A Hostel Frolic
"The Foursome League," which Verity had instituted with her room-mates
at the hostel, was kept by them as a solemn compact. They stuck to one
another nobly, though often in the teeth of great inconvenience. It
generally took three of them to urge Fil through her toilet in the
mornings and drag her down to breakfast in time. She was always so
terribly sleepy at seven o'clock, and so positive that she could whisk
through her dressing in ten minutes, and that it was quite unnecessary
to get up so soon: even when the others mercilessly pulled the
bed-clothes from her, and pointed to their watches, she would dawdle
instead of "whisking," and spend much superfluous time over manicure or
dabbing on cucumber cream to improve her complexion. She was so innocent
about her little vanities, and conducted them with such child-like
complacency, that the girls tolerated them quite good humoredly, and
even assisted sometimes. One of them generally volunteered to brush her
long flaxen hair, and tie her ribbon, and half out of habit the others
would tidy her cubicle, which was apt to be chaotic, and put her things
away in her drawers. They did it almost automatically, for they had come
to look upon Fil somewhat in the light of a big doll, the exclusive
property of "The Foursome League," and to be treated as the mascot of
the dormitory.
Mrs. Best, the hostel matron, was what the girls called "rather an old
dear." Her gray hair was picturesque, and the knowledge that she had
lost her husband and a son in the war added an element of pathetic
interest to her personality. She was experienced in the ways of girls,
and contrived to keep order without seeming to be constantly obtruding
rules. Among her various sane practices she instituted the plan of
awarding marks for good conduct and order to each dormitory, and
allowing the one which scored the highest to give an entertainment to
the others during the last hour before bedtime on Thursday night.
Naturally this was a privilege to be desired. It was fun to act variety
artistes before the rest of the hostel, and well worth being in time for
meals, preserving silence during prep., or getting up a little earlier
so as to leave cubicles in apple-pie order. The Foursome League had not
yet earned distinction, chiefly owing to lapses on the part of Fil, and
Nora's incorrigible love of talking in season and out of season. One
week, however, after a really heroic series of efforts, they succeeded
in establishing a record, and sat perking themselves at dinner-time when
Mrs. Best read out the score.
"We've not had you on the boards before," said Susie Wakefield, one of
the Sixth, as the girls filed from the room when the meal was over;
"we're all expecting something extra tiptop and thrillsome, so play up!"
"Hope we shan't let you down!" replied Ingred. "Please don't expect too
much, or you mayn't get it!"
Dormitory 2 held a hurried conclave before afternoon school.
"It's a great stunt!" rejoiced Nora.
"What _are_ we to act?" fluttered Fil.
"Especially when we've to play up!" twittered Verity.
"What silly idiots we were not to plan it all out beforehand! But I
really never dreamt we'd ever get the chance!"
"No more did I," said Ingred, sitting with her head in her hands,
considering. "On the whole, it doesn't matter. Sometimes a quite
impromptu thing goes off best. It's largely a question of what costumes
we can rake up out of nothing.
"The cleverer those are, the more we'll get applauded. I've one or two
ideas simmering. Thank goodness it's drawing this afternoon, and I shall
have time to think them over."
"We'll all think!" agreed Verity. "Then we'll compare notes at four
o'clock, and fix on what we're going to do. Great Minerva! It'll be a
hectic evening! I'm shivering in my shoes!"
"And I'm absolutely green with stage-fright! What a life!" proclaimed
Fil.
If Miss Godwin, the drawing-mistress, noticed a slacking off in accuracy
on the part of four of her pupils, that afternoon, she perhaps set it
down to want of artistic feeling. It is difficult to copy with absolute
exactness when only your fingers are busy, and your brain is far away.
Ingred planned enough entertainments to supply a Pierrot troupe for a
month, but abandoned most of them as being quite impossible to act with
the very limited resources that were available at the hostel. At a
select Foursome Committee after school, however, she presented the pick
of the performances, and as nobody else had thought of anything better,
or indeed quite so good, her suggestions, with a few amendments and
alterations, were carried unanimously.
At eight o'clock that evening, when preparation was finished, the
boarders' room was rapidly transformed into an amateur theater. The
trestle tables were carried to one end to form the gallery, rows of
chairs represented the dress circle, and cushions in front either the
pit or the stalls, according to individual taste, or, as Mrs. Best said,
the behavior of the occupants.
