“It’s mink,” Betty informed him with superiority.  “Isn’t it beautiful?  I wanted a set, but Uncle Dick said mink was too old for me.  He did say, though, that I can have a neckpiece made from that fox skin Ki gave me.”

“Don’t see why you want to tie yourself up like an Eskimo,” grumbled Bob.  “Well, we seem to be headed toward the door marked ‘Education,’ don’t we, Betsey?”

They exchanged a smile of understanding.

Bob was passionately eager for what he called “regular schooling,” that is the steady discipline of fixed lessons, the companionship of boys of his own age, and the give and take of the average large, busy school.  Normal life of any kind was out of the question in the poorhouse where he had spent the first ten years of his life, and after that he had not seen the inside of a schoolroom.  He had read whatever books he could pick up while at Bramble Farm, and in the knowledge of current events was remarkably well-posted, thanks to his steady assimilation of newspapers and magazines since leaving the Peabody roof.  But he feared, and with some foundation, that he might be found deplorably lacking in the most rudimentary branches.

Betty, of course, had gone to school regularly until her mother’s death.  In the year that had elapsed she had thought little of lessons, and though she did not realize it, she had lost to a great extent the power of application.  Systematic study of any kind might easily prove a hardship for the active Betty.  Still she was eager to study again, perhaps prepare for college.  More than anything else she craved girl friends.

“Let’s go in for lunch at the first call,” suggested Betty presently.  “I didn’t eat much breakfast, and I don’t believe you did either.”

“I swallowed a cup of boiling coffee,” admitted Bob, “but that’s all I remember.  So I’m ready when you are.”

Seated at a table well toward the center of the car, Betty’s attention was attracted to a girl who sat facing her.  She was not a pretty girl.  She looked discontented and peevish, and the manner in which she addressed the waiter indicated that she felt under no obligation to disguise her feelings.

“Take that back,” she ordered, pointing a beautifully manicured hand at a dish just placed before her.  “If you can’t bring me a poached egg that isn’t raw, don’t bother at all.  And I hope you don’t intend to call this cream?”

Bob glanced swiftly over at the table.  The girl consciously tucked back a lock of stringy hair, displaying the flash of several diamonds.

“Sweet disposition, hasn’t she?” muttered Bob under his breath.  “I’d like to see her board just one week with Mr. Peabody.”

“Don’t—­she’ll hear you,” protested Betty.  “I wonder if she is all alone?  What lovely clothes she has!  And did you see her rings?”

“Well, she’ll need ’em, if she’s going to snap at everybody,” said Bob severely.  “Diamonds help out a cross tongue when a poor waiter is thinking of his tip.”