“Maybe Mike left your bag in the shelter,” suggested Jane comfortingly. “Let’s go and see.”
A thorough search revealed no trace of the missing bag, either inside of the shelter or out; and Patricia bemoaned the carelessness which had, a second time that day, betrayed her.
“Just wait until I see Mike!” stormed Anne. “He should have had sense enough to leave it, even if we were not right on the spot.”
“Especially when ours are here,” agreed Hazel.
“What we do with our own is entirely up to us,” said Jane slowly. “If Mike had orders to put the bag in its owner’s hands, he couldn’t very well do otherwise. Suppose we go on up and telephone the terminal to see what can be done about it.”
“Good idea! All right with you, Pat?” asked Hazel. Then, as Patricia nodded, “Let’s get going!”
“Don’t worry,” advised Anne. “You’ll get it some way; and if not tonight, we can manage between us all to fit you out. We’re used to that; aren’t we?”
“I’ll say so,” replied Jane. “Why, Hazel, here, went to a dance last winter in a dress Mrs. Vincent lent her. That’s our chaperon; and as far as borrowing and lending go, she’s surely one of us.”
Just as they reached the top of the hill again, Lucile sauntered down the tea-room steps alone.
“Where’s the boy friend, Lu?” called Hazel.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Lucile haughtily, as she joined them.
“Don’t try to bluff,” ordered Hazel; “we all saw him meet you.”
“That’s one on you,” scoffed Lucile. “He stopped to ask me the way to Arnold Hall.”
“Arnold Hall!” chorused the others. “What in the name of fortune does he want there?”
“Don’t you wish you knew?” jeered Lucile.
“Is she putting something over on us? Where do you suppose he went?” whispered Hazel to Jane, but the latter only shrugged her shoulders.
“Shall I telephone the terminal?” inquired Anne, when they came to the little building which served as post office for the college.
“I wish you would,” replied Patricia gratefully; “you’ll know better what to say.”
“I’m going on,” announced Lucile, as they paused to wait for Anne.
“Go to it!” retorted Hazel. “Look, Pat, that red brick building on the corner is Horton Hall, the dorm for the music students. In the basement is the college dining room, where each dorm has a certain section. Over there, across the street, that grey building with all the steps is the auditorium, where the entertainments and meetings are held.”
“What did they say, Anne?” interrupted Jane, as Anne rejoined them.
“I talked to Mike himself. His sub was on the earlier bus, and he was afraid to leave the bag, since there was no one to take it. Mike will bring it out on his next run. I told him to give it to anybody who was coming up to the college; then we won’t have to go down for it. There’ll be heaps of students on the last bus, and Mike knows most of them. All right, Pat?” as the girl looked a bit doubtful.
“Surely,” she replied; but way down deep in her heart she felt that she would be much happier when her property was once more safe in her own hands. “But it serves me right for being so careless,” she thought, with characteristic honesty.
“Come on,” urged Hazel. “I’m crazy to get to the Hall.”
Much to Patricia’s surprise they turned away from the college buildings and down a side street. “Where are we going?” she finally asked.
“To Arnold Hall, of course,” replied Jane. “Oh, I forgot that you didn’t know where it was. You see, all the dorms, frat and sorority houses are on streets fairly near the college, but not right on the campus.”
“I should think you’d all be dead, climbing these hills,” commented Patricia, as they started up Wentworth Street.
“The whole town is built on hills, and the college is on the highest one; but you’ll get used to them.”
When they went up a brick walk leading to a big three-story house near the end of the street, Patricia felt a queer thrill of excitement and apprehension as she gazed up at the house which was to be her home for a whole year. What joys and sorrows would come to her there? Could she make good? Would her unknown benefactor reveal his or her identity before the year was out? Would she be coming back here this time next fall? Even now, the very idea of Anne and Jane returning next September without her brought a queer lump into her throat.
“I’m just nervous,” she reflected. “I must not think of the future at all.”
Determinedly she shook off her apprehensions, and followed the other girls into the house.
As Anne opened the door and started down a long hall, from which rooms opened on either side, a short, dark little girl, whose round brown face instantly reminded one of a pleasant hazel nut, appeared from a room at the very end of the corridor.
