guess not; not a regular, anyhow. But why should you be interested? Aren’t you and the Professor good pals any more?”
“Sure; but there are several nice girls in the Gang who haven’t boy friends. You see I’m being purely altruistic.”
“Maybe the man in question would prefer to manage his affairs himself,” said Jane practically.
“Maybe; in fact, he may have made a selection already,” suggested Anne, smiling at Pat in the mirror.
Patricia kept her eyes on the road ahead, and feigned ignorance of Anne’s meaning. Presently she changed the subject by asking what her guests would like to do that evening. “The week end is so short that we have to use every minute of it.”
“A movie,” proposed Katharine. “I haven’t seen a good one in a coon’s age.”
“And double sodas all around afterward,” added Jane. “My treat.”
“Sounds good to me,” agreed Anne, when Patricia looked inquiringly at her.
“All right, then. That’s what we’ll do. Guess I’ll put on a little speed, so we’ll get home early enough to go to the first performance. This new road certainly has meant a lot to me—it shortened the distance so much. You know it’s quite a trip by rail; this road through the woods cuts off miles. Oh!” her remarks concluded with a shriek.
“What’s the matter?” demanded Anne, startled.
“A bee!” exclaimed Patricia. “For pity’s sake keep your eyes on him and try to put him out. I’m always afraid of being stung when I’m at the wheel.”
“You have some opinion of our eyes if you think they are capable of putting out a full grown bee,” remarked Katharine. “Mine don’t even see him, to say nothing of pushing him out the window.”
“Stop joking,” begged Patricia, “and find him.”
“There he is!” cried Anne, drawing herself as far into the corner as she could.
“Where?” demanded Jane, turning around to look at the passengers in the back seat.
“Down on the floor,” said Katharine. “You girls make me tired; all so afraid of one poor little bee!”
“Suppose you pick him up and throw him out, if there’s nothing to be afraid of,” suggested Patricia.
“No—o; but, there! I’ve set my bag on him. He’ll be quite dead in a minute, then I’ll pick him up,” offered Katharine.
“Most any one of us would be willing to pick up a dead bee,” offered Jane.
Presently Katharine lifted the bag; but the action was followed by a squeal from Anne, who announced that he was just as much alive as ever.
Katharine thumped her bag down again while Jane laughed breathlessly.
Ten minutes later, Katharine again peered at her victim; and again he showed very definite signs of life.
“Talk about cats having nine lives,” she commented.
“Set that bag down,” begged Anne, “and leave him alone. If he’s not dead, he’s at least out of mischief.”
“Toughest bee I ever saw,” commented Katharine, thumping the bag again on the unlucky insect. “There you stay until we get to our destination.”
Mrs. Randall was on the porch waiting for them when the car pulled up at the steps.
“I brought two extras, Mum!” cried Patricia, jumping out and hugging her mother.
“That’s fine,” replied Mrs. Randall, smiling at her guests. “It’s pretty lonesome around here now, and Pat’s friends are always welcome.”
When the introductions were over, the irrepressible Katharine said to their hostess, “One of our passengers is in there on the floor; where shall I put him?”
Mrs. Randall looked puzzled, while the girls laughed.
“See?” said Katharine, taking Mrs. Randall by the arm, and showing her the bee crawling along as if holding up heavy bags were just pastime for him.
“Oh,” said Mrs. Randall, entering into the spirit of the fun. “Suppose you leave the door open and let him select his own room.”
As she spoke, the big black and gold fellow spread his wings, blundered about a moment, then sailed out past the girls who dodged him with little shrieks and settled on a patch of lilies of the valley beside the porch.
“Now that the stowaway is disposed of, let’s go in,” proposed Patricia, following her mother up the steps.
“Better go right upstairs and get ready for dinner, Pat,” advised Mrs. Randall. “Daddy’s coming home a bit early, and I thought we would eat as soon as he gets here, so you girls will have a long evening for anything you want to do.”
“Your mother’s a peach; isn’t she?” remarked Anne, as the four girls went up the long stairs together.
“I think so,” replied Patricia, smiling with gratification. “Now this is my room, and the guest room is right opposite. We can divide up any way you please.”
“Suppose we change around,” proposed Anne. “Katharine and I will take the guest room tonight; then tomorrow night we’ll put Jane in with Katharine and I’ll go with you.”
“Ah—wa! Ah—wa!” lamented Katharine.
“What on earth’s the matter with you?” demanded Anne.
“I don’t have Pat at all, I don’t!”
“Oh, you sleep all the time; so what difference does it make?” laughed Jane.
“I’ll set the alarm,” offered Patricia in amusement; “and when the night’s half over, I’ll go in, roll Anne out, send her over to my room, and get in with you. How’s that?”
“I’ll consider it,” replied Katharine in her most dignified tones; “but I think my feelings are irreparably damaged.”
“Oh, go on!” cried Anne, shoving Katharine ahead of her into the guest room. “You’ll never be ready for dinner.”
Mr. Randall loved company, and was always most entertaining whenever Patricia had guests; so the dinner hour was prolonged to such an extent that when the four girls reached the theater, the early performance was well under way.
“I like it over on the right,” whispered Patricia, as they entered the darkened house. “Just follow me,” she added, ignoring the usher completely and hurrying down a side aisle. She was a bit careless in stepping up into a row of seats, and turned on her ankle. To save herself a fall, she grabbed madly at the seat in front of her, which was occupied by a very large and very dignified-looking man. Instead of grasping the back of his seat, as she intended, her hand came down very forcibly on the top of his bald head.
“Ouch!” he cried out in astonishment
