“Never again should she bask in the light of our society,” said Hippy dramatically.

“None of our friends would do such a thing,” said David soberly.  Then, turning to Anne, “What’s your opinion on the subject, Queen Anne?”

But Anne could find no answer.  She simply shook her head.

Grace, knowing Anne’s feelings over the affair, came to the rescue.

“Anne’s opinion and mine are the same.  We feel sure that they knew our signals, but we believe they accidentally hit upon the knowledge.  There is no use in crying over spilt milk.  We shall have to change all our signals and take care that it doesn’t happen again.  And now let’s talk of something more agreeable, for basketball is a sore subject with me in more than one sense.”  The talk drifted into other channels much to Anne’s relief.

“I have an idea!” exclaimed Hippy.

“Impossible,” said Reddy.  “No one would ever accuse you of such a thing.”

“Be silent, fellow,” commanded Hippy.  “I will not brook such idle babbling.”  He strutted up and down the room, his chest inflated and one hand over his heart, presenting such a ridiculous figure that he raised a general laugh.

“Speak on, fat one.  I promise not to make any more remarks,” said Reddy.

“I propose,” said Hippy, pausing in his march, “that we give an impromptu vaudeville show for the benefit of Miss Grace Harlowe, once an active member of this happy band, but now laid on the shelf—­couch, I mean—­for repairs.”

“Done,” was the unanimous reply.

“Now,” continued Hippy, “get cozy, and the show will begin.  Miss Nora O’Malley will open the show by singing ‘Peggy Brady,’ as only an Irish colleen of her pretensions can.”

Nora rose, looked toward Jessica, who went at once to the piano to accompany her, and sang the song demanded with a fascinating brogue that always brought forth the applause of her friends.  She responded to an encore.  Then Anne’s turn came, and she recited “Lasca.”  Hippy next favored the company with a comic song, which caused them to shout with laughter.  Jessica did her Greek dance for which she was famous.  The performance ended with an up-to-date version of “Antony and Cleopatra,” enacted by David, Reddy and Hippy, with dialogue and stage business of which Shakespeare never dreamed.

It was a product of Hippy’s fertile brain, and the boys had been rehearsing it with great glee, in view of appearing in it, on some fitting occasion, before the girls.

David, gracefully draped in the piano cover, represented Egypt’s queen, and languished upon Marc Antony’s shoulder in the most approved manner.  Reddy, as the Roman conqueror left nothing to be desired.  The star actor of the piece, however, was Hippy, who played the deadly asp.  He writhed and wriggled in a manner that would have filled a respectable serpent with envy, and in the closing scene bit the unfortunate Cleopatra so venomously that she howled for mercy, and instead of dying gracefully, arose and engaged in battle with his snakeship.