“I can’t! I’m caught—or something.”
“Well, pull yourself loose! You’ve just got to!”
“Here goes!”
Again the ripping, tearing sound.
“My best skirt on a big nail!” sighed Terry. Then she flopped over the side and down upon Sim and Arden.
Despite the discomfort of their positions and the imminent danger of detection, Terry began to giggle. It was quickly infectious, and Arden and Sim held grimy hands over their mouths to stifle the dangerous sounds of hysterical mirth.
They could hear the voices of the chaplain and the station agent just outside the baggage-room door. They were surely coming in, the girls thought, though whether to detect the culprits or for some other reason could not yet be determined.
Suddenly Sim reached up and pulled down the large, hinged cover of the packing case. It was light but strongly made.
“Oh, we’ll smother!” protested Arden in a whisper.
“No, we won’t! There are plenty of cracks for air,” said Sim.