much."

"The driver should have known," insisted Margie, and Janet thought her more than a little unreasonable, but then Margie was probably thoroughly chilled and likely to disagree with everything and everyone.

The minutes passed slowly, dragging as Janet had never known they could. The cold increased in intensity and some of the other girls, not as warmly dressed as Janet and Helen, began to complain.

"My feet are getting numb," said Bernice Grogan, a slip of a little black-haired Irish girl.

"Better keep them moving," said Ed Rickey. "Here, I'll move them for you until the circulation starts back."

Ed knelt down on the floor and took Bernice's boots in his hands, massaging her feet vigorously.

Soon Bernice began to cry.

"It's the pain. They hurt terribly."

"Just the circulation coming back," said Ed, but Janet knew from the lines on his forehead that Ed was worried.

"If any of the rest of you feel numb, just call out. We've got to keep moving or some of us may suffer some frozen parts before morning," he warned.

Bernice, in spite of her efforts, couldn't keep the tears back, but they froze on her cheeks, so bitter was the cold.

Jim Barron opened the door, and a rush of cutting air swept in. Then he was gone into the night and Janet could hear him wielding the shovel outside.

It was five or six minutes before Jim returned and he looked utterly exhausted.

"I've never seen such a night," he mumbled. "I'm afraid the bus driver didn't get very far."

"Then we'd better start out after him," said Ed, getting to his feet.

But Jim's broad shoulders barred the door.

"We're going to stay right here. You can't even find the fences now. It would be suicide to start in the dark. The only thing we can do is keep as warm as possible inside the bus. I started throwing snow up around the windows. Some of you fellows give me a hand. We'll bank the bus in snow clear to the top and that will keep out some of this bitter wind."

"But if you cover the bus with snow, they'll never find us when they come hunting us," protested Cora.

"Just never mind about that," retorted Jim. "The only thing I'm worrying about now is keeping us from freezing to death."

Jim's words shocked the girls into silence.

_Chapter VI_
DESPERATE HOURS

Freezing to death! The phrase was terrible in its import, yet the danger was very near and very deadly, for there was slight chance that the bus driver had gotten through to give a warning of their predicament. Even if he had Janet wondered if any searching party could brave the rigors of the night.

Outside the boys worked steadily, coming inside in shifts, and then going back. They could hear the snow thud against the side of the bus as it was piled higher and higher and the sound of the wind gradually faded as the wall of snow protecting them from it thickened.

The light from the single bulb was ghostly now. The battery seemed to be weakening. Helen looked at her watch. It was just one o'clock when the boys came in, beating their hands and knocking the frost from their breath off their coats.

Jim was the last one in and he closed the door carefully after him.

Bernice was crying again and Ed, though half frozen himself, bent down and massaged her feet. Miss Bruder was white and shaken for it was more than she could cope with and she turned to Ed and Jim to pull them through the emergency.

While Ed worked with Bernice's feet, Jim spoke to the group.

"We might as well face this thing frankly," he said. "We're in an awful jam. It must be fifteen or twenty below right now. The snow has stopped, but the wind is increasing in strength and the snow is drifting badly. It may be hours, perhaps a day, before we're discovered."

He paused and watched the conflicting emotions on their faces, then plunged on.

"We've banked the bus with snow to keep out the worst of the wind, but it's going to be terribly cold just the same. We've got to keep moving, keep up our spirits. If we don't----"

But Jim didn't finish his sentence. There was no need for they all knew what would happen once they became groggy and sleepy.

"I'm going to start with a count and I want all of you to beat your feet in time with me. That'll jar your whole body and warm you up a little."

Jim started counting and soon the whole group was stamping their feet methodically.

Even Janet had not realized how cold she was. Her feet had felt a little numb, but under the steady pounding against the floor they started to tingle, then burn with an intensity that brought tears to her eyes where they froze on her lashes.

"I'm nearly frozen," chattered Margie, huddling closer to Janet. "If it wasn't for your coat I'd be like an icicle by this time."

They kept up the motion with their feet for at least five minutes, and Jim called a halt then.

"Everyone feel a little warmer?" he asked.

"My hands are still cold," said one of the girls, but Janet was too stiff to turn around and see who was speaking.

"Then here's an arm drill for everyone," said Jim, starting to swing his arms in cadence.

When that exercise was completed, most of them could feel their bodies aglow as the blood raced through their veins.

Ed started to tell funny stories and though he did his best, their own situation was so tragic that nothing appeared humorous. But he kept them interested, which was the main thing.

Helen was the first to break the now monotonous flow of Ed's words.

"Stop, Ed," she said, her voice low and tense. "Shake Miss Bruder, quick!"

Ed turned suddenly to the teacher, who had been sitting back of him. Her head had fallen forward on her chest and her arms hung limp.

The husky senior picked her up and brought her back under the light, the rest crowding around him.

Then Janet took charge. Miss Bruder's eyes were closed, but she was breathing slowly.

"I believe she's half frozen. She was sitting where a constant knife of air was coming in around the door," whispered Jim. "Get busy and massage her."

Janet, with Helen helping her, stripped off Miss Bruder's thin gloves. Her hands were pitifully white.

