etty, dear, Ruth wants to know if I can take dinner with her and Mr.
Ludlow at the Hotel Astor at six o'clock, so we can go to the
Hippodrome real early and find out our places before the concert
starts."

"Certainly, if you wish it," answered Aunt Betty.

So Dorothy returned to the telephone and continued her conversation
with Ruth and when finished hung up the receiver and turned again
to Aunt Betty, saying, "Ruth said for me to hurry and dress and
they--Ruth and Mr. Ludlow--would call for me--about six o'clock. What
shall I wear?"

"The little pink dress, dear; that is quite pretty and most
appropriate for the occasion," answered Aunt Betty. "I am tired, so
Alfy will help you. Besides, I want to talk to Jim."

"Oh, Aunt Betty," interrupted Dorothy. "I forgot to tell you that this
afternoon while we were at Ruth's, we learned of the fact that we
start on our trip on Tuesday--the noon train for Washington. Jim can
tell you all the rest while I dress."

"And did you get a room there where Ruth is, Jim?" questioned Aunt
Betty. Whereat Jim told of his arrangements, discussing the matter
till Dorothy returned.

"Take your violin, dear, and hurry. The 'phone is ringing now and I
guess that is them. Yes, it is," said Aunt Betty, answering the call.

"Good-bye, all, for just a little while. You all be early," called
Dorothy, as she left the room.

After a remarkably fine dinner at the Hotel Astor, which the girls
enjoyed immensely, they all drove to the Hippodrome. Mr. Ludlow led
the girls inside and showed them where they were to sit while they
waited for their turn to play or sing. There were many, many people in
a large room and Mr. Ludlow told them they were the artists and their
friends, but that presently all that were to take part would meet in
the room where the girls were. He left them there for a few minutes
and went away to find out if they had been given their places on the
list. He found their numbers were five and six, Ruth being five. He
came back, told the girls this and then left them to themselves till
their turns came. They sat still, not saying much but enjoying all the
people about them,--some of them seemed to them so queer.

Finally it was Ruth's turn to sing. Slowly she got up, walked to the
entrance and on the stage. She rendered her simple song, "Still vie
die Nochte" very well, and amid a volley of applause, left the stage.
She could not give an encore so she simply walked to the front ag