There was no curtain, but, as the scenery preserved Shakespearian
methods of simplicity, that did not matter. Part of the charm of these
Thursday night entertainments was their absolutely spontaneous
character, and the fact that many details had to be left to the
imagination of the spectators only made things more amusing.
When the audience, after a slight struggle for gallery seats, had
settled itself, and Mrs. Best and Nurse Warner had taken possession of
the arm-chairs specially reserved for them, Dollie Ransome, who had been
requisitioned by the performers to act as Greek chorus, placed some
stools by the fire-place, and announced importantly:
"King Alfred and the Cakes. A Historical Drama."
The little old woman who entered, carrying some sticks and a basin, was
difficult to identify as Fil. Her fair hair had been powdered, wrinkles
were painted on her smooth forehead, a handkerchief was knotted on her
head for a cap, and she wore an apron borrowed from the cook, and a
check table-cover arranged as a shawl. She bestowed the sticks in the
fender to represent a fire on the hearth, and taking some biscuits from
her basin, placed them amongst the supposed embers, indulging meanwhile
in a soliloquy about the hardness of the times for poor folk, and the
danger from the Danes.
A violent knocking on the door was followed by the entrance of such a
magnificent object that the spectators immediately applauded his advent.
Nora, with her large build, short-cut hair, and generally boyish
appearance, was the very one to act King Alfred. She had folded a plaid
traveling rug into a kilt which reached just to her bare knees, borrowed
a velvet coatee and a leather belt from Mrs. Best, and, by the aid of
bandages from the ambulance cupboard, had made quite a good imitation of
Saxon leg-gear. Armed with a bow and arrows, hastily constructed from
twigs cut in the garden, she advanced with a manly stride, begged for
hospitality, and was accommodated with a stool by the hearth, where she
sat whittling arrows in an abstracted fashion, and heaving gusty sighs.
The audience had hardly recovered from its astonishment when it was
thrilled again by the entrance of an ancient and elderly peasant man, so
disguised that it was almost impossible to recognize Ingred. A
water-proof with a broad leather belt served as coat, and, being padded
inside with a pillow, gave the effect of bent and bowed shoulders. Some
tow, supplied by Mrs. Best, was fastened as a long straggling beard, and
bushy eyebrows of the same material were fixed on with soap. Leaning
heavily upon a stick, he came limping in, complaining in a tremulous
voice of his rheumatism, started with amazement at the sight of the
handsome stranger seated by his hearth, and drew his wife aside for
explanations. The old couple, after conversing in audible whispers,
decided to go out for more firewood, and as a last charge the dame
commended her cakes to the care of their guest. King Alfred, on being
left alone by the hearth, whittled away at his arrows with more energy
than discrimination, and showed indeed a sad lack of practical skill for
so well seasoned a warrior. Perhaps, however, he was not accustomed to
have to make them for himself, and missed his chief archer. Throwing
them down at last, he sank his head in his hands in an absolute cinema
pose of despondency, and sighed to an extent which must have been
painful to his lungs. The dame returned to sniff burning cakes and fly
to the rescue of her cookery. Fil was quite a good little actress, and
produced what she considered her _pièce de résistance_. She had spent
her summer holidays in Somerset, and had there picked up a local ballad
which dealt with the legend in dialect. She brought out a verse of it
now with great effect:
"Cusn't ee zee the ca-akes, man?
And cusn't ee zee 'em burrn?
I'se warrant ee eat 'em fast enough,
Zoon as it be ee turn!"
And catching up a biscuit, carefully blackened beforehand by toasting it
over the gas, she flaunted it in the face of the embarrassed monarch.
The dramatic situation was slightly spoilt by the delay in the entrance
of the courtier, who ought to have come in at that psychological moment,
and didn't. The fact was that Verity, finding it dull waiting in the
passage, had run upstairs to make some additions to her costume, and had
miscalculated the length, or rather shortness, of the act. It is
difficult for the most accomplished actor to go on looking embarrassed
for any length of time, and as Fil's eloquence in the scolding line
suddenly failed her, there was an awful pause while the peasant husband,
with wonderful agility considering his rheumatism, hopped to the door
and called agitatedly for the missing performer. The courtier flew
downstairs like a whirlwind, tripped into the room, and fell upon his
red-stockinged knees to do homage to his sovereign, who rose
majestically and extended a hand of pardon to the now grovelling
peasant.
The audience, particularly that portion seated in the gallery, clapped
and cheered to such an extent that one of the trestles, which had been
carelessly fixed, collapsed, and sent a whole row of girls sliding on to
the floor, whence they were rescued speechless with laughter, but
uninjured. They came crowding round the performers to admire the
costumes.
