"Judy," she said, "will you please settle down to work this instant? You know you have to write your theme and get it in by to-morrow noon, and you haven't touched it so far."
Nance was already deep in her English. Molly turned her face to the wall and sighed.
"I can't do it," she whispered to herself; "I simply cannot do it." But what she referred to only she herself knew.
In the meantime Judy chewed the end of her pencil and looked absently at her friend's back. Presently she gave the pad on her lap an impatient toss in one direction and the pencil in another, and flung herself on the foot of Molly's couch.
"Don't scold me, Molly. I never compose, except under inspiration, and inspiration doesn't seem to be on very good terms with me just now. She hasn't visited me in an age."
"Nonsense! You know perfectly well you can write that theme if you set your mind to it, Judy Kean. You are just too lazy. You haven't even chosen a subject, I'll wager anything."
"Why don't you write a short story? You have plenty of material with all your travel----"
"I know what I'll write," Judy interrupted her excitedly, "The Motives of Crime."
"How absurd," objected Molly. "Besides, don't you think that's a little personal just now, when the whole school is talking about the wire-cutter?"
"Not at all. We are all trying to run down the criminal, anyhow. I shall take the five great motives which lead to crime: anger, jealousy, hatred, envy and greed. It will make an interesting discourse. You'll see if it doesn't."
"The idea of your writing on such a subject," laughed Molly. "You're not a criminal lawyer or a prosecuting attorney."
"I admit it," answered Judy, "and I suppose Lawyer Margaret Wakefield ought to be the one to handle the subject. But, nevertheless, I am fired with inspiration, and I intend to write it myself. I shall not see you again until the deed is done, if it takes all night. By the way, lend me some coffee, will you? I'm all out, and I always make some on the samovar for keeping-awake purposes when I'm going to work at night."
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Judy," sighed Molly, as the incorrigible girl sailed out of the room, a jar of coffee under one arm and her writing pad under the other.