“Anne, darling!” she shrieked, dashing along the passage and throwing herself upon Anne so violently that Anne staggered and fell back against Jane, who had to grasp one of the pillars quickly to save herself from falling.
“Don’t be so rough, Fran!” gasped Anne, but as she spoke, Frances transferred her embraces to the other two girls in turn, while Patricia stood beside the door watching, until Anne led her forward and began introductions.
“This roughneck is Frances Quinne, who lives at the end of the alley. You see, this corridor is so long and narrow we call it ‘The Alley’ and the eleven girls who live here are known as The Alley Gang. Kath come yet?” she inquired, as Frances shook hands with Patricia.
“Yes, she’s upstairs. You might tell me your friend’s name; that’s only common politeness.”
“Your welcome literally knocked me out,” laughed Anne. “She’s Patricia Randall, and is going to be in our class, and live here.”
“Here?” demanded Frances in surprise.
“Yes; and, what’s more, right in thealley!” cried Jane, triumphantly holding up a card which she had picked out of a pile on the hall table. While the others were talking, Jane had been busily rummaging among the cards of room assignments.
“Let’s see,” said Anne, taking the bit of pasteboard from Jane. “No. 5. Right, next to me!”
“And across from us,” added Jane. “Has Ruth come yet?”
A slight little girl with big shy black eyes and a boyish bob ran down the stairs and approached the group.
“What do you mean by being up there when I come?” demanded Jane, shaking her room mate affectionately.
The girl’s pale face flushed slightly as she replied in a soft little voice: “I went up to see if Clarice had all of her things out of No. 14.”
“No excuse at all,” declared Jane. “This is my room mate, Ruth Maynard; Patricia Randall, a new member of our Gang.”
“What about Clarice, Ruthie?” asked Anne curiously, after Ruth had silently shaken hands with Patricia.
“She’s moving down here to No. 4,” replied Ruth quietly.
“Good night!” ejaculated Hazel, sitting down violently upon one of the trunks which lined the hall.
“Oh, boy! Oh, boy!” exclaimed Jane dramatically.
“Downhere!” repeated Anne. “How come? Don’t know whether or not I fancy her for an opposite neighbor.”
“Nobody knows why she’s been moved,” contributed Frances excitedly. “She went to her old room as a matter of course when she came this morning, and then we found her card had No. 4 on it.”
“I think that’s just fierce!” cried Hazel. “She’s so noisy and notorious—”
“Now, Hazel,” protested Jane, “there’s nothing really bad about Clarice. She got herself talked about last year, it is true, but—”
“Maybe the Powers-that-Be think we’ll reform her,” suggested a gentle voice behind the group.
Everybody turned to face a fair, plump girl with braids of honey-colored hair wound around her shapely head, despite the prevailing fashion of short locks.
“Mary Taylor!” cried Hazel, joyfully kissing her room mate.
“Hail, Hail, The Gang’s All Here!” chanted a brisk voice, as its owner, a tall, finely developed girl with red cheeks and brown skin, which bespoke a love for out-of-doors life, jumped from the third last step to the hall below and encircled with her long arms as many of the girls as she could.
“Katharine, you hoyden!” exclaimed Anne. “Let me present Patricia Randall.”
“This noisy creature is my room mate,” added Hazel, as Katharine gave Patricia a regular man’s grasp of the hand.
“One of the Gang is missing,” commented Anne. “Where’s Betty?”
“‘Boy Friend’ is bringing her down by auto after dinner,” said Katharine.
“She must be going to be Patricia’s room mate,” offered Anne.
“She is,” announced Jane. “I saw her card.”
“What room did she have last year?” whispered Patricia to Anne.
“No. 4; but she felt quite abused at not having a room mate, so I imagine she’ll be delighted to move in with you. Here comes Dolly,” she added in an undertone, as the front door opened and a medium sized woman of about twenty-eight entered, followed by a short rather heavy girl whose restless black eyes missed no detail of the group before her.