"They're topping!"
"How _did_ you think of them?"
"I like King Alfred's legs!"
"Ingred, you look about a hundred!"
"Fil _could_ scold!"
"Verity, what was a courtier doing rambling about a forest in a blue
dressing-gown? It would get torn on the bushes!"
"I know. We told her so, but she _would_ wear it!" declared Ingred. "She
was just pig-headed over that dressing-gown!"
"Well, go and look at the Saxon pictures for yourself, in the history
book!" retorted Verity, sticking to her point. "You'll see the courtiers
in long flowing garments very like dressing-gowns. I think it was a
capital idea, and the best I could do. There wasn't another rug for the
kilt anyhow, and when other people have taken the best parts and the
nicest costumes, you've just got to put up with anything you can find
that's left."
"You did it so well," Ingred assured her hastily, for Verity had gone
very pink, and her voice sounded distinctly offended. "I thought the way
you dropped on one knee and cried: 'My liege lord! I am your humble
socman!' was most impressive. What made you think of 'socman'?"
"Got it out of the history book," said Verity, slightly mollified. "It
means a man who owned land, but wasn't quite as high up as a thane. I
meant to bring in some more Saxon words, but I hadn't time."
"You must win the dormitory score again, and give us another
performance," urged Mrs. Best. "I'm afraid it's too late for any more
to-night, though we're all sorry to stop. Those juniors ought to be in
bed. Janie and Doreen, if you'd like a quiet half-hour to finish your
prep. you may go into my room. Somebody put the tables back, please, and
be sure the trestles are in their right places this time, we don't want
another collapse! Phyllis, your cough's worse. Nurse shall rub your
chest with camphorated oil, and you mustn't kiss anybody. Betty too?
I'll give you a lozenge, but don't suck it lying down in bed, in case
you choke."
So saying, Mrs. Best, who generally mothered the hostel, dismissed her
large family and bustled away with Nurse to superintend the putting to
bed of the juniors and the due care of those who might be regarded as
even ever so slightly on the sick list. It was perhaps owing to the
excitement of their spirited performance that the members of No. 2
Dormitory could not get to sleep that night. They all lay wide awake in
bed, and told each other tales about burglars, in whispers. Verity's
stories were blood-curdling in the extreme; she was a great reader, and
had got them from magazines. Her three room-mates listened with cold
shivers running down their spines. According to Verity's accounts it was
a common and every day occurrence for a house-breaker to force an
entrance, murder the occupants, and depart, leaving a case to baffle the
police until some amateur detective turned up and solved the mystery.
"Has it ever struck you that the hostel would be a very easy place to
burgle?" asked Fil. "Those French windows have no shutters, and the
glass could be cut with a diamond."
"Or the doors could be opened with a skeleton key!" quavered Nora.
"I suppose they generally wear goloshes, so as to tread softly,"
ventured Ingred.
"Wouldn't it be dreadful," continued Verity, whose mind still ran on
magazine stories, "to marry a fascinating man whom you'd met by chance,
and then find out that he was a gentleman-burglar? What would you do?"
"It often happens on the cinema," said Nora. "The girl wavers about in
an agony whether to tell or not, and wrings her hands and rolls her
eyes, like they always _do_ roll them on the films, and then, just when
things are at the very last gasp, the husband tumbles over a precipice,
or is wrecked at sea, or smashed in a railway accident, and she marries
the other, who's as good as gold, and loved her first."
"Is the man who loves you first always as good as gold?" asked Fil.
"Well, generally on the Pictures. He's loved you as a child, you see.
You come on the film hand in hand, in socks, and he gives you his
apple."
"But suppose they don't love you from a child?" said Fil plaintively.
"I've only known a lot of horrid little boys whom I didn't care for in
the least. None of them ever gave me his apple, though I remember one
taking mine. Is the first fascinating man I meet the true lover or the
burglar? How am I to know which is which?"
"You'd better let me be there to decide for you, child, or you'll be
snapped up by the first adventurer that comes along," declared Nora.
"Don't trust him if he has a mustache. 'Daring Dick of the Black Gang'
had a little twisted mustache like Mephistopheles in 'Faust'."
"Oh dear! And the last piece I saw on the Pictures, the villain was
clean shaven! That's no guide at all!"
