“That means the end of hazing,” said Arden. “It’s always done this way.”
“Thank goodness for that!” murmured Terry.
The party was over. Then the girls, sophomores and freshmen, formed a friendly circle and sang “Autumn Leaves,” the alma mater song. The girls’ voices carried softly through the moonlit night and even the most unromantic was impressed with the beauty of the words and melody.
Then, bidding one another good-night, the happy students hurried to their respective rooms, talking excitedly. And the dean and her helpers settled more comfortably in their beds, knowing that for another term this affair was successfully over.
The door of 513 shut on Arden, Sim, and Terry. For a moment they stood looking at one another, and then, as if by agreement, they began to laugh; hysterical laughs but none the less hearty.
“Oh, you do look such a sight, Sim!” Terry gasped.
“Why bring that up?” Sim chuckled.
“But we had a lovely time,” Arden said. “Even if there was a mysterious bell ringing and a face——”
“Tell us more about that,” begged Sim.
“I’ve told you all I know. I saw a face—an old man’s, I’m sure, staring in at me from the window. Then the bell rang.”