know this story unless he reads it in the paper. One of your own fellows stopped in at the office before I came over here to say that a couple of college students had just been taken into the police station. That’s how I happened to breeze in so early, Mac.”
“What did he look like?” demanded Jack.
“Big blond; jaw sticks out like this; little bits of eyes.”
“Tut!” breathed Patricia.
“How the devil did he get hold of it?” exploded Jack.
“Saw you brought in,” replied Craig, as he held the door open for them. “I’m taking these birds home, Mac,” he called to the sergeant. “So you see,” he continued, as they were out on the street, “you’d better let us present the story truthfully. It’s the best way.”
“Of course,” replied Jack, ruefully, “you have us at your mercy.”
“What did the troopers look like?” asked Craig.
“I couldn’t describe them,” declared Jack emphatically.
“Nor I,” agreed Patricia. “We were too much upset to notice details.”
“I wonder,” mused the newspaper man, glancing from one to the other suspiciously; but both met his eyes with well simulated innocence.
“We’re going somewhere to eat,” announced Jack; “better come along.”
“Yes, we surely owe you something for your kind rescue,” laughed Patricia.
“There’s an old saying about two being company,” began Craig.
“Nonsense! Come along!” cried Jack, who had taken a liking to the grave youth with his keen sense of humor. “Where shall we go, Pat?”
“Wherever we won’t meet anybody we know. We’re both sketches.”
“No wonder we were regarded as suspicious characters,” agreed Jack. “Guess we’d better go downtown. Where’s a good place?” turning to the reporter. “We usually eat up on the hill.”
“The Exeter, on Field Street, is good. Got stalls; you wouldn’t be conspicuous.”
“Exeter for us,” decided Patricia; “and let’s hurry. I’m starved.”
After a good dinner, accompanied by much joking and laughter, Jack escorted Patricia up toward College Hill, while Craig hurried back to the office of the Granard Herald, after promising to spare the principals as much as possible in his story.
“Little did we think this noon what we were in for,” said Jack, as he was about to leave Patricia at the entrance of Arnold Hall. “I’m sorry to have gotten you into such a jam.”
“You!” protested the girl. “Why, it was all my fault. If I hadn’t picked those flowers—bloodroot’s certainly the right name for them.”
“But if I hadn’t urged you to cut—”
“Oh, Jack, we had a good time; and, as for the unpleasant part, well, it didn’t last long. And it was an unusual experience.”
“But it’s not over yet; all the publicity, and talk. Of course, I could stand it; but—”
“You think I couldn’t!” finished Patricia with a flash of anger in eyes and voice. “I always try to be a good sport.”
“You are; and I didn’t mean—” faltered Jack, distressed.
“Listen!” said Patricia, her anger gone in a minute as she saw that he was really disturbed. “Everybody will laugh and joke about it for a while, and then—pouf! It’s all out, just like a candle. Nothing lasts very long.”
“What about our benefactors’ opinion of the affair?”
“Under the circumstances, he or she ought to take a sane view of the matter. We have done nothing of which we should be ashamed. Don’t worry about it.”
With these words Patricia ran up the steps, and Jack strolled to the Frat House thinking what a sensible girl Patricia was, and what a good pal.
A most amusing account of their escapade came out in the morning’s paper, and the college world rocked with merriment. Patricia and Jack were bombarded with jokes, questions, congratulations, and cartoons.
The next day Jack and Patricia met on the stairs leading to their Shakespeare classroom.
“I got a queer note,” began Patricia.
“So did I.”
“What did yours say?” asked Patricia eagerly.
“‘Keep out of police stations in the future.’”
“So did mine; but, some way, it didn’t seem cross.”
“How could you tell that?”
“I don’t know; but I just felt that whoever sent the note was smiling as he wrote it.”
“You have a wonderful imagination, Pat,” said Jack, grinning down at her. “I only hope it’s a reliable one.”
CHAPTER XVI
A PICNIC
“Could I hire any of you ladies to swim for me next Tuesday?” inquired Clarice, popping out of the back door and perching on the porch railing.
It was Saturday morning. Patricia, Anne, Frances, Katharine, and Betty had washed their hair, and were strung along the sunny top steps drying it, preparatory to going to town for a wave.
“None of us were keen enough about that swimming exam to be looking for chances to try it twice,” replied Katharine decidedly.
“You ought not to mind it,” drawled Anne sleepily; “you’re a regular mer—maid,” her last word cut short by a huge yawn.
“Look out, Anne,” cried Frances, grabbing her by the shoulders, “you’ll be sound asleep in a minute and roll down the steps.”
“It’s this strong sunlight,” said Anne, leaning comfortably back against Frances’ knees, and closing her eyes.
“What’s the matter with you doing your own swimming?” asked Betty, glancing up at Clarice through a tangle of brown hair.
“Can’t. Don’t know enough about it,” replied the girl nonchalantly, swinging one foot. “I hate it.”
“Do you mean to say that you’ve been in gym class all this year, and don’t know yet how to swim?” inquired Katharine bluntly.
“Guilty!”
“I should think Professor Wilson would have killed you off long ago,” remarked Frances. “He’s such an irritable creature.”
“Yes,” agreed Clarice,
