THE SENIORS OF CARSLAKE's
With the clang of the everlasting bell in her ears Kitty awoke,
wondering for a few minutes where she could be, and almost thinking
she was back in her little bunk on board the _Wallaroon_.
Then she heard a yawn, and a sleepy voice, "Oh, bother! Was that
rising bell?" and Hilary's voice in answer, "Yes, Peggy my child, it
was. What's more, I can see it raining out of my window."
"Oh, blow!" said another voice. "Shan't get up then. Wake me by
twenty to eight, somebody, please, if I fall asleep again."
"Get up, you lazy kids," said Hilary sternly. "It's disgraceful, the
way you lie in bed when you might have a run round the field before
breakfast or a turn in the gym. No wonder we never get represented
in gym displays. You know it's the rule to turn out when rising bell
goes."
"Bother the bell!" said the voice of Peggy. "And you can't make us,
Hilary. Duane is head of this dormitory, not you."
"Well, you ought to have a mistress sleeping next door, like the
other dormitories. You'd have to alter your ways a little then. Are
you awake, Kitty?"
"I should hope so," replied Kitty promptly. "I couldn't very well
stay asleep with all this talking going on."
"Bless you, there are plenty who do. Are you getting up?"
"Yes," answered Kitty, jumping out of bed with a spring.
"Good. I'll take you along to the gym for a look-round before
breakfast. Be ready by a quarter to eight, won't you?"
"All right," answered Kitty at once. "Where do I get water from?"
"Oh, one of the juniors will get you hot water from the bathroom, if
you put your jug outside your cubicle."
Kitty was quite ready when Hilary knocked for admittance. By that
time, the rest of the dormitory, from the noise they were making, had
evidently turned out.
"Half a tick," said Hilary. "I must perform my usual morning's
task." She raised her voice.
"Duane, are you awake?"
A sleepy voice made reply:
"No. 'Tisn't time to get up yet."
"Yes, it is," replied Hilary firmly. "Hurry up and turn out."
"What's the time?" said the same drawling voice.
"A quarter to eight."
"Oh well, I can just do it in ten minutes. Call me at ten to."
"I'm just going. You'll be late one of these days. You know last
term you were hardly ever properly dressed for breakfast."
"I'll count three and jump out on the 'three.'"
"Hurry up then."
"One----" began the speaker with the tired voice, and paused.
"Two----"
A still longer pause.
"Two and a half."
Another pause, then:
"Two and three quarters."
"Oh, go on," said Hilary. "Two and seven eighths! I'm going now,
anyway," and patience evidently not being her strong point, she
walked out of the dormitory, throwing a "Come along, Kitty," over her
shoulder as she did so.
Now Kitty's cubicle was next to the one belonging to the tired
individual. She had been listening to the conversation with a
feeling of mingled pity and contempt, for slacking of any sort made
no appeal whatever to the vigorous, active Australian girl. As
Hilary walked out, Kitty's glance fell on her wet sponge, lying on
the washstand. Catching it up, she sprang lightly on to the edge of
the bed, caught hold of the top of the partition, and judging the
whereabouts of the invisible speaker's face by careful guesswork,
squirted the contents of the sponge over the partition. Apparently
the shower of water found its mark, for there was the sound of a gasp
and a violent creak of the bed. Kitty, judging discretion to be the
better part of valour, hastily dropped the sponge and slipped swiftly
out of the dormitory, catching Hilary up in the passage outside.
The two walked on together.
"Who's the girl you called Duane?" inquired Kitty, wondering why the
unusual name sounded familiar, till, the next instant, she remembered
the trunk at the station and its flaunting lettering. Wouldn't the
boys at home laugh when she told them in her letter that one of her
first acts in England was to squirt water over a member of the
British aristocracy!
"Oh, you'll soon get to know who Duane is," replied Hilary. "She's
just been appointed head prefect of our house. She's in my form, the
Upper Fifth."
"Oh!" said Kitty, remembering the conversation in the train between
Eileen and Salome. So this was the girl they had been discussing so
freely! Somehow or other, though she had not seen her yet, Kitty was
quite sure she was not going to like her head prefect.
