Marjorie Dean, College Sophomore | Page 5

their
freshman year had made them very welcome guests. Signor Baretti's
solemn face became wreathed with smiles as he greeted them.
"It is certainly good to be here again!" exclaimed Jerry. By
appropriating two extra chairs from a nearby vacant table, the nine
diners had managed to seat themselves without crowding at one table.
"Isn't it, though?" Vera Mason glanced happily around the circle. "I
miss Baretti's dreadfully during vacations. There is really no other
restaurant quite like it."
"We missed it too, this summer. Our main standby in Sanford was
Sargeant's. You and Leila made its acquaintance when you were in
Sanford last Easter. We used to go there so often after school. I wonder
we ever had an appetite for dinner when we went home. Of course it
can't be compared with Baretti's, as it is merely a confectioner's shop.
We had happy times there, though," Marjorie concluded.
"It was a regular conspirator's shop," Jerry supplemented. "Whenever
we had anything special to talk over, the watchword was, 'On to
Sargeant's.'"
"We settled a great many weighty affairs of state at Sargeant's." Muriel
smiled reminiscently. "I suppose Baretti's will grow dearer to us as we

plod along our college way. I like it better than the Colonial, which
lacks the air this place has. Besides, the Sans monopolize it so that I
had rather come here."
"Why did the Sans turn from Baretti's to the Colonial?" Lucy asked
tersely. Her analytic mind had not for an instant lost sight of Vera's
earlier remark concerning the proprietor. "What happened?"
"Oh, it took a large number of straws to break the camel's back. When
it broke----"
"Bing!" obligingly supplied Jerry. "I can picture the wrath of an
outraged Baretti."
"He was wrathful more than once before he said a word. The Sans used
to be awfully noisy when they dined or lunched here. Guiseppe did not
like that. They used to reserve tables by telephone, then, when they
reached here for dinner, they would claim he had not reserved the
tables they had asked for. That was a trick of Leslie Cairns. She would
tell him that he ought not charge extra for the tables as he had not
complied with her order properly. There were all sorts of little points
like that which the Sans used to argue with him. They used to tease him
purposely to see him get angry. When he is very angry he says not a
word. He clenches his hands and his face turns fiery red. His eyes snap
and he looks as though he would like to turn inside out. He half opens
his mouth, then turns on his heel and scuttles off.
"One evening in February," Vera continued, "Leila and I came here for
dinner. One of the sophs had a birthday and she was giving a dinner to
eighteen of her classmates. Remember, Leila? They had those three
tables over there." Vera nodded toward the opposite side of the room.
"The room was quite well filled, when in came Leslie Cairns, Joan
Myers and Natalie Weyman with three girls who had come from a prep.
school to spend a week-end with Joan. There wasn't a single table at
which they all could sit. Instead of calling Guiseppe, Leslie Cairns
walked straight to the soph who was giving the dinner, and claimed she
had taken a table which Joan had reserved by telephone. The soph
should simply have stayed away upon her dignity and called Signor

Baretti. She was indignant, naturally, and began to argue the matter
with Miss Cairns. They both grew furious and talked so loudly you
could hear them all over the room. Natalie Weyman undertook to
champion Leslie, and Leslie told her to shut her mouth and mind her
own affairs. She is so uncouth when she loses her temper. Honestly, a
regular pow-wow went on for a few minutes."
Vera stopped her narrative to laugh as she recalled that very stormy
altercation. Leila was also laughing. Nor could the other listeners fail to
be amused.
"I can imagine how that poor soph felt to be jumped on so
unexpectedly, when she was playing the agreeable hostess at her own
birthday party." Jerry's sympathy for the injured sophomore did not
prevent her from laughing. The funny side of such tragedies invariably
struck Jerry first. "How did the pow-wow end?"
"Very likely an enraged Baretti swooped down on them and read them
the law in broken and indignant English," guessed Ronny, with a
glance toward the cashier's desk, where the stolid little proprietor sat
counting the day's receipts.
"Did he?" emphasized Vera. "He crossed the floor as though he had
wings attached to his shoes. He stopped directly in front of Leslie
Cairns. We couldn't hear what he said to her. It