Ed scooped up a handful of snow where it had sifted in around the door and used it to rub Miss Bruder's hands while Janet and Helen massaged the upper part of her body and her face.

It was five minutes before the teacher responded to their frantic efforts. Then her eyes opened and she tried to smile.

"I must have dozed for a moment," she whispered.

"Don't talk," said Helen. "Rest now."

"Is everyone all right?" insisted the teacher.

"Everybody's here," replied Jim, who was keeping a close eye on Bernice, who seemed the most susceptible to the cold.

Ed pulled Janet to the rear of the bus.

"This thing is getting serious," he whispered. "Some of the girls won't be able to stand it until morning unless we're able to keep them warmer. Jim and I have sheepskins. We'll put them down on the floor and you girls get down and lie on them. Huddle together and cover up with your own coats. Your body heat should keep you warm and we'll be moving around and talking to you so none of you will get too drowsy from the cold."

"But you can't do that. You and Jim will freeze," protested Janet.

"Freeze? I guess not. We're too tough for that. Besides, I've got all kinds of clothes on under this sheepskin."

Janet finally agreed to the plan and Ed explained it briefly. Miss Bruder hesitated, but the others overruled her.

Jim and Ed placed their heavy canvas, sheep-lined coats on the floor and the girls laid down on them like ten pins, huddling together and putting their own coats over them.

"Get just as close as you can so you'll keep each other warm," counseled Jim, who, minus his heavy coat, was busy swinging his arms and legs.

In less than five minutes the girls were ready to admit that the plan was an excellent one, for they were quite comfortable under the mound of coats and Janet made them keep up a constant flow of conversation, calling to each girl every few minutes. Up in the front of the bus they could hear the boys moving steadily and stamping their feet.

How long they had been under the pile of coats Janet couldn't guess, but suddenly there was a wild pounding on the door of the bus. She managed to get her head out from under the coats in time to see Jim open the door.

"Everyone safe?" cried someone outside.

"We're all right," replied Jim and then Janet saw her father looking down at the huddled group of girls on the floor of the bus. His face was covered with frost, but he brushed past the boys and knelt beside her.

"All right, honey?" he asked.

"A little cold," Janet managed to smile. "How did you get here?"

"Never mind that. The first thing is to get out of here and where you'll be safe and warm."

Other men poured into the bus. Janet recognized some of them. Ed's father was there. So was Jim's, Cora's and Margie's. Someone had a big bottle of hot coffee and cardboard cups. The steaming hot liquid, bitter without sugar or cream, was passed around.

Janet drank her cup eagerly and the hot beverage warmed her chilled body.

Extra coats and mufflers had been brought by the rescue party.

"Get as warm as you can. It's going to be a cold ride to the paved road," advised her father.

They were soon ready and once more the door of the bus was opened. Outside a powerful searchlight glowed and as they neared it Janet saw a large caterpillar tractor. Behind this was a hayrack, mounted on runners and well filled with hay.

"Everybody into the rack. Burrow down deep so you'll keep warm."

Janet's father counted them as they got into the rack, yelled to the operator of the tractor to start, and then piled into the rack himself.

With a series of sharp reports from its exhaust, the lumbering tractor got into motion, jerking the rack and its precious load behind it.

_Chapter VII_
SANCTUARY AT HOME

It was nearly an hour later when the tractor breasted the last grade and rolled down to the paved road where a dozen cars, all of them warmly heated and well lighted, were strung along the road. Anxious fathers and mothers were on hand, including Janet's mother and Mrs. Thorne and they welcomed their thoroughly chilled daughters to their bosoms.

Janet's father shepherded them into their own sedan where despite the sub-zero cold the heater had kept the car comfortable. Then they started the final lap of their eventful trip from Youde's home.

Helen and Janet sank back on the cushions of the capacious rear seat, thoroughly worn out by their trying experience.

Janet's father, one of the most prominent attorneys in Clarion, slipped in behind the wheel, slamming the car door and shutting out the biting blast of air.

There were other cars ahead of them and they made no attempt at high speed as they rolled back into the city.

"How did you ever find us, Dad?" asked Janet.

"You can thank the bus driver for that. Somehow he got through to a farmhouse. He was almost frozen, but he managed to tell them the story and they phoned word in to us."

"Who thought of the tractor and hayrack?" asked Helen, warm once more.

"It was Hugh Grogan, Bernice's father. He sells the caterpillars. Good thing he did or we'd never have gotten through."

"It was a good thing for Bernice, too. She was about all in," said Janet.

When they reached the Hardy home, Janet's mother insisted that Helen and Mrs. Thorne come in and have a hot lunch before going to their own home.

While the girls took off their coats and Mr. Hardy put the car into the garage, Mrs. Hardy bustled out into the kitchen where she had left a kettle of water simmering on the stove.

Lunch was ready in short order, tea, peanut butter sandwiches, cookies and a large bowl of fruit.

Janet and Helen had ravenous appetites and the sandwiches disappeared as though by magic.

"How cold is it, Dad?" asked Janet.

"Twenty-two below."

"The wind was awful," said Helen, between bites at a sandwich.

"I know. It was pretty fierce going across country in the hayrack. The boys must have used their heads for someone banked the bus with snow."

