“Why so sarcastic?” Betty raised her delicate eyebrows.
“Well—what do you think we’ve run into—a college houseparty or something?”
“Oh, I think you’re mean,” Betty pouted.
“But you do choose the queerest times to spiff up!”
“Do you think those men will try to get in again!” Betty’s blue eyes widened.
“If I didn’t know that your head was a fluffball—But what’s the use. Run along now. It sounds as if George were coming down. Hurry up—you might meet him on the stairs!”
“Cat!” said Betty and flew.
Dorothy went to the door and listened. If the two men were still outside, they gave no sign of their presence. Nothing came to her ears through the panels but the howl of the storm.
Then she heard footsteps running down the stairs from the second story and switched her flashlight on George. He carried a double barreled shotgun in the hollow of his arm.
“Howdy!” he greeted her enthusiastically. “You know, I can never thank you girls enough for all you’ve done. Gosh! You’re a couple of heroes, all right—I mean heroines. When I saw Betty—I mean, Miss Mayo,” he amended quickly with an embarrassed grin, “come sprinting into the library and begin to cut me loose, why I just couldn’t believe my eyes!”