“Don’t write it tonight then,” advised Jerry. “You are still too close to your trouble. Wait a day or two before you write.”
“I suppose I’d better,” Marjorie listlessly agreed.
“Yes; you had.” Jerry adopted a purposely lugubrious tone.
“Stop making fun of my sorrow.” Marjorie could not resist a faint giggle at Jerry’s ridiculous imitation of herself.
“Aha! That’s more like it. Now I propose we shut up shop and go to Baretti’s for dinner. I’ve been hungrily thinking of fried chicken and hot waffles with maple syrup this P. M. They aren’t going to have ’em here for dinner, either. There’s to be beefsteak en casserole, which is all very nice, but my mind is on chicken and waffles.”
“I guess I’d rather have chicken, too. I’m beginning to be hungry in spite of my troubles.” Marjorie rose from her seat near the window. “You’re a true comforter, Jeremiah. Wait until I bathe my face and smooth my hair and I’ll go anywhere you say.”
“Fine!” returned Jerry cheerily. “It will be the first time you and I ever went out alone to dine. The girls have always been with us. Nowadays Ronny is so popular I hardly catch a glimpse of her on the campus. But the five little old Lookouts always congregate at ten-fifteen every night. That helps.”
Jerry referred to a custom begun only that year. The great popularity of the five girls, which had been steadily increasing since their freshman year, served to separate them during their leisure hours from each and one another. Muriel had proposed they gather every night at ten-fifteen for a brief chat before retiring.
Arrived at Baretti’s, Marjorie’s pensive mood still clung to her. Jerry made no direct effort to dispel it. She knew it would have to wear away of its own accord. Baretti’s delicious fried chicken and extra crisp waffles was a favorite order with the Hamilton students. Engaged presently in eating this palatable fare, Marjorie started in sudden surprise at an unfamiliar voice at her elbow. She glanced up from her plate to meet the eyes of the freshman she had seen that afternoon in Elizabeth Walbert’s car.
“Please don’t think me intrusive, Miss Dean,” the freshman was saying. “I noticed you when you came in and I was so anxious to learn whether the woman with you today on the pike was injured by Miss Walbert’s car. I begged her to turn around and go back, but she wouldn’t. She said she was sure that she hadn’t come within several feet of the woman. It looked to me as though she were almost under the wheels. Of course, I only caught a glimpse of both of you, so I couldn’t really judge exactly what happened.”