Miss Pat at School Part 7

"Seventeen," replied Elinor, counting. "I hope it will work all right when I pull the string. I've fixed the bottom of that lantern so it ought to fall out when I give a hard jerk, and all the bags will tumble down in a shower."

"You can't try it, of course," said Patricia. "But I'm dead certain it'll be all right. What is the matter?" she asked, looking up as the door of the life room opened and the men began to come out carrying their canvases and drawing-boards as though the pose were over. "It can't be four o'clock, surely. Ju hasn't been gone a half hour."

Naskowski, on his way to the modeling room, paused to answer Patricia's question.

"There iss a demonstration in the living anatomy, for all students--a man who can dislocate his joints at will and do other methods of showing muscle action," he explained. "So the life iss dismiss. You will come--not?"

Patricia and Elinor exchanged a swift glance.

"We'll be along in a little while," replied Patricia easily. "Save a seat for us if you can."

When he had moved on she whispered excitedly:

"Now's your chance, Norn! I'll skirmish for laggards and report."

She came back in a moment, triumphant.

"There isn't a soul in sight," she announced. "Hustle while the coast's clear. Someone may come back at any moment."

They hurried into the deserted room, and with eager haste they swung the big lantern up to the circle of electric fixtures above the model stand, the stout cord that Elinor had fastened to its bottom hanging concealed among the drapery of the screen that stood behind the model's chair.

"It's all s.h.i.+p-shape now," whispered Patricia as they scrambled down from the stools whereon they had perched to accomplish their purpose.

"Aren't we in luck? Not a soul even saw us come in."

"Now for a sight of the dislocated gentleman," said Elinor gayly. "And then for the great event."

The anatomical wonder appealed to them so little that they gave up the seats that the kind Slav had saved for them, and went out, rather sickened by such limberness, to wait the gong of the night life in the seclusion of the print room.

The hall and corridor were dim and the circle of lights above the model stand was twinkling brightly when Patricia peeped in at the crack of the door during the first rest.

"Nothing seems to be happening," said Elinor to her in an undertone as she joined her. "I believe I'll wait till later, unless I see signs of action."

"Don't keep me hanging on here in the dark too long," protested Patricia. "I'm worn to a bone already."

When she returned to her post after a brief nap on the wide couch, everything was quiet, much to her disgust.

"Why in the world doesn't Elinor loosen up?" she thought, impatiently.

As she moved nearer she gave a start of surprise. The lights in the night-life room were out. The transom showed black and empty above the ma.s.sive folded doors.

Patricia drew in her breath with a gasp. She put her hand on the k.n.o.b of the door and noiselessly turned it.

"I'll slip in behind the door screen," she thought, "and see what's going on. Elinor may need me."

CHAPTER V

THE GHOST DANCE

The room was very dark at first, and little whispers ran all about in the gloom. There was a rustling and shuffling and a sound of hurried, m.u.f.fled steps. Patricia, from her hiding place behind the door screen, could make out nothing but the dim oblong of the transom above her head and the long pale ma.s.s of the skylight.

Suddenly a match flared and the twinkling tip of light grew at a candle end and she saw a ghostly figure, its white hand busy with the candle wick and its hollow, black eyes fixed on the tiny growing flame.

Instantly other matches flickered and more candles glimmered in ghostly fingers, until the room was flas.h.i.+ng with tiny points of light, while the ma.s.ses of heavy shadow trembled and surged about an array of white-clad, mysterious, skull-faced figures that slowly formed in line and, two by two, moved to the center of the room, chanting a low, monotonous song as they walked in solemn procession.

"My word!" breathed Patricia, stirred and chilled in spite of herself.

"They're doing it brown this time!"

As her eyes grew accustomed to the flicker and motion, she searched for Elinor, and saw her at last, the center of the weird procession, standing quietly beside the chair from which she had risen, holding her head with a sweet and gracious dignity that went straight to Patricia's chilled heart.

"Dear old Norn," she thought with a returning glow. "They can't scare her, bless her heart!"

Elinor stood smiling a little at the gruesome company as they slowly paced about her in a narrowing circle, and when the leader took her hand and led her to the model stand, motioning to her to mount it, she acquiesced with graceful alacrity.

Standing high above them in the semi-gloom, with that faint smile still on her lips, she watched them calmly as they danced the famous Ghost Dance of the Academy about her, omitting no gruesome detail that would be calculated to affright the dismayed beholder, chanting and groaning horribly the while.

At a sign from the leader the dance stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and the leader once more approached Elinor, followed by four of the foremost ghosts.

They mounted the platform and, seating Elinor in the chair, filed before her, presenting one after another a grisly hand and cadaverous cheek for her salute.

"The horrid things!" murmured Patricia to herself, with her wrath beginning to rise. "I'd pinch their noses for them if they made me kiss them! Elinor's too gentle with them. I wonder why she doesn't pull the string? She could reach it easily now."

But Elinor, far from showing rancor, shook the bony hands and kissed the sunken cheeks with as good grace as though she were receiving her dearest friends. She even made some little speech to each, though Patricia was too far away to catch more than a word or two.

Her sweetness of temper, nevertheless, did not seem to appease the ghosts, for, when the ceremony of salutation was finished, the four seated themselves cross-legged on either side of her, while the leader proceeded to catechize her.

"What is your name?" she asked, in a high, squeaking voice that Patricia failed to recognize.

Elinor responded promptly.

"Where do you live?" was the next question, to which Elinor again replied good-naturedly.

"Pooh! they're as stupid as the rest," thought Patricia contemptuously, and she let her attention wander, studying the various ghosts, making mental notes as to height and size for future reference.

She was brought back to the center of interest by a sharp hiss from a ghost on the edge of the a.s.sembly and a m.u.f.fled cry of "No fair!" from another nearer the stand.

The leader raised a grisly hand and swept the a.s.sembly with her cavernous eye sockets.

"I repeat," she piped, turning to Elinor with a jerky bow, "I repeat my question. Why were you admitted to our cla.s.s without having worked in any antique or life cla.s.ses before?"

"Oh, that's too personal," said a ghost in a disgusted tone. "I protest! This isn't a Board meeting."

There was a general murmur of laughter at this, but the leader stood rigid, awaiting Elinor's reply.

"I have told anyone who asked me," said Elinor, evenly, though her cheeks were beginning to burn. "I came in on Bruce Haydon's recommendation."

There was a rustle of approval at her quiet tone and a stir as of the a.s.sembly breaking up, but again the leader motioned for silence.