“Well, girls,” said Mrs. Vincent, smiling patronizingly upon them, “how are you all? Glad to get back?” Without waiting for a reply, she went on: “You’ll find some changes here this fall. Clarice,” laying her hand on the girl’s arm, “is to be down here with us in No. 4. We also have a new member of our household, Miss Patricia Randall,” crossing the hall to shake hands with Patricia. “I do hope you’ll like us all, and be happy here.” Then she continued, without stopping for Patricia’s reply, “We’re to have a new maid—”
“Oh, where is Lizzie?” asked Jane.
“She got married this summer,” replied Mrs. Vincent; “and, my dears, you should have seen the beautiful presents she received! Our new maid’s name is Rhoda Hurd, and the Dean says she comes highly recommended. She’ll be here some time tonight. You had better all unpack now, and get ready for dinner. Arnold Hall girls will take the southwest end of the dining room, as usual. Come, Miss Randall, I’ll show you your room. Of course it looks rather bare now,” she added, when they stood on the threshold, “but you’ll soon change all that. My room is No. 1, right back of the reception room. If you want anything, don’t hesitate to come to me.”
When Patricia found herself alone, her glance traveled from the day beds on either side of the room to the two dressers flanking the doorway and to the writing tables in the big bay window. In spite of its bare floor and curtainless windows, the room had distinct possibilities; for the furniture was Early American, and the woodwork was good.
“Why,” she demanded of Anne, who came in at that moment, “do they have that heavy barred wire outside of the windows? It reminds me of a prison, or makes me feel as if I were in a cage.”
“It is, a sort of a prison,” laughed Anne. “You see, some of the girls like to stay out later than 10:30, and if it were possible to climb in the windows, nobody knows what time they would come in. The Black Book wouldn’t be of any use then.”
Patricia looked puzzled. “The ‘Black Book?’” she repeated.
“Yes; beside the telephone booth in the front hall, near Dolly’s room, is a table upon which rests a big, black blank book. Whenever you go out or come in after dinner, you must register in it your name and the hour. The girls take turns looking after it, and at bed time, Dolly inspects it before she makes the round of the rooms. And, by the way, whenever the outside door at the back of the hall is opened, it rings a bell in Dolly’s room, right under the bed. So you see how good your chances are of staying out nights.”
“Tell me something about Clarice,” begged Patricia, sitting down on one of the beds. “Why do all the girls dislike her so very much?”
“They don’t really dislike her,” replied Anne, plumping down beside Patricia. “She’s lots of fun, and generous to a fault; but she has such a loud laugh, and doesn’t care what she does or says. A good time appeals to her a whole lot more than does study, and last year she played around too much with a boy upon whom the authorities frowned. The girls on this floor have always been so congenial, and have had no demerits for conduct; so naturally they rather resent the introduction of Clarice. I think, though, that there is really a lot of good in the girl, if one could only develop it. Let’s go down the hall and see if Kath has a dress you could wear to dinner. Mine would be too large for you.”
Just as they stepped out into the hall, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll bet that’s Dolly’s boy friend,” whispered Anne, pausing to peer around one of the pillars, and catching sight of the top of a man’s hat showing in the door pane. “Wait a minute, I want you to get a look at him. He’s a special student here, and years younger than Doll.”
The door leading to the cellar opened suddenly, and a black-gowned maid appeared and hurried down the hall to answer the bell.
“Apparently Rhoda has arrived. Isn’t she pretty?” breathed Anne softly.
When the door was opened, a low-toned conversation ensued, of which the eavesdroppers could hear nothing. Then Rhoda admitted the blond youth, who stood waiting while the maid came down the hall toward the two girls.
“Some one to see Miss Randall,” she announced.
Patricia clutched Anne’s arm in a frenzy. “You’ve got to come with me,” she whispered.
“Are you expecting a bag?” inquired the boy gravely, fixing his great grey eyes upon Patricia when she reached the door.
“Yes,” she faltered; “I left it on the bus.”
“The driver was going to bring it down on the six,” volunteered Anne irrelevantly.
“He did,” said the youth, “and asked me to deliver it. I have it in the vestibule.” Opening the door, he secured the bag and handed it to Patricia.
