THE CATACOMB PARTY.
[Illustration]
Polo came on Monday and posed to the satisfaction of Professor Waite and
of the class. Winnie was successful in entering the two children at the
Home, and Adelaide had a happy thought for Polo herself, who was too old
to be received there. One of the smallest apartments in her tenement had
been taken by Miss Billings and Miss Cohens, two seamstresses, honest,
industrious old maids, who had lived and worked together since they were
girls. Adelaide called them the two turtle doves, the odd combination of
their name suggesting the nickname, and their fondness for each other
bearing it out. They were a cheerful pair, and their rooms were bright
with flowers and canaries. One morning Miss Billings woke to find her
friend dead at her side, having passed from life in sleep so peacefully
that she neither woke nor disturbed the faithful friend close beside
her.
The poor old lady was very lonely and was glad to take Polo in. The
young girl brightened her life, and her own influence on the nearly
friendless waif was excellent. In the intervals of posing Miss Billings
taught Polo how to cut and fit dresses. Polo helped her with her sewing,
and Miss Billings promised to take her into partnership by and by. Polo
was very happy and grateful, and the girls all liked her immensely. She
was a character in her way, an irresistible mimic. She would take off
Miss Noakes to the life, while she had a talent which I have never seen
equalled for making the most ludicrous and horrible faces. She was
almost pretty, and with Miss Billings's help, made over the odds and
ends of clothing bestowed upon her very nicely. Her one trinket was a
string of coral beads and a little cross which her brother had sent her
before she left England. She never gave up her faith in this brother.
"Albert Edward'll turn up some day rich," she said. She flouted the
idea that he might be dead. "He ain't the dying kind," she said, when
Cynthia suggested the possibility. "None of our family ain't, except
father. Why, I've been through enough to kill a cat, and I haven't died
yet."
She was especially devoted to Milly, to whom she felt, with reason, that
she owed all her good fortune. Professor Waite found her remarkably
serviceable as a model, from her versatility and ability to adapt
herself to any character, giving a great variety of types for us to
copy. When she wore the Italian costume, one would have thought her an
Italian, and a complete change came over her when she donned the German
cap and wooden shoes. "May be that's because I've lived amongst all
sorts of foreigners so much," she said, "and Albert Edward always said
I'd make an actress equal to the best. He said I had talent. I do pity
them as hasn't. I wouldn't be one of the common herd for anything."
Polo was certainly uncommon. Her use of the English language had an
individuality of its own. She hated Miss Noakes and said she had no
business to be "tryannic" (meaning tyrannical). She spoke of native
Americans as abor-jines (a distortion of aborigines), and intermingled
these little variations of her own with cockney phrases which were new
to our untravelled ears.
She found difficulty in understanding our words and expressions, and
once when Professor Waite told her to set up a screen she astonished us
all by uttering a most blood-curdling yell, under the impression that he
had commanded her to set up a _scream_.
She disliked Cerberus, and to save her from his scornful scrutiny and
contemptuous remarks, Professor Waite had a duplicate key made to the
turret door, by which Polo entered each morning and mounted directly to
the studio.
She was very diverting, but much as we liked her we could not forget
that we had assumed a grave responsibility in taking the support of her
little sisters upon our hands, and we now began to actively agitate the
plans for the Catacomb Party, which was to raise funds for the Annex
with its "Manger and Guest Chambers."
One event of interest to us occurred before the evening of the Catacomb
Party. This was the Annual Drill of the Cadet School. All of the Amen
Corner and the Hornets had invitations. We occupied front seats in the
east balcony of the great armory, vigilantly chaperoned by Miss Noakes.
Her best intentions could not prevent the young cadets from paying their
respects to us during the intervals of the drill.
The young men looked handsomely in their gala uniforms of white trousers
and gloves, blue coats, and caps set off with plenty of frogging and
brass buttons. They performed their evolutions with a precision which
would have done credit to a regiment of regulars--and received the
praise of General Howard, who reviewed them.
