This fixing up was almost as hateful to Shirley as was the abominable dusting, but she kept her temper-the lesson seemed profitable already.

Jane was arranging the disordered hair, and as she attempted to stroke it with a wet brush Shirley put up a detaining hand.

“Please don’t wet it,” she begged in a whisper, and Jane stopped short with her brush raised for action.

“Not wet it?” she thought quickly.  “That must mean treatment, and treatment meant the forbidden beauty shop!”

This girl had been visiting that shop.  More danger ahead, decided Jane, as she lay down the brush and proceeded to finish the dressing dry.

Judith had overheard the request and pinched Jane’s arm to admit it, but a loud demand for the freshman from the group rounding up candidates saved further delay and when Shirley left Dozia’s room the latter patted her affectionately.

“Don’t worry, dear,” said Dozia, “I’ll be careful not to raise too much dust next week.”

But her sentence was not the most serious thing in prospect for the rebel Shirley Duncan.  Not even the good times prepared for the candidates served to allay the dread she struggled against, and only her natural delight in the rollicking fun, and the really fine spread served them by the juniors, helped bring the girl back to a happy frame of mind.

Woe unto the freshie who shows ill will at an initiation!

She may be obliged to walk in the gutter for the full first half year, or wear a baby blue ribbon under her chin!

But Shirley had heeded the warnings.

CHAPTER VII

A QUEER MIX-UP

“Jane, the girls are frightened to death.  Can you imagine ghost stories having that effect in this staid, solid, absolutely reliable old college?” asked Maud Leslie.

“It is absurd,” admitted Jane, “but Maudie, all students are not scientifically inclined as you are.  What about the ghost?  Who is he and who saw him?”

“He is the usually uncanny weird noise, nothing even original about him.  One would expect more of a college ghost.  And just as trite and commonplace is the fact that these nocturnal howls come at safe hours when we cannot be expected to go through a fire or panic drill.  I call the whole thing disgusting.”

“So do I,” assented Jane.  “But don’t worry, Maud.  If there is one line of action I like better than another it is that of laying ghosts.  Whizz, whack, bang!  I’ll make the bones rattle if they come my way.”

Jane was punching a bag in the gym when Maud unfolded the story of the ghost scare.  It was not really news, for Wellington had been buzzing the spirit’s ears for days and not until some of the younger students appealed to the older girls did Jane and other juniors give heed to the fear epidemic.

“I’m glad you’re still a junior, Jane,” commented Maud, taking breath after vaulting a horse or two.  “We should never dare to bring such trivial troubles to you were you a senior.”