“I am very grateful to you,” said Patricia a bit stiffly. “It was good of you to bring it.”
“No trouble at all. I was down at the shelter waiting for some one—” he broke off suddenly, as if fearing he had said too much, and bowed himself solemnly out.
“Well!” exclaimed Anne. “Of all things! You seem fated to get mixed up with that young man.”
“Don’t I? I suppose Mike remembered that he was on the bus with us, and just naturally gave the bag to him on that account.”
“Probably. Anyhow, now you won’t have to borrow a dress. You’d better hurry, though; it’s after six, and we dine—mark, I saiddine—at six-thirty.”
Dinner was quite an experience for Patricia, who had never before seen a college dining room. The big low room was bare and unattractive in itself, but the long tables, each surrounded by twenty girls in pretty dinner gowns, the bright lights, and the orange-clad waitresses made up for lack of decorations elsewhere.
“My ears will grow at least a yard long here,” she observed to Anne, who sat next to her.
“What on earth do you mean?” inquired that young lady, reaching for the olives.
“Why, there are so many interesting conversations going on all around me, that I want to hear them all.”
Anne laughed. “This is nothing; just wait until classes are in full swing. Then child psychology, music theory, library cataloguing, art appreciation, domestic science, and half a dozen other subjects are all being discussed simultaneously.”
That evening most of the girls had unpacking and settling to finish, but a few members of the Alley Gang gathered in Anne’s attractive room to visit. Betty Grant had just arrived, and she and Patricia had approved of each other at the first glance.
“Tell me, Betty,” Anne was saying, “is the Boy Friend coming down week ends, as he did last year?”
“No; this year, I’m going to work—hard.”
Everybody laughed.
“Well, I am. I told Ed he could come only twice during this term—”
“And a few times in between,” finished Hazel.
“By the way,” began Betty, in a different tone. “I saw the queerest thing, just as Ed and I drove up. There was a fellow standing in front of the laundry window, right under your room, Hazel, evidently talking to some one inside.”
“Come now, Betty,” protested Katharine, “you’re making that up to change the subject.”
“Honest to goodness, I’m not! I saw him plain as daylight. I didn’t say anything to Ed, because he would have wanted to investigate, and I’ve no fancy for having him get into an argument with strange men. He might have had a gun, for all I know.”
“Heavens, Betty! We’ll all be afraid to go to sleep tonight,” shuddered Mary. “Hazel, you’ll have to push your bed up close to mine so you can protect me.”
“What did the man look like?” asked Jane.
“I couldn’t see his face, but he was slight, of medium height and wore a grey suit and hat.”
“The blond youth!” whispered Anne to Patricia.
“But what would he be doing prowling around here?” asked Patricia, frowning.
“Search me! Oh, hello, Lu, where have you been all the evening?”
“In the laundry part of the time. I came on here right from a house party, and my clothes are in a fine state.”
Jane, Anne, Hazel, and Patricia glanced significantly at one another.
“Sure you were pressing, Lu?” asked Hazel mischievously.
Before Lucile had a chance to reply, Betty leaned forward and inquired, “Didyousee the man, Lu?”
“What man?”
“The man who was looking in the laundry window.”
Lucile laughed, a bit loudly for her. “Nobody around the place while I was there,” she replied, with marked carelessness, “only Rhoda.”
“What wasshedoing?” asked Anne.
“Pressing her uniforms.”
A discussion of the new maid and her predecessor followed, and the subject of the mysterious man was dropped.
One morning a couple of weeks later, Patricia was wakened suddenly by a marshmallow landing on her nose and scattering its fine, powdered sugar all over her face. Sitting up quickly, she saw through her open door Ruth and Jane in their room across the hall, sitting on their beds, doubled up with laughter.
“You fiends!” she cried softly. “Just you wait!”
“What’s the matter?” inquired Betty sleepily, from the other bed, without even opening her eyes.
“Those Goths across the hall threw a marshmallow in my face!” replied Patricia, seizing the unfortunate bit of confectionery and returning it with such good aim that it struck Jane’s hand and bounded off onto the rug, where it deposited the rest of its sugar.
