It seemed to Robin as though the road between Baretti’s and the town of Hamilton was never ending. While she and Marjorie counted the odd little inn-keeper as their friend and a sincere advocate of the dormitory project, she was amazed at this latest proffer of friendship. She had little doubt as to what would be the result of his call upon Sabani, a fat, taciturn fellow with a surly, hang-dog manner. Among the sprinkling of Italians who lived in or near the town of Hamilton, Guiseppe Baretti was held in the light of an uncrowned monarch by his humbler countrymen.

“Baretti’s,” as his restaurant was familiarly called, had been for years the favorite rendezvous of the students of Hamilton College. Like the inn, its silent, keen-eyed proprietor had found lasting favor with the campus dwellers. From faculty to freshmen the little man was known and liked. His interest in the Travelers and their ambitious plans for a free dormitory had been awakened on the evening when Marjorie, Robin, Phil and a group of their boon companions had, in a spirit of mischief, serenaded him. Since that memorable evening, when he had entertained them with a story of his own miseries as an emigrant in New York City, his interest in their work and accomplishment had grown greater. The Travelers now numbered him as one of their staunchest allies.

“At last!” Robin exclaimed half aloud as the familiar turn into Linden Avenue appeared, only a few rods ahead. She sent the car fleeing down the wet avenue, bent on reaching the drug store at the earliest moment. She had hardly begun slowing down as the car neared the store when Phil and Barbara issued from it and ran down to the edge of the walk to meet her.

“You made dandy time,” Phil called out. “Are you sure you weren’t speeding?”

“It seemed as though I’d never reach here,” Robin declared. “I spun the car along as fast as I dared. I’ve come for you and the girls’ umbrellas.” Robin hopped agilely from the car and landed on the walk between Phil and Barbara. “We must start back in about three minutes. We’ll be late for dinner, but not too late. I’m famished. I left Lillian at the inn, starving. She’s saving her appetite for Thanksgiving dinner at home, and it won’t be served until four o’clock.”

The three promoters of happiness swung gaily up the walk, oblivious to the drizzling rain, entered the store and made an energetic onslaught upon the two make-shift racks of damp umbrellas. With the help of the proprietor and a ball of heavy twine the umbrellas were made into several bundles and deposited on the floor of the car. Barbara volunteered to keep them company on the back seat of the machine.

“You may sit on the front seat, Phil. You’ve something to tell Robin. I resign the place of honor in favor of you. I am too considerate to join the front seat party by sitting on you. I’m going to roost among the bumbershoots.” Barbara climbed in among the piles of umbrellas and settled herself cosily on the back seat, her feet tucked under her.

“Roosting among the bumbershoots,” laughed Phil. “That sounds almost scientific; as though the bumbershoots might be a species of rare bird, or maybe a savage tribe. Oh, but it’s good to be on the move again.” She straightened in the seat and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. “Those two hours of watchful waiting that Barbara and I put in will last us for a long time to come. Weary watchful waiters waitfully watching the weather. We weren’t the only waitful watchers, either.” Phil’s merry tones gave place to a more forceful accent.

“What do you mean, Phil?” Robin cast a quick, side-long glance toward her cousin.

“Leslie Cairns was across the street in the florist’s shop watching us. She was standing at the back of the window that had the palms in it. She had on a leather motor coat with a hood. The hood was drawn over her head and she wore knickers and high-laced boots. She looked more like an aviator than a motorist. I happened to get a good view of her. Most of the time she kept out of sight behind the palms. I think she was there for a purpose,” was Phil’s distrustful surmise.

“Oh, she may only have happened in the shop, either to order flowers or to hunt shelter from the rain,” Robin made charitable allowance. “Very likely she has a dinner date with Miss Monroe or one of the Acasia House girls. What possible interest could she have in the dormitory girls? You know what a snob she used to be. I daresay she hasn’t changed.”

“She has nerve,” grumbled Phil who had always detested Leslie Cairns with the full strength of her democratic soul. “If I had been expelled from Hamilton, even unjustly, I’d never set foot on the campus again. The idea of trying to gain a social footing on Hamilton campus after the hateful way she fought against everything fair, honest and ennobling!”

Robin, busy guiding the car through the thin, gray mist, nodded her sympathy of Phil’s impulsive outburst. “Did you see her leave the florist’s shop,” she asked.

“Yes; just before you came back this last time. She dodged out of the store like a streak, jumped into a little black car she’d parked in front of the shop, and away she drove like the wind.”

“Hm-m. That sounds rather suspicious. She may have had some dark and desperate motive.” Robin was half smiling. “More likely she simply happened to go into the shop, saw the crowd across the street and curiosity got the better of her.”

“I don’t think so,” Phil frowned and shook a doubting head. “She had an object in view. She isn’t half so much interested in getting ready to build a garage on that property she snatched from you and Marjorie as she might be. I believe she bought it purely for spite; as an excuse to keep her near the campus. She’s rich in her own right, and a law unto herself. It’s the old story of idle hands and mischief. She has no worthy object in life. She’s the kind of person who has to have something to hammer away at. So she’s settled herself near the campus to see what she can do to tear down what Page and Dean have built up.”

