Francie Read Free Page A

see something of me, too. I know it’s inconvenient—”
    â€œInconvenient!” In spite of the tears that were choking her, Francie laughed. He was knocking away the props of her whole life, and he called it inconvenient! “Pop, have you thought what I’ll do with myself in a new place like England? I’ll simply hate it.” As she spoke she was convinced this was true.
    â€œWell of course, if you make up your mind to hate it, that’s that.” Fred Nelson looked at her squarely, standing in the middle of the carpet, his hands shoved into his pockets. “But I wouldn’t advise it, Francie. You go to bed and sleep on the idea; it’s not so terrible as it sounds. Most girls would welcome the new experience, I should think. By the time you’ve been there a few months you’ll be surprised; you’ll—”
    â€œI won’t. I’ll always hate it,” she said, weeping.
    â€œI can hardly blame you for feeling this way at first,” said her father as if to himself. “You’re used to a lot of attention, I understand. You queen it over the boys here in town. Well, all the better then to go away. Too much of that can’t be good for you; you’re an attractive girl if you are my daughter, but you need—I’ll tell you what it is, Francie; you’re spoiled.”
    â€œDon’t you give me that too,” sniffled Francie into her handkerchief. “I’ve been listening to that all night.” She scrambled to her feet, the handkerchief held to her nose. “I’m going to bed,” she said. She ran out of the room, and her father watched her go, his face troubled but still determined.

CHAPTER 2
    â€œIt does seem a shame.” Francie’s best friend, Ruth, spoke absently. The news had given her a good deal to think about. Plans needed rearranging, if the hub of her world was going to leave the scene.
    Francie sat in the window seat of Ruth’s bedroom, looking down into the front yard. The room was a pretty one, though perhaps a bit overfussy with its organdy bedspread and curtains to match. There were built-in wardrobes and a little ironing board that opened out, and the latest thing in indirect lighting, as Ruth’s father was fond of electrical appliances. The girls were drinking chocolate malts which they had just mixed down in the kitchen. For a girl whose life was ruined, Francie was looking very cheerful; after thinking it over she had begun to feel excited at the widening prospect of life.
    â€œI suppose you’ll change your mind now about going to State? You’ll have to,” said Ruth.
    â€œPop said nearly a year. Maybe I can wangle it so as to get back home for State in the fall. Of course I may decide all over again not to go to college at all, though Pop blew his top over that last time I suggested it. Remember?”
    â€œYes, I do. What a row! Still, taking you away like this, he can hardly object if you don’t want to come in later. That is, if you miss out on fall and have to come trailing behind the rest of us.
    â€œI’ve given up Romance Languages, I think,” Ruth went on. “I’m going in for psychology instead. More future to it. As for you, I’m beginning to think maybe you ought to go back to your original plan and be an artist.”
    This abrupt change of interest did not startle Francie; it was ordinary enough for the girls to make radical alterations in their life’s ambition. They did it, on an average, weekly. Francie merely replied, “Oh well then, I think I’ll do Political Science as a minor to Art. Pop says I’ll have a good chance to look at practical Socialism; he says England’s trying it out.”
    â€œYes, there’s that of course. But Francie, coming down to serious matters, it’s terrible about Prom. And Beauty Queen. You were sure to get that. It’s just the limit. Have you told Glenn about