“Freshies, and they act it,” muttered Jerry.
The party arranged themselves at two tables, keeping up a running fire of loud-toned repartee. Signor Baretti, now seated at one end of the restaurant, perusing an Italian newspaper, peered sharply over it at the disturbers. The little man knew, to a dot, the difference between natural high spirits and boisterousness.
Hardly had they seated themselves when the tall girl stood up and called out, “Attention, everybody!” She waved an inclusive arm over the two tables occupied by the flock she appeared to be leading.
“Sit down Gussie!” giggled a small girl with very light hair, a snub nose and freckles. “You are making a lot of noise in the world. Didn’t you know it?”
“Who cares.” The tall girl tossed her short-cropped head. “Already now with the Bertram yell. Let’s show folks where we came from. When I raise my arm—go ahead and whoop!”
Highly pleased with herself and utterly regardless of proprietor and diners, she raised a rounded arm, bare almost to the shoulder, with a grandiose air.
Immediately lusty voices took up a yell ending in a long drawn “Ber-t-r-a-m! That’s us!” This was repeated three times. As it died away the enterprising leader resumed her chair, apparently careless of what impression she and her companions had made.
Two meek Italian waitresses now approaching to take their order, they hesitated and hung back a little. The yelling having subsided, they rose afresh to duty and went over to the party. There they continued to stand, unheeded by the revelers. The exuberant freshmen now had their heads together over the menu, babbling joyously.
“Are we ready to go?” Leila glanced inquiringly around the circle. “Let us leave these little folks to their merry shouts and laughter. Two of those youngsters, the tall one and the little tow-head, are at Wayland Hall. I mentioned them a while back as noisy. Have you reason to doubt me?”
“We could never doubt you, Leila Greatheart,” lightly avowed Marjorie. She was eyeing the rollicking freshmen with some amusement.