“I’ll get your tickets, then. I’d like you to be where you can get a good view, since you’ve never been to a real big game before.”
“Thanks a lot,” said Patricia gratefully, as she started up the steps. “Good night.”
“Bring them to you in Shakespeare class Friday,” called Jack, just as Norman and Clarice came out onto the porch.
Shortly after the street was again deserted, a masculine figure slipped out of a thick clump of shrubbery near the dormitory, and, keeping well in the heavy shadows which edged Arnold Hall on one side, slunk off into the darkness.
CHAPTER VIII
JACK OR TUT?
“Will somebody stop that bell!” called Patricia frantically one afternoon a week later.
She and Anne were in their room, trying to cram for a test in French.
“No!” shouted Clarice and Hazel simultaneously. “We want to wear out the battery before tonight; and the coast is clear now.”
Patricia gave her door a shove which made it close with a bang, and stuffed her fingers into her ears, while Anne did likewise. Presently the door flew open again to admit Mary.
“What’s the idea?” she exclaimed, viewing the two girls with alarm.