“Get up, Lazy Bones!” ordered Jane. “We’ve got to go out for moss before breakfast.”
“I forgot all about it,” groaned Patricia. “I wish that botany class was in Hades.”
“I wish you’d all shut up,” complained Betty. “I want to sleep; and, thank Heaven, I don’t take botany.”
Patricia was soon ready, and the three girls stole softly down the hall and tried the front door.
“Who’s that?” called Mrs. Vincent, who slept, not only with her door open, but also, so the girls said, with her eyes and ears wide as well.
“Patricia, Ruth, and Jane going out for moss for botany class,” answered Jane. “We’ll be back before breakfast time.”
“Don’t go far away.”
“Does she think we can find moss on the fire escape?” demanded Jane scornfully.
“Just wherearewe going?” asked Patricia.
“I think we’ll cut through the back yard here into Foth Road and head out toward the country.”
They went around the side of the dormitory, and, to their surprise, saw Rhoda coming toward them across the back yard.
“Aren’t you up pretty early, Rhoda?” asked Jane casually, as the girl flushed and looked embarrassed.
“Not so very,” was the low reply. “I often run out here for a breath of fresh air before starting my work.”
“How fussed she acted,” commented Ruth, “just as if she’d been caught doing something she didn’t want anybody to know about.”
“Yes, I noticed that too,” said Patricia, carefully following her companions down the treacherous, broken stone ledges into the yard behind Arnold Hall.
“Why, Ruth,” cried Jane, “‘Big House’ is occupied! I didn’t know that; did you?” The girl regarded in surprise the three-story brick house across a narrow stretch of green lawn.
“No, I didn’t”—adding softly, “Come on; somebody is watching us from that bay window on the second floor.”
“How do you know?” demanded Jane, hurrying after her room mate.
“I saw a woman’s hand pull the curtain aside a little while we were waiting for Pat to come down the steps.”
“It’s a shame to spoil our short cut to Foth Road; for I suppose we can’t go through there any more. That house was empty all last year,” explained Jane, turning to Patricia, “which made it rather nice for us because, besides using the yard as a thoroughfare, we sometimes had little parties there or met our boy friends when we didn’t want to go out the front way with them. Oh, I assure you it was useful in lots of ways.”
They were out on the road by then, and walking briskly toward the country.
“We’ll never find any moss if we keep to the road,” objected Ruth, after they had walked a mile in vain. “I should think we’d have to go into the woods, see, over there.”
“Not I!” replied Jane. “I’m too afraid of snakes.”
Patricia laughed. “There aren’t any snakes in a pine woods. They’re mostly where there are lots of rocks.”
“Well, anyway we’ll go a little farther and then I, for one, take to the woods,” decided Ruth. “We’ve got to find some moss soon, and go home; and I won’t face Yates again with no specimens.”
“Isn’t he the old pill, though?” said Jane to Patricia. “Did you ever see anybody so cold and stone-like? Even when he says unpleasant things—and, oh, boy! can’t he be disagreeable when he likes!—his face never changes from that set, gloomy expression.”
“He certainly is most peculiar,” agreed Patricia, “and I don’t like him evenany! For that matter, no love at all is lost between us; something in the way he looks at me tells me that.”
“Ah, here we are!” exclaimed Jane, pointing to an old shed a few feet from the road. On its roof, near the ridge pole, was a luxuriant growth of bright green moss.
“How can we get at it?” asked Ruth, as they scrambled across a wire fence and crossed a stretch of rough, coarse grass. “I’m no good at climbing.”
“Nor I,” said Ruth. “How about you, Pat?”
“I think I could get up far enough to reach it, if you girls will boost a bit,” replied Patricia.
“It’s O. K. with us, but for Heaven’s sake be as quiet as possible. We don’t want the dog set on us.”
“Oh, nobody’s around so early as this; there’s no window on this side of the shed, and the door is on the other. The farm house is back of that clump of trees.”
“Easy telling you don’t know anything about the country,” said Jane scornfully; “these farmers get up early.”
