"She is an absolutely wonderful person--you couldn't expect her to
behave like ordinary people."
She did not realise that it was almost the first time she had praised
anyone else whole-heartedly and without condescension; she only knew
her anger was rising steadily as her companion continued with a shrug:
"Oh, she has charm all right, I grant you--but she's selfish,
confoundedly selfish--so if you haven't found it out already, be
warned, my dear, by one who has known her since she was a baby."
"She isn't selfish--not a scrap. Why, she wouldn't let me go into
Parchester this afternoon and buy her chocolates."
The old gentleman smiled at the vehemence of this reply.
"Dear me! Dear me! Wouldn't she let you do that?" he murmured. "It
was very thoughtful of her;" then added drily, "but she seems to have
got some chocolates--all the same."
As he spoke, Trina Morrison appeared on the tennis lawn with her
cousin and some of the other young members of the party. She was
munching sweets out of a box and talking excitedly. Sally thought
how pretty she was, and admired the ease with which she parried the
jokes of the teasing group round her.
"A flying visit, I fear, Uncle Tom," she said, coming up to the old
man. "Austin is going to run me back in his car."
"By rights I should go too, and inform Miss Cockran that we have been
no party to your misdeeds."
His tone was grim, but his niece merely laughed.
"Dear Uncle Tom," she said lightly, "picture your awful half-hour,
while Old Cocaine told you my faults, till you rose in righteous
anger at an attack on the family and defended me. Besides, you
wouldn't be a spoil-sport."
He turned away with an impatient movement, as Austin broke in eagerly:
"Dad thinks as we do--that it's jolly plucky of you. But, I say,
must you go yet?"
"I'm afraid so. Lend me your big coat, do--and I will drive.
Good-bye, Uncle Tom--good-bye, Aunt Edith. Next time I'll come for a
night, if you will arrange a dance."
Sally thought that the grown-ups near her were not exactly pleased at
this casual farewell. Indeed, one lady said discontentedly, "Why,
it's too bad!--Austin going off again like that. He promised to make
up a set directly he returned from the station."
"He seems to have forgotten that," returned someone else. But by
this time Sally was running over the lawn, towards the car, whose
engine had begun to throb.
"Aren't you going to take me?" she called; and those standing round
laughed--including Trina, who answered calmly:
"Of course, but I had forgotten you for the moment, kid. Here, hop
in behind, and have some chocolates."
"She had better put on this coat."
It was Uncle Tom speaking, and as he helped the young girl into its
ample folds, he whispered, with a jerk of his hand towards the
driving-seat--"Don't trust her too much, child, or she may lead you
into Queer Street."
"She landed me here," said Sally coolly; and in spite of the shock
caused by this rejoinder, Uncle Tom burst out laughing.
"Bless me! I believe you can look after yourself all right, and I
needn't have worried," he said, as he slammed the door; and he turned
back into the house without waiting to watch them go.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH
PENALTIES
"What was it Uncle Tom said to you just now?" asked Trina sharply, as
they turned a corner of the drive that shut out the house from view;
and when Sally told her of his warning and her own rejoinder, she
laughed so much that the car swerved, and nearly carried away a
gate-post at the end of the drive.
"Poor old Bean!" she said. "Did you hear that, Austin? He must have
had the shock of his life."
Her cousin, who was trying to take the steering-wheel from her, did
not look altogether amused.
"Cheeky little beast!" he murmured. And then louder, "Here! stop it,
Trina, and let me drive. You have forgotten all I taught you last
holidays, and are just carrying on like a madman."
"Don't be so fussy and old-maidish. I am quite all right, and
anyhow, if we did graze the gate, it wants painting badly enough."
"You idiot! It is my new car that matters--not a silly gate-post.
Here, do move----"
"'J'y suis--j'y reste'--Don't play the grandmother--I could drive
quite well if you wouldn't keep interfering."
With this, they began a quarrel that lasted pleasantly enough, for
they laughed most of the time, until the school wall appeared in the
distance. Sally, munching chocolates on her back seat, was quite
content to be forgotten, though her heart sank a little when she
thought of the dangers that lay ahead. At this minute, when she had
gained the friend she wished, expulsion did not seem so glorious as a
few hours ago, and she wondered at Trina's unconcern. That was
manifest, even when the car at last slowed down in a lane that
bordered the school grounds.
"There, stop beneath that tree; it's my usual ladder," said the elder
girl. "If you bend your shoulders, Austin, I can clamber up on them,
and pull myself easily on to the wall."
