"Mine's annotated," said Patty, "and illustrated.
I'll show you what a superior book it is," and she began descending the ladder; but Priscilla charged upon her and she retreated to the top again. "Why," she wailed to the terrified freshman, "did you not say you wanted a dictionary before she came back?
Let me give you some advice at the beginning of your college career," she added warningly. "Never choose a room-mate bigger than yourself.
They're dangerous."
The freshman was backing precipitously toward the door, when it opened and revealed an attractive-looking girl with fluffy reddish hair.
"Pris, you wretch, you walked off with my hammer!"
"Oh, Georgie, we need it worse than you do!
Come in and help tack."
"Hello, Georgie," called Patty, from the ladder. "Isn't this room going to be beautiful when it's finished?"
Georgie looked about. "You are more sanguine than I should be," she laughed.
"You can't tell yet," Patty returned. "We're going to cover the wall-paper with this red stuff, and paint the floor black, and have dark furniture, and red hangings, and soft lights.
It will look just like the Oriental Room in the Waldorf."
"How in the world," Georgie demanded, "do you ever make them let you do all these things?
I stuck in three innocent little thumb-tacks to-day, and Peters descended upon me bristling with wrath, and said he'd report me if I didn't pull them out."
"We never ask," explained Patty. "It's the only way."
"You've got enough to do if you expect to get settled by Monday," Georgie remarked.
"C'est vrai," agreed Patty, descending the ladder with a sudden access of energy; "and you've got to stay and help us.
We have to get all this furniture moved into the bedrooms and the carpet up before we even begin to paint." She regarded the freshman tentatively. "Are you awfully busy?"
"Not very.
My room-mate hasn't come yet, so I can't settle."
"That's nice; then you can help us move furniture."
"Patty!" said Priscilla, "I think you are too bad."
"I should really love to stay and help, if you'll let me."
"Certainly," said Patty, obligingly. "I forgot to ask your name," she continued, "and I don't suppose you like to be called 'Freshman'; it's not specific enough."
"My name is Genevieve Ainslee Randolph."
"Genevieve Ains—dear me!
I can't remember anything like that.
Do you mind if I call you Lady Clara Vere de Vere for short?"
The freshman looked doubtful, and Patty proceeded: "Lady Clara, allow me to present my room-mate Miss Priscilla Pond—no relation to the extract.
She's athletic and wins hundred-yard dashes and hurdle races, and gets her name in the paper to a really gratifying extent.
And my dear friend Miss Georgie Merriles, one of the oldest families in Dakota.
Miss Merriles is very talented—sings in the glee club, plays on the comb—"
"And," interrupted Georgie, "let me present Miss Patty Wyatt, who—"
"Has no specialty," said Patty, modestly, "but is merely good and beautiful and bright."
A knock sounded on the door, which opened without waiting for a response. "Miss Theodora Bartlet," continued Patty, "commonly known as the Twin, Miss Vere de Vere."
The Twin looked dazed, murmured,
"Miss Vere de Vere," and dropped down on a dry-goods box.
"The term
'Twin,'" explained Patty, "is used in a merely allegorical sense.
There is really only one of her.
The title was conferred in her freshman year, and the reason has been lost in the dim dawn of antiquity."
The freshman looked at the Twin and opened her mouth, but shut it again without saying anything.
"My favorite maxim," said Patty, "has always been,
'Silence is golden.'
I observe that we are kindred spirits."
"Patty," said Priscilla, "do stop bothering that poor child and get to work."
"Bothering?" said Patty. "I am not bothering her; we are just getting acquainted.
However, I dare say it is not the time for hollow civilities.
Do you want to borrow anything?" she added, turning to the Twin, "or did you just drop in to pay a social call?"
"Just a social call; but I think I'll come in again when there's no furniture to move."