When breakfast was over, Miss Carslake announced that the Principal
wanted to see all the school prefects in her room that morning. "She
also wishes to see all the senior girls of the house," the mistress
added; "so those who are not prefects must also be ready after
chapel."
Of course there was a certain amount of excitement at this unusual
proceeding, and many reasons were suggested for it.
"Shall I have to go?" inquired Kitty.
"Oh, yes. Come along. You're sure to be in the Upper or Lower
Fifth, so you must look upon yourself as a senior."
Consequently, about ten o'clock, Kitty found herself with the six
other senior girls of her house in the sanctum of Miss St. Leger,
Principal of Easthampton College. She was very popular with her
girls, who were wont to declare that they could not imagine
Easthampton without her.
The seniors sat gravely on chairs in a little semicircle. Kitty,
through hearing them address one another, had already learned their
names, and surveyed them interestedly, for these were to be her
future companions. There was, first of all, the slight, fair Hilary,
insignificant in appearance but ready of tongue and decidedly shrewd
of brain. Then there were the Lower Fifth-formers sitting side by
side. Margaret Batt was liked by everybody; she was a nice, simple,
unaffected English girl, not brilliant in any way, but always ready
to lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it. Sonia Edwards was a
pretty, golden-haired, smartly dressed girl, inclined to be vain and
rather empty-headed, though not ill-natured. Kitty rather sweepingly
described her to herself as a "fluffy-haired, dressed-up doll."
Bertha Salter was not very prepossessing in appearance. She had
straight, carroty hair, a sturdy but stockily-built figure, and a
rather heavy, sullen expression. Kitty fancied she looked rather
sly, then quickly reproved herself for an unkind thought about a
total stranger. The girl was very likely quite a decent sort. She
couldn't help her looks.
There remained the other two Upper Fifth-formers. The second of the
three prefects was the chestnut-haired girl who played the organ for
chapel services. She was not exactly pretty, but there was something
distinctive about her carriage and dress. Later, Kitty discovered
that Francesca Kent had a natural taste for art, and was firmly and
proudly convinced that she had what she called an "artistic
temperament," though in reality she had the sweetest of tempers. She
was quite a character in the school.
Last, but not least, was the Hon. Duane l'Estrange Estevan. Kitty
decided that there was nothing insignificant about her looks, at
least. She was as tall and long-limbed as Kitty herself, but there
the resemblance stopped. She was rather broader of shoulder, and
there was nothing awkward or angular about her. Her hair was black
and thick and cut in a straight mediæval bob; her complexion was
inclined to be sallow; her eyes were very grey and formed a curious
contrast to her black hair and eyebrows, looking remarkably vivid and
luminous in their dark setting. She lounged, rather than sat, in her
chair and listened with a blasé, preoccupied indifference to what the
revered Principal was saying. Duane's voice was curiously soft, with
a decided drawl in it; her movements, too, were listless and
deliberate. She was an English aristocrat from head to foot, Kitty
told herself, and Kitty had all a self-respecting Australian's
contempt for the English aristocracy.
Now the Principal was speaking to them, and Kitty's whole attention
was fixed on her words.
"I wanted specially to say just a few words to the older girls in
Miss Carslake's House. I expect you can guess what I want to say.
To put it frankly, girls, I don't like to see one of the houses so
hopelessly below all the others in both school work and sports."
"Well, somebody must be bottom, Miss St. Leger," remarked Frances
Kent brightly. Francesca loudly and frequently proclaimed that she
was not really interested in anything except art.
"True, Frances," replied Miss St. Leger, "but not always--nor in
everything--nor so easily."
"Oh, but surely, Miss St. Leger," protested Duane in her tired voice,
"it is not so bad as that."
Miss St. Leger smiled. "Perhaps I was exaggerating a little, for
your own good. I want to see you girls rouse yourselves, and make up
your minds that your house isn't going to take bottom place in
everything. Let us look at a few facts fairly. Last year this house
only carried off two prizes among the seniors, Frances first in
drawing, and Hilary second in English. Neither did your juniors earn
the number they could have done. You have plenty of intelligent
juniors, if they would only make up their minds to try.
"Now look at sports. You are going to be bottom this year if you
don't make a big effort this term. Are you going to win any cricket
or tennis matches, or any of the events on Sports Day? As you are a
long way behind the others at present, you will have to make a big
effort to catch up."
