“Today’s moving day, Jeremiah! We’d better pack before noon so that the man can come for our trunks soon after lunch. I shall pack for keeps. Truly, Jerry, we don’t know whether we’ll be back here again this year or not.” Marjorie turned from a yawning trunk which she had pulled into the middle of the room and surveyed Jerry solemnly.

“Well, if not this spring, then next fall,” Jerry said quickly. “Don’t weep, Bean. You will make me weep, too. I want to go to the Arms, though, and you have to go. Would you go if you weren’t going to write the biography?”

“For a little while, but not for more than that,” Marjorie said very honestly. “I’m going to miss the girls terribly, and so will you. We’ll see them often, but this is a kind of break in the good old democrat’s platform.”

“‘For larger hopes and graver fears,’” Jerry quoted. “That’s the way things are. We have to go on, you know. Life hates loiterers.”

“You’re just as melancholy over this change as I am, Jeremiah Macy!” Marjorie cried out. “It’s not fair to Miss Susanna.”

“She’ll never know it,” was Jerry’s consoling rejoinder.

“Indeed, she never shall,” Marjorie vowed energetically. “I am still a tiny bit blue about the dormitory trouble. I wish it had come to an end before we started our stay at the Arms. Mr. Graham feels worse about it than either Robin or I. I don’t allow myself to dwell on the subject of Leslie Cairns. I feel like joining Miss Susanna in giving the Hob-goblin a good shaking.”

“Your temper is certainly going to lead you to violence some day, Bean. That’s the first time I ever heard you address the Hob-goblin by her household name. It shows rising ire on your part. Let me calm you by reciting a few Bean Jingles. Ahem!

“Thank you, oh, thank you!” was Marjorie’s grateful reception of Jerry’s improvised tribute. “I’d love to have a book of Bean Jingles.”

“You’ll have to take them down as they are ground out, then, Bean. I never can remember them afterward. ‘I consider them rather sweet little things.’ Now I must stop entertaining you and get busy. If you hear blood-curdling wails outside the door today, don’t collapse. Leila says she may give a farewell exhibition of true grief in the hall.”

The very prospect of Leila’s wails set the two girls to laughing. In spite of the coming separation from their close friends the both felt lighter of spirit as a result of Jerry’s nonsense.

As the morning sped toward noon, one by one, Ronny, Muriel, Lucy, Leila and Vera sought Room 15, the headquarters of all their college years. They were invited to the Arms to dinner that night in honor of Jerry’s and Marjorie’s arrival. Now they hovered about Marjorie and Jerry, trying to be cheerful at the blow that had fallen. They had agreed among themselves not to flivver in the slightest particular. “But after they’re gone,” Leila had said somberly to Vera, “I shall howl my Irish head off.” Anna Towne and Verna Burkett had been invited to take up their abode at Wayland Hall in Room 15 until either college closed or the two Travelers came back again to the Hall.

“Robin wanted me to have lunch with her today at Baretti’s, but I told her I’d meet her there afterward,” Marjorie commented to her chum audience as she continued to pack. “She forgot for a minute that this would be Jerry’s and my last luncheon at the Hall for awhile. I say that, but I’ll probably be over for dinner or lunch about day after tomorrow.” Marjorie straightened up and viewed her friends with a smile so full of sunshiny good-will Ronny exclaimed rather shakily:

“How silly in us to let ourselves be sad about losing you, Marjorie Dean. We sit here looking like a set of sad sentimental old geese. I will not do so. Here, let’s dance.” She pirouetted to the middle of the floor in her inimitable fashion and began one of the utterly original, graceful dances for which she was famed on the campus. Soon she had swept the others into it and they were all romping like children.

“If we’re reported for this racket it won’t do the reporter any good. We’re vacating today. I suppose the Phonograph, the Prime Minister and the Ice Queen will be so pleased to know we’ve vamoosed.” Jerry smirked derisively in the direction of Julia Peyton’s room.

