Which was really the fact. Roberto understood well enough what was desired of him. Ruth pointed out the French teacher's window, and the windows of Nettie Parsons' quartette room. From one of them would hang a weighted string on that night. Everything was agreed, and the feast planned.
It was a starlight night, when it arrived, but Roberto could find a place to hide in the shrubbery, where he could watch both windows, as agreed. He slept in a little back room of Tony Foyle's suite in the basement of the main building, and could get out and in without disturbing Mr. and Mrs. Foyle.
If he were caught out of his room after hours, Ruth knew that Tony would be angry, but she had great influence with the little Irishman and promised Roberto that she would "make it all right" for him, if he were caught.
The hour of the party came. The West Dormitory had apparently been "in the arms of Morpheus" for half an hour, at least.
"But Mr. Murphy didn't get a strangle hold on us to-night," giggled Heavy, as she led the procession from her room.
The girls were all in their kimonas, and many brought plates, knives and forks, cups, and other paraphernalia for the feast. There was to be hot chocolate and there were two alcohol lamps and two pots.
The Fox presided over one lamp and Heavy bossed the other one. There was something wrong with the plump girl's lamp; either it had been filled too full, or it leaked. From the start it kept flaring and frightening the girls.
"I really wish you would not use that old contraption!" exclaimed Ann Hicks. "It's just as uncertain as a pinto pony."
"Never you mind," snapped Heavy. "I guess I know——"
Pouf!