"That was Jim Barron's idea. He and Ed Rickey kept us moving and talking most of the time, but we forgot Miss Bruder. She was in a draft and almost froze to death without saying a word to anyone."

"That scared us half to death," put in Helen, "but the boys massaged her hands with snow and Janet and I massaged the upper part of her body until we could get the circulation going again. I think she'll be all right, but probably pretty sensitive to cold for the rest of the winter."

"But the winter's almost over. Here it's late March. Who'd ever have thought we'd have a storm like this," said Janet.

"If I had, I can assure you that you'd never have made the trip to Youde's tonight," promised her father. "It was one of those freak storms that sometimes sweep down from the Arctic circle and fool even the weather men. By tomorrow the temperature will shoot up and the snow will melt so fast we'll probably have a flood."

The girls finished every sandwich on the plate and drank two cups of tea apiece.

It was five o'clock when they left the table.

Mrs. Thorne and Helen started to put on their coats, but Janet's mother objected.

"Your house will be cold and our guest room upstairs is all made up. Janet and I will lend you whatever you need. We'll all get to bed now."

Janet got warm pajamas for Helen and then went to her own room. Warm and inviting in the soft rays of the rose-shaded lamp over her dressing table, it was a sanctuary after the exciting events of the night.

A wave of drowsiness assailed Janet, and it was with difficulty that she unlaced and pulled off her boots. Somehow she managed to crawl into her pajamas and roll into bed, but she was asleep before she could remember to turn off the light.

Her mother, looking in a few minutes later, pulled the blankets up around Janet's shoulders, opened the window just a crack to let in a whiff of fresh air, and turned off the light.

Janet slept a heavy and dreamless sleep. When she awakened the sun was streaming in the windows and from the angle she could tell that it was late.

But in spite of the knowledge that she would probably be extremely late in getting to school, Janet was too deliciously comfortable to move rapidly.

After stretching leisurely, she got out of bed and closed the window. The radiator in her room was bubbling gently and she slipped into bed to wait until the room warmed up.

Vivid thoughts of what had happened during the night rotated in her mind, the cold, the wind, the snow--the terror of waiting in Little Deer valley for the rescue, hoping but not knowing for sure that they would be reached in time to save them from the relentless cold.

Someone opened Janet's door and peered in. It was Helen, who, on seeing that her friend was awake, bounced into the room.

"You look pretty live and wide awake after last night," smiled Janet.

"I'm not only that, I'm ravenously hungry," said Helen, "and if you had been out in the hall and caught a whiff of the breakfast your mother is preparing you would be too."

"What time is it?"

"Well, you can call it breakfast or lunch, depending on whether you've had breakfast. For me it's breakfast even though the clock says it's just a little after eleven."

"You're seeing things," retorted Janet, throwing off the covers and hurrying toward her wardrobe.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I am, but your mother says it is after eleven and I'll take her word for it. I'll run down and tell her you'll be along within the hour."

"That isn't fair. You know it won't be more than five minutes. I always dress faster than you do."

_Chapter VIII_
POSTPONED TRYOUTS

Helen went down stairs and Janet hastened to the bathroom where she made a hasty toilet. Back in her room she fairly jumped into her clothes, gave her hair one final and hurried caress with the brush, and then went down stairs.

Mrs. Thorne, who had breakfasted earlier with Janet's father and mother, had gone home, so Helen and Janet sat down to the breakfast Mrs. Hardy had prepared.

There was grapefruit to start with, then oatmeal with dates in it, hot, well-buttered toast, strips of crisp bacon and large glasses of milk.

"Feel all right this morning, Janet?" her mother asked, looking a little anxiously at her vibrant and energetic daughter.

"Fine, mother. I slept very soundly. Last night seems almost like a nightmare."

"It was a nightmare," said her mother, sitting down and picking up a piece of toast to munch while the girls ate their breakfast. "I've never seen your father so worried. He was almost frantic until Hugh Grogan suggested they try to get through with one of his big tractors. They held a council of war right here in the front room and I've never seen as many nervous and excited men in my life. Talk about women getting upset, why they were worse than we ever think of being." She smiled a little. She could now, but last night it had all been a very grim and very near tragedy.

"You'll have to write an excuse for me," said Janet between munches on a crisp slice of bacon.

"Not this time. I phoned the superintendent and he said that everyone in honors English was excused from school today."

"Wonder if we'll have the tryouts for the class play this afternoon?" said Helen, who until that moment had been devoting her full energies to the large bowl of oatmeal.

"There's one way of finding out," replied Janet. "I'll phone the principal's office and see if it has been taken off the bulletin board."

Janet went to the phone in the hall and called the schoolhouse. When she returned her face was aglow.

"No school, no tryouts--what a day and what to do?"

"You're sure about the tryouts?" Helen was insistent, for winning the leading part meant so much to her.

"Sure as sure can be. They've been postponed until Saturday morning at 9:30 o'clock when they will be held in the assembly."

"Then that will give me plenty of time to study my part thoroughly," said Helen.

"But you know it now. Why you had it memorized, every word and phrase, yesterday afternoon," protested Janet.

"I know I did yesterday, but last night scared it completely out of me. I can't even remember the opening lines."

"Maybe it's a good thing. We'll both start over and this afternoon we can rehearse upstairs in my room."