Out of all the battalion there were two boys in whom we were chiefly
interested: Adelaide's younger brother Jim, color sergeant of the
baby company, and Milly's friend Stacey Fitz Simmons, the handsome
drum-major.
Winnie insisted that Malcolm Douglas must have been thinking of the
practising of this cadet drum corps when he wrote:
"And all of the people for blocks around,
Boom-tidera-da-boom!
Kept time at their tasks to the martial sound,
Boom-tidera-da-boom!
While children to windows and stoops would fly,
Expecting to see a procession pass by,
And they couldn't make out why it never drew nigh,
With its boom-tidera-da--boom-a-diddle-dee;
Boom-tidera-da-boom!
It would seem such vigor must soon abate;
Boom-tidera-da-boom!
But they still keep at it, early and late;
Boom-tidera-da-boom!
So if it should be that a war breaks out,
They'll all be ready, I have no doubt,
To help in putting the foe to rout,
With their boom-tidera-da-boom--
_Boom-tidera-da-boom--_
Boom-tidera-da--boom-a-diddle-dee,
Boom-Boom-_Boom_!"
Stacey was seventeen, tall for his age, with a little feathery mustache
outlining his finely cut upper lip. He was elegant in appearance and
manners, and we all admired and liked him with the exception of
perverse, wilful Milly. Jim was thirteen and small for his years. The
life of privation which he had led during a period when he had been
lost, the account of which has been given in the previous volume, had
stunted his growth, and given him an appearance of delicacy. But Jim was
wiry, and possessed great endurance, and his drilling that evening was
noticeable for its accuracy and spirit. Adelaide and Jim were deeply
attached to one another. They wrote each other long letters every week,
remarkable for their perfect confidence. As Jim's letters give an
insight not only into his life at the cadet school, but also into the
relations which subsisted between several of the cadets and members of
our own school, as well as into a _contretemps_ which introduced great
consternation into the Catacomb Party, I will choose two from Adelaide's
packet and insert them before describing the mystic entertainment of the
Council of Ten.
LETTER NO. 1.
DEAR SISTER:
I like the barracks better than I did. I almost have gotten over
being homesick, and the fellows are awfully nice now that I have
come to know them. I miss mother, but I would rather die than let
any one know it. I've put her photograph down at the bottom of my
trunk, for it gave me the snuffles to see it, and Stacey Fitz
Simmons caught me kissing it once, and I was so ashamed. He is one
of the nicest fellows here, and he didn't rough me a bit about it,
only whistled, and said: "You've got a mighty pretty mother; I
guess she takes after your sister. Pity there wasn't more beauty
left for the rest of the family." He knows you, and I guess you
must remember meeting him when you visited the Roseveldts last
summer at Narragansett Pier. He asked if you and Milly Roseveldt
were at the same school, and would I please send his regards when
I wrote. He is one of the Senior A boys, and is going to college
next year. I am only Middle C, but he is ever so good to me, I am
sure I don't know why. We are drilling, drilling all the time now
for the annual drill at the Seventh Regiment Armory.
Stacey is an awfully good fellow. He's the head of everything.
He's drum-major, and you just ought to see him in his uniform
leading the drum corps [Jim spelled it _core_]. He's the cockatoo
of the school. Stacey's folks are rich, and his mother wrote the
military tailor not to spare expense, but to get Stacey up just as
fine as they make 'em, and I don't believe there's a drum-major of
any of the crack regiments that can hold a candle to him for
style. In the first place he has a high furry hat that looks like
the big muffs they carried at the old folks' concerts. Then he has
a bright scarlet coat all frogged and padded and laced with lots
of gold cord, and the nattiest trousers and patent leather boots.
