“Next comes the dinner at Baretti’s for the dormitory girls. He hasn’t told us yet what it will cost, but—”
“Oh, goodness!” Marjorie bobbed up from her chair with the suddenness of a jack-in-the-box. “I had so much to talk over with you I almost forgot to show you Signor Baretti’s note. It came this morning.” She glanced anxiously toward the wall clock. “He wants to see us at twelve today.”
“I wonder why?” Robin appeared a trifle startled. “I hope our Thanksgiving dinner arrangement with him isn’t going to flivver.”
“He won’t fail us, I’m sure. Very likely it’s the cost of the dinner he wishes to discuss with us. Such a funny little note.” She produced the Italian’s letter from the top of her chiffonier and handed it to Robin. The latter read aloud with amused emphasis:
“Dear Miss Dean:
“You pleas come to my restaurant at twelva the clock befor afernoon on Wenesda. you tell Miss Page come to. I am not smart to write much. you please come here I tell you evrythin.
“Your frien,
“Guiseppe Baretti.”
“All right, Guiseppe, we’ll be there at twelve,” smiled Robin as she returned the letter to Marjorie. “I’ll go over the rest of this now, in a hurry. This will be our only chance. We’ll bump into all our friends, once we’re out on the campus. Any of them we don’t happen to meet there will probably appear at the inn.”
“Too true, Page; too true.” Marjorie agreed with a rueful shake of her curly head.