“Remember eats are necessary at a pow-wow. Trot out whatever you happen to have in your suitcases that’s eatable,” Gussie ordered. “I’ve a five-pound box of chocolate nuts. Next? That means Floss, Calista, Charlotte and Anna. The rest of you are company and have to be entertained.”
Gussie cleared the center table with one or two energetic sweeps of the arm. Her chums began a prompt diving into bags and suitcases for their contributions to the feast. Calista produced a pasteboard box of macaroons, Flossie one of salted almonds, Anna a sweet grass basket of stuffed dates and Charlotte Robbins a box of home-made maple and chocolate fudge and a large jar of tiny sour pickles.
“There.” Gussie arranged the toothsome array of delicacies on the table to her satisfaction. “Here’s to our noble P. G.’s,” she proposed, flourishing an arm. “Long may they wave. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!”
The five Bertramites came out lustily on the hurrahing. The room rang with their gleeful shouts.
The echoes of them had hardly died out before the six guests were returning the compliment quite as vociferously. They continued to make plenty of pleasant noise as they sampled the sweets and rushed from one topic of girl interest to another.
“Someone is rapping on the door.” Leila’s quick ears were the first to catch the sound.
“I’ll go.” Gussie hurried to the door, a pickle in one hand, a square of maple fudge in the other. She transferred the pickle to the fudge hand and opened the door.
“Why, Miss Remson!” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Come in. We’re having a jollification. You are just in time for it.”
“Glad to join in the fun.” The manager’s tones were utterly friendly. “I’m the bearer of wet-blanket news, though. Miss Monroe, next door to this room, has just complained of the noise going on here. She has an examination in mathematics tomorrow and insists upon quiet so that she can study. I’m sorry, children.” A good-humored smile overspread her face. “You’ll have to try to play more quietly.”
“Why, the idea! We haven’t been here an hour yet, and it’s so early in the afternoon!” Gussie burst forth half resentfully. “Pardon me, Miss Remson. I don’t mean that for you. I mean it for fussy Miss Monroe, whoever she may be. Talk about pure freshie nerve!” Gussie’s eyes traveled the group of now silent students for sympathy. She found it in the common expression of blank, half-sheepish surprise written large on her friends’ faces.