"Grand. I've got to go home and help mother for a while, but I'll be back by 2:30 o'clock and we'll start in."

Breakfast over, Janet went to the door with Helen. The day was bright and almost unbelievably clear. The temperature was rising rapidly, the wind had gone down, and their experience of the night before seemed very far away. Rivulets of water were starting to run down the streets and before nightfall the gutters would be full of the melting snow and slush.

Janet found a multitude of little things to do around home to help her mother and the first interruption came with the ringing of the telephone. Her mother answered, but then summoned Janet.

"It's the Times," said Mrs. Hardy.

Janet took the instrument and recognized the voice of the city editor of the local paper.

"I need a good first person story of what took place inside the bus, Janet," said Pete Benda. "Can you come down to the office and write a yarn? You've had enough experience with your high school page to do the trick and do it well."

"But it all seems so far away and kind of vague now," protested Janet.

"Listen, Janet, I've got to have that story." Pete was cajoling now. "Haven't we done a lot of favors for your high school page?"

"Yes, but--."

"Then come down and write the story. I'll save a good spot on page one for it."

Janet hung up the telephone, feeling a little weak and limp. Pete Benda was insistent and she would have to go through with it.

"The Times wants me to come down and write a first person story of what happened last night," she explained to her mother. "I didn't want to, but Pete Benda, the city editor, just insisted. He's been so good about helping us out on the school page when we've been in jams that I couldn't say no."

"Of course not, and you'll do a good piece of writing. No don't worry about it. Run along. I'll have a little lunch ready when you get back."

Janet put on her coat, but paused at the door and called to her mother. "If Helen comes before I get back, tell her I'll be along soon."

Janet enjoyed the walk to the Times office for the air was invigorating.

The Times was housed in a narrow two-story building with its press in the basement. The news department was on the second floor with the city editor's desk in front of a large window where he could look the full length of the main business street of Clarion.

Pete Benda, thin and too white-faced for his own good health, saw Janet come in.

"Here's a desk and typewriter you can use," he said. "I'm counting on having that story in less than an hour. You'll have to come through, young lady."

Janet flushed at Pete's appellation, for the city editor of the Times was only a little older than she. Oh well, perhaps Pete was twenty-two, but she could remember when he had been in high school, playing football, and one of the best ends in the state.

Janet rolled some copy paper into the typewriter and looked rather blankly at the sheet. It was hard now to concentrate on the events which had been so tragically real the night before. If she could only get the first sentence to click the rest would come easily. She tried one phrase. That wouldn't do; not enough action in it. Ripping the sheet of paper from the typewriter, she inserted another and tried again. This was better. Perhaps it would do; at least she had started, and the words came now in a smooth flow for Janet could type rapidly, thanks to a commercial course in her junior year.

Pete Benda, on his way to the composing room, looked over her shoulder and read the first paragraph but Janet, now engrossed in the story, hardly noticed him. Pursing his lips in a low whistle, a trick that he did when pleased, Pete went on about his work.

Janet finished one page and then another. Even a third materialized under the steady tapping of her fingers on the keyboard. Then she was through. Three pages of copy, three pages of short, sharp sentences, of adjectives that caught and held the imagination, that gave a picture of the cold and the apprehension of those in the bus, of the relief, almost hysterical, when rescue came.

Janet didn't read it over. It was the best she could do. If Pete wanted to change it that was all right with her. She put the three sheets of copy paper together and placed them on his desk. Then she slipped into her coat and went down stairs. She had finished the story well within the limit set by the city editor and she turned toward home and the rehearsal she and Helen had planned for the afternoon.

_Chapter IX_
BIG NEWS

Janet had gone less than half a block when she heard someone calling to her. Looking back she saw Pete Benda leaning from an upper window of the Times office. He was waving Janet's story in his hand.

"Great story, Janet," he shouted. "I'll send you a box of candy. Thanks a lot."

Janet smiled and waved at Pete. It was just like the impetuous city editor to lean out his window and shout his thoughts at the top of his voice to someone down the street. But she was glad to know that the story met Pete's approval. But as for the candy. Well Pete was always making promises like that. If he had kept them all he would have needed a private candy factory.

Helen was waiting when Janet reached home and she waved a letter at her friend.

"It's from Dad," she cried. "He says he's about through on the picture he's making at present and will be home without fail for my graduation. Wants me to send him the dates of the play, of the banquet and of everything. Also wants your Dad to make sure the fishing will be good and to line up a good plot where he can find plenty of worms."

"That's splendid news. I'm so happy," said Janet, who knew how much Helen missed her father's companionship at times, for when he was in Clarion they were almost inseparable. But Janet realized that Mr. Thorne was exceedingly smart in keeping Helen in Clarion rather than taking her west with him to the movie city where she would be subject to all of the tensions and nervous activity there. Here in Clarion she was growing up in entirely normal surroundings where she would have a sane and sensible outlook on life and its values.

"I phoned your Dad, and he says he'll have to start hunting good creeks just as soon as the snow's off."

"That kind of puts Dad on the spot, for he's got to deliver on the worms and the fishing," smiled Janet.

"Oh, well, Dad doesn't care so much about getting any fish. He just likes to get out and loaf on a sunny creek bank and either talk with your Dad or doze. He calls that a real holiday."

