we’re spying on them.”
“Even if we are,” laughed Anne. “Maybe they’ll come out while we’re still here; and, in the meantime, let’s eat.”
Lunch took much longer than they had anticipated, and when Patricia, suddenly remembering her bag, glanced at her watch, she was surprised to find that the hands pointed at 3:30.
“Girls!” she cried, pushing back her chair and getting up so quickly that Hazel jumped. “It’s half past three.”
“Go on,” said Anne. “I’ll settle the bill and catch up to you.”
The other three hurried down the hill, and when Anne caught up to them at the foot, Patricia was pointing in speechless dismay at a grey bus rounding the curve toward Mendon. “It’s gone!” she wailed.
“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.
CHAPTER IV
THE ALLEY GANG
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,”