"We are handicapped, Miss St. Leger," said Duane. "We are so few
numerically."
"Yes, I know your house is smaller than Sheerston's or Prince's, but
no smaller than Miss Green's, and they are making quite a plucky
fight for scholastic honours and the House Sports Shield."
"I did not quite mean the number of girls in the house, Miss St.
Leger," the head prefect defended herself. "I was referring to the
number of seniors. After all, it is the seniors who form the
backbone of the house teams. There are only seven of us;
Sheerston's, for example, have over twenty."
"True again. Of course you have been unfortunate in losing three
senior girls in the middle of the school year--a most unusual
occurrence. That is why I put the only new senior girl this term in
your house. But it is quality, as well as quantity, that counts."
She looked at the listening girls, and a smile flashed over her face,
smoothing out its lines and wrinkles. "You were studying Henry V
last term in the Upper Fifth, weren't you, girls? Accept his point
of view, then--the fewer fighters, the greater share of glory," and
with a few more parting words of encouragement, she dismissed them.
Kitty found the rest of that day one whirl of "settling down." First
of all, with half a dozen other new girls, all younger, she was put
through a searching oral examination by Miss Sheerston, in order to
be "placed." Kitty, whose nerves hindered her, acquitted herself
more creditably than she had hoped.
Miss Sheerston was a queer, masculine-looking person, with a shirt
blouse, high collar, and grey hair strained back from her face, but
her manner was brisk, kindly, and invigorating in the extreme; her
own girls thought the world of their house mistress. She praised
Kitty's mathematics, declared her French to be appalling, and finally
said, "You are sixteen, you say. Well, I don't see why you shouldn't
make a shot for removal into the Sixth Form next term. Only you
would have to give up any idea of taking extra classes, for the
present, and devote extra time to your French."
Kitty, feeling that she would have quite enough to cope with in the
Upper Fifth, and then in the Sixth, as it was, hastily disclaimed any
desire to take special classes, and so it was settled that she should
join the ranks of the most elevated members of her own house in the
Upper Fifth.
In her few leisure moments she was busily arranging her part of the
study she was to share with Hilary. All Sixth-formers were entitled
to studies, of which they were very proud, sharing one between two.
As there were now no Sixth-formers at Carslake's, the four studies
were handed over to the Fifths, Upper and Lower.
Kitty rather wished she had been put in one of the other houses, not
because Carslake's was the bottom house and bore rather a poor
reputation, but because she was not particularly drawn to any one of
her companions there. They were nice girls in their way, but there
was not one of them whose tastes were sufficiently in common with
Kitty's to make her desirable as a special chum. Hilary was quiet
and reserved; besides, she was not allowed to play games, and half
Kitty's enjoyment and interest in life came from games and outdoor
exercises. Frances Kent was a being from another world altogether.
So was the head prefect; her queer personality made no appeal to
Kitty, who liked people who said what they meant and called a spade a
spade and not a garden implement.
"If only jolly Paddy or that clever-looking Salome girl had been in
this house," she thought, regretfully, "they would have made things
hum between them. But these are evidently a hopeless lot."
On the evening of the second day, Hilary came into the study with the
announcement, "All seniors to be in Cato's study at three-thirty
to-morrow."
Afternoon lessons finished at three-fifteen, and from then till
tea-time, at five, everybody was free to play games, go for a walk,
or, if it were very wet, amuse themselves indoors.
"Who's Cato?" inquired Kitty, looking puzzled.
"Cato? Why, the Hon. Duane of course. Nearly everyone gets a
nickname of some sort. The meeting is to talk over Prinny's little
welcoming lecture."
"I don't see much good in talking," retorted Kitty. "It's doing that
matters."
"Well, as far as sports are concerned, I don't see there's much we
can do. Duane is the only one who is much good at them. I'm forced
to be a looker-on, worse luck. Somebody wants to explode a
bomb-shell in our midst and wake everybody up."
The seven seniors duly met. Hilary and Kitty were the first
arrivals. They found Duane sprawling in the easy-chair with a book
in her lap, and Frances, enveloped in an overall of bird-of-paradise
hue, busily dabbing at a large sheet of paper mounted on an easel.
"Come in, come in," called out the head prefect, in her soft drawl.
