“Then she couldn’t find the pocket, and so she started to put the pipe back in her mouth. It was clear that either she wasn’t used to pipes—or to dresses.”
“Why, Polly!”
“So I asked Frank Everton, who was with me—no, he hadn’t been in town with me, I only met him in the Square—I asked him to follow her into the college grounds. She crossed the street at a trot when she saw us coming, and it seemed to me that she was making for Weld Hall.”
All the girls in the group were now thoroughly interested.
“Consequently I stood at the corner of Appian Way until Frank came back with his report, and—”
Here Polly paused to note the effect of her words.
“Well, well, what was it?” asked the impatient listeners.
“Well, it was Loring Bradshaw. Frank followed him to his room, where he tore off his skirts. He had forgotten that he was masquerading as a woman when he lit his pipe. You see it was in the pocket of the waistcoat which he wore beneath his cape. I had recognized him almost immediately; you know he has a funny little scar under his eye, and then that manly stride! Even in Cambridge you wouldn’t see a girl with a gait like that.”
“But why was he parading in woman’s clothes? Was it a college bet?”
“Oh, I haven’t heard the whole story yet. Frank came back in a hurry because he had left me standing there.”