The chief stroked his beard lines (no beard showed just now), then pushed his cap back officially.  Judith slid her white hands along the brass rail playfully and even smiled at the man behind it.  He was a man if also an officer, and he must know by her manner that Judith Stearns was just a very nice little girl being dreadfully imposed upon.

“Sit down, young lady.  We’ll be through in a few minutes,” said the considerate chief; and Judith dropped to the bench beside Jane, Janet and Dozia.  All three could not squeeze her hands at once, but all three managed to do something affectionate, if Janet did have to be content with a mere pluck at the white sweater sleeve.

“Now see here,” spoke the chief in a tone of irritated finality.  “Sandy, what do you mean by disturbin’ and loiterin’?”

“By loiterin’ I mean that racin’ after them little boys who was going about their business, and by disturbin’ I mean—­I mean that—­ that them college girls is allus raisin’ a rumpus.”

“Discharged!” sang out the chief and he did sing it.  The tune of that single word embraced at least three whole tones and suggested several more.

A tumult followed the announcement but the chief rapped again for order.

“I want you people and Officer Sandy to listen to me,” he thundered.  “Because girls go to a college ain’t no reason why they should be pestered” (his errors were truly elegant), “and next time I hear any such fool complaint there’ll he some shiftin’ of badges.  Clear the court!”

And could you blame the Wellingtons present for shaking hands with Chief Hadfield?

Making their way out finally the girls smiled to those in the curious throng who waited to sympathize or congratulate, and just at the end of the dingy hall Judith felt a small, warm hand grasp her own.

“I want to thank you, miss,” spoke a hesitant voice.  “You saved me from that ‘guy’ this after-noon, but I’m awful sorry you got into a scrape.”

It was Tiny Tim, the messenger boy.

“Oh, that’s all right,” declared Judith heartily.  “I was glad to be on hand and that doesn’t matter.  Did you manage to deliver the box safely?”

“I got it into the shop but the right one didn’t sign for it.  I know that ’cause that black haired one has a queer name and the box was for some Sarah Something.  But I guess she’ll get it all right,” he finished with a professional air of certainty.  “She comes there a lot.”

“A box of jewelry for little Sarah Howland,” said Jane to Dozia.

“And the sobbing in the back room,” whispered Dozia in answer.

“That was she who ran out the back way,” concluded Jane while Judith and the others were busy taking leave of the messenger boy.

“Some experience!” exhaled Judith, stronger and braver for her recent incarceration.

“That, and something else,” paraphrased Jane.  “But someone please run to that phone and tell the proctor we are coming.  They may send the guards out after us.  It wants only ten minutes of tea time.  Run!”