“Friends—Romans—countrymen!” she declaimed. “Are you awake?”
Ten convulsive moments demonstrated that the dormitory was indeed astir. There was a sense of development in the air. Betty O’Hara giggled hopelessly. Ruby lay still.
“Miss Stone regrets—I feel sure she regrets—the poor and insufficient food set before you at the evening meal. She realizes that more is owing to you; that you cannot be expected to sleep without a little extra nourishment.”
“Robin, you lunatic—what have you been up to?” ejaculated someone.
“I am not a lunatic,” said Robin, with dignity. “I am the commissariat department of this dormitory, just as Ruby is its top-notch orator—when she gets a chance. It is my joyful privilege to beg you all to sit up—which I perceive ten of you are already doing—and to invite you to join in Miss Stone’s party festivities. Willingly and gladly have her guests denied themselves that you may now feast on Cook’s extra-special cream-puffs!”
Smothered yelps of joy broke out from the beds, and leaping figures hastened to form a ring round the red-haired speaker. Many hands patted her on the back, until she begged for mercy.
“Keep off, you stupids! And for goodness’ sake, be quiet, or you’ll have Miss Bryant in! Got the suit-case, Betty?”
“Robin, darling, how did you do it?”
“Quite easy, when you know how,” said Robin, airily. She opened the suit-case, and the torch revealed a mass of cream-cakes, more or less amalgamated by this time. But no one was critical.
“Help yourselves, everybody.” No second bidding was necessary. Ten hands plunged into the booty, and choked sounds of satisfaction arose. From Ruby’s bed came neither voice nor movement.