"Do you?" she whispered.
"N-no. I don't think so. I—I dreamed that it was there, though. Do you?"
An assenting shudder shook Bep's body.
"Where—oh, where? I don't believe it!" cried Fom. "You're just a 'fraid-cat trying to frighten me."
Bep pointed to her side. There it was unmistakably—a round black-and-blue mark.
A wail escaped Florence. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" she cried, "what in the world shall we do?"
Bep did not answer. She sat stupefied, staring at the evidence of calamity.
"If it's commenced on you, it's bound to commence on me before long. I wonder—how fast it grows?"
Bep shook her head. "It wasn't there when I went to sleep."
"If it grows on you toward me, and on me toward you that quick, why, in a week—we'll be—stuck fast—won't we?"