Stepping up on a log, which happened to lie conveniently close to the building, Patricia, with the aid of the girls, got a firm grip on the edge of the roof and drew herself up to a point where she could lie flat on its weather-worn boards and stretch her long arms up toward the coveted plants. With much effort, she succeeded in reaching the moss and in tearing up two big handfuls. Resting on her elbows for a moment to ease the strain on her arms, she was horrified to feel the boards underneath them begin to sag; and, with a dull splintering of ancient wood, her hands and lower arms disappeared into a yawning cavity. Simultaneously, the moss dropped from her fingers into the depths below.
A snort, a gasp, and a forceful exclamation from within the shed mingled with Patricia’s startled cry of “Girls, I’m falling in.”
“What shall we do? What shall we do?” demanded Ruth excitedly as Patricia, speechless with horror, gazed down through the hole over which she hung, and met the cold, grey eyes of Professor Yates! His immaculate shoulders and smooth black hair were covered with bits of moss.
“Pull me down, quick!” cried the horrified Patricia, finally recovering the power of speech.
“It will spoil your dress,” warned Jane.
“I don’t care! Get me down, for Pete’s sake!” retorted Patricia wildly.
With their united efforts, the two girls succeeded in dragging Patricia safely to the ground, minus the moss, and with several long scratches on her arms.
“Where’s the moss?” demanded Ruth in surprise.
“All over Professor Yates!” gasped Patricia, hysterically.
“What?” cried Ruth, while Jane looked as if she feared Patricia had lost her mind.
“He’s in that shed!”
“You’re crazy!” retorted Jane, feeling her pulse.
“Honest to goodness! Cross my heart!”
At that moment, the object of their discussion strolled around the corner of the shed. He had brushed himself off, and now looked as calm and neat as if he were in his classroom. His gaze traveled coldly from one to another, then, looking directly at Patricia, he drawled: “To what am I indebted for this most unconventional call?”
“To your demand for specimens of moss today ‘without fail,’” quoted Jane glibly.
“A most novel situation, stealing it from my own roof, and ruining the roof in the bargain.”
“We had no idea it was your roof,” retorted Patricia hotly, “and I had no intention of breaking through it. It was anything but a pleasant experience, I assure you.”
“Of course we expect to assume any expense involved,” put in Jane soothingly, as they turned to go.
Professor Yates made no reply, but stood watching them scramble over the fence and start down the road toward college.
“Wasn’t that just terrible?” gasped Patricia “I’m certainly done for with him now. Next time I do any climbing for specimens, you’ll know it.”
“Whatever do you suppose he was doing out there?” demanded Ruth.
“You heard him say it was his roof, didn’t you?” retorted Jane. “Clarice said once that he had an old place where he raises all kinds of truck for the lab, but I didn’t pay much attention to her. She talks so much that half the time I don’t listen very attentively; and I haven’t given it a thought since.”
“Just wait until the girls hear about it!”
“We’re going to have a spread tonight; did you know it?” asked Jane. “Doll’s going out with one of her boy friends.”
“The dark youth who’s a ‘special’ in some year or other?” asked Patricia.
“Yes.”
“She’ll have to keep better tabs on him,” commented Ruth; “he’s a born flirt. I was at the Black Book the other night when he came in, and he tried to make a date with me.”
“Did he succeed?” asked Jane mischievously.
“He didnot! I can’t bear him.”
“Do you realize, girls,” inquired Ruth, “that we are still moss-less?”
“Yes, and we’ll continue to be, so far as I am concerned,” retorted Patricia.
“Oh, somebody in the lab will be sure to have some,” said Jane easily, “and we’ll just borrow a little of it. I don’t feel equal to hunting any longer.”
The spread was about to get under way at eight-thirty that evening. Mrs. Vincent and her youthful escort, Ivan Zahn, had departed for a concert which the college was giving to entertain the Freshman Class. Rhoda was looking after the Black Book and the telephone; so the girls were quite free to enjoy themselves, without responsibility. The new maid had quickly become as much of a favorite as her predecessor; for she was accommodating and good-tempered, and the inhabitants of Arnold Hall, especially those on the first floor, treated her almost as one of themselves.
