The old saying: “There’s many a true word spoken in jest” seemed on the way to be proven so far as Doris Monroe and Leslie Cairns were concerned. Leila’s satirical opinion of the “fine time” the two might spend together because of their common lack of courtesy was on the way to come to pass. Leslie had decided in the moment when her car passed the taxicab holding Doris that she wished to meet “Blondie,” as she mentally named the other girl.
Leslie’s wish became her law whenever she could encompass it. She turned the white roadster about as soon as she could and sent it speeding in the direction taken by the station taxicab. She caught sight of the dark blue taxi as she whizzed around a curve with reckless speed. That the road chanced to be clear was her good fortune. She smiled to herself, muttering: “No more of that kind of business. I’ll be apt to let myself in for trouble. But I had to pick up that taxi.”
With the blue taxicab now in sight and her car close behind it Leslie began to speculate on Doris’ destination. “I’ll say she’s bound for eats; either at the Lotus, or the Ivy.”
“The Ivy it is?” she surmised triumphantly as the taxicab continued on down Herndon Avenue and up Linden Avenue. “I’ll watch her into the Ivy; then I think I’ll stroll in there, too. My guess—she’s on the campus, stuffing for her entrance exams. She’s certainly not visiting Remson or any other of the campus aggregation of frumps. I think it’s my duty to get acquainted with Blondie.”
A satiric smile still lingered at the comers of Leslie Cairn’s unlovely mouth as she entered the Ivy in her careless, near-slouching manner. The irregular plainness of her features was more pronounced than usual by reason of the stunning afternoon frock she wore of expensive creamy buff material. Unlike the severe style of sports clothes she affected it had the feminine lure of soft folds and exquisite creamy buff Persian embroidery. Her full white throat rose gracefully from the round open neck. The very short sleeves would have shown a pair of well-rounded arms had she not worn long gloves to match her gown. Her French-heeled slippers of the same material as her gown and the silk embroidered hosiery of palest buff completed her “foolish rig” as she slangily dubbed it. She was without a hat and her hair had been waved and artistically dressed.