plicit.

CHAPTER VII

A DRAMATIC CHAPTER

The Chapin house girls decided not to spend the proceeds of the dancing
class for an elaborate supper, as they had first intended, but to turn
their "spread" into the common college type, where "plowed field" and
chocolate made with condensed milk and boiling water are the chief
refreshments, and light-hearted sociability ensures a good time for
everybody.

"But do let's have tea too," Betty had proposed. "I hate the chocolate
that the girls make, and I don't believe tea keeps many of us awake. Did
I tell you that mother sent a big box of cheese crackers?"

The spread was to be in Betty's room, partly because she owned the only
chafing-dish in the house, and partly because eighteen girls--the nine
hostesses and the one guest asked by each--could get into it without
uncomfortable crowding. Eleanor had lent her pile of floor cushions and
her beloved candlesticks for the occasion, everybody had contributed
cups and saucers. Betty and Helen had spent the afternoon "fixing up,"
and the room wore a very festive air when the girls dropped in after
dinner to see if the preparations were complete.

"I think we ought to start the fudge before they come," said Betty,
remembering the procedure at Miss King's party.

"Oh, no," protested Eleanor. "Half-past eight is early enough. Why, most
of the fun of a spread is mixing the things together and taking turns
tasting and stirring."

"It would be awkward to finish eating too early, when that's the only
entertainment," suggested Rachel.

"Or the candy might give out before ten," added Mary Rich.

The majority ruled, and as some of the girls were late, and one had some
very amusing blue-prints to exhibit, it was considerably after half-past
eight before the fudge was started. At first it furnished plenty of
excitement. Betty, who had been appointed chief fudge-maker, left it for
a moment, and it took the opportunity to boil over. When it had settled
down after this exploit, it refused to do anything but simmer. No amount
of alcohol or of vigorous and persistent stirring had any effect upon
it, and Betty was in despair. But Eleanor, who happened to be in a
gracious mood, came gallantly to the rescue. She quietly disappeared and
returned in a moment, transformed into a gypsy street singer. She had
pulled down her black hair and twisted a gay scarf around it. Over her
shirt-waist she wore a little velvet jacket; and a short black