Jane Allen, Center — A Reader’s Guide

“Yes, girl, I know that feelin’. Like you hate to have it over because you want to have it on. Well, go to it, Janie, and don’t swallow too much of that yellar paper. Looks poison like to me.”

Jane crushed the yellow envelope to her breast, in sheer delight. Then she snapped up a knitting needle to open the cherished missive.

“You know, Auntie,” she whispered, “this will tell us who won dadykin’s scholarship.” Then raising her voice to Uncle Todd’s inquiring eyes, “Daddy gave a scholarship to my college, Unk,” she told him. “Do you suppose some very nice, prim, prudy, who took the home correspondence course between making sister Julia pinafores and Jacob’s jumpers, has won it? Of course, I respect home cooking girls, and particularly admire the devotees of domestic science, but Grade B from the Branchville would be all out of luck in the Wellington routine. Bye-bye now, and be good. Uncle Todd, don’t make Aunt Mary envious with your report of auction bargains. She is always and ever objecting to catalogue prices.”

With a gay wave of the letter, in which delight was momentarily suppressed, Jane flitted from the room to the porch, where now the last drops of the afternoon shower were reluctantly counting their totals. She dropped into the big wicker chair near the wisteria arch, and curled up like a kitten, in the way girls have of “fairly eating” a letter.

While she is thus perusing this perfectly private communication let us present Jane Allen formally to our readers.

In the first volume, “Jane Allen of the Sub-Team,” we met her as a girl Solitaire. She had been reared on a ranch, without girl companions, and had never realized that tolerance which is necessary in the big world of boys and girls. But once at the Eastern college we like her best in her brave battles against the limits of conventions she finds there, and we cannot but admire the spirit with which she holds out, just long enough, and gives in just in time, to save situations. Perhaps the true deep affection, so soon shown for Jane by her classmates of the freshmen, is the best testimonial to her glory as Jane Allen Sub. Jane had for a time ignored the tame basketball sport, delighting in her stolen rides on Firefly (for her indulgent father had sent the saddle horse to school too with Jane as he expressed it), but finally acknowledging there was something worth while in the game Jane fought for a place on the team, and she won it triumphantly. The opposition tried many turns both fair and foul to defeat her, but Jane won out; with an interesting flourish.

Not less attractive was she as Jane Allen, Right Guard, in the second volume of the series. Girls can be very small sometimes, even behind the sheltering walls of important colleges, and in this story we were introduced to a set of “peculiars” commonly called “snobs,” who spent a lot of perfectly good time trying to spoil Jane’s ever-growing popularity at Wellington. Just how flatly they failed makes a rather thrilling tale. Haven’t you read it? You will love the way Jane rescues Norma, the girl working her way through college, putting down scheme after scheme, concocted just to embarrass the poorer girl. Jane found a legitimate outlet for her talent as a joy maker, and a gloom crusher. Even taking it moderately, one is enthralled with her genius in making and keeping the best of friends, and Judith Stearns her “best,” runs a close second with Jane in the popularity contest of the second volume.

CHAPTER II—TELLTALE TIDINGS

The letter which Jane had so counted on, had just now shed its delightful news, and at last she knew who had won the scholarship. Winding herself tighter still in the big wicker chair, so that she seemed a veritable circle of pink organdie, she snuggled the yellow pages closer in her prettily browned hands, read a few lines over for the n’th time and finally, with a spring and a sprint, made her way back to the living room.

Uncle Todd was evidently well pleased with his story of the Welch auction, for the palpitating cane was throbbing up and down in his sinewy hand, and Aunt Mary had completely laid aside her knitting, and sat with hands folded at attention.

“I would call it a shame,” she commented as Jane entered.

“And you’d give it the right name,” replied Uncle Todd.

At the threshold Jane hesitated. Even to her youthful eyes there was something restful in the picture.