else."

"Yes, it's going some," returned Griffin nonchalantly, as she started
up the stair again, dragging the board after her. "The March Hare
originated it back in the dark ages, and we've been doing it off and
on--when the authorities don't get on to us."

"The March Hare?" queried Patricia, much elated by this exhilarating
society, and wishing more ardently than ever that she were fitted for
this fascinating class.

Griffin nodded. "Tabby March, you know. The young woman who paints
pussies. Used to go here three years ago, before she'd arrived. She
was a wild one, I can tell you."

"Do you mean Elizabeth March, who got the Tassel prize this year?"
asked Patricia in surprise. "Why, I saw her last week at the
exhibition and she was awfully prim looking."

Griffin chuckled. "It's fame that tames them, mark my words. Soon's
they get known they grow into a pattern. Ready now. Let her
r-r-r-_rip_!"

Elinor intercepted them at the bottom just as they were preparing for a
third flight.

"I've been looking for you everywhere, Miss Pat," she said radiantly.
"There's going to be a spread in the cave, and I've phoned home to Judy
not to wait for us, as we won't be there for dinner."

"Am I asked?" demanded Patricia with eager eyes.

"Of course, or I'd have sent word by you instead of phoning," said
Elinor quickly. "Come along down, both of you. Everything is ready,
and Margaret Howes is making Welsh rarebit just specially for you--she
heard you say you adored it. Hurry, hurry."

CHAPTER VI

AFTERMATH

The feast was half over when Patricia, who sat between Margaret Howes
and Griffin and opposite to the adorable Doris Leighton, got a distinct
shock.

The girls had been talking of the initiation and the part that Elinor
had played.

"Your sister has covered herself with glory by the way she took her
hazing," said Margaret, deftly winding a long string of the rarebit
around a bread stick and popping it in her mouth.

"She certainly saved us from a fluke by the nice fashion in which she
turned the popular attention from that idiot who was leading the band,"
added Griffin, reaching for the mustard.

Patricia longed to ask a question, but Margaret Howes saved her the
necessity.

"Who was it, do you know, Griffin?" she inquired in a lowered tone.

"Can't be certain, of course, but I have my doubts," replied Griffin,
in the same pitch. "I think that I recognized the silvery tones of a
fair