the key. Creeping noiselessly toward her door, Patricia succeeded in opening it quietly and stealing down the hall without arousing anyone. Fortunately, the door into the narrow passage leading to the back entrance was open, and Patricia drew it carefully to behind her, in order to keep any sounds from the front of the house. With her heart in her throat, she turned the key, bit by bit, until the lock was released. With the same care, she opened the door wide enough to admit the two girls who were pressed close to its frame. As she was about to close it again, she noticed a bright light in Big House—in the room occupied by Norman Young. There was a slight jar as the door settled into place again, and the three girls stood silent, shaking with nervous chills, until they felt quite sure that no one had been wakened. Then, without a word, they all crept to their rooms.
“Come on up to the Coffee Shoppe with me for lunch, Pat,” begged Hazel the following noon, as they left the house with the rest of the crowd for Horton Hall. “I want to talk with you.”
In one of the cozy stalls at the back of the restaurant, after their order was filled, Hazel began bluntly:
“You’re a good sport, Pat. It was darned white of you to let us in last night, and never say a word about it.”
“Was the party worth the trouble?” asked Patricia, playing with the salt cellar nervously, and not knowing exactly what to say.
“To be frank, it was not. I never had such a fright in my life. Rose’s party was all right. We had fun, out, after the eats, one of the boys proposed driving out to Kleg’s—”
“The road house?” exclaimed Patricia.
Hazel nodded.
“Everybody seemed keen to go, so I wasn’t going to be a spoilsport. When we got there, we found a big crowd, and had trouble getting tables together. Luckily Clarice and I, and a couple of fellows you don’t know, got places in a back corner near a side door, like this.”
Hazel placed a piece of roll and a match on the table to show the exact relative location.
“We hadn’t been there half an hour when there was a raid—”
“Hazel!” gasped Patricia, with horror in her eyes and voice.
“While the first excitement was going on in the front room the two fellows who were with us hustled us quietly out of the side door, into Pete’s car, and brought us home. And were we lucky!”
“You don’t know how lucky,” said Patricia gravely. “Did you see this morning’s paper?”
“No, don’t tell me it was reported!”
“It certainly was—”
“Were our names in?” demanded Hazel breathlessly.
“Not yours or Clarice’s, but several of the men’s, as well as Rose’s and her sister’s. Only for a kind Providence, you and Clarice might have been included,” said Patricia severely, gazing sternly at the white-faced girl opposite her.
“I’m through!” declared Hazel finally. “This is the last time I’ll break the college rules; and—”
“And what about Rose?” added Patricia. “She’s not good for you, Hazel. You haven’t the time or money to go with anyone like that; and her ideals and standards are different from ours.”
Hazel looked at her plate and was silent so long, that Patricia began to feel as if she had been too frank.
“You’re right, I guess,” she said finally. “I’ll give her up, even though I suppose she’ll think I am an awful quitter.”
“Good for you!” commended Patricia heartily, beginning again on her lunch.
“Do you suppose, Pat,” asked Hazel, after a short pause, “that the college authorities will hear that Clarice and I were mixed up in the affair?”
“I don’t imagine so; the others were all outsiders, weren’t they?”
“Yes, but, Pats; at Kleg’s I saw Norman Young.”
“Did he see you?” inquired Patricia sharply, recalling Jack’s impression of the blond youth.
“I don’t think so; but you never can tell. He was at a table half way down the room; and Pat, who do you suppose was with him?”
“Couldn’t guess.”
“Rhoda!”
“Our Rhoda?” repeated Patricia, unbelievingly.
Hazel nodded.
“Don’t let’s say anything about it to anybody,” proposed Patricia after a minute’s thought. “It’s awfully queer, but since we can’t understand it, there’s no object in creating talk and making things unpleasant for Rhoda.”
“No, of course not. I like Rhoda.”
“We all do, and I guess she needs her job. She said something one day about some one being dependent on her.”
“Do you suppose Norman goes with her?” continued Hazel, scraping up the last of her chocolate pudding.
“I haven’t any idea. He’s been out with Clarice quite often of late. I hope she doesn’t hear about Rhoda.”
“I don’t think she saw them last night, and I didn’t mention it. But Clarice wouldn’t care, as long as she had somebody to step out with. It’s a case of some boy with her, not any particular one,” replied Hazel, getting up and dropping her purse just outside the stall.
At the same moment a youth, leaving the next stall, picked up the purse and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” murmured Hazel, glancing up at the man.
To her amazement and distress, she looked full into the pale grey eyes of Norman Young.
“Going back to college?” he asked, looking first at Hazel and then at Patricia, who had just slipped out of her seat.
“Yes,” replied Patricia briefly, when Hazel did not respond.
“So am I. Guess I’ll walk along with you, if you don’t mind,” continued the boy, following them out of the shop.
Once on the street, he began to talk about the Greystone game.
“There’s a lot of money up on that game,” he remarked. “Not only among the students, but also among the townsfolk. Greystone has a player almost as famous as our Dunn, and the betting between the two factions is heavy. If Dunn were to be out of the game for any reason—”
“What would be likely to keep him out?” inquired Hazel sharply, while Patricia listened breathlessly.
“Oh, I don’t know,” laughed Norman; “probably nothing at all. I was only mentioning an improbable chance of such a thing. But, if he were, the Greystone supporters would be in line to win a heap of dough.”
“What kind of a place is Greystone?” asked Hazel.
“About
