“Even if we are,” laughed Anne. “Maybe they’ll come out while we’re still here; and, in the meantime, let’s eat.” Lunch took much longer than they had anticipated, and when Patricia, suddenly remembering her bag, glanced at her watch, she was surprised to find that the hands pointed at 3:30. “Girls!” she cried, pushing back her chair and getting up so quickly that Hazel jumped. “It’s half past three.” “Go on,” said Anne. “I’ll settle the bill and catch up to you.” The other three hurried down the hill, and when Anne caught up to them at the foot, Patricia was pointing in speechless dismay at a grey bus rounding the curve toward Mendon. “It’s gone!” she wailed. “Maybe Mike left your bag in the shelter,” suggested Jane comfortingly. “Let’s go and see.” A thorough search revealed no trace of the missing bag, either inside of the shelter or out; and Patricia bemoaned the carelessness which had, a second time that day, betrayed her. “Just wait until I see Mike!” stormed Anne. “He should have had sense enough to leave it, even if we were not right on the spot.” “Especially when ours are here,” agreed Hazel. “What we do with our own is entirely up to us,” said Jane slowly. “If Mike had orders to put the bag in its owner’s hands, he couldn’t very well do otherwise. Suppose we go on up and telephone the terminal to see what can be done about it.” “Good idea! All right with you, Pat?” asked Hazel. Then, as Patricia nodded, “Let’s get going!” “Don’t worry,” advised Anne. “You’ll get it some way; and if not tonight, we can manage between us all to fit you out. We’re used to that; aren’t we?” “I’ll say so,” replied Jane. “Why, Hazel, here, went to a dance last winter in a dress Mrs. Vincent lent her. That’s our chaperon; and as far as borrowing and lending go, she’s surely one of us.” Just as they reached the top of the hill again, Lucile sauntered down the tea-room steps alone. “Where’s the boy friend, Lu?” called Hazel. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Lucile haughtily, as she joined them.
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