"Why of course. The name's rather lurid, but it's a perfectly nice place. Let's take this cross-street and then we'll save half a block."
On the way to the popular restaurant, Hildegarde did most of the talking. None of her guests felt exactly comfortable over accepting the invitation; and yet to decline it, when Hildegarde declared herself half starved, seemed decidedly ungracious. None of the Friendly Terrace girls had been brought up to think a chaperone a necessary accompaniment to all youthful pleasures, but venturing into a down-town restaurant at ten o'clock in the evening, without either chaperone or escort, was rather too up-to-date to please any of them. Peggy pictured Graham's face when she told him of the climax of the evening's pleasures, and smiled rather ruefully.
Once inside, it must be admitted, the spirits of all three revived. The big room was so lighted that it was more dazzling than the noon day. A space had been cleared for dancing, and several couples were revolving in time to a catchy popular air. The majority of the tables were occupied, but the head-waiter, who evidently recognized Hildegarde, led the way to a small round table at the side, and seated them with a flourish. No one had seemed to notice them, and Peggy hoped that their inconspicuous location would prevent any unwelcome attention.
"After all," she thought sensibly, "it's a perfectly respectable place, and perhaps it's not considered queer for girls to come alone." Unconsciously her fear of arousing unfavorable comment rendered her unusually subdued, and the other girls took their cue from her, speaking in their lowest voices, smiling discreetly, and otherwise conducting themselves with as much decorum as if there had been a chaperone apiece.
After some discussion they decided on welsh rarebit, and Hildegarde also ordered coffee and rolls. The rarebit came in due time, an island of toast in a seething lava-lake of rarebit. The girls sniffed appreciatively and exchanged smiles. "To think I didn't know I was hungry," Amy exclaimed.
"I wish I could make my rarebits smooth like this," sighed Peggy. "It looks so wonderful that I hate to eat it."
Their faces cheerful, but their manners still decorously subdued, the four girls attacked the dainty which has so undesirable a reputation in the matter of dreams. Though Hildegarde was the only one of the four who had not done justice to her dinner, all were young enough to feel hungry at the sight of the tempting dish. The islands of toast vanished as if submerged by a tidal wave. The miniature lava lakes gradually disappeared, and the big plate of rolls was so diminished by successive onslaughts that the few remaining had a lonely look.
Priscilla was buttering the end of her roll when, in involuntary emphasis of something she was saying, she pressed it more energetically than she realized. As if determined to escape the fate of its comrades, the fragment flew from her fingers. It cleared the space between that table and the next as if it had been winged, and then made sure of escape by dropping in the coffee cup of a young man in eye glasses, who was composedly eating fried oysters.
The young man looked up, startled as a splash of coffee on his cheek challenged his attention. He looked about in all directions and at length his inquiring gaze came to the table where sat the agonized Priscilla. Here, alas! it halted. For as she had seen the bewildering gyrations of the fragment of Priscilla's roll, Amy had burst into an astonished giggle and had continued to giggle without cessation. Hildegarde, too, had lost interest in the remnant of her meal, and sat leaning her head on her hand, speechless with laughter. As for Peggy and Priscilla, they were looking at each other in silent stupefaction, their flaming cheeks seemingly proclaiming their guilt. It was no wonder the young man in eye-glasses looked no farther. He had found the ones responsible.