And then, just as he dashed past a door on his right, it opened. A broad band of light streamed out, and to Purt’s ears came the quick demand:
“What’s this? Who are you?”
“It’s Gee Gee!” thought the boy, but he never stopped. In a moment he realized that Miss Carrington had not addressed her question to him, but to the girl.
He ran on, as softly as possible, and rounded the corner, knowing that the strange girl had been caught by the teacher, who repeated her demand in a louder and more emphatic tone.
“Who are you? What are you doing here in the schoolhouse?” Then Miss Carrington saw that the girl was not one of her scholars—indeed, no girl of Central High was ever dressed so gaily, unless it was at a masquerade.
“For goodness sake, child!” exclaimed the teacher, still more sharply. “Come in here and explain yourself.”
She drew her inside the classroom and closed the door. In the full light the strange girl was revealed in a purple velvet skirt, a green bodice, a yellow silk scarf, or handkerchief, around her neck, and with a net, on which steel beads were sewed, over her hair. With her dark complexion and high color she was indeed a striking figure as she stood there, hands on her hips, and panting slightly as she gazed back bravely into Miss Carrington’s spectacled eyes.
“For goodness sake, child!” repeated the teacher. “Who and what are you?”
“My name is Margit Salgo,” said the Gypsy girl, watching Miss Carrington, with her sharp black eyes.
“Salgo?” whispered the teacher, and for a moment the girl thought that Miss Carrington would sink into the nearest chair. Then she drew herself up and, although her pallor remained, her eyes sparkled behind the thick lenses of her spectacles.