ing into their gathering—too forward and too vulgar. Then, there was nothing she could say after having said “good morning.” One just didn’t break into a group of five and say, “I'm Emma Lou Morgan, a new student, and I want to make friends with you.” No, she couldn’t do that. She would just smile as she passed, smile graciously and friendly. They would know that she was a stranger, and her smile would assure them that she was anxious to make friends, anxious to become a welcome addition to their group.
One of the group of five had sighted Emma Lou as soon as she had sighted them:
“Who’s this?” queried Helen Wheaton, a senior in the College of Law.
“Some new ‘pick,’ I guess,” answered Bob Armstrong, who was Helen’s fiance and a senior in the School of Architecture.
“I bet she’s going to take Pharmacy,” whispered Amos Blaine.
“She’s hottentot enough to take something,” mumbled Tommy Brown. “Thank God, she won’t be in any of our classes, eh Amos?”
Emma Lou was almost abreast of them now. They lowered their voices, and made a pretense of mumbled conversation among themselves. Only Verne Davis looked directly at her and it was she alone who returned Emma Lou’s smile.
