“I know it,” said Nancy, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
“And it may get us into a peck of trouble,” went on Billie. “Will you stand by me, Nancy?”
“Did I ever fail you, Billie?”
“Never, Nancy-Bell; and it was an insult to your honor to have asked the question. Well, here goes.”
Billie marched to the telephone, and, with heroic decision, put the receiver to her ear.
“Miss Evelyn Stone’s room,” she said. “What’s that? Not allowed to call her up? Oh, very well. I’ll give my name—Miss Wilhelmina Campbell—an old friend—here for a few days.” She placed one hand over the mouthpiece and blinked at Nancy. “Shall I say Fontainebleau or Prairie Inn?” she called softly to Nancy, who, lying on her back on the bed, continued to peruse the brown spot on her nose by means of a small hand mirror.
“Prairie Inn,” said Nancy. “No—no, better say Fontainebleau. The father was at Prairie Inn.”
“Old Fontainebleau friend——” Billie called over the telephone. Then she put up the receiver. “The clerk will call us when he has delivered the message,” she explained. “But I’m scared, Nancy. I have a premonition of evil.”
The two girls waited breathlessly for five minutes. The telephone bell rang out.