Marjorie’s face shadowed slightly at mention of Doris Monroe. Muriel was still in the dark regarding Doris’s sudden change from gracious to hostile. Since her Christmas trip to New York with Leslie Cairns, Doris had been associating constantly with Leslie. More than once when driving with one or another of her chums Marjorie had seen the white car flash past them with Doris at the wheel and Leslie beside her. She sometimes wondered half scornfully whether Doris had not a very fair understanding of Leslie and her unfair methods. Then she would quickly reproach herself as having been suspicious and mean-spirited.

After lunch Jerry promised to see the trunks safely into the keeping of an expressman, leaving Marjorie free to meet Robin at Baretti’s.

“I cut dessert at the Hall today,” was Robin’s salutatory remark as Marjorie presently breezed into the restaurant, her cheeks pure carnation pink from the sharp winter air. “I thought I’d like to have it here with you. I want some Nesselrode pudding. You know my weakness for it. Have some? What will you have?”

“I ought to say nothing, but I’ll eat an apricot ice with you. Thank you, Page, for your invitation.” Marjorie sat down opposite Robin at the table the latter had chosen. “I finished my packing before lunch. It seems queer to be going to Hamilton Arms to live for a while. None of us dared say much about it at the Hall today. A flood was in the offing. But no one flivvered after all. We smiled at each other at lunch like a whole collection of Cheshire pusses.”

“The girls will miss you so dreadfully, Marjorie,” Robin said with sudden soberness. She looked across the table at her partner and wondered if there could ever be anyone more likeable than Marjorie.

“I’ll miss them, Robin. Jerry and I were ready to cry this morning until Jerry fell back on Bean Jingles and we laughed instead. Here comes Signor Baretti.” Marjorie held out a gracious hand.

“What have you hear about the dorm?” was the Italian’s first question after he had accepted the partners’s united invitation to sit.

“Nothing encouraging,” Robin answered with a dejected little shrug. “We are going over there today to try to keep Mr. Graham in good spirits. He has such frightful fits of the blues over this miserable set-back to the dormitory.”

“Yes; the dorm has a verra bad time. I feel verra sorry. I have try to help you in some ways, Miss Page, Miss Dean. Maybe one thing I do have good after while. I don’ know.” The Italian did not offer to explain his somewhat mysterious reference.

“We know you are always ready to help us,” Marjorie said with grateful earnestness. “Would you like to go over to the dormitory with us today, Signor Baretti? I am sure Mr. Graham would be pleased to see you. You know Robin and I would enjoy your company?”

“I think I go with you.” The little proprietor accepted with a dash of pleased red in his brown cheeks. “I have bought the new roadster. I like you to ride in it, Miss Page, Miss Dean.”

“Thank you for suggesting such a dandy way to escape the wind,” smiled Marjorie. “The first day of March, and a real March wind. Miss Macy and I are going to Hamilton Arms today to stay all spring, Signor Baretti. You remember I told you before Christmas that I was going there in the spring.”

“Yes, yes! I remem’er. You are to write somethin’ ’bout this Brooke Hamilton. He is name for the college. Miss Macy—she make another write ’bout him, too?”

“No; she is going to the Arms with me because she is my roommate. I couldn’t leave her behind. Miss Susanna wished both of us to come.”

“I think your friends in the house you live on the campus verra sorry you go,” commented the Italian.

“Thank you very much.” Marjorie made him an arch little bow.

“You are the quite welcome.” The solemn little man beamed happily upon her. Her merry graciousness put him at his ease.

He showed not a little curiosity regarding the biography of Brooke Hamilton. He asked a number of questions about the founder of Hamilton College and listened eagerly as Marjorie explained as lucidly as she could regarding the biography of the great man which she was to write.