But his baton--oh, Adelaide! words cannot express. I don't believe
old Ahasuerus ever had a sceptre half as gorgeous, with a great
gold ball on the top, and it will do your eyes good to see him
swing it. Doesn't he put on airs, though! Put on isn't the word,
for Stacey is airy naturally, and dignified, too. Buttertub says
he walks as if he owned the earth. When he marches backward
holding his baton crosswise, I'm always afraid that he will fall
and that somebody might laugh, and that would kill him. But he
never does fall. He seems to see with the buttons on the small of
his back, and he stepped over a banana skin while marching to the
armory just as dandified as you please. And he never fails to
catch his baton when he tosses it into the air, and makes it whirl
around twice before it comes down. He never bows to any of the
fellows or seems to see them--except me. They are going to have
Gilmore's Band at the drill, and Stacey was practising leading
them around the armory. I was in the lower balcony, hanging over
and watching him. He was going through his fanciest evolutions
when he passed me. He looked straight ahead and never winked an
eye. I didn't think he saw me till I heard him say, "How's that,
dear boy?" and I clapped so hard that I nearly fell over.
Buttertub hates Stacey; he wanted to be drum-major himself.
He calls Stacey wasp-waist, but it only calls attention to his own
big stomach. He is always eating, and he won't train, and he can't
run without having a fit of apoplexy. He weighs too much for the
crew and he can't even ride a bicycle, or do anything except the
heavy work on the foot ball team and study. Yes, he can study;
that's the disgusting part.
Stacy can do everything. He's a splendid sprinter. There's only
one other boy in the school that can equal him, and that's a
red-headed boy they call Woodpecker. He has longer legs than
Stacey and of course takes a longer stride, and that counts. But
Stacey is livelier and puts in four strides to three of the
Woodpecker's, so they are pretty nearly equal. Stacey is a
prettier runner, too. He does it just as _easy_, while the
Woodpecker works all over, arms _and_ legs, and bites on his
handkerchief, and his eyes pop out, and when it's all over he
falls in a heap and looks as if he were dying, while Stacey takes
another lap in better time than the last, just for fun.
Stacey rides the bicycle, too, splendidly. He has one of those big
wheels and he can manage it with his feet and do all sorts of
tricks with his hands. He has been giving me points on bicycle
riding. He picked out my safety for me, and has been coaching me
how to manage it. He says I am the best rider for a little chap
that he ever saw, and that he means to make me win the race at the
inter-scholastic. I tell you Stacey is a trump. He's an all-around
athlete. He dances, and he rides, and he shoots in the summer when
he goes hunting with his uncle; and he fences, and he's stroke on
the crew, and he's our best high jump and there isn't anything
that he can't do, except his lessons--sometimes--but they don't
count. He says that if it wasn't for the beastly lessons school
would be heavenly, and we all agree with him. Ricos said that he
would head a petition to have lessons abolished and the boys would
all sign it, but Stacey said that parents were so unprogressive he
didn't believe they would, and he was afraid the head master
wouldn't pay much attention to such a petition unless it bore the
parents' signatures.
I've written an awfully long letter, but I like to write to you,
and it was rainy to-day, and we couldn't go to the grounds, and
I've hurt my ankle by falling from my bicycle so that I could not
practise in the gymnasium. Now don't go and get scared, like a
girl, and disapprove of athletics for such a little thing as that.
It was only a little sprain, that will all be well before the
drill, and I only barked my shin the least bit, nothing at all to
what the Woodpecker does most every day.
I hope I shall be big enough to go on the foot-ball team next
year. I know you think it's dangerous, but I've calculated the
chances of getting hurt and they are so very slight that I guess
I'll risk it. Why, out of the whole eleven last year there were
only nine that got hurt.
Be sure you all come to the exhibition drill. I enclose two
tickets and Stacey sends two more. He wants it distinctly
understood that you and Miss Roseveldt are his guests. So you can
give mine with my compliments to Miss T. Smith and Miss Winnie De
Witt. I don't send any for that Vaughn girl, for Buttertub knows
her and told me he was going to invite her.
