“Yes, she’s upstairs. You might tell me your friend’s name; that’s only common politeness.”
“Your welcome literally knocked me out,” laughed Anne. “She’s Patricia Randall, and is going to be in our class, and live here.”
“Here?” demanded Frances in surprise.
“Yes; and, what’s more, right in the alley!” cried Jane, triumphantly holding up a card which she had picked out of a pile on the hall table. While the others were talking, Jane had been busily rummaging among the cards of room assignments.
“Let’s see,” said Anne, taking the bit of pasteboard from Jane. “No. 5. Right, next to me!”
“And across from us,” added Jane. “Has Ruth come yet?”
A slight little girl with big shy black eyes and a boyish bob ran down the stairs and approached the group.
“What do you mean by being up there when I come?” demanded Jane, shaking her room mate affectionately.
The girl’s pale face flushed slightly as she replied in a soft little voice: “I went up to see if Clarice had all of her things out of No. 14.”
“No excuse at all,” declared Jane. “This is my room mate, Ruth Maynard; Patricia Randall, a new member of our Gang.”