“You’re only in the same box with all the rest of us, Miss Higgins,” called a student who roomed across the hall. “Everybody in the Quadrangle has lost something.”
“They haven’t lost gold medals,” cried Minerva. “They haven’t had them to lose. I could have spared anything else. I valued them more than everything I possess. They will be heirlooms some day for my children to show with pride.”
There were stifled laughs from several of the rooms, and someone called out:
“Suppose you don’t have any?”
“Then she’ll leave ’em to her grandchildren,” called another voice.
“Poor, silly, little thing,” exclaimed Molly, as the matron, intensely annoyed, went heavily past.
“Old Fatty’s gone now. Let’s light a lamp,” suggested Judy, who either felt intense respect or none at all for all persons. There was no moderation in her feelings one way or the other.
“It’s a queer thing about this thief-business,” sighed Molly. “It makes me uncomfortable. I can’t think of anyone I could even remotely suspect of such a thing.”
“She must be a real klep.,” observed Judy, “or she never would want the fair Minerva’s gold medals. They’re of no use to anybody but Minerva.”
“Do you suppose Miss Walker will get another detective like Miss Steel?” asked Nance. “She was a fine one. The way she tipped around on noiseless felt slippers and listened outside people’s doors was enough to scare any thief.”