"Two words. The devil-stick!",
"'An Arabian Nights Entertainment,'" read Patricia, mumbling in her haste. "'No guests admitted unless in costume' … m-m-m-m … 'The Sultan Haroun-al-Raschid' … Oh, I see! We can rig up in anything we choose,—so that it looks sort of Turkish. Dee-licious! I know what to do with my rose-colored cloak right now!",
"I'm not really sick," she said, in a faint tone, as Patricia cuddled down on the floor beside her and took the chilly hand in her warm one. "I have one of my old headaches. I forgot to get any lunch. I had just put the key in my locker, when everything grew black and I'd have collapsed if Doris Leighton hadn't helped me to a chair. She gave me some milk and got my things for me, and when I felt well enough, she came over here with me. She's certainly the sweetest thing. She had to miss getting her criticism, too. Mr. Benton had just gone in when I crumpled up.".
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