She suited her actions to her words, and was soon seated on the top,
peering mischievously down through the branches.
"Now lift up the kid," she commanded; and Sally felt herself swung
off her feet, then grasped from above, and hoisted, until she rested
securely beside her companion--clasping the chocolate box.
[Illustration: SALLY FELT HERSELF SWUNG OFF HER FEET]
When they had wriggled out of their coats, and flung them back into
the car, Austin stood up and bowed.
"I envy you your interview with Old Cocaine, my ladies," he said,
grinning, "and remember, Trina, if you get the chuck, we can always
house you for a bit."
"Thanks awfully--Uncle Tom and Aunt Edith would so love to have me,
wouldn't they? But anyhow, there won't be any 'Come into my study'
business on this occasion. Sally and I have merely been walking in
the grounds, so wrapped in heart-to-heart conversation, that we
forgot all about supper--including plum-and-apple jam--wonderful
illustration of friendship, isn't it, Sally-kid?"
Sally laughed, a little uncomfortably. The motor disappeared, and
they had scrambled down the tree into the grounds, when she ventured
to say at last:
"All the same, Peter, you know that sort of tale won't be believed if
we are caught--and I suppose we are sure to be--with prefects poking
their noses everywhere for somebody to report."
"My child, when you have played truant as often as I have you will
know there is a science in getting caught. In this case, as soon as
we are out of the garden, I go round to the junior play-room, and
enter boldly by the window."
"That's simply walking into the lions' den."
"Yes, silly; but the point is--choose your lion. There will be Poppy
Bristow in charge of the kids until they go to bed; she told me so."
"Oh!" said Sally, with sudden understanding. "You mean that, even
though she is a prefect, she won't dare to report you?"
Trina laughed--a rather unpleasant laugh, that had a good deal of
malice in it.
"Poppy is head of my dormitory, and I see she runs it all right, and
gets her sleep--and she leaves me alone in return. Poppy loves her
Peter," she added, and then, "Come on, kid; be bold and resolute, and
follow me."
They crossed the empty gardens in silence, only halting once to hide
their caps in a thick bush.
"Fetch them to-morrow," whispered the elder girl; "and we had better
leave the chocolate box as well. Stuff your pockets with those that
remain--there will be no other evidence that we have been outside the
place."
It was still light; but the blinds were down in the mistresses'
quarters, and the girls stole across the grass undiscovered, until
they came to the junior play-room. Here, the window was open, and
pulling the blind aside, Trina peered within.
"Fat Poppy is there all right," she said, "so now is the hour to
strike;" and flinging up the sash, she scrambled over the low sill
and into the room, followed by Sally.
"Hullo! my Poppet," she began cheerfully. "Can we lend a hand with
the kids?"
The prefect gave a start, and put down the book that she had been
reading. Her fat puffy face became anxious, rather morose, and she
frowned.
"You were neither of you at supper," she said, with an obvious effort
to be dignified and severe. "Where have you been?"
"Talking sweet nothings with Sally, in the garden--so sweet, we even
forgot the plum-and-apple jam."
The little girls who had gathered round giggled. They all admired
Peter immensely for her daring; besides, she petted them, when she
remembered, and gave them smuggled sweets.
Poppy Bristow flushed.
"It sounds unlikely," she said.
"Do you mean that I'm a liar?"
All the carelessness in Trina Morrison's voice had vanished: instead,
there was a cold fury that would have deceived Sally herself unless
she had known it was a clever piece of acting. At once it placed her
accuser in the wrong, and Poppy, backing towards the fire-place,
stammered--
"Of c-course not, Peter, I didn't mean that."
"Then what do you mean?"
"I mean ... mean it's very wr-wrong of you to stay out so late, and
... and all that sort of thing. Edith Seymour was taking supper, and
she noticed you weren't there."
"Oh, she did, did she?"
"Yes,--and she said if she c-caught you, she'd report you to Miss
C-Cockran."
"And I suppose you said at once, 'You are q-quite right, Edith,' and
all that sort of thing?"
Trina mimicked the prefect's stammer and vagueness so cleverly that
all the juniors laughed; while Poppy Bristow's naturally red face,
that had won her her nickname, flushed even more deeply.
"Be quiet, Peter," she said, with a desperate attempt at dignity and
confidence. "You shouldn't talk to a prefect like that."