Janet went upstairs and got the mimeographed sheets with the synopsis of the play and the part she was to try out for. After the drama of last night, that of "The Chinese Image" seemed shallow and forced.

The rôle of Abbie Naughton, who was more than a little light-headed and fun loving until a crisis came along, was comparatively easy for it called for little actual acting ability and Janet was frank enough to admit that she was no actress.

Helen, trying for the straight lead, carried by Gale Naughton, had always liked to think that she had real dramatic talent and Janet was willing to admit that her companion had more than average ability. At least Helen was pretty enough to carry the rôle off whether she had any dramatic ability or not.

Coaching each other, they gave their own interpretations of the parts which they were trying for. An hour and then another slipped away. The brightness faded from the afternoon and Janet turned on a reading light.

"I think we've done all we can for one day. If we keep on we'll go stale. Let's forget the tryouts for a while."

"You can," retorted Helen, "but I've simply got to win that part. What would Dad think of me if I didn't?"

"I don't believe he'd think any the less of you," smiled Janet, "but I'll admit it would be nice for you to win the leading rôle and I'll do everything I can to help you."

"Of course, I know you will. It was awfully small of me to say that."

The doorbell rang and Janet answered it. A boy handed her a package.

"It's for Miss Hardy. She live here?"

"I'm Janet Hardy."

"Okay. I just wanted to be sure this was the right place."

"This looks interesting," said Janet, returning to the living room with the large box. Her mother, who had heard the doorbell, joined them.

Janet tore off the wrapping, opened the cardboard outer box, and pulled out a two pound box of assorted chocolates. On top of the box was a clipping torn from the front page of the Times.

Janet stared hard at the clipping, hardly believing her eyes. There was her story with her name signed to it.

"Why Janet, your name is on this front page story!" exclaimed her mother.

"What's all the mystery?" demanded Helen, and Janet explained, rather quickly, about her summons to the Times office.

"Pete Benda said he liked the story and was going to send me a box of candy, but I thought he was joking. You know he's always telling people he's going to send them candy."

"This is no joke," said Helen as Janet opened the box and offered candy to her mother and to Helen. "In fact, I'd like a joke like this about once a week."

"Yes, but I wouldn't like an experience like we had once a week," retorted Janet.

Helen's mother phoned that they were having an early supper and Helen picked up the tryout sheets, put her coat over her shoulders, and started for home.

"If I disappear, it's just that I've been swept away in the flood," she called as she hurried out.

Janet looked after her. Helen wasn't far from wrong. With the rapidly rising temperature, the afternoon sun had covered the sidewalks and filled the street with rushing torrents of water. Another day and there would be no sign of the storm of the night before.

Mrs. Hardy called and Janet went into the kitchen to help her mother with the preparations for the evening meal.

"I heard you rehearsing this afternoon," said her mother, "and I wouldn't set my heart too much on winning one of those parts."

"I won't," promised Janet. "Of course I'd like to be in the senior play, but I won't be heart-broken if I don't win a part."

"Perhaps I was thinking more about Helen than you," confessed Mrs. Hardy. "She's so much in earnest that failure would upset her greatly."

"I know it, but I can understand why Helen wants a part and I'm afraid I'd be just as intent if my father were the ace director for a great motion picture company. I suppose I'd think that I should have dramatic ability to be a success in his eyes."

"That's just it," said Mrs. Hardy. "Helen doesn't need to get a part in the play. When he comes home, he likes nothing better than being with his wife and Helen. You know he never goes any place."

"Except fishing with Dad."

"Oh, pshaw. They don't fish. They dig a few worms and take their old fishpoles along some creek that never did have any fish. It just gets them outdoors and away from people who might want to bother Henry Thorne."

"Well, no matter, Helen has set her heart on winning the leading rôle and I'm going to do everything in my power to help her along."

_Chapter X_
VICTORY FOR HELEN

The rest of the week slipped away quickly. The harrowing experience in Little Deer valley became a memory and the seniors concentrated upon winning rôles in the class play.

By Saturday morning the snow had vanished, the temperature was above freezing and the grass was starting to turn green--such are the miracles of the early spring.

Janet and Helen rehearsed their tryout parts so many times that Janet found herself mumbling her lines in her sleep.

Most of the seniors assembled promptly at 9:30 o'clock that morning for the tryouts. A few of them, feeling that they had no chance, did not come, but Janet noticed that Margie and Cora were well to the front of the room where Miss Williams would be sure to see them.

"I want you to do your best this morning for on your work now depends whether you will have a place in the play," she warned them, and Janet felt a little twinge. School was near an end and the senior play was her last chance. Of course it wasn't as important to her as it was to Helen, but it would be nice to have the part of Abbie, for Abbie was such a delightfully irresponsible character.

Miss Williams called for tryouts for minor rôles first and Helen sent an anxious glance toward Janet and nodded toward the hall.

They slipped out of the assembly quietly and Helen voiced her fears.

"Perhaps I'd better try for one of these minor parts as well as for the lead. Then if I don't get to play Gale Naughton, I may win another rôle."

"I wouldn't," counseled Janet. "Concentrate on the main part. I think you'll make it all right."

"I wish I had your confidence."

