In the big room, some of the lights were put out and the girls sat in hushed groups talking in whispers.
Every once in a while, a Senior dressed as a gypsy would single out a group and lead it to the camp, where Louise and Florence as fortune tellers would select their fortunes from a big black pot (Polly’s discovery) and read it out in a sing-song voice. If it was one of the special ones, it would be received with peals of laughter from the listening girls.
Angela, Connie, Lois, Betty and Polly sat in a circle in one corner of the room. They completely surrounded and hid from view what had been the choicest plate of cakes.
Polly looked with admiration at Betty as she finished her seventh piece.
“Bet, dear,” she asked, “how do you manage to eat so much. The rest of us are birdlike beside you.”
“I concentrate,” was the reply, “it’s really very simple.”
“Will some one kindly divert her attention elsewhere for a while then,” Angela requested, “for there’s only one piece left and I mean to have it.”
The others, as soon as they too perceived this lamentable fact, made a frantic dive for the dish, but just who would have carried off the prize will never be known, for at that moment, one of the gypsies, catching sight of the group, called to them:
“You’re wanted on the platform. They are waiting to tell your fortunes, hurry up.”
Scrambling to their feet, the girls followed their guide to the tent and waited.