"Girls, you're breaking the silence rule!" said Mrs. Best, opening the
door of Dormitory 2, where the conversation, which had begun in
whispers, had risen to a pitch audible on the landing outside. "This
doesn't look like scoring again next week, and giving another
performance. Why, Nora, the rain's driving through that open window
straight on to your bed! You'll be getting rheumatism! I shall shut it,
and leave the door wide open for air instead. Now be good girls and go
to sleep at once. Don't let me hear any more talking."
The Foursomes, in common with most of the hostel, were fond of Mrs.
Best, so they turned over obediently, and composed themselves to
slumber. They were really tired by this time, and dropped off into the
land of Nod before the clock on the stairs had chimed another quarter.
How long she slept, Ingred did not know. She dreamt quite a long and
circumstantial dream of wandering on the cliffs near the sea with a
gentleman-burglar, who was telling her his intention of raiding
Buckingham Palace and taking away the Crown Jewels, and she heard his
daring designs (as we always do in dreams) without the slightest
surprise or any suggestion that the Crown Jewels are kept at the Tower
instead of at Buckingham Palace. She woke suddenly, and laughed at the
absurdity of the idea. She felt hot, and threw back her eiderdown. The
other girls were sleeping quietly, and the rain was still beating
against the window in heavy showers, for it was a stormy night. The door
of the bedroom stood wide open. What was that sound coming up the stairs
from the hall below? It was certainly not the ticking of the clock. It
seemed more like muffled and stealthy footsteps. In an instant Ingred
was very wide awake indeed, and listening intently. There it came again!
She could not lie still and ignore it. She got out of bed, and with
rather shaking knees walked on to the landing and peeped over the
banisters. There was a tiny oil-lamp hanging on the wall; it faintly
illuminated the stairs. Was that somebody moving about in the darkness
of the hall? If it was a burglar, he certainly must not come upstairs,
or she would die of fright. An idea occurred to her, and acting on a
sudden impulse she dashed into Dormitory 2, roused the others, and told
them to snatch what missiles they could, and hurry to her aid.
"We'll fling things at him if he tries to come up!" she gasped, groping
for her boots.
It was a horrible experience: four nervous, quaking girls stood in the
dim light on the landing gazing down into the haunted blackness of the
shadowy hall. The sounds had ceased temporarily, but now they began
again--a distinct shuffling as of footsteps, and even a subdued sniff,
then the outline of a dark figure made its appearance, bearing straight
for the stairs.
With quite commendable bravery Ingred flung her boots at it, which
missiles were instantly followed by Nora's hairbrush, Fil's dispatch
case, and Verity's pillow. It screamed in a most unburglar-like voice,
and apparently with genuine fright.
"If you t-t-t-try to c-c-come nearer, I'll sh-sh-shoot you dead!"
quavered Ingred, wishing she had at least some semblance of a pistol to
bluff with.
"What _are_ you doing, girls?" replied the dark shadow, persisting in
its movement towards the staircase, and, as it came into the faint
circle of radiance spread by the lamp, resolving itself into the
familiar form of Nurse Warner. "Have you suddenly gone mad?"
Here was a situation! The four girls flew back to their dormitory in
great haste, especially as Mrs. Best, disturbed by the noise, had opened
her door and come on to the scene in a pink-and-gray dressing-gown. They
were followed, however, by both Matron and Nurse, and forced to give an
explanation of their extraordinary conduct.
"I couldn't sleep for the wind, so I put on my felt slippers and my
cloak, and went downstairs for a biscuit," declared Nurse Warner, whose
voice sounded rather aggrieved. "I didn't think I should disturb
anybody."
"You girls are the limit with your silly notions!" said Mrs. Best,
really angry for once. "If you fill your heads with absurd ideas about
burglars before you go to sleep, of course you can imagine anything. If
I hear any more talking in No. 2 another night after the lights are out,
I shall separate you, and send each of you to sleep in another
dormitory. I'll not have the house upset like this! So you know what to
expect. Are you all in your beds? Then not another word!"
"It's very uncomfy without my pillow!" whispered naughty Verity, in
distinct disobedience to this mandate, as the door of Mrs. Best's room
closed. "Dare I go and fetch it?"
"Sh! Sh! No!"
"I know what we'll give Nursie for a Christmas present," murmured Fil
softly. "A nice ornamental tin box of biscuits to keep in her bedroom.
She shan't get hungry in the night again, poor dear!"
"_Sh! Sh! Will_ you go to sleep!" warned Ingred emphatically.