Priscilla and Conny turned upstairs lugging the suit-case between them, while Patty approached the principal's study. Ten minutes later she joined her companions in Seven, Paradise Alley. They were sitting on the bed, their chins in their hands, studying the suit-case propped on a chair before them.
"Well?" they inquired in a breath.
"She says she's glad to see me back, and hopes I didn't eat too much wedding cake. If my lessons show any falling off—"
"Who owns it?"
"The man with the black eyebrows and the dimple in his chin who sang the funny songs third from the end on the right hand side."
"Jermyn Hilliard, Junior?" Priscilla asked breathlessly.
"Not really?" Conny laid her hand on her heart with an exaggerated sigh.
"Truly and honest!" Patty turned it over and pointed to the initials on the end. "J. H., Jr."
"It is his!" cried Priscilla.
"Where on earth did you get it, Patty?"