THREE young girls came hastily and noisily into the car as the train moved out of the station. They had barely escaped being left. The Christmas vacation was over, and they were going back to college. As they disposed of their various belongings, settled back in their seats, mussed up their hair a little more becomingly, and made discriminating use of their powder rags, fragments of conversation began to float through the car. I buried myself in the book I was reading, but I found it impossible not to hear something of a "peach of a vacation" mingled with grand opera and Farrar in Carmen, with New Year's Eve at the Congress Hotel, with a lovely Delta Upsilon formal at Northwestern, and with an all-night party at the South Shore Club.
"I am simply dead," one of them said,