No more at present,
From your affectionate brother,
JAMES HALSEY ARMSTRONG.
P. S. Stacey sends his regards to Miss Roseveldt.
P. S. No. 2. And to you.
LETTER NO. 2.
THE BARRACKS, April.
DEAR SISTER:
Wasn't the drill splendid? I knew you would enjoy it. How I wish
father and mother had been in New York so they could have seen it.
You looked just stunning in that stylish hat. Stacey said so. You
must excuse him if he didn't pay you very much attention. He could
only leave the band during the intermission and of course he had
to be polite to Miss Roseveldt. Besides he said I stuck so close
to you that he hadn't any chance. He says he never saw a fellow so
spooney over his own sister as I am. I tell him there aren't many
chaps who have such a nice sister as you are, and then we were
separated so long that I am making up for lost time.
I am glad you liked the French Army Bicycle drill. That was
something quite new. Stacey was detailed to command it because
he's a splendid cyclist himself, and he knew how to put us
through. I didn't know till the day before that he was going to
call me out to skirmish. He said: "Jimmy, you can manage your
wheel better than any one else except the Woodpecker, and I am
going to have you two go through with a little fancy business that
will bring the house down." And didn't it? When I fired off my
gun going at full speed, they clapped so that I nearly lost my
head. Ricos was mad because he wasn't selected for the special
manoeuvres. Ricos is better for speed than I am, and he's
awfully quick-tempered--he's a Spaniard, you know, and he said to
me, "Never mind, youngster, I'll pay you up for this at the
inter-scholastic races." I suppose he means to win the gold medal,
and I told Stacey that I believed he would, and I should be
thankful to be second, or even third, for there are the best
cyclists from all the other schools in the city to contend
against. But Stacey says, "He can't do it, you know," meaning
Ricos; and our trainer says that if he enters me at all he enters
me to win. So I am going to try my level best.
Wasn't Cynthia Vaughn stunning in that green dress trimmed with
fur! Buttertub said she was the most stylish girl at the drill.
Stacey made him mad by saying that she was hardly that, though, as
a Harvard chap once said of some one else, he had no doubt that
she was a well-meaning girl and a comfort to her mother!
Ricos invited all the Hornets, and some one of them told him that
you girls are going to have a great lark--a Catacombing Party. He
thought it was to represent the games of the Roman arena with cats
instead of lions and tigers. I told him it must be a mistake,
and that if he supposed Madame's young ladies, and my sister
especially, would do anything so low as to look on at a cat-fight,
he didn't know what he was talking about. But Stacey said that
there was something up, he knew, for when he asked Milly Roseveldt
if the girls were going to have a Venetian Fete for the benefit of
the Home, as they did last year, she said it was a sheet and
pillow-case party this time, and boys were not admitted. He told
her he would surely disguise himself in a sheet and pillow-case
and come; but he only said so to tease her, and when he saw how
distressed she was he told her he was only fooling. Buttertub
said Cynthia mentioned it too, and Stacey's idea was a good one
and he believed he should try it. But Stacey said he would like to
see him do it and that he would have him court-martialled for
ungentlemanly conduct, and reduced to the ranks if he attempted to
play the spy at one of the girl's frolics.
Stacey wanted me to be sure to tell you to tell Milly Roseveldt
not to worry about what he said, for the cadets are all gentlemen
and wouldn't think of going anywhere where they were not invited.
That's so as far as Stacey is concerned, but I don't know about
Ricos.
Do tell me what you are going to do, anyway--and for pity's sake
don't have any cats in it.
Your affectionate brother,
J. H. ARMSTRONG.
Jim's misunderstanding of the Catacomb Party amused us very much. No one
was alarmed by the boys' threats to attend it but Milly, who insisted
that she had no confidence in Stacey and believed him fully capable of
committing even this atrocious act.