When the partners had finished their ices Baretti escorted them, with proud lights in his black eyes, to his roadster, parked in front of the restaurant in shining newness. It was only a short run from the inn to the dormitory. The cutting sharpness of the east wind, however, made riding preferable to walking. Seated in the tonneau of the car Robin and Marjorie had hardly exchanged a dozen sentences when the car had reached the dormitory site and was slowing down for a stop.

“Look, Robin! What can the matter be?” Marjorie cried in an alarmed tone. Glancing out from the glassed door nearest to her she beheld a good-sized crowd of men collected in front of the dormitory building.

Before Robin could reply, Baretti brought the car to a stop and was out of it and at the door of the tonneau to assist them.

“What happen, I wonder?” he asked excitedly. “Mebbe is Mr. Graham or one his men hurt. You stay here. I go an’ see. You don’ go up there till I come tell you all is right. Mebbe is the fight.”

“We will wait for you here,” Marjorie cast concerned eyes toward the crowd of men in an endeavor to pick out Peter Graham in their midst.

As her gaze grew more searching she picked out the builder at the back of the crowd. He seemed to be the main object of attention. His hat was off and his thick white hair was being fluffed out on his head by the wind. He was waving an arm and wagging his head as though making a speech. Far from fighting, the gathering of dark-faced men was orderly. They were evidently listening to Peter Graham in an almost complete silence.

“Marjorie, is it—do you suppose Mr. Graham has been able to gather that crowd of men to work for him? I hardly dare believe it, but, oh, gracious, if it should be true—.” Robin clasped her hands.

“If it should be,” Marjorie repeated, hope flashing into her anxious face. “They are Italians—mostly.” She added the last word as she made the discovery that a sprinkling of the crowd were American. Simultaneous with it she made another discovery. The tall Italian at the edge of the group was Pedro Tomaso. She began to recognize others among that attentive throng who had formerly been Peter Graham’s men.

“They’re not new men, Robin!” she exclaimed. “They are the same ones who went over to Leslie Cairns’s lot.”

“There certainly doesn’t appear to be any one left over at the garage.” As Marjorie called out her discovery Robin had directed her attention toward the garage foundation which had risen since Page and Dean’s workmen had gone over to the other enterprise. Only a few days before it had been humming with activity. Now the silence of a tomb hovered over it. Not a man was to be seen nearer to it than those who made up the crowd in front of the dormitory.

“If Signor Baretti doesn’t come back this minute we’ll simply have to join the crowd.” Marjorie’s voice was freighted with eagerness. “Something’s gone wrong over at the garage and these men have fallen back on Mr. Graham. It must be that. See how respectful they are. Ah-h, here he comes.”

“Oh, Miss Page; Miss Dean; you see there!” The inn keeper pointed joyously to the crowd. “They are the ones to leave Mr. Gra’m. Now it is good enough for them. They have no job atall. Come a man this morning early. Fire these Italianos, fire the Americans, fire these men, Thorne an’ Foster. Mebbe fire Miss Car-rins, too, she was here.” He vented a funny little chuckle on the last remark.

“That is the most amazing thing I ever heard.” Robin stared in a puzzled way at the deserted garage enterprise. “The only one I should imagine who could discharge the whole crowd of men would be Leslie Cairns herself. Perhaps she has sold the operation as it stands.”

“No; she don’t sell it.” A curiously triumphant expression sprang into the Italian’s face. “I don’t talk yet to Mr. Gra’m, for he is too busy. I talk a little to Tomaso. He tell me this man who fires everybody come to the lot with Thorne and Foster. They both looked scare. He look here, look there. He is verra smart, big tall man. He laugh verra mad. He say to Thorne and Foster: ‘You are the couple of skins. You done. Be glad I don’t put you in jail. Now you get out!’ Then Tomaso hear Foster say: ‘You don’t understan’, Mr. Car-rins.’ The big man say: ‘Yes; understan’ you two thieves.’ So, that is Mr. Car-rins who come here. He is the father Miss Car-rins. Then mebbe he can fire Miss Car-rins so she don’t come here more.”