"All right, old dear; I'm sorry." Trina's tone was suddenly
conciliatory. "But I do hate you just imitating a stiff old poker
like Edith Seymour. In a public school, prefects should act on their
own responsibility; not be always confessing their weakness by
reporting to the staff--and you can usually follow a line of your
own, too--at least I thought so."
Poppy Bristow smiled, and looked important.
"If you hadn't tried to be funny over things I never said," she
returned, "I would have told you that that was very nearly the answer
I made to Edith."
"Good for you! Well, what are you going to do? ... put us in gaol,
eh?"
Trina slipped her arm into Sally's and laughed. "We will own up that
we have sinned, won't we, kid? But it's a temptation to linger out
of doors on a summer night."
"Rather!" said Sally. "We are frightfully sorry, of course." But
she could not keep a tinge of cheerful impudence out of her voice,
and Poppy Bristow scowled at her as she said hesitatingly:
"You had better do some lines, and let me have them by
Wednesday--Tennyson's Idylls--let me see--say 700."
"My good Poppy!"
Trina looked extremely injured as she added:
"Why, I have an Algebra paper, and an essay on Cromwell, and..."
"Well, 300 lines, each of you," said the prefect hurriedly, "and if I
don't get them by Wednesday, of course I shall have to report you to
Miss Cockran."
"Right oh! Your will is law; but I do think you are a hard old
flint. Still, it's something to have a prefect that knows her own
mind."
If there was a gleam of mockery in Trina Morrison's eyes, her tone
did not betray her as she turned away, with Sally following at her
heels.
In the passage the two girls ran into Edith Seymour, who called to
them to stop when they tried to push by her.
"Where have you been, Peter?" she said sharply; "you were not at
supper."
"In the garden, but we have just reported to Poppy Bristow."
"Has she sent you to Miss Cockran?"
"That's her business, isn't it? She was made a prefect the same time
as you."
Edith Seymour bit her lip. Like all the elder girls who cared for
school discipline, she disliked Trina Morrison.
"I shall speak to Poppy," she said briefly.
Sally clutched her friend's arm when they were left alone. "I say,
you were splendid, Peter. But won't Poppy give in to her and report
us after all? Edith Seymour has such a much stronger will."
Again Trina uttered her malicious little laugh. "I don't think so,
kid. You see Poppy has to sleep in my room, not with Edith Seymour.
She hates quarrelling with me; besides, I have put her back up about
taking advice, and she is as vain as a peacock, if you stir her up
the right way."
"What do you think will happen, then?"
"A row between Poppy and Edith, of course, and meanwhile, we shall
escape. I have done this sort of thing before, my child, and it is
risks like these that keep school life from becoming unutterably
boring."
Sally's eyes gleamed. This was a point of view that, at the moment,
won her whole-hearted admiration and assent.
"You are splendid," she repeated; and then, tentatively, "I say,
Peter, if you do this sort of thing again, you will let me join in,
won't you?"
"Perhaps--I can't say."
"Oh, Peter, do ... please ... I would like most awfully to be your
friend, and will never give you away--and you will let me write all
the lines for us both, won't you? I can imitate your hand quite
easily, if I take time, I really can."
Trina laughed, her musical jolly laugh.
"Well, I don't mind, if it would give you any pleasure. I never
refuse a good offer."
"And you will be my friend?"
"Perhaps, if you will only hustle, and grow up a bit--and not talk
about yourself. I simply couldn't stand that. Why, it's more boring
than school."
Her eyes had a teasing smile, but Sally did not fly into her usual
rage.
"I'll try," she said humbly. "It has been a simply scrumptious day,
you know."
Trina bent and kissed her carelessly. "And yet we haven't astonished
the school--nor bowled the Borley Second Eleven," she said mockingly.
"I had forgotten all about the match," answered the younger girl
simply; but as she climbed the stairs to her room she was rather
astonished at herself all the same. That morning, the match and its
postponement had occupied her entire thoughts.
CHAPTER THE EIGHTH
A RIFT IN THE LUTE
It was the Tuesday evening after the adventures of the last chapter;
and the Lower Fifth was holding what it called an "Indignation
Meeting" under the line of oaks that bordered the cricket field. (It
is the way of Lower Fifths to adopt such excitable measures to
express their feelings, while Upper Fifth and Sixth stroll by in
dignified contempt, and Juniors stand at a distance and wish they
were able to join in the discussion, or had thought of holding a
"pow-wow" themselves.)