As soon as the drill was over our interest centred on this party. The
committee from our circle of King's Daughters waited upon Madame, and
obtained her permission for the projected entertainment. She stipulated,
however, that it must be strictly confined to members of the school and
no outsiders admitted.
"The Literary Society," she said, "will give its public entertainment
in the spring, and we do not wish to have the reputation of spending
our entire time in getting up charity bazaars, and imposing on our
friends to buy tickets. Anything in reason which you care to do among
yourselves, I will consent to. It does young girls good to have an
occasional frolic."
Emboldened by the unusually happy frame of mind in which Madame seemed
to be basking, Winnie asked if we might act a play and have "gentlemen
characters" in it. Formerly the assumption of masculine attire had been
prohibited, and at one of our Literary Society dramas, a half curtain
had been stretched across the stage, giving a view of only the upper
portion of the persons of the actors. The young ladies taking the part
of the male personages in the play, wore cutaway coats outside their
dresses, and riding hats or Tam O'Shanter caps.
Madame laughed as she recalled that absurd spectacle. "Since your
audience is strictly limited to your associates, I think I may suspend
that rule for this occasion," she said leniently. "When do you intend to
give the play? I cannot allow you to use the chapel. How would the
studio do?"
"If you please," said Winnie, "we would like the laundry."
"The laundry!" Madame exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes, Madame. Tina Gale explored the lower regions under the school
building one day, and the furnace room, and the long dim galleries
connecting the coal bins, the cellars, and the laundry seemed to her so
mysterious and pokerish that she thought it would be a nice idea to call
it a Catacomb Party, especially as the girls have been so much
interested in Professor Todd's early history of the Christian Church."
Madame's eyes twinkled as she heard this, for Professor Todd had been
generally voted a prosy old nuisance; but Winnie was earnestness itself.
"Very well," said Madame kindly. "I do not want the girls to think that
I am a cruel tyrant, or unduly strict or suspicious. ["She was thinking
of the way in which she arraigned Adelaide for corresponding with
Professor Waite," Winnie commented afterward.] If your committee will
submit the programme to me, I have no doubt I shall be able to approve
of everything. Let me see--the laundry will be your circus maximus, or
theatre. Where will you have your refreshments?"
We had not thought of that.
"I will give you the key to the preserve closet; it is at the end of the
drying-room, and you may make a raid upon it for your provisions. Only
please be careful not to waste or destroy any more than you can dispose
of. I will have some tables placed in the drying-room, and you may
partake of your collation there."
This was all we needed. The preparations for the Catacomb Party went
merrily on.
Trude Middleton dramatized Cardinal Wiseman's novel, "Fabiola." We who
had remained at school during the Christmas Holidays had read it aloud
together, and its thrilling pictures of the persecutions of the martyrs,
the games of the arena, and all the life of imperial Rome, had made a
deep impression upon us. Trude Middleton had a genius for writing, and
Little Breeze distributed the parts, rehearsed the play, took the role
of the sorceress _Afra_, and acted as stage manager. The classical
costumes were easily arranged. Professor Waite showed us how to drape
crinkled cheese cloth and to manage the folds of peplum and toga, to
trace a key-pattern border, to fillet our hair, and lace our sandals.
The rehearsals were carried on in the most secret manner. Only the
actors knew exactly what the play was to be. Expectancy was on the _qui
vive_. Winnie had written some mysteriously attractive admission
tickets, and had ornamented each one with a tiny white wire skeleton.
These tickets the ten sold to the other members of the school to the
number of one hundred and twenty, not a single member of the school
declining to patronize us.
The sale of these tickets had been materially aided by a manifesto,
printed in red ink, supposed to simulate blood, and left dangling
conspicuously from the wrist of old "Bonaparte" (Bonypart), the anatomy
class skeleton.