"I'm not confident about winning a part myself, but I'm sure you will," replied Janet. "Let's go back and watch the tryouts."

"Perhaps I ought to go over my lines again?"

"Nonsense. You can even speak them backwards. If you work on them any more you may do that, which would be fatal. Let's see the mistakes of the others and then we'll know we aren't the world's worst actresses."

Miss Williams was conscientious. She wanted every boy and girl who felt he had a chance to have the utmost opportunity and she worked with them carefully. At noon she was fairly well down the cast, but the four major rôles remained, two for the boys and two for the girls, including the parts of Gale and Abbie Naughton which Helen and Janet sought.

"We've been at this long enough," announced Miss Williams as the noon whistles sounded down town. "Everyone take a rest, have lunch, and be back here at one o'clock. Then we'll go on until we finish. For those who have been assigned parts, the first rehearsal will be Monday night at 7:15 o'clock. I'll expect you to have your first act lines memorized."

The group broke up, some of them going home to have lunch and others stopping at the luncheonette of a nearby drug store. Janet and Helen were among this group, which included Cora and Margie. The latter, seated with two companions, appeared confident that they would win the leading rôles, but Janet overheard a spiteful remark by Cora.

"Of course, I haven't the pull Helen has, for her father's a famous director," she said, and Janet saw Helen's face flush.

"That's isn't fair," said Helen. "You know Dad wouldn't use any influence to get a part for me."

"So does Cora. She's saying that just to be mean."

When they reassembled it was a small group, Jim Barron, Ed Rickey and two other boys who were trying for the male leads, Cora, Margie, Helen, Janet and Miss Williams.

The instructor worked with the boys first and it was evident that Jim and Ed were to have the major parts. In less than half an hour they were assigned, Ed getting the lead and Jim the second rôle. If Janet won the part of Abbie, Jim would be playing opposite her. That would be fun, for Jim was wholesome and pleasant.

After the boys had departed, Miss Williams turned to the girls.

"Now we're down to the two major parts, for the play hinges on the characters of Gale and Abbie." She looked at the four hopeful, anxious faces.

"I want Cora and Margie first. Take your places and give me an interpretation of the action you think should go with the lines you have memorized."

Cora, dark-eyed and confident, stepped to the platform. Margie, a wispy, blonde girl, followed. Both girls used excellent diction, spoke clearly and with feeling, but somehow Cora's work lacked a convincing touch. Perhaps she was trying too hard and Janet felt her spirits rising.

Helen should walk away with the rôle unless she got scared when she stepped on the platform. But Janet was more than a little concerned about Margie. The blonde senior was doing an excellent job, putting just the right amount of enthusiasm into the rôle. There was nothing forced. Every word and gesture seemed spontaneous and lines that had sounded silly in their own rehearsals were very logical and convincing when they came tumbling from Margie's lips.

Janet smiled grimly. Of course she wanted the part, but even more, she wanted Helen to win the rôle of Gale.

Cora and Margie finished the part Miss Williams had assigned, and looked anxiously toward the dramatics teacher.

"That was very nicely done," said Miss Williams. "Janet and Helen next and put plenty of feeling into your interpretations."

From the platform Janet could look down on Cora and Margie. There was a thin sneer on Cora's lips and Janet felt Helen, standing close beside her, tremble.

"Ready?" she asked. Helen nodded.

Janet's lines opened their brief tryout rôles. She spoke them clearly, but somehow the spark needed to add vigor and brilliance was lacking. She was thinking too much about Helen.

The lines and action snapped to Helen and she picked them up instantly. Janet thrilled. Helen had forgotten Cora and Margie. She had forgotten even Miss Williams. She was living her part. She was Gale Naughton, the dark, lovely heroine of "The Chinese Image." The lines came smoothly and without effort.

Then they were through, a little breathless, their hearts beating rapidly. Janet was the first to turn toward Miss Williams and before the instructor spoke, she knew Helen had made a deep impression with her interpretation of Gale.

"Splendid. I liked that very much," said Miss Williams, who was not given to compliments. "If you'll be good enough to wait a few minutes, I'll be back."

"Will you announce the winners then?" asked Cora, her dark cheeks flushed with excitement and her brown eyes glowing.

"Yes," promised Miss Williams, hurrying from the room.

"Why do you suppose she left to make her tabulations?" asked Helen, her voice low.

"Probably didn't want us to know just how she rated us. She's got a percentage system all her own she uses in casting parts. It won't be long now," said Janet.

"The sooner the better. I'm all fluttery inside."

"Maybe you think Cora and Margie aren't. They can't even sit still."

Which was true. Cora and Margie were walking restlessly up and down the far side of the assembly, looking anxiously toward the double doorway through which Miss Williams would return.

Five minutes slipped away. Then another five and it stretched out into fifteen minutes before the quick footsteps of the dramatics instructor could be heard in the hallway. Involuntarily Cora and Margie joined Janet and Helen at the front of the large assembly room.

Miss Williams came in briskly, a slip of paper in her right hand, and Janet, who was nearest, saw two names written on the slip.

"Sorry I kept you so long, but I'm trying to be very fair in making the final selections," explained Miss Williams.

"Go on, go on," burst out Cora. "Who won?"

Miss Williams frowned.