"Only three cases of measles--one of them scarcely a bit spotty, so
Matron says--and yet here we all are shut up like lepers for the
whole summer."
"Last Saturday's Second Eleven match cancelled, and now next
Saturday's First Eleven! You bet there will be no half-term leave,
or fête. I can't see it's worth while going to school at all."
"Simply rotten sport! Look here, let us insist that those who have
had measles are not lepers, and can go anywhere they ordinarily would
have, in any decently managed term."
"Rather! and if not, we will all go on strike."
"Oh, do let's! Strikers always win--my father says so."
"Whom do you intend to strike first? Cocaine? And if so, what
with?--A bath sponge?"
It was Peter speaking now, from under the shade of a big hat, and
there was contempt mingled with amusement in her lazy voice.
"Oh, Peter darling!--so you have woken up at last. Do tell us what
you did on Saturday; something awful, I'm quite sure."
The Lower Fifth, uncertain how to proceed with a strike from any
practical standpoint, was quite glad to change the subject.
As Mabel Gosson took her friend by the arm and shook her gently to
elicit an answer to her question, another of the Form broke in with:
"There was a fiendish row, I know, between Poppy and Edith Seymour,
as soon as the Juniors had gone to bed; and then they had another
kick-up at the prefects' meeting yesterday. I heard Poppy was
heavily censured: or whatever committees do, when they are sick with
anyone. I saw Poppy afterwards, and she was mad with you, Peter ...
said it was all your fault, and she wished you would leave."
"Kind of her! I'm sure. It is I who ought to be in tears, 300 lines
of 'Morte d'Arthur' for my sins."
"And you have done them already?"
Trina Morrison took off her hat, and flapped it at her questioner.
"My friend, am I not always a slave to duty? Rest assured that they
will be done. I think I may safely say that Little Arthur's barge
has pushed off from the bulrushes towards Avilion, by now."
"Yes--but it is not you who are pushing the barge, but Sally Brendan."
There was much criticism in Violet Tremson's tone; and criticism of
Peter's actions was so rare in the Lower Fifth that Trina raised her
eyebrows while the rest stared.
"My good child, why be a purist? Did I lay claim to be the moving
spirit?"
"No--but you didn't say, either, that Sally wasn't able to go to
cricket yesterday, or to-day, because she is doing your lines, as
well as her own. Doris Forbes is mad with her; and thinks she
doesn't bother to turn up and practise, because there are no matches.
If she loses her place in the Second Eleven, it will be your fault."
Violet Tremson was on her feet now, her usually calm eyes bright with
indignation; but Trina merely shrugged her shoulders and settled
herself more comfortably against her tree.
"Sally the Martyr," she said pleasantly. "Such a shy gentle soul,
that she always needs mothering and persuading to make her do what
she wishes."
Everyone laughed, except Violet, who made an impatient movement with
her foot.
"I wish you would leave her alone, Peter. You are not playing fair
by her--messing up her chances at cricket, etc."
At this point there was a general shout of "Oh, shut up, Violet.
What business is it of yours?" And then Sally appeared, very inky
and rather breathless.
"Just look, Peter," she said, producing some sheets of closely
written foolscap, and pressing them into Trina's hand. "I don't
believe anyone but a Scotland Yard detective could see the difference
between them and the lines you gave me."
The elder girl sat up, and after examining them carelessly, patted
the younger on the back.
"You will have to look out, kid, or if the habit grows on you it will
be a case of spending your days in prison for forgery."
"Then you do think them awfully good, don't you?"
Sally couldn't resist angling for further praise. She wished she had
not done so, as she met Peter's mocking glance.
"Oh, they are certainly good enough to take in an ass like Poppy; if
no one here has an attack of conscience, and gives the show away."
Cries of--"Of course we won't, Peter--Rather not!" arose on all sides.
Sally stood shifting from one leg to the other, her face sullen. No
one had taken any notice of her, or looked at her handiwork, except
Peter, who had not even thanked her. All her pride rose in arms.
"I think it's a frightfully good copy, myself," she said at last,
defiantly.
"I wouldn't go so far as that," retorted Trina calmly; "you have
scarcely done the dots over my 'i's' justice, for instance, or the
fashionable curve of my 's'. Still, I daresay it's quite a good
effort for a youngster." And she yawned.
There was a roar of laughter that made Sally go hot with rage.
"If the lines are not good enough for you, I won't ask you to make
use of them," she said furiously.