This manifesto read as follows:
The Council of Ten, in secret session assembled, hereby summon
you, each and all, severally and individually, to the Torture
Chambers of the Inquisition (otherwise known as the studio), on
the ringing of the great tocsin (sometimes called the eight
o'clock study bell). At that hour let each be prepared to render
up her earthly goods to the amount of one ticket, vouching for
fifty cents; and having donned a winding sheet, and likewise a
winding pillow-case as headgear, submit to the office of the
Inquisition, which will transform her, with that happy despatch
due to long experience, into a disembodied spirit. At the same
time the Arch Witch Winnie will turn back the clock of Time to the
first century, and each ghost, being first securely blindfolded,
will be led by a spirit guide, experienced in the charge of
personally conducting spirits, into the great amphitheatre of the
Coliseum, where she will mingle with the most renowned personages
of ancient Rome, and will be permitted to live a short and
exciting life under the cheerful persecution of the amiable and
playful Caesars.
After the final scene of the gladiatorial combat in the arena
each spirit will be led by her guide through the grewsome and
labyrinthine Catacombs--faint not! fear not! to the
_Feast of the Ghouls!_
Thence, conducted by Orpheus with his lute, and Beatrice, the
guide of Dante, they will cross the Styx and join in the
_Dance of the Dead_
in the shadowy Purgatorio.
At the stroke of midnight each spirit who has passed through this
ordeal with a steadfast mind will be wafted to upper regions to
the rest of the blessed.
Signed by the Council of Ten, as represented by Witch Winnie, of
the Amen Corner, and Little Breeze, of the Hornets; and sealed
with the great seal of our office, this ---- day of ---- 18--.
SEAL.
These preparations were going on simultaneously with the investigation
of the robbery, and served in a measure to relieve the tension to which
we were all subjected. Still the trouble was there, and we never quite
forgot it. Mr. Mudge called twice, and made inquiries, from which Winnie
inferred that he was hopelessly puzzled. Milly was sure that he had
found a clew, but if so, he did not impart his discoveries.
The mystic evening arrived. Cynthia, who, for some reason inexplicable
to us, was in a highly self-satisfied and gracious mood, invited Polo to
sleep with her in order that she might be able to attend the party. It
was necessary to prefer this request to our corridor teacher, Miss
Noakes, who gave us a very grudging consent; but we cared very little
for her iciness since we had effected our wishes.
The girls met in the studio, where all were draped in sheets, a small
mask cut from white cotton cloth tied on, and a pillow case fitted about
the back of the head in the fashion of a long capuchin hood. When thus
robed our dearest friends were unrecognizable. Then, marshalled by
Winnie, the company of spectres paraded through the hall and down the
main staircase. Miss Noakes and the other teachers stood in their doors
and watched the procession, but as it was known that we had Madame's
permission no attempt was made to stop us, and we passed on unabashed.
Arrived at the lower floor each of the guests was securely blindfolded
and conducted by one of our ten down the cellar stairs, and through
winding passages to the laundry, which had been converted for the
evening into an auditorium, sheets having been hung on clothes-lines
across one end, and the space in front filled with camp chairs brought
from the recitation rooms. The set tubs on one side of the improvised
stage were fitted up as boxes, while a semi-circle of clothes-baskets
marked the space assigned to the comb orchestra. As fast as the girls
arrived in the laundry they were seated, and when the last instalment
was in position the lights were turned nearly out, and they were told to
remove the handkerchiefs which bandaged their eyes. At the same time the
comb orchestra, led by Cynthia, struck up a dismal dirge-like overture,
broken in upon at intervals by a tremendous thump with a potato masher
on the great copper boiler. The curtain was drawn slowly aside, the
lights suddenly turned on, and the play began. Adelaide made a very
beautiful _Fabiola_. Winnie acted the part of _Pancratius_ with great
expression. Milly looked the saintly _Agnes_ to perfection. I was
_Sebastian_. We did not indulge in all the dialogue with which the book
is overloaded. Our play was rather a series of tableaux, for which I had
painted the scenery with the assistance of the other art students.
