Gwen! Gwen Gascoyne! Gwen! Anybody seen her? I say, have you all
gone deaf? Don't you hear me? Where's Gwen? I-want-Gwen-Gascoyne!
The speaker-Ida Bridge-a small, perky, spindle-legged Junior,
jumped on to the nearest seat, and raising her shrill voice to its
topmost pitch, twice shouted the "Gwen Gascoyne," with an
aggressive energy calculated to make herself heard above the babel
of general chatter that pervaded the schoolroom. Her effort, though
far from musical, at any rate secured her the notice she desired.
"Hello, there! Stop that noise! It's like a dog howling!" irately
commanded a girl in spectacles who was cleaning the blackboard.
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