“Know who you’re going with tonight?” began Betty.
“No. Do you know who has asked me?” inquired Polly.
She had known all week that on the morning of the dance each new girl would receive a written invitation from one of the old girls, asking her to be their guest for the evening.
“Ha, ha,” laughed Betty, “don’t you wish you knew? Yes, I was there and I heard you bid for; also I was with her when she put the note in your desk. I think you’ll be pleased.”
“Ah, go on, tell me, please,” teased Polly.
“Indeed, I will not,” Betty exclaimed. “I will tell you that you won’t like Miss Hale any better this time next year than you do now—I will tell you that we will have pancakes for breakfast—or that tomorrow’s sermon will be very dull, but tell you the name of the girl who is going to take you tonight, certainly no—”
She stopped short in her dramatic speech as she caught the warning gurgle that water gives in a tub, just a few seconds before it runs over.
“Great Cæsar’s Ghost! our baths!” she cried, and both girls dashed for their tubs, and in a minute there came the sound of splashing from behind the closed doors.
Twenty minutes later they met at breakfast, both a little out of breath, and true to Betty’s prophecy, there were pancakes.
After breakfast on Saturday there was an hour for study, and after that the girls were free for the rest of the day. Polly could hardly wait to get to her desk, but of course something had to interfere on this particular morning.