Professor Waite had borrowed various classical properties from his
brother artists for us. The plaster casts of the studio were made to
serve as marble statues, and Madame had sent us several palms in
urn-shaped pots.
When the play was nearly over, Polo, who had acted as doorkeeper, made
her way behind the scenes and took my attention from the prompter's book
with the horrified whisper, "If you please, there are two girls out
there that are boys."
"Who? Where? How do you know it?" I asked in a breath.
"They came in at the end of the procession, without any guides, and sat
down near the door, apart from the others. One is little enough to be a
girl, but the other is taller, even, than Miss Adelaide."
"It is Snooks," Winnie exclaimed. "Just like her to come spying and
speculating here to see what we are up to."
"If that's so, Miss Noakes has bigger feet than I ever gave her credit
for," Polo replied; "and she wears boots too."
"Then those cadets have actually dared!" Winnie exclaimed, and Milly
gave a little shriek. "Oh, that horrid Stacey Fitz Simmons!"
"Hush!" commanded Winnie. "We will make them wish they had never been
born. Oh, I will manage these gay young gentlemen. Go back to your post,
Polo. Keep the door locked, and be sure that no one leaves except in
the regular order and conducted by her guide."
A few moments later and the curtains were drawn at the close of the
final act, tremendous applause testifying the approval of the audience.
Winnie now stepped to the front of the curtain and announced that the
ghosts must now each submit once more to be blindfolded and "to be led
through the grewsome and labyrinthine catacombs to the Feast of the
Ghouls."
Little Breeze and Milly first led away two of the girls, and then Winnie
stepped boldly up to the taller of the two suspected intruders and
offered to blindfold him. The rogue could only follow the example of
those who had preceded him, and submit with a good grace, as any other
course would have led to detection. I followed with the shorter
impostor, tying the handkerchief very tight, and detecting the odor of
cigarettes as I did so. Winnie beckoned to me to follow, and conducted
her victim to the root cellar, a dark, unwholesome little room, with a
small orated window--a veritable dungeon. We led our prisoners into the
centre of this gloomy cell, and, making them kneel on the cemented
floor, bade them remain there until the coming of the ghouls. Hastening
from the place, we chained and padlocked the door securely.
"Now that we have secured our prisoners, what do you propose to do with
them?" I asked of Winnie.
"Call the Amen Corner together after supper to deliberate on their fate.
In the mean time they are very well off where they are. I fancy they
will hardly care to repeat this experiment."
We returned to the laundry and continued the ceremony of leading our
guests to the supper. When all had been led in, the bandages were
removed from their eyes, and they found themselves before tables
provided with plates, knives, and forks, but no edibles. Little Breeze,
beating upon a tin pan with a great beef bone, called the meeting to
order, and, indicating the preserve closet, announced that the ghouls
would now search the neighboring tombs for their prey. At the same time
the door of the preserve closet was thrown open, and Trude Middleton set
the example by capturing a can of peaches. The girls fancied that they
were robbing the pantry, and this gave zest to the performance to a few
of the more reckless ones, but the rest held back, and Winnie found it
necessary to circulate the whisper that even this apparently high-handed
proceeding was authorized by Madame, before the raid became general. A
very heterogeneous repast, consisting of pickles, crackers, dried
apples, canned fruit, prunes, dried beef, and lemonade hastily mixed in
a great earthen bowl, was now participated in by the hilarious ghouls.
One bowl of the lemonade was ruined, after the lemons and sugar were
mingled, by a ludicrous mistake. Milly, mistaking it for water, filled
the bowl from a jar of liquid bluing. The error was discovered when we
began filling some empty jelly tumblers with the strange blue mixture,
and, fortunately, no one was poisoned by drinking the ghoulish liquor.
