"All right, I won't do it again," cried Betty with forced gaiety.
"Isn't that Mollie waving to us? Of course it is. Come on, Grace,
I'll run you a race."
But Grace was in no mind to run a race, and Betty reached the meeting place alone, with Grace trailing in the rear.
"Have any of the boys reached here yet?" asked Betty as she ran up the steps. "I was afraid we'd be late."
"No, they haven't come," said Mollie, looking anxiously down the street; "and I'm so afraid they'll be late and miss the train, I don't know what to do. Do you suppose they could have forgotten?"
"Mollie Billette," cried Betty, looking at her wonderingly, "what on earth——"
"Oh, I know I'm impossibly silly," cried Mollie, dropping into a chair and rocking nervously; "but I just don't know what I'm saying this morning. I feel as if somebody was dead."
"Not yet—but soon," boomed a deep voice behind them that made them jump a foot.
"Roy Anderson!" cried Mollie, her French temper flaring forth. "That's a nice thing to do—come up behind us and scare us all to death. And it's not nice to joke about such a serious thing, either."
"Gee, it won't do any good to cry about it," retorted Roy philosophically, looking around upon the three pretty girls with an appreciative eye. "I call it a great lark, and if only you girls were coming along my happiness would be complete."
"Where are the other boys?" broke in Betty. "I thought you were all coming together."