It sounded very well, but as Polly and Lois each gave her a good-night kiss, they noticed a suspicious dampness about her pillow.
They stole safely back to their rooms, conscious of having broken a rule for a good cause and, who knows, perhaps it was because the cause was good that they were not caught.
[CHAPTER V—THE THANKSGIVING PARTY]
Betty was sitting on top of the grand piano on the platform in the Assembly Hall, kicking her feet and sucking a very large lemon by means of a stick of candy used as a straw.
“Thanksgiving comes but once a year,” she chanted to no one in particular, adding, with a heartfelt sigh to give the words emphasis:
“Thank goodness.”
“Why so grateful?” questioned Florence Guile pausing in the act of erecting a would-be gypsy tent out of a miscellaneous assortment of shawls. Then, attracted by the gurgling sound of Betty’s lemon, she straightened up, and pointing an accusing finger, demanded:
“Betty Thompson, are you daring to suck the lemon we were saving to write the fortunes with?”
“Well, yes I am,” Betty admitted, dodging under the piano and smiling impishly from this point of vantage.
“Now, Florence, you are selfish,” she teased; “it’s bad enough having no Thanksgiving vacation, but after the way I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for you, you shouldn’t, no, you really shouldn’t begrudge me a lemon.”