“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.”
CHAPTER VI
A MEDDLER
“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 I know she 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. “She is incompetent, 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.
“Pat is a 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,”