From a walnut chest of drawers which stood beside the wardrobe Janet drew woolen socks for it was an 18-mile ride to Youde’s and they probably wouldn’t be home until late.
Janet dressed sensibly, woolen hose, heavy tweed skirt, a blue, shaggy wool sweater and her tweed coat. The crimson beret would be warm enough.
She glanced at the clock. She had spent more time than she had anticipated, it was after 4:30 and Whet’s drug store where they were to meet the bus was a good six blocks away.
Janet hurried downstairs.
“I’ve a cup of tea and some cookies all ready,” her mother called.
It would be after six o’clock before they ate and Janet drank the tea with relish. The cookies, crisp and filled with raisins, were delicious and she put several in the pockets of her coat.
“I put your old fur coat in the hall,” said Mrs. Hardy. “Your scarf’s there, too.”
“Thanks mother. I’m certainly going to be too warm.”
Her mother went to the window. It was nearly dark and the snow still swirled down in dry, feathery clouds.
“I almost wish you weren’t going,” she said, “but there doesn’t seem to be any wind.”
“Oh, we’ll be all right, mother. The bus is large and if the weather should get bad we could stay at Youde’s until it clears. Remember Miss Bruder is chaperon and she’s extremely sensible.”
“She needs to be with your crowd on her hands,” smiled her mother, following Janet into the hall.
Janet slipped into her old coat. It wasn’t much to look at but it was warm and serviceable, one of those bunglesome coonskins that were so popular with college students at one time. She twisted her scarf around her neck, gave her mother a quick hug and kiss, and strode out of the house.
Janet kicked along through the dry snow, walking rapidly until she reached Helen Thorne’s home. There were no lights in the southeast room and Janet knew that Helen must be dressed for that was Helen’s room.
She whistled sharply, a long and a short, that penetrated the quick of the twilight.
The porch light flashed on and Helen, sticking her head out, yelled, “I’m coming.”
Helen hurried down the walk, wriggling into a suede jacket.
“Think that will be warm enough?” asked Janet, who felt very much bundled up in her coonskin.
“I’ve got my corduroy jacket underneath and a sweater under that. I’m practically sealed up against the cold, but I’ll run back and get my old coonskin.”
They swung along rapidly toward Whet’s scuffing through the dry snow.
“I like this,” said Helen, breathing deeply. “The snow’s grand and it isn’t too cold. Wonder if they’ll have any heat at Youde’s?”
“Oh, the dining room will be warm, but there’s only a fireplace out in the room where we skate. Wraps will probably feel good there until we get well warmed up from skating.”
Out of the haze ahead emerged the blob of light that marked the neighborhood drug store. As they approached they could see two or three standing near the front door of the store.
Ed Rickey, captain of the football team, jerked open the door.
“Greetings, wanderers of the storm. Enter and be of good cheer.”
They stamped the snow off their boots and stepped inside. Cora Dean and Margie Blake were there. Boon companions, they were seldom apart.
“Hello,” said Margie, but there was no warmth in the greeting.
“Hello,” replied Janet.
“You must think you’re going to the north pole,” put in Cora, as she looked Janet and Helen over coolly.
“Well, not quite that far, but we believe in being sensible and warm,” replied Helen, and Cora’s face flamed, for both she and Margie, always trying to make an impression, were dressed in fashionable riding breeches of serge. They were pleasing to look at, but hardly the thing for comfort on a night when the temperature might drop almost to zero. Instead of coats they wore zipper sweaters of angora wool. Their boots were fashionable, but light, and would be of little use in withstanding any severe cold.
“Here comes the bus,” said Ed Rickey, who was bundled up in nondescript clothes.
“All out that’s going to Youde’s,” he bellowed, imitating a train caller.
The bus ground to a stop in front of the store and the girls followed Ed across the curb. Jim Barron opened the door. The windows of the bus were heavily frosted for a heater was going full blast but the driver, a middle aged man, had a windshield wiper cutting a swath through the frost that formed on the glass in front of him.
Miss Bruder spoke as they came in.
“Everyone’s here,” announced Jim. “Find your seats. Next stop at Youde’s.”
There was plenty of room in the bus for the vehicle had a capacity of thirty and there were only eighteen in addition to the driver. Most of them found seats well to the fore where they could feel the blast of warm air from the heater.
Clarion was a sprawling city of 19,000, but in less than ten minutes they had left the street lights behind and were rolling along a smoothly paved highway.
It was impossible to see out for the windows were frosted solid, but it was a merry crowd nevertheless. Ed Rickey, who had a fine bass voice, started in with a school song and the others soon joined him.
Six miles outside Clarion they turned off the main road and swung over toward the hills which flanked the Wapsie river for it was along the banks of the Wapsie that Youde’s Inn was located.
Their progress was slowed here for the road had not been cleared by a snowplow. But the snow was less than five inches deep and the powerful bus forged ahead steadily.
Almost before they knew it they were over the last hill and dropping down into the river valley. As the bus turned into the inn, floodlights in the yard were snapped on. A dog, barking eagerly, leaped forward to greet them.
Ed and Jim were out of the bus first, assisting the others down. With Miss Bruder in the lead, they trooped toward the rambling, one story inn.
Eli Youde, a coonskin cap on his head, was at the door. Behind him stood his wife, a buxom, motherly soul of forty-five.
“Supper’s on the table now,” said Mrs. Youde as she greeted them. “The girls can take off their things in the room at the right; the boys go to the left.”
There were nine boys and eight girls in the honors English class, but with Miss Bruder it made an even number and she was so young and full of fun that she always seemed like one of them.
Cora and Margie stopped before an old fashioned dresser to powder their noses and pat their hair into shape, but at a skating party these things were irrelevant to Janet and Helen and they hastened out to join the group in the dining room.
One long table had been set. There were no place cards and the first to arrive took the choice seats, which were near a glowing soft-coal burner.
Mrs. Youde, assisted by her husband, brought in steaming bowls of oyster stew. Three large bowls of crisp, white crackers were on the table, but huge inroads in them were soon made. Conversation died away as the stew was ladled down hungry throats.
Before the bowls of stew had vanished, Mrs. Youde brought in two heaping platters of thick sandwiches. Janet found at least three varieties and was afraid to ask Helen how many she discovered.
“This is ruining my weight, but I’m having a fine time,” said Janet between bites and Helen nodded.
After the sandwiches came pumpkin pie, great thick wedges