"Tell me about the story, Cologne," said Tavia. "You can go on admiring me just the same. What's Dorothy's serial that Viola has the copyright on?"
"That is precisely what we want you to find out," answered Rose-Mary. "We have been trying to do it for a whole month."
"And I'll wager it won't take me ten minutes!"
"But do take your things off," pleaded Dorothy.
"Not yet. I can't give up this hat so unceremoniously. Isn't it a beauty? But for the story. Go ahead, Cologne."
"Why, I couldn't tell where to begin," begged off Rose-Mary.
"Begin at the place where Dorothy Dale went to pieces, and lost all her pretty pink cheeks," suggested Tavia, noting how much Dorothy had changed during her absence.
"I'll tell you," said Rose-Mary. "We'll all run away and let you have a minute to yourselves. Perhaps the serial will leak out."
"What is it, Dorothy?" asked Tavia seriously when they were alone.
"Why, all about that police ride," sighed Dorothy. "I really never could find out just what story was told—they kept me in ignorance of it all, except that it was dreadful. Oh, Tavia! Only lately the girls notice me. They all gave me up, all but Ned, Dick and Cologne!"