eyes were red, and she did not want to take this tell-tale sign back where others could see it.
She was in one of the rear corridors, between a window and the foot of a side stairway. Two boys began to descend the stairs. She walked to the window, turned her back, and looked outdoors as though absorbed in something she saw. But the first words caught her attention.
"Perry King!" came a voice. "He's nothing but a bag of wind. Likes to hear himself talk."
"I don't think you've got him sized up right," came an answer.
"I didn't know you were in love with him. You wanted to beat him up after that dressing down he gave you in the Safety Committee room."
"Well, I've changed my mind about that. He came to me that same day and began to urge me to consider Praska for President of the Congress. 'You've got a fine nerve,' I told him, 'to ask favors from me after what you said to me to-day.' He came right back at me. 'What do you want me to be,' he asked, 'a trimmer or a Northfield fellow?' There's a whole lot in that. If he had wanted to trim he could have made a lot of votes for Praska; and I'll bet a gold mine he's lost Praska votes by the way he's bawled out fellows. But that's Perry. He's for the