“Did anybody telephone the Varsity Coffee Shoppe for the eats?” demanded Hazel, coming out into the hall in a suit of bright red lounging pajamas.
“Yes,” answered Jane from her room, where she was putting frantic last minute lines on a poster which was due the next morning.
“Who took the order?” asked Frances, rushing in to borrow some thread to run up a rip in her coolie coat.
“Al, and he said he’d send them right down,” contributed Ruth from her bed, where she lay on her back trying to fix an important bit of psychology in her mind.
“Oh, cut the study!” ordered Anne, entering with Lucile, Betty, and Patricia.
“Got to get this tonight,” cried Ruth, hanging onto the book which Anne tried to take out of her hands.
“No, you haven’t; get up early in the morning and do it. Then it will be all the fresher in your mind.”
“Yes, you like early rising,” laughed Betty.
Anne continued to pull, and finally got Ruth off the bed. Katharine, who came in at that moment, attracted by the noise, slipped past Ruth and Anne, flopped into the recently vacated bed, and pulled up the covers.
“Of all things!” exclaimed Ruth indignantly, jerking away from Anne. “Get out of my bed!”
Katharine extended a long, strong arm and pulled Betty in beside her, while Frances piled in on the other side.
“Safety in numbers,” laughed Katharine impishly. “Get us out if you can!”
“I’ll help you, Ruth!” shouted Clarice, dashing in with a glass of water which she sprinkled freely on the three girls in the bed. With a cry of protest they sprang up and chased Clarice the length of the hall where she barricaded herself with a heavy chair in the corner beside the telephone booth. At the other end of the hall, on a couple of well-stuffed white laundry bags which were ready for the collector in the morning, perched Hazel, swinging her red-clad legs and singing: “I want a drink! Kathy wants a drink! Francy wants a drink!”
“Here’s Al, girls!” called Clarice from her vantage point, where she could see out onto the street.
The feud was forgotten, as they all trooped forward to relieve Rhoda of the basket which the boy had brought. Sitting down on the runner which extended the length of the hall, the girls quickly disposed of orangeade, sandwiches, cakes, and ice cream, not forgetting to give Rhoda a share. A songfest followed, and a general romp the length of the alley was in full swing when the front door opened suddenly and Mrs. Vincent walked in, alone.
“Girls!” she cried sharply. “Stop that noise at once! You sound like a lot of hyenas! I could hear you up to the corner!”
“What brought her home so early?” muttered Betty to Patricia.
“Must have had a scrap with Ivan,” whispered Anne. “She’s so cross.”
Just then the telephone rang, and Mrs. Vincent paused to gaze hopefully at Rhoda who answered it.
“Yes,” said Rhoda, in a low tone. “Yes, I’ll call her.”
With an oddly excited expression on her usually calm face, Rhoda turned to Mrs. Vincent, saying, “Someone wants to speak with you.”
“Yes, this is Mrs. Vincent talking. What? I’m very sorry. The girls were having a little party, and didn’t realize, I’m afraid, how much noise they were making. What did you say, please? Oh, we—ll, I’ll see what they think about it. Of course, you realize that they are not children to be ordered about.”
“She didn’t think so a minute ago,” giggled Anne under her breath to Patricia.
“All right. Goodbye.”
Mrs. Vincent hung up the receiver and turned to face the girls.
“We’re in a nice fix now!” she snapped. “Mrs. Brock, who lives back of us, has been greatly disturbed by the noise you have been making all the evening, and feels that an apology is due her—”
“What utter nonsense!” cried Anne.
“She must be cuckoo!” exclaimed Clarice hotly.
The rest of the girls stood looking at one another in astonishment, while Rhoda turned her back quickly and bent her head low over the open Black Book.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?” continued Mrs. Vincent.
“Just nothing at all,” replied Jane; “her demand is absurd.”
“Of course it is unreasonable; but the trouble is,” pursued Mrs. Vincent, flushing, “she says unless a couple of you go over and present an apology for the crowd, she will lodge a complaint at the office.”
