Late in the evening I counted over my own hoard. We were all in the study parlor, with the exception of Winnie, and as I counted I looked up and saw that Adelaide and Milly were regarding me with interest, though their glances instantly fell to the books which they had apparently been studying.
“How much have you, Tib?” Adelaide asked; “enough yet to buy the steamer ticket for the ocean passage?”
“No,” I replied, “only forty-seven dollars as yet, but I hope to make it before the close of school.”
“Of course you will,” Milly replied reassuringly.
Cynthia laughed raspingly. “You have almost enough now, if you go in the steerage,” she sneered.
Adelaide suddenly threw a bit of drawn linen work belonging to Cynthia over the money, which I had spread out in the chair before me.
“What are you doing with my embroidery?” Cynthia snapped. “Did you mistake it for a dust rag?”
“Natural mistake,” Milly giggled.
Adelaide lifted her finger warningly. “Hush!” she said, “I saw a face at the transom; some one was looking in from the studio.”
Milly turned pale and clutched my hand, and we all looked at the transom with straining eyes. It was almost dark in the studio and for a few moments we saw nothing but some one was moving about, for we heard cautious steps, and a creaking sound just the other side of the door. Presently a hat cautiously lifted itself into view through the transom. It was a broad-brimmed, soft felt hat of the Rembrandt style, which Professor Waite sometimes wore. It moved about silently from one side of the transom to the other, descended, and appeared again.