"I know France is taking up all the room with her horrible mess, but
you'll just have to sit down where you can--so long as you don't sit
down on tubes of paint. You see what I have to put up with every
day! Lumps of putty--I mean clay--everywhere."
"Don't rot, Duane," said France. "Art's a serious matter. There's
nothing funny about it, as some people seem to think."
"'Tisn't the art that's funny, my dear," returned Duane. "It's the
artist."
"'But what is it supposed to be?" inquired Hilary, surveying the
artist's work with puzzled face.
The others, who had now all arrived, proffered various suggestions.
"A storm at sea," said Margaret.
"A futurist--or is it a cubist?--portrait of a lady," suggested
Bertha.
"No. I've got it!" exclaimed Hilary. "One of those puzzle
thingummies. Little Red Riding Hood walking through the wood. Find
the wolf."
"Don't talk rot," said the artist again. "You know it isn't any of
those things."
"But seriously, France," argued Hilary, "it's like nothing on earth
that I've seen, anyway."
"Of course it isn't," said France, impatiently. "You see, it's
upside-down. It's a new idea; to paint a picture upside-down so that
you can visualize upside-down. Don't you understand?"
"Well, who on earth wants to visualize upside-down?"
"Turn it up," said Duane, "so that we can see what it's meant to be."
France did so. They all gazed at it in silence, till at last
Margaret said hesitatingly:
"Don't--don't you think you've got it a bit mixed up, France, and
the--the other way was the right way up after all? That looked more
as if it might be something than--than this does."
The artist's face was a study of mingled feelings. Everybody burst
into a roar of laughter, so that in the noise nobody heard the sound
of a knock, or became aware of Paddy's entry until they heard her
voice behind them.
"I say, is this France's upside-down picture? Why couldn't you stand
on your heads and look at it, instead of turning it round? 'Twould
seem more worth-while painting it, if you did that."
Kitty could no longer hold herself modestly in the background, as
became a new girl.
"Let's try," she cried excitedly, and proceeded to balance herself on
her hands, feet in the air. Of course, Paddy tried to follow her
example, till the indignant artist tumbled her over with a sounding
thump. When the confusion had somewhat subsided Duane wanted to know
what Paddy was doing "trespassing on hallowed ground."
"How unkind it is of you, Duane," said Paddy, reproachfully, "when
I'm saving you a little journey. Salome's sent over a copy of the
rules you head prefects drew up at the meeting."
"Same old rules, I suppose?" inquired Bertha.
"Oh yes," said Duane, carelessly. "They're practically unaltered,
needless to say."
"Still," put in Paddy, "as you've a new girl here, I'd better read
them out for her benefit."
"You can if you like," returned Duane, indifferently, but with a
faint smile twitching the corner of her mouth. She knew Paddy of old.
So Paddy picked up the paper, cleared her throat and began:
"No. 1.--No junior is allowed blacking on her boots more than once a
month.
"No. 2.--Juniors must wash at least once a day.
"No. 3.--Only members of house elevens allowed to wear carpet
slippers at hockey.
"No. 4.--Juniors must shut their eyes properly at grace, but seniors
can keep theirs open to see the juniors don't.
"No. 5.--Only members of the school first elevens allowed to wear
their sports blazers unbuttoned.
"No. 6.--Only girls with gym colours allowed to slide down the
banisters.
"No. 7.----"
"Here, stow it," interrupted Hilary, laughing. "I should think Kitty
is of the opinion that that's enough for one go."
"Quite enough to convince me that Paddy has a very fertile
imagination," retorted Kitty, promptly.
"Sure," said Paddy, with a sigh. "I was afraid my efforts would be
wasted on you. You've lived long enough in the world to know a
little too much. Never mind," brightening up, "we've a couple of new
juniors in our house, quite youngsters; I really think it's my duty
to instruct them in the rules of the school. So I will, as sure as
eggs is meat," and she departed, chuckling.
"What about our meeting?" said Duane, when Paddy had disappeared.
"Seems to me we've got a pretty big job on, if we take on all
Prinny's little hints."
"Too late to do much this year," said France. "If I take my first in
art again, I shall be quite satisfied."
"What about you others?" said Hilary, slowly. "Let's see what we can
muster up in the way of prizes."
