“‘We had only orangeade,’ I replied, as good-naturedly as I could; for it certainly was annoying to be addressed in the tones she used,” went on Patricia.
“‘Are you sure of that?’ she demanded, fixing her brown eyes on me, like crabs. ‘I distinctly heard some one singing a song about wanting a drink.’”
A burst of laughter from the girls interrupted Patricia’s story, while Jane ruffled Hazel’s curls.
“Then I took a hand,” announced Clarice.
“‘You did,’ I told her, ‘and we had several; but they were all made of oranges, just as Patricia has told you. We may be noisy, but we’re not liars!’”
“What did she say?” asked Jane eagerly.
“Nothing; she just glared at me, and turned back to Pat,” replied Clarice.
“‘Aside from the personal annoyance,’ she went on,” continued Patricia, “‘I consider it highly detrimental to the reputation of college women to have such yelling and noise emanating from a supposedly respectable dormitory.’ Before we could answer, fortunately, perhaps, for I didn’t know what to say next,” went on Patricia, “she pressed a bell near her chair, and almost immediately we heard footsteps on the stairs, the heavy portieres between the living room and the hall were pushed aside, and there stood—”
“The good-looking young blond!” finished Hazel, excitedly clasping and unclasping her hands.
“Why, how did you know?” demanded Patricia in surprise.