Under cover of the confusion I managed to tell Adelaide of the captives
in the cellar, and later in the evening, while the ghosts were engaged
in a Virginia Reel in the long underground passage leading from the
furnace room to the other end of the school building, met in solemn
conclave to deliberate on their fate. Adelaide was for delivering the
keys to Madame with a statement of the case. Cynthia argued strongly in
favor of releasing the young men, sending them home, and saying nothing
about it. While we were in the midst of the argument, a far away cry was
heard. It was from Polo, who had been left to guard the door of the root
cellar. We rushed to the spot, only to find that the rusty staple had
yielded to the efforts of two athletic boys, one of whom was heavy of
weight as well as strong of muscle, and had been forced out of the wall,
and our captives had escaped. Polo had followed them in their flight,
and returned breathless to report that they had made a dash, not for the
outside door, but straight up the great staircase to the studio and had
then descended the turret staircase, showing clearly that they had made
their entrance in the same way.
We talked the matter over for a long time. How could they have known of
this staircase, and have timed their coming so as to follow the
procession of sheeted ghosts as they left the studio for their march to
the lower regions? The suspicion instantly suggested itself that some
one of the ten had furnished the information, and this suspicion
deepened to certainty as we considered the excellence of their disguise,
the sheets draped exactly as ours had been, the pillow-case Capuchin
hood fitted about the mask cut from cotton cloth. How, too, could they
have entered, since Polo declared that she had locked the turret door
when she came in that afternoon, and had left the key on a nail in the
studio?
"Show me the nail," Winnie commanded promptly, and Polo led her to the
studio. The nail was there, but the key had gone. We descended the
staircase and found the lower door locked.
As we were returning to the studio we heard the door open and Professor
Waite mounted the stairs, as was his usual custom at this time.
"Heigho!" he exclaimed, "what are you all doing in the studio at this
time of night? Oh! I forgot; this is the evening of the lark. Has it
been a jovial bird? Why do you all look so solemn? By the way, Polo, I
found your key in the lock on the outside of the door. It was very
careless of you to leave it there; you must not let such a thing happen
again. Some thief might have entered the house. I met two young men
running with all their might as I came across the park. They made
something of a detour to avoid me--I thought at the time that they had a
suspicious look. If you are so thoughtless a second time I shall take
the key from you."
"I didn't leave it there," Polo protested. "I hung it on the nail, Miss
Cynthia saw me. Didn't you, Miss Cynthia?"
But Cynthia had gone, and as the quarter-bell struck we were all
reminded that we must descend to our dancers to be present at the
unmasking and close the frolic. We hurried unceremoniously away without
replying to Professor Waite's questions.
After we had dismissed our guests, we adjourned to the Amen Corner and
we again discussed the affair. It was agreed that it was sufficiently
serious to report to Madame, and to this there was only one dissenting
voice--that of Cynthia's. It was too late to disturb Madame that night,
but we presented ourselves at her morning office hour and told her all
the circumstances of the case.
She looked very grave, but did not blame us. "I am very sorry," she
said, "that some one of my pupils has abused my leniency in this way. It
will of course make me hesitate to grant you such frolics in the future.
The matter shall be thoroughly investigated and the offender severely
punished. Again I must ask you to keep this affair strictly among
yourselves. You have kept the secret of the robbery wonderfully; be
equally discrete with this. We do not as yet know certainly that these
young men were cadets, and I shall not make any complaint to the head
master until we have ascertained the culprits. Mr. Mudge will call
to-morrow. He writes me that he has found a clue to the robbery, and we
will place this matter also in his hands. You have done right to bring
it directly to me, and your action only confirms the confidence I have
always reposed in the Amen Corner. Be assured that the truth will out at
last. Meantime don't talk this over too much, even among yourselves, for
Tennyson never wrote truer lines than these:
I never whispered a private affair
Within the hearing of cat or mouse,
No, not to myself in the closet alone,
But I heard it shouted at once from the top of the house.
Everything came to be known."