Effie. Perhaps not, but I’m a member of the S. O. M. F., which means Society of Midnight Feasters, and I know the password—Bx! See my badge?
Betty. Oh, Effie, you’re a regular Paul Pry. What shall we do, girls?
Beatrice. Eat and decide afterward. See the young gourmand stuff.
Effie. Yes, it’s a first rate spread. (All begin to eat. Intersperse remarks such as “Pass the pickles,” “Isn’t this great,” etc. The knob of the door rattles loudly. All pause in dismay.)
Voice (from without). Miss Norton! Miss Mortimer! Young ladies. (No response.) Miss Norton! Miss Mortimer! (Loud rapping.) Open this door! (A pause.) Do you intend to obey? Very well, I shall fetch Mrs. Waterman. (Steps recede.)
Beatrice. Scoot, girls, quick!
Betty. We don’t dare. She’s probably waiting a little way down the corridor.
Lillian. What shall we do?
Florence. You and Lil get into bed quick. The rest of us will hide. Effie, you’re little and spry, you blow out the candle and unlock the door. Then get back into your former hiding place.
Effie. All right.