"Precious little, I bet," returned Duane. "I'm in the running for
second prize in science, but Salome will take the first. I can't
beat her."
"And of course I'm in the running for an English prize again,"
remarked Hilary. "But one can never be certain."
Margaret declared she would try for a history prize and Bertha for an
arithmetic prize, but neither really thought much of their chances of
success.
"Lively, isn't it?" said Hilary, reflectively. "We shall have to
stir up our juniors a bit if we want anything done."
"They're too busy squabbling amongst themselves," said Duane. "You
know they have two rival societies on the go. The Budmushes and the
something else--I forget what."
"The P. Squareds, whatever that may mean. Sounds like an algebraic
formula. Can't we put an end to it and get them to join forces?"
"Put an end to their blessed societies, you mean?" said Duane. "They
wouldn't hear of it. They're free to have as many secret societies
as they like, so long as they don't break rules. By the by, there'll
be our usual inter-house cricket and tennis matches this term. I
shall soon have to see about drawing up our teams."
Another silence. The head prefect appeared on the point of dropping
off to sleep, and as nobody seemed to have anything to offer in the
way of suggestions or ideas, the girls made their departure in ones
and twos. Kitty thought it had been a very feeble, ineffectual
affair altogether. After the invigorating atmosphere brought into
the room for a few minutes by Paddy, it had seemed very flat and
lifeless. Hilary alone had made some attempt to get a definite plan
fixed, and she had not succeeded.
Kitty hated the idea of belonging to such a slack house. Couldn't
she do something herself? She knew she was a good tennis and cricket
player, and later on she would play for all she was worth. But the
playing of one girl wouldn't make such a great deal of difference
unless well supported. As the week slipped by she turned things over
in her mind, until suddenly an idea flashed into it. Of course, they
would think it frightful conceit on her part, but she didn't care
about that. At least, it would give Carslake's the shock that was
necessary to wake up the house from its lethargy....
By the end of the first school week, Kitty was beginning to feel at
home. She and Hilary were invariably the first to turn out in the
mornings, while the head prefect was equally certain to be the last.
Kitty never attempted to repeat her venture of the first morning,
leaving it to Hilary to arouse her lackadaisical head prefect. She
wondered at first if Duane were aware of the identity of the
perpetrator of the outrage, but was not certain until one dinner-time
half-way through the week. Dinner that day began with soup. In
passing a plateful to the next girl, Kitty's arm was accidentally
jolted, the plate tipped up, and a liberal half of its contents
poured over the cloth and into the lap of her unfortunate neighbour.
The girl gave a loud exclamation, which drew everybody's attention to
Kitty's table, and there was a hush in the buzz of talk. In the
silence, the voice of the head prefect, with its unmistakable drawl,
was heard all over the room.
"It's all right. Merely a little accident with the soup. Our friend
Kitty is evidently of the opinion that shower-baths are good for
people. In fact, it has become quite a generous habit of hers to
treat people to them gratis!"
There was a general laugh, especially from the girls of Dormitory A
who remembered the previous incident. Kitty, blushing somewhat at
finding the public amused at her expense, laughed also, to cover up
her confusion, and mopped up the mess with her serviette. So Duane
did know who it was! Well, she certainly didn't blame her for
getting her own back when the opportunity occurred.
On Monday morning Hilary cheered up the dormitory with the
information that for once it was not raining. There were more
cheerful faces that day than there had been all the week. When
morning school was over, as the girls were idling around waiting for
the dinner bell to go, Carslake's, on looking at its notice-board,
received quite a shock. There, boldly written for all and sundry to
see, was a notice to the effect that Kitty Despard, as an Australian
girl who had just come from the Dominion, challenged any English girl
in the house who cared to accept, to a singles tennis match.
All through the dinner-hour the house, juniors and seniors alike,
could think of nothing but this audacious move on the part of a new
girl. The news spread rapidly to the girls in the other houses, and
they were not slow to offer their criticisms when they all met at
afternoon lessons. The Upper Fifth were really moved for once. A
few gazed upon Kitty coldly; a few, who belonged to the other houses,
treated it as a huge joke; the majority looked somewhat askance at
the challenger. Of course, it was pure, unadulterated cheek on her
part, but it required a good deal of nerve, and they rather admired
her for possessing so much As soon as the interval came, Paddy
agilely clambered over half a dozen desks to Kitty's side.