Phil’s voice rang out resentfully on the last sentence. She had felt suspicion rise within her the instant she caught sight of Leslie Cairns. “There!” she declared with some vehemence. “I’ve told you plainly what I think of Leslie Cairns. You know I’ve never said much about her before now. I don’t mean to be a back-biter. But I think she’s more likely to try to make mischief now than ever. She’s vindictive. She’s shown that. She likes to blame Marjorie, instead of herself, for the trouble she and the Sans had that wound up their B. A. prospects at Hamilton. I won’t forgive her for misjudging Marjorie purposely.”

“I don’t blame you, old firecracker. I sympathize with your sputters,” laughed Robin. “I’ve said as much as you about Leslie Cairns to Marjorie. It’s just as Marvelous Manager says. We can’t judge her on suspicion. If she should make us trouble, later, all we could do would be repair the damage done and go on minding our own affairs. No one can punish Leslie Cairns so effectively as Leslie Cairns herself.”

“True enough, wise Robin.” Phil’s sunny smile broke from behind her briefly clouded features. “Let’s leave her to her own downfall,” she said lightly, “and consider instead our Thanksgiving thankfulnesses. I’m thankful the weather’s growing better instead of worse, and doubly thankful we decided to go to town and engineer the dinner movement.”

“Without us the girls might have had hard work reaching the inn,” Robin asserted. “They couldn’t have walked and look presentable after they reached Baretti’s, and they would not have been able to hire any cars. They’d have had to telephone us, but they might have tried to help themselves first. That would have taken time, and been a failure in the end. By the time we had gone to their rescue it would have been late in the afternoon.”

“We managed to dodge a fine flivver all around,” observed Phil with a self-congratulatory nod.

Under Robin’s slender practiced hands the car had been swiftly eating up the distance between town and the inn. The cousins hardly realized their nearness to it, so earnestly were they talking, until the quaint low structure appeared ahead of them, only a few rods distant, a welcome sight. Robin slowed down with a deep breath of satisfaction.

“You almost anchored our good ship Bubble in a mud hole, mon capitaine,” teased Barbara. She scrambled from the tonneau, balanced herself on the running board and nimbly leaped the shallow beginning of a deep, wide roadside puddle, the greater spread of which was in front of the car. Barbara flapped her arms and made a triumphant landing on wet but solid ground.

“No one is infallible,” chuckled Robin. “Thank your stars I didn’t splash you. It’s your move, lady. Don’t be afraid to make it,” she turned to Phil with the gruff tone of a traffic officer. She and Phil both rose in the seat to leave the machine. Both beheld in the same instant a small black car coming toward them at high speed.

Swish; splatter; splash! The forward tires of the oncoming car struck the wide puddle with a force that sent the muddy water of the puddle upward in jets. In passing Robin’s car the other machine gave a violent lurch toward it that threatened but did not precipitate a collision. On down the road the black car shot, spattering the mud and water high as it whizzed out of sight around a bend.

“Whew! Faugh!” Phil dashed away a splash of soft mud that had struck her squarely on the mouth. Face and clothing were liberally spattered with it. Robin had been equally unfortunate. Phil suddenly burst out laughing. “Oh, ha, ha!” she laughed. “My poor polka dot cousin. You’re a P. D., Robin; instead of a P. G.”

“Stop laughing,” ordered Robin, herself giggling immoderately at the disaster which had overtaken them. “Your face looks even worse than mine. And bouncing Bab escaped just in time. That last bounce saved you,” she told grinning Barbara.

“What did I tell you only a little while ago?” Phil glanced up the pike in the direction in which the devastating car had disappeared. “She saw us before we saw her. She put on speed and did that stunt simply to be malicious. If we’d been half a second sooner in getting out of the car we might have had the most wonderful mud shower bath! She took the risk of smashing into our machine for the pleasure of spattering us. She’s vindictive—just as I said.”

“Leslie Cairns’ own variety of sport.” Barbara now hurried to where the two victims of Leslie Cairns’ ill nature stood wiping the thin oozy mud from their “polka dot” faces. “You should have seen the expression of her face as her car zipped by ours. She looked delighted—a wicked, hateful kind of delight. No wonder Muriel and Jerry call her the Hob-goblin!”

“I crowed too soon. A mud-splashing is something we didn’t dodge,” Phil said ruefully. “I feel as though I had been swimming in the mud. Come on, Barbara Severn, and get busy with these umbrellas. I can order you about. You’re only a senior. Help from P. G.’s will also be appreciated. I’m tired and hungry and muddy. Ah, there stands the guardian angel of Hamilton!” Phil waved a gay hand to Signor Baretti who had just appeared in the doorway of the inn.

The little man responded to the wave. Then he disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared. He returned at once with one of his olive-skinned kitchen helpers and proceeded to busy himself with the care of the umbrellas.

“We’ll let the men carry the bumbershoots inside. If we go in there we’ll not get away from the crowd for awhile,” Phil predicted cannily. “Remember our own Thanksgiving feed. Meanwhile I am starving to death by inches.”

“We’re not going inside, Signor Baretti,” Robin told the smiling “guardian angel” as the helper disappeared with the last of the umbrellas.

“I know,” the little man bobbed his head understandingly. “I know you are in the hurry. I don’t see you till is done in the ginnasio the ball game you have tell me about. You say it is done, mebbe five the clock. I go there. Wait for you. When I meet you I have for you the bus, the taxi—something to ride in for the dorm girls. Now I don’t know which these. But I find out.”