“Now for it, Doro,” whispered the bright girl. “Put out the gas, so if anybody should be watching. That’s it. Now—take hold and ease off the door. No noise now, my lady!”
The girls managed to pull the door toward them, got a firm hold upon the edge of it, and pried the bolt loose. The door was shoved back against the wall of the room and they could look out into the empty classroom. Light from out of doors—and that very faint—was all that illuminated the larger apartment.
“Oh! if she catches us!” gasped Dorothy.
“Don’t you fret. This is a regular hunger strike—just as though we were suffragettes and had been imprisoned. Only we don’t refuse to eat; we just refuse not to eat,” and Tavia giggled as she hastily laced up her shoe again.
“Now, don’t you dare be afraid. I’m going on a raid, Doro. Kiss me good-bye, dear. If I never should retur-r-rn—— Blub! blub! My handkerchief isn’t big enough to cry into. Lend me yours.
“‘Farewell, farewell, my own tr-r-rue lo-o-ove! Farewell-er, farewell-er’——
“I go where glory waits me—don’t you forget that, Doro. And something to eat, too, better than bread and milk. Hist!”
After this rigamarole, and with the stride of a stage villain, Tavia left the classroom. She did not ask, or expect, Dorothy to take part in the raid on the pantry; indeed, had there been any good in doing so, Dorothy would have advised against the scheme.
Perhaps the girls had a right to a decent supper. At least, Dorothy had done nothing to deserve such harsh treatment from Miss Olaine. So both she and her chum defied the decree of the teacher. They’d actually be starved by midnight, when Mrs. Pangborn was expected to arrive.
If Tavia was caught——