“My dear young lady,” replied Mr. Mudge, “I never indulge in preconceived ideas, but I give every possibility a hearing. I have nearly completed my examination of the locale, but must ask one trifling favor. Will you kindly lend me all your keys?”
“You don’t mean to say that you are going through all our things?” I exclaimed, aghast at the thought that the secret of the commissary must now be disclosed.
“A mere matter of form,” he murmured, extending his hand with persuasive authority. Winnie delivered her one key promptly, saying, “I will go and tell the other girls.”
“Quite unnecessary,” Mr. Mudge replied. “I have a pass key which opened Miss Adelaide’s capacious trunk. I have shaken out all her furbelows and tried to fold them again as well as I could, but I fear that the gowns with trains were a little too difficult for me. Miss Milly’s bureau drawers were in a wild state of mix: ribbons, laces, gloves, hair crimpers, dried-up cake, perfumery, jewelry, chewing-gum, love letters (innocent ones from other young ladies), a manicure set, a bonnet pulled to pieces, a box of Huyler’s, fancy work, dressmaker’s and other bills (which I have taken the liberty to borrow for a day or two), dancing slippers and German favors, a tin box containing marshmallows and a bottle of French dressing, menthol pencil, pepsum lozenges for indigestion, box of salted almonds, bangles, sachet, photograph of Harvard foot-ball team, notes to lectures on evidences of Christianity, silver bonbonnière containing candied violets, programmes of symphony rehearsals, caramels and embroidery silks gummed together, a handsome book of etchings converted into a herbarium or pressing book for botany class, and strapped together by buckling elastic garters around it; fine Geneva watch, out of order; match box containing specimens of live beetles, which I fear I released; pair of embroidered silk stockings, in need of mending; a diary, disappointing since it contains but two entries; packet of letters from home, tied with corset lacing (these I have borrowed), packet of ditto from a certain ‘Devotedly yours, Stacey, F. S.’ tied with blue ribbon—these are of no interest to me and I will not violate their secrets; badge of the Kings’ Daughters, button of West Point cadet, a fan bearing some autographs, a mouldy lemon, a dream book, etc., etc. The more I tried to examine her affairs the more confused I became, and I finally dumped them all out on the floor and then shoveled them back again. I don’t believe she will ever suspect that they have been touched.”
I laughed, but Winnie looked uneasy. “I think, sir,” she said, “that it is hardly honorable to carry away Milly’s private letters.”
“Any objection to having me read yours?” he asked sharply.
“None at all,” Winnie replied, at the same time handing him her little writing desk, “but with Milly the case is different. I do not think Mr. Roseveldt will like it.”
“Mr. Roseveldt will understand the necessity of the case,” Mr. Mudge replied.
“Have you looked through Cynthia’s things?” I asked.
“Yes, first of all. Everything in admirable order. She sets you other young ladies an example in point of neatness. And now, Miss Smith, I will thank you to give me the key to that small, old-fashioned trunk under your bed. It is the only one which my pass key will not fit; the lock has gone out of date.”