“I’ll try to lead up to it some way,” Mrs. Post promised warily. “She never wants to talk about college affairs, you see.”
A night or two later Betty was awakened out of a sound sleep by one of the Twin Digs, who stood over her with a candle, explaining in a sepulchral whisper, “There’s a girl in a fire-escape dangling outside my window.”
Betty rubbed her eyes, sat up, and, having thus assured herself that she was not dreaming nonsense, asked the Dig what she meant.
“Why, there’s a girl in a fire-escape dangling outside my window,” repeated the Dig hopelessly. “You know the new rope fire-escapes that are in all our rooms? Well, she evidently got into one up on the fourth floor, and started to slide to the ground, and somehow it’s stuck with her half-way down. I mean the part you put over your shoulders, that’s on a pulley to slide down the rope, has stuck and won’t slide. I couldn’t possibly pull her in alone, and I thought I’d better call you.”
“Yes, of course.” Betty jumped out of bed, and followed her incoherent informant up-stairs to a third floor single. The window was wide open and, sure enough, just out of reach, a girl, clearly visible in the moonlight, hung in mid-air, clinging to a dangling rope. When she saw the two figures appear in the lighted window, instead of calling to them or asking help or advice, she threw her whole weight on the rope and gave one furious jerk. The pulley suddenly began to work again and, caught unprepared, she lost her hold on the rope. It slipped swiftly through her fingers and she was carried downward at a terrific rate, landing with a thud on the rose bed under the window.
Betty and the Dig had watched her descent in helpless horror. Now Betty seized the candle and raced down-stairs and out into the cold night, the Dig automatically following. Round to the back of the house they went, both expecting to find a senseless body, bruised and bleeding, on the ground. Instead a girl was walking rather stiffly out from among the burlap-swathed rose-bushes.
“I’m not hurt,” she called softly. “You’ll catch cold. Run back to your beds, please, and don’t mind me.”
Betty paused in amazement, and suddenly realizing that it was indeed bitterly cold for kimonos and Turkish slippers over bare feet she thrust the candle, which the moonlight rendered useless, into the Dig’s hands, and ordered her back into the house.
“I’ll come and see you later,” she explained. “Take the catch off the door for me. I want to be sure she really isn’t hurt, and——”
Betty hurried off. It wasn’t necessary to explain to the Dig how college discipline demanded that she discover the identity of the girl, and her reasons for making an exit from Morton Hall in so unconventional a fashion.