Nancy, feeling that it was all wrong and that no good would come of it, slid out of bed, sought her slippers with her bare toes, wriggled her feet into them, and seized her gray robe.
She darted out of Number 30 before any of the visitors arrived, and went to the nearest bathroom. There she waited until she was pretty sure the twenty girls had gathered to enjoy their stolen fun.
Number 38 was just across in the other short corridor. Nancy ran there, sobbing quietly to herself. Just before she opened the door somebody grabbed her arm.
Oh! how frightened she was for the moment. She was sure a lurking teacher had found her out of her room.
“Hush! don’t be a dunce! It’s only me,” said a kind, if sharp, voice.
“Jennie Bruce!”
“Of course it is. Who did you think I was—your grandmother’s ghost?” giggled Jennie, pinching her.
“Oh, oh!” panted Nancy.
“You’re scared to death. What’s the matter?”
“You were going into Number 38?”