Trina Morrison's eyes had closed; but now she half-opened them
languidly, and her voice, when she spoke, had a cold edge to it.
"Take them back if you want," she said curtly, "and clear out, do."
There was silence while Sally stood, her hands clenched, fighting a
battle between her pride and newly proffered loyalty. Were pride to
conquer, she knew it would be an end of all friendship between
herself and Peter; and could she bear this? There was entreaty in
the glance with which she looked at last at the elder girl, but the
other's eyes were shut again, and she realised there was to be no
half-way house of mercy.
"I ... I don't want the lines, Peter. You know I did them for you."
The words were so halting--her voice so humble--that she hardly
recognised it. Now, perhaps, Trina would speak a few words of
thanks, but she did not; and after a fresh tussle with her pride,
that urged her to pick up the foolscap and tear it into little
pieces, Sally left it on the grass, and, turning on her heel, walked
away across the playing-fields.
"I suppose they are all jeering at me," she told herself miserably.
"Now they will despise me as soft, besides hating me." With
difficulty she choked back tears, and hurried along, that she might
not catch the echo of Fifth Form laughter. Had she known it, the
group she had left, instead of laughing at her, was quite silent,
until Violet Tremson said:
"You are a prize beast, Peter."
And though Mabel Gosson told her to shut up, and not be a prig, and
someone else muttered, "It will do the little ass good to be taken
down a peg," no one looked quite comfortable about it.
Trina Morrison might be a joy to the Lower Fifth, but even her
admirers did not always understand her.
"Of course she has her nasty side; most people have," they would
explain her lapses from their ordinary code; and perhaps part of her
fascination lay in the uncertainty of what she would do and say on
different occasions.
Now she made no visible effort to combat criticism, or justify
herself. As the school-house bell rang, she got up leisurely and
gathered the lines from "Morte d'Arthur" together.
"There goes Poppy, so I may as well get rid of these at once," she
said, and strolled off after the prefect.
The Lower Fifth could see her slip her arm through Poppy's and hear
her friendly laugh, as she handed over the sheets of foolscap.
"And she'll have that fat idiot purring before they have gone the
length of the playing-fields," said Mabel Gosson, with an admiring
sigh. "Peter is a wonder, you know. Why, anyone else who went on as
she does, would have been expelled long ago."
"I wish she was expelled," said Violet Tremson angrily. "She is just
pushing the school downhill as hard as she can. You all know she is
a rotter, and yet you let her trample on you and take the lead--even
some of the Sixth do too, like Poppy."
"You were keen enough on her yourself, when you first came--as much a
slave to her as any of us."
"I know I was; and it hurt me frightfully when I found out she wasn't
straight, and ... and what a selfish beast she really is. That is
why I hate to see the way she is carrying on with a kid like Sally
Brendan."
"Oh, do leave off crabbing Peter; after all, she is my friend," said
Mabel Gosson crossly. "If you keep on any more, Violet, everyone in
the school will say you are jealous because she dropped you, and
surely that prickly hedgehog of a child can look after herself. You
should have seen her shake Peter the other afternoon on the beach."
"Of course she can. I wonder Peter ever took any notice of her at
all, after that."
"It was really frightfully good of someone Peter's age to go on an
adventure with a little ass of her sort."
"Rather! and I say, we never heard what Peter did.... She is a
sport. We must get it out of her."
By the time the Lower Fifth group had reached the school, all Peter's
admirers had recovered the full extent of their admiration. Only
Violet Tremson was silent, her usually calm face perplexed by a
struggle waging in her mind between two sets of inclinations.
One decision would be, to leave Sally alone to work out her fate. It
wasn't even as though she were the type of girl to need a champion,
or had shown any wish to be friendly. She was cheeky, conceited,
self-sufficient; and wouldn't really mind being expelled, if what she
boasted were true.
Violet was well aware of all this, and wondered at her own reluctance
to accept the obvious conclusion that Sally's affairs were no
business of hers.
"And yet I should hate her to be expelled," she told herself. "She
has such lots of brains and pluck. One day, if she stops on here,
she will be head of the school and games--ever so much better at
running both than Doris Forbes, because she has more imagination."
Violet Tremson was still arguing with herself when she went in to
supper. Sally, she could see, had been crying, and now, left in
Coventry by her neighbours, made merely a pretence of swallowing her
bread and jam. Trina Morrison, on the contrary, surrounded by her
friends, was making so much noise that every now and then an
exasperated prefect demanded silence from that end of the table.