“Is that you, Polly?” whispered Lucile to somebody standing near her.
“No, it’s not,” squeaked the figure, from behind its little black mask.
“Why, we shan’t even know each other, after we get mixed up a little,” giggled somebody else, as the procession lined up for a hasty dash through the halls.
“Now, don’t forget that you’ve all got to help think up things for them to do,” warned Madeline, “especially you sophomores.”
“And don’t forget to remember the things for grinds,” added Polly Eastman lucidly. “That’s what the party is for.”
“If the freshmen find out that you had to get us to help you, you’ll never hear the last of it,” jeered Babe.
“Now Babe, we’re their natural allies,” protested Babbie. “Of course we always help them.”
“Sh!” called a scout, sticking her head into the room. “Coast’s clear. Make a rush for it.”
The last ghost had just gotten safely into the room, when two freshmen, timid but much flattered by Polly’s cordial invitation, knocked on the door.
“Come in,” called Polly in her natural voice, and once unsuspectingly inside, they were pounced upon by the army of ghosts, and escorted to seats as far as possible from the door. The other guests luckily arrived in a body headed by Georgia Ames, who, having come into the house only the day before, was already an important personage in the eyes of her classmates. What girl wouldn’t be who called Betty Wales by her first name, and wasn’t one bit afraid to “talk back” to the clever Miss Ayres?