"Well, I'm sorry, Cora."

The dark-haired senior interrupted her sharply.

"You mean I didn't win?"

"I mean that Helen gave a more convincing interpretation of the part. She gets the leading rôle."

Cora's eyes flashed.

"I might have known that. Too bad I don't have a father with some influence."

Cora picked up her coat. "Come on, Margie. We've just wasted our time."

"I'd stay if I were you, Margie," said Miss Williams. "What I have to say should interest you."

And in those words Janet knew the decision. Helen had the lead and Margie was to get the second rôle. She was out, but at least she could take it without creating a scene like Cora.

_Chapter XI_
A FAMOUS DIRECTOR ARRIVES

Miss Williams looked at the three girls remaining and she spoke slowly, choosing her words with care.

"I regret that Cora took that attitude," she said, "for there was no influence used in my selection of Helen for the lead. She was much better in the tryout than Cora."

Then the instructor turned to Margie.

"You did a nice bit as Abbie," she went on, "and I want you to take that rôle. Janet was practically as good as you were on the lines, but you seem a little more like the character. You're thinner and you flutter around more than Janet, and Abbie is a very fluttery sort of a person."

Margie grinned. "In other words, Abbie is a dizzy sort of a gal and I'm that type."

"Call it that if you want to," smiled Miss Williams. "Do you want the part?"

"And how!"

"Very well. I will expect you and Helen to have your lines for the first act well in hand by Monday night."

Miss Williams, followed by Margie, left the room and Helen turned to face Janet.

"I'm sorry it turned out this way. I'd rather you had won a part."

"I'm not," said Janet, and she said it honestly, for a part in the senior play had meant so much more to Helen. She knew she had done her best, but she had to admit that after all Margie was better suited to the rôle than she.

The air softened. April came and went, and the senior play neared its final rehearsals. Miss Williams drove the cast without mercy for on the success of the play would depend her own opportunity for advancement.

Helen, working every spare moment, became tired and irritable.

"I'll be glad when it's all over," she said. "I never dreamed it would be so hard."

"You'll be well repaid when the play is given," said Janet, who had been assigned to the stage crew. In this capacity she attended almost every rehearsal and she couldn't help watching Margie go through the lines of Abbie. It was a delightful part, easy to handle, and so breezy and irresponsible.

Costuming took several nights, for Miss Williams was meticulous. Then came the dress rehearsals, the first on Monday night. The play would be given Friday. On the following week came the junior-senior banquet and then graduation and the end of school days.

Janet, watching the play in rehearsal each night, came to know the lines of almost everyone in the cast for the lighting of the show was in her charge. It was up to her to get just the right amount of amber in the afternoon scene and just the right amount of blue to simulate moonlight for the evening scene from the rather antiquated banks of lights on each side of the stage.

Brief letters and a telegram or two had come from Helen's father, assuring her that he would arrive in ample time for the presentation of "The Chinese Image." Janet's father had found a small plot at the rear of their own large lot which yielded an ample supply of worms at almost every spadeful and Indian creek, two miles north of Clarion, was said to abound with bullheads that spring.

On Wednesday night, after a long and tiring rehearsal, Janet and Helen walked home through the soft moonlight of the late May evening.

"I haven't heard from Dad today. He was going to wire what train he would arrive on. It looks like he won't be in until the morning of the play."

"That will be plenty of time. He can stay on longer after the play's over," said Janet.

"It won't be plenty of time if he has to do any more retakes on his last picture. His letters have sounded awfully tired."

"Let's walk on down to Whet's for an ice cream soda. The walk will do both of us good and the soda will be refreshing," said Janet.

Helen agreed and they walked leisurely, breathing deeply of the flower-scented air; for it was a perfect evening. From far away came the rumble of heavy trucks on a through street, but on their own there was an air of peace and contentment.

"Dad will like this when he finally gets here. He always seems to throw off his cares when he's back home."

"Which is why he anticipates coming home so much," added Janet.

"But it can't go on this way forever. He needs mother and I'll be going away to school next fall."

"I wouldn't worry about that until after graduation. There'll be plenty of time to discuss those matters then." Janet felt somewhat like a very fatherly old man giving advice to a very young girl and she smiled to herself.

At the neighborhood drug store they dawdled over their sodas, thoroughly relaxing after the strenuous hours of rehearsal. On the way home they again walked leisurely, discussing little things about the play that appealed to them.

Helen's mother, waiting on the porch, called to them the moment they came in sight.

"Hurry up, Helen. I've a telegram from your father."

Helen ran across the lawn with Janet close behind.

"He's coming, isn't he, mother?" And to Janet there was something pitiful in Helen's extreme anxiety for she was so desperately intent upon having her father see her in the leading rôle in the class play.

"He's coming tonight, dear. He wired saying that he would be on the transcontinental plane which stops at Rubio at midnight. Janet's father and mother are going to drive us over. You girls had better clean up a bit. We're leaving right away."

"I'm so happy," said Helen. "I was afraid it was a message saying he wouldn't be able to come."

Janet hurried on home. Her father had the large sedan out in the driveway and her mother was bustling about the kitchen, making stacks of thin sandwiches.

"Why the sandwiches?" asked Janet.

