movie actors,” snapped Edith Phelps, with a toss of her head. “I presume Fielding is quite familiar with any quantity of ‘juvenile leads’ and ‘stunt’ actors as well as ‘custard-pie comedians.’”
“Oh, behave, Edie!” chuckled the Scotch girl. “I’d love to go with ’em myself, but I must help mother take care of the children this summer. There’s a wild bunch of ‘loons’ at my house.”
Fortunately, Helen Cameron did not hear Edith’s criticism. Helen had a sharp tongue of her own and she had no fear now of the sophomore. Indeed, both Ruth and Helen had quite forgotten over night their suspicions regarding the girl at their study window. They arose betimes and went for a last run around the college grounds in their track suits, as they had been doing for most of the spring. The chums had gone in for athletics as enthusiastically at Ardmore as they had at Briarwood Hall.
Just as they set out from the broad front steps of Dare and rounded the corner of the building toward the west, Ruth stopped with a little cry. There at her feet lay a letter.
“Somebody’s dropped a billet-doux,” said Helen. “Or is it just an envelope?”
Ruth picked it up and turned it over so that she could see its face. “The letter is in it,” she said. “And it’s been opened. Why, Helen!”
“Yes?”
“It’s for Edie Phelps.”
Helen had already glanced upward. “And right under our windows,” she murmured. “I bet she dropped it when – ”
“I suppose she did,” said Ruth, as her chum’s voice trailed off into silence. Suddenly Helen, who was looking at the face of the envelope, gasped.
“Look!” she exclaimed. “See the return address in the corner?”
“Wha – Why, it says: ‘Box 24, R. F. D., Yucca, Arizona!’”
“Yucca, Arizona,” repeated Helen. “Just where we are going. Ruth! there is something very mysterious about this. Do you realize it?”
“It is the oddest thing!” exclaimed Ruth.
“Edith getting letters from out there and then creeping along that ledge under our windows to listen. Well, I’d give a cent to know what’s in that letter.”
“Oh, Helen! We couldn’t,” cried Ruth, quickly, folding the envelope and slipping it between the buttons of her blouse.
“Just the same,” declared her chum, “she was eavesdropping on us. We ought to be excused if we did a little eavesdropping on her by reading her letter.”
But Ruth set off immediately in a good, swinging trot, and Helen had to close her lips and put her elbows to her sides to keep up with her. Later, when they had taken their morning shower and had dressed and all the girls were trooping down the main stairway of Dare Hall in answer to the breakfast call, Ruth spied Edith Phelps and hailed her, drawing the letter from her bosom.
“Hi, Edith Phelps! Here’s something that belongs to you.”
The sophomore turned quickly to face the girl of the Red Mill, and with no pleasant expression of countenance. “What have you there?” she snapped.
“A letter that you dropped,” said Ruth, quietly.
“That I dropped?” and she came quickly to seize the proffered missive. “Ha! I suppose you took pains to read it?”
Ruth drew back, paling. The thrust hurt her cruelly and although she would not reply, the sophomore’s gibe did not go without answer. Helen’s black eyes flashed as she stepped in front of her chum.
“I can assure you Ruth and I do not read other people’s correspondence any more than we listen to other people’s private conversation, Phelps,” she said directly. “We found that letter under our window where you dropped it last night!”
Ruth caught at her arm; but the stroke went home. Edith Phelps’ face reddened and then paled. Without further speech she hurried away with the letter gripped tightly in her hand. She did not appear at breakfast.
“It’s terrible to be always ladylike,” sighed Helen to Ruth. “I just know we have seen one end of a mystery. And that’s all we are likely to see.”
“It is the most mysterious thing why Phelps should be interested in our affairs, and be getting letters from Yucca,” admitted Ruth.
The chums had no further opportunity of talking this matter over, for it was at breakfast that Rebecca Frayne threw her bomb. At least, Jennie Stone said it was such. Rebecca came over to Miss Comstock’s table where the chums and Jennie sat and demanded:
“Ruth Fielding! who is going to chaperon your party?”
“What? Chaperon?” murmured Ruth, quite taken aback by the question.
“Of course. You say Helen’s brother is going. And there will be a guide and other men. We’ve got to have a chaperon.”
“Oh!” gasped Helen. “Poor old Tommy! If he knew that! He won’t bite you, Rebecca.”
“You girls certainly wouldn’t dream of going on that long journey unless you were properly attended?” cried Rebecca, horrified.
“What do you think we need?” demanded Jennie Stone. “A trained nurse, or a governess?”
Rebecca was thoroughly shocked. “My aunt would never hear of such a proceeding,” she affirmed. “Oh, Ruth Fielding! I want to go with you; but, of course, there must be some older woman with us.”
“Of course – I presume so,” sighed Ruth. “I hadn’t thought that far.”
“Whom shall we ask?” demanded Helen. “Mrs. Murchiston won’t go. She’s struck. She says she is too old to go off with any harum-scarum crowd of school girls again.”
“I like that!” exclaimed Jennie, in a tone that showed she did not like it at all. “We have got past the hobbledehoy age, I should hope.”
Miss Comstock, the senior at their table, had become interested in the affair, and she suggested pleasantly:
“We Ardmores often try to get the unattached members of the faculty to fill the breach in such events as this. Try Miss Cullam.”
“Oh, dear me!” muttered Helen.
Ruth said briskly, “Miss Cullam is just the person. Do you suppose she has her summer free, Miss Comstock?”
“She was saying only last evening that she had made no plans.”
“She shall make ’em at once,” declared Ruth, jumping up and leaving her breakfast. “Excuse me, Miss Comstock. I am going to find Miss Cullam, instantly.”
It was Miss Cullam, too, who had worried most about the lost examination papers which Ruth had been the means of finding (as related in “Ruth Fielding at College”); and the instructor of mathematics had taken a particular interest in the girl of the Red Mill and her personal affairs.
“I haven’t ridden horseback since I was a girl,” she said, in some doubt. “And, my dear!
