It was precisely noon when the partners entered the inn. The somber beauty of the great square room always seemed to Marjorie to be more like a continuation of Hamilton Arms than a restaurant.

“You are here on the time, Miss Dean, Miss Page.” The friendly Italian proprietor of the inn had been watching for them. He trotted forward, his hand outstretched. “I write you the letter, then I afraid mebbe you go home early thisa morn. You don’t get it. Then think, no—you don’t go home when you give the dorm girls the dinner.”

“I am going home, Signor Baretti, but Miss Page is going to remain on the campus. Several of the girls with whom you see us generally are going home, too. Miss Moore and Miss Severn are to help Miss Page with the Thanksgiving dinner for the dormitory girls.” Marjorie smiled her regard for the kindly little man as she made this explanation.

“Ah, yes;” nodded the Italian. “Now you sit down; have the lunch with me. It is ready; very special; all for you.” He conducted them to one of the tables and bowed them into their chairs. “You are please have the lunch with such a nobody Italiano?” he asked jokingly. There was, however a touch of embarrassment in the inquiry.

The instant warm affirmative from his guests seemed to delight him immensely. He signaled to the Italian waitress who had been hovering near waiting for his order. She nodded and hurried from the room returning quickly with the soup.

“Now I tell you,” he said as they began the soup. “You know I like the dorm you build. I give this dorm a good present someday when I see what the dorm need much. I know you want give the college young ladies who used live where the dorm is the good time. I know they don’t have the mona; not much.” He pursed his lips and shook his head in regret of the dormitory girls’ moneyless estate. “You are the ones to make these happa, because you do good for these. I am this to make them happa, too. They don’t pay for the Thanksigivin’ dinner. You don’t pay. I give the dorm girls the dinner. Then I am happa. It will be the fine dinner. You do this for me. You tell the dorm young ladies come to the dinner at one. I don’t close my restaurant, but I have only enough tables for the dorm girls. I have already tell those freshmans, sophmans and studen’s they can reserve the tables only after half past two of the clock. They come here before, they must sit on the benches an’ watch the dorms eat.” His eyes twinkled humorously as he sketched this dire prospect for the girls who were pluming themselves upon having reserved tables at Baretti’s.

Marjorie and Robin could not refrain from laughing at his revelation. They could picture the rows of exclusive but certain-to-be-very-hungry girls meekly sitting watching the dormitory girls eat up the turkey for which they were yearning. The pure democracy of the Italian’s plan robbed them both temporarily of ready acknowledgment of his generosity.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m simply flabbergasted!” Robin finally exclaimed.

“You don’t like?” The little man glanced anxiously from one girl to the other. “I don’t un’erstan’ that word flab—flab—.” He gave a half puzzled, half smiling shake of the head.

“Indeed we do like your plan. By flabbergasted I mean that I am so surprised and delighted. I’ll say the word slowly for you.” Robin pronounced it by syllables.

“So-o-o. I listen.” He made Robin say it over several times. “It is a long word. I like the long words in American.” He repeated the word until he appeared to know it.

Marjorie had a shrewd suspicion that he had seized upon the strange word as a means of hiding his embarrassment at his own generosity.

“What you think, Miss Dean?” He suddenly fixed a pair of penetrating black eyes upon her. “You like, too?”

“Like your plan? I should say I did.” Marjorie bent her friendliest smile upon the devoted adherent of the dormitory cause.

“You couldn’t do anything that would bring more happiness to the off-campus girls, Signor Baretti,” Robin told him. “They will feel so proud and happy to be invited by you to a private Thanksgiving dinner. But you mustn’t forget the campus girls. You know your restaurant is the Hamilton girls’ favorite tea room. I simply have to put in a good word for them, too,” she ended loyally.

“Yes, yes; I un’erstan.’ I know what you mean,” the Italian assured. “Oo-oo, many nice studen’s come here, don’t go another tea shop. All the rest of the day after half past two is for them. My ten tables are all reserve for after the dorm dinner. In my restaurant I can put more tables. That is no good. Some studen’s come here I don’t like. They eat here same time as dorm girls maybe they make the trouble. Miss Car-rins ask me for the Thanksgivin’ table. I don’t give her one.” He waved a prohibitive finger in the air. “She can start the trouble from nothin’. You know now she lives in the town?”

“Yes, we know it,” Marjorie’s response came in even tones. “Her business interests keep her in Hamilton, I believe.”

“Her business is too much to mind the business of others.” A fleeting scowl passed over the Italian’s forehead. It lingered between his brows as he said resentfully: “Once this Miss Car-rins say about me when she is here in this room but verra mad at me: ‘Let the dago have his hash house. I hope it burn down tonight.’ Never-r-r I forget that. I feel to say to her when she come here again after long while: ‘You don’t come here more.’ I cannot. This is the inn; for everybody who want come who behave quiet. But never-r-r I let her have the special table. Naw!” The inn keeper put great stress upon this resentful resolve.

Neither Marjorie nor Robin hardly knew what to say. They had long since heard the story Baretti had just told them from Vera.

“I wouldn’t take anything Leslie Cairns said to heart, or ever let it worry me for a minute, Signor Baretti,” Marjorie finally said in soothing tones. She recognized the Italian’s right to comforting words. She knew he could not forgive having been called a “dago.” Far more humiliating it must then be to his pride to have heard his beloved restaurant dubbed a “hash house.”

“I think mebbe I don’t,” Baretti decided, his brooding features brightening again. “Anyway I don’t have Miss Car-rins here when are the dorm girls here. She might act verra mean. So some freshmans and sophmans who have the tables here will act mean, too. Miss Car-rins don’t like those who have no much mona. If she come here with the pretty girl who have the proud face and the hair of gold I don’t say nothin’. She can sty unless she makes the fun of me. She shall no do that. It is my hash house.” He threw back his head and laughed. “In it I can do the way I please. So Miss Car-rins come here someday, make the fun of me again, I walk up to her, take her by the arm, very quiet, and make her to walk out the door.”