“Curfew shall not ring tonight”
In Corridor Four had always been centered most of
Lakeview Hall’s “high jinks,” to
quote Laura Polk. Although Procrastination Boggs,
Nan Sherwood, Bess Harley, and several other dwellers
on this corridor stood well up in their classes, Mrs.
Cupp was inclined to locate most infractions of the
school rules in the confines of Corridor Four.
“Our overflowing an-i-mile spirits, young ladies,
are our bane,” quoted Laura, talking through
her nose. “Dr. Beulah has been away—has
not arrived home yet—and we unfortunate
orphans have been driven to bed with the chickens.
I, for one, have revolted.”
“You don’t look very revolting, Laura,”
drawled Amelia Boggs, “even with that red necktie
on crooked.”
“Just the same, I have anarchistic tendencies.
I feel ’em,” declared the red-haired girl.
“That is not anarchism you feel,” scoffed
Bess. “If I had eaten what you did for
supper—”
“Oh, say not so!” begged Laura. “Don’t
tell me that all this disturbance within me is from
merely what I ate. Why, I feel that I might lead
an assault on Cupp’s office, take her by force,
and immure her in—”
“The old secret passage to the boathouse,”
put in Nan.
“Oh, goodness—gracious—Agnes!”
said Amelia, looking at one of her watches, “if
we are going to do anything to that wild Western mustang
to-night—”
“Hush! Have no fear,” interrupted
Laura. “There is time enough.”
“Procrastination should know that,” giggled
Bess, “with all the watches and clocks she owns.”
“While we gab here,” went on Amelia, “curfew
time approaches.”
Laura struck an attitude. “Listen, girls!”
she cried. “’Curfew shall not ring to-night!’”
“Now, don’t begin reciting old chestnuts
like that,” sniffed Bess.
“It is an announcement of revolt, not a recitation,
I’d have you know,” declared the red-haired
girl.
“What do you mean, Laura?” Nan asked,
suddenly seeing that Laura really had some meaning
underneath her raillery.
“Hush, children!” crooned the red-haired
girl. “What is our greatest trial—our
most implacable enemy—in this fair Garden
of Eves? Tell me!”
“Mrs. Cupp,” sighed Nan.
“Nay, nay! She is but the slave of the
lamp,” responded Laura, still in flowery fashion.
“The bete noire of the girls of Lakeview
Hall is the half-past nine o’clock curfew.
And I vow it shall not ring to-night!”
“Why won’t it?” asked Nan, finally
grown suspicious.
“Because,” hissed Laura, her eyes dancing,
“I climbed up into the tower this forenoon and
unhooked and hid the bell-clapper. They won’t
find it for one while, now you mark my word!”
“Oh, Laura!” gasped Nan; but then she,
too, had to join in the peal of laughter that the
other girls in Room Seven, Corridor Four, emitted.
