“Then Jean,” went on Cecilia, “thought we could get ahead of the older members, and we tried all sorts of tricks to do so.”
“We will not talk of those absent,” said Cologne, kindly. “Let us hear from the Glens. Tavia and Ned, where were you the night of the fortune telling racket?”
Tavia stretched out her hands in mock entreaty.
“Oh spare me!” she gasped. “Spare me the shame of my bare foot.”
“Tell us,” demanded Cologne.
“Help, Ned!” begged Tavia.
“No, we have questioned you,” insisted the chairman.
“Well, then, I will tell the story of the mystery of the crystal ball,” said Tavia, making her way to the center of the group, and knocking over a few girls who were squatted on the floor in doing so. “That night we, Ned and I, heard of the fortune-telling scheme. So we made up our minds we would have her tell the truth for once. We hurried off, and gave the old lady a dollar. Ned chipped in, though I had to take it from her, and we gave her all the information she needed. We had the girls marked so she could easily tell them apart, and we, Ned and I, had the delightful, pleasurable excitement, of listening at the broken window, while the old lady fulfilled her contract. Then, when we were scurrying home, I slipped——”
The uproar that followed this confession could only be described as a human earthquake. Dorothy was supposed to have known of the fraud, although she did not, and she was not spared in the efforts of the fooled ones, those who had paid money to have their fortunes told—by Tavia!
“But we had a good time,” said Ned, timidly, when some of the excitement had subsided.