"Hallo, kid! You've started well, say with a regular flourish of
trumpets. I do admire your nerve though. Carslake's wants shaking
up a bit."
"That's why I've done it," Kitty confided upon a sudden impulse, for
here was a kindred spirit. "But don't tell anybody. They think it's
just showing off on my part."
"Bless you, they'll forget all about that you put up a good enough
game to win your match," said Paddy consolingly.
Meanwhile others were attacking the Carslake girls.
"I say, Duane, I suppose somebody will accept the challenge, or else
it will look as though you've nobody good enough."
"You'll have to do it yourself, Cato. There's nobody else who can
play decently in your house, is there?"
"There's Francie. Now then, France, show what you're made of. You
could stand on your head and serve, you know, and receive
upside-down."
"I'm going to have a try, anyway," retorted France, with spirit. She
was quite indignant at this conceit on the part of the new girl, and
would not admit that in her inmost soul she rather admired her for
it. But if Kitty hoped to move the head prefect, she was doomed to
disappointment. That worthy was as imperturbable as ever, blinked
lazily once or twice, then murmured, "Oh, I don't mind having a
friendly game with her if she wants one. I dare say it will be quite
a good match."
"We'll all be there to see the fun if it does come off," Paddy
promised.
The sun continued to shine; a spell of fine spring weather had
evidently set in, and by the following Wednesday summer sports had
begun at Easthampton.
The first event in which everybody was interested was the playing of
the challenge games between the new Australian girl and her own
house. Carslake's decided that France and Duane, their two best
tennis players, were sufficient to uphold the dignity of the house,
and told themselves with satisfaction that if Kitty could beat them
upon their own courts, she would indeed be a welcome acquisition to
their ranks.
There was quite a crowd to see the first game, between Kitty and
Frances. By mutual consent it had been agreed that both matches
should consist of twelve games, unless there was a tie, when a
decider should be played. Vanda West, head prefect of Prince's, and
the school tennis captain, was umpiring.
The result was a foregone conclusion after the first two games.
France played with elegance and style, and showed an astonishing
fleetness of foot, but her strokes lacked force. She put up a
gallant fight to the end, but she was helpless against Kitty's
lightning movements, smashing strokes and accurate placing. She only
succeeded in winning one game out of twelve, a fact which did not
seem to trouble her in the least, for she smiled happily as she
congratulated the winner, then hurried off to her organ practice.
The next day, Vanda, as she joined the waiting group by the court,
said to Kitty, half jokingly, half earnestly:
"Play up, my child. I've got one or two empty places to fill in the
school tennis eight, and Carslake's will have to supply me with
somebody to fill one of them. You've a chance to get your tennis
colour, like everyone else, you know."
Kitty's second match was a far harder struggle. Duane, who was a
picture of elegance in her short white tennis frock and scarlet
"colour," played with considerable skill, some of her strokes being
extremely powerful, particularly her service. The spectators were
kept interested, for Kitty's game--especially her volleying--was
really spectacular. In spite of her ability to retrieve nearly
everything Duane sent over the net, the first six games were
ding-dong ones, each player winning her service. Duane, not so quick
and dashing as Kitty, at first held her own, returning Kitty's
deliveries by good anticipation and a wonderful reach. Then Kitty
seemed to be playing on the very top of her form and gradually drew
ahead. In the end her amazing vigour and lightning quickness gained
the upper hand, and she finished the victor by seven games to five.
"Well played, Kitty," said Vanda appreciatively.
Duane donned her blazer and sauntered across to the winner. Kitty
was hot and panting and flushed; Duane showed no signs of exertion,
save that she was breathing more deeply than usual.
"Good game, Kitty, wasn't it!" she said, in her emotionless way.
"You're a fine player. Can't think how you can fly about the court
at the rate you do, though."
"Oh, I like plenty of exercise," returned Kitty, feeling a little shy
and embarrassed at the congratulations showered upon her from all
sides. She made her escape from the field as quickly as possible,
while the spectators gradually drifted back to their own quarters,
still discussing the match and the outstanding points of the play.