“Now Iknowshe is crazy,” snapped Lucile.
“Naturally,” went on Mrs. Vincent, “a question of my incompetence, or of my inability to manage you properly, will arise if such a complaint is lodged. Of course, you must do as you wish. I’m simply laying the whole matter frankly before you.”
Mrs. Vincent turned abruptly and disappeared into her own room.
“This is a pretty mess!” scolded Katharine.
“It’s mostly your fault!” cried Hazel, looking angrily at Clarice.
“How is it, I’d like to know!” demanded the girl, flushing a dull red, but gazing defiantly at her accuser.
“You did most of the yelling and rough-housing,” retorted Frances promptly.
“I didn’t pile into Ruth’s bed; I didn’t sit beside the back door, singing; I—”
“No,” interrupted Jane soothingly, “I think we all did our share; but—”
“What’s the use of trying to place the blame now?” asked Patricia suddenly. “The question is how to fix things up.”
“We can’t let Dolly down, I suppose,” said Mary slowly. “Sheisincompetent, and awfully silly at times; but, after all, she is our chaperon and we owe loyalty to her. She might lose her position as the result of the complaint, and we’d hate to be party to taking a job from anyone.”
“Since you all feel that I’m mostly to blame,” broke in Clarice, “I’ll go over to Big House and apologize.”
Almost before she had time to think, Patricia heard herself saying: “And I’ll go with you.”
“You’re a couple of good sports!” cried Jane heartily.
“Is it too late to go now?” asked Patricia, looking at the clock.
“Nearly ten. Better ask Dolly,” advised Anne.
Patricia went to the chaperon’s door, knocked, and when Mrs. Vincent opened it, stated quietly: “Clarice and I are going over to apologize to Mrs. Brock. Shall we go now, or wait until morning?”
“It really doesn’t matter, I suppose; whichever time you prefer,” replied Mrs. Vincent slowly, looking past Patricia to Clarice, who stood leaning against the Black Book table. The girl’s black eyes met hers, and a long, meaning look passed between them.
“We’ll go now, then, and get it over with,” decided Patricia. “Come on, Clarice.”
The two went out of the front door and the rest of the girls gathered in Jane’s room to await results.
“What a day!” sighed Ruth. “I’ll never get up so early again. It brings bad luck. What with the moss adventure this morning, and now this.”
“How did Professor Yates act in class?” asked Hazel, as the rest smiled over the story of the moss, which they had heard earlier in the day.
“Just as usual, except perhaps a little more sarcastic,” began Jane.
“And more generous with puzzling questions, especially to Pats,” broke in Anne.
“Funny they can’t get along together,” mused Mary. “Pat is such a peach of a girl.”
“There’s no rhyme or reason in anything Yates does,” declared Hazel bluntly.
“Patisa peach,” agreed Anne fervently, “and I think we’re mighty lucky to get her in our Gang.”
“So say we all of us!” chanted Frances softly.
“It seems awfully queer to me, though,” put in Lucile, “for a girl to leave a college voluntarily after a year there, and come away up here where she knows no one, to finish her course.”
“Her aunt and cousin are here,” spoke up Anne, loyally.
“Don’t see them making much fuss over her!” retorted Lucile. “Ted’s been here only two or three times to see her.”
“Ted is a very busy boy.” Anne spoke up promptly. “He’s in Forestry, and that takes him out a lot this year.”
“Come to think of it,” commented Ruth, “I haven’t seen him much at the Frat House.”
“You should know what goes on there,” laughed Katharine, teasingly. “Such luck as you and Jane have—a room right next to—”
“Clarice’s room is even better—or worse,” said Jane; “for hers is opposite the men’s living room.”
“Why worse?” demanded Frances.
“I’ll change rooms with you some night, and let you listen to their blamed radio until the wee small hours, and then again early in the morning, before anybody is up.”
“Speaking of Clarice,” broke in Lucile, “I think there’s something between her and Dolly.”
“What do you mean?” asked Betty quickly.
“Some secret, or understanding, or favoritism, or something,” replied Lucile. “Did none of you see the look they exchanged when Pats told Dolly they’d go?”