"I've never known the time when Henry Thorne wasn't hungry. He's been that way ever since he was a little boy and his wife is too excited to think about that. We'll have them all over for lunch after we get home."

"But it will be late. Way after one o'clock and Helen ought to be in bed. She has been keeping terrific hours with the rehearsals."

"It won't do her a bit of harm this time. Being with her father will do her more good than anything else. Wrap these sandwiches up and put them in the breadbox so they'll keep good and moist. Then slice some lemon for the ice tea and put the slices back in the ice box. We'll stop and get some ice cream on our way in to town."

They hurried around the kitchen until Janet's mother noticed the disarray of her daughter.

"For land's sake, Janet, you're a sight. Working with the scenery and lights again at school? Well, hurry upstairs and clean up. Then slip into that pale green print that makes your hair look golden. We'll be ready in five minutes."

Janet forgot her fatigue and raced upstairs, splashed water on her flushed cheeks, followed that with a few hasty dabs of a powder puff to take the shine off her skin, and then went to her own room where she put on fresh, sheer hose and the green print that was so becoming.

Her hair, with its natural curl, needed only a quick brushing to bring out the highlights.

Down in the driveway her father pushed the horn button and her mother called.

"We're ready, Janet."

But so was Janet and she hastened downstairs and joined them. The sedan was one of those extra-broad stream-lined cars with room for three in the front seat.

"You and Helen can sit up front with me while your mother and Mrs. Thorne are in the back seat," said her father. "Coming back we'll put the Thornes in the back where they can visit to their heart's content."

The car rolled down the drive and her father turned and stopped the large, low machine in front of the Thorne home. Half a dozen lights were turned on downstairs and the house fairly glowed with light.

Helen and her mother came down the walk, Helen in a pink, fluffy creation that set off her dark coloring to its best effect.

"You're pretty enough to look like a would-be movie star trying to make an impression upon a famous director," whispered Janet.

"Maybe I am," smiled Helen as she slipped into the front seat.

"Everybody ready?" inquired Janet's father. "I don't want to get half way to Rubio and have one of you women remember that you've left something important at home."

"You do the driving and we'll worry about what's been left at home," replied Mrs. Hardy with a chuckle.

The big machine rolled away smoothly and when they turned onto the main state road to Rubio, John Hardy stepped on the accelerator and they fairly flew down the straight, white ribbon which unrolled before their blazing lights.

The speedometer climbed steadily, fifty, sixty and then seventy miles an hour, and the needle hung there except when they swung around one of the broad, well-banked curves. Then it dropped to fifty.

The rush of cool air was refreshing and Janet and Helen sank back in the broad, comfortable seat.

When the lights of Rubio glowed ahead Helen spoke.

"It hardly seems possible that Dad will be here in a few minutes. It's been months since I've seen him."

"Then you'll enjoy seeing him all the more. What fun you're going to have the next few days."

"I hope it will be several weeks for I think Dad needs a good rest. He's done three big pictures in the last year."

They rolled through Rubio to the airport, which was just beyond the city limits. The clock over the hangar pointed to 11:50 and Janet's father guided the sedan to a stop in the parking area behind the steel fence.

"I'll find out if the plane's on time," he said, and went over to the office.

Janet thought she could hear the faint, faraway beat of an airplane, but the noise of another car turning into the parking space drowned it out.

"Come on folks. The plane will be here in a minute," called Mr. Hardy.

They hurried out of the car and followed John Hardy through the gate and onto the ramp. In the west were the red and green lights of an incoming plane.

Suddenly the field burst into a flood of blue-white brilliance as a great searchlight came on. Like a ghost, the huge, twin-motored plane glided down its invisible path and settled easily onto a runway, little clouds of dust coming up from the crushed rock as the machine touched the ground.

With its motors roaring a lusty song of power, the monoplane waddled toward the concrete ramp. The pilot swung it smartly about and the ground crew blocked the wheels and rushed the landing stage up to the cabin door as the pilot cut the motors. The propellers ceased whirling just as the stewardess opened the door.

"There's Dad!" cried Helen and she ran toward the plane with Janet at her heels.

_Chapter XII_
ON THE STAGE

Henry Thorne was the first passenger to alight from the east-bound plane. Tall, well-built, with a close-clipped mustache and iron gray hair that curled a bit around his temples, he was a man's man.

Helen threw her arms around her father and he gave her a tremendous hug.

"Golly, I'm glad to see you, hon," he said. "Where's mother?"

"She's coming. She couldn't run as fast as I," explained Helen, breathless with excitement.

Mrs. Thorne, her face flushed with happiness over her husband's coming arrived and they embraced affectionately.

Then Mr. Thorne saw John Hardy and Janet and her mother.

"Say, this is great of you to come over. I feel like a visiting celebrity, or something."

"You're very much a celebrity," smiled Janet.

"Not to you," he replied. "Well, let's start home. I've only this light traveling bag."

"Does that mean you won't be able to stay long?" asked Helen anxiously.

"I should say it doesn't. I can live for six months out of a traveling bag. Oh, of course, I wouldn't look like Beau Brummell, but I'd be acceptable in average circles."

The Thornes occupied the back seat and Janet and her mother sat in front. The big car purred smoothly and Janet's father sent it humming away on the trip back to Clarion.