Friction
Lesbia returned to Kingfield High School to find herself a member of the
Sixth Form, and a prefect, as well as an assistant teacher to the
juniors. She had expected it, but the honours were none the less
satisfactory. She had longed to be a prefect ever since her first year
in the kindergarten, and had kept this goal for her ambition all the way
up the school. It had always seemed a far more enviable position than
that of head mistress. The girls who had annually held prefectships had
been heroines in her eyes. It was something to feel she had worked her
way from the baby of the school to rank as one of its principal
officers. There was not a single other girl with such a long record as
hers. The "Head" of the Sixth this year was Carrie Turner. By strict
precedence of examinations Regina was really top, but she was such a
newcomer that Miss Tatham considered she would not have enough
experience in the ways of the school, and had given the preference to
Carrie, whose marks were second best, and who was a naturally better
leader. The other prefects were Marion, Calla, and Aldora, altogether
making a set of six. It was considered a particularly enviable post at
Kingfield High School, because, as well as conferring authority, it
carried several privileges. Prefects, and prefects only, had a right to
use the gate room. Kingfield was a mixture of ancient and modern, and,
though the High School was an unromantic, commodious nineteenth-century
building, a corner of it adjoined one of the old mediaeval town gates.
This gate, which now only arched a side street, had originally been one
of the main entrances into the city. In shape it was a small tower with
battlements, and contained a little room over the archway. Somehow,
through a lucky stroke on the part of the governors, the High School had
obtained possession of this tower room. A door led into it from the end
of the passage near the studio. It was a tiny little den, and rather
dark and musty, used mostly for storing odd things which did not happen
to be wanted, but, because nobody else except themselves was allowed to
enter, the prefects set great store by it. They held committee meetings
here, and, although it was unwarmed, would prefer to sit and shiver
rather than have their private confabulations in the comfort of their
own classroom.
There was, of course, much to be arranged for the coming term. Each was
apportioned a special department and agreed to look after its
particular interests. Aldora undertook to be responsible for the
orchestra, which had languished during the tennis season but seemed
capable of revival, Calla took hockey under her wing, Marion adopted the
drama, Lesbia the arts and crafts, Regina the debating society, and
Carrie herself became editress of the _School Magazine_. All the various
activities promised to be most exciting, and the only trouble was lack
of time to carry them on.
By virtue of their position the six prefects constituted a small set of
their own. They had all been friends more or less before, but the new
circumstances flung them closely together. Lesbia found this brought her
a fresh difficulty. Marion Morwood had hitherto been considered her
special chum. There had been a hitch in their friendship when Lesbia ran
away from Paul and Minnie, and turned up unexpectedly at the Morwoods'
house, but that episode--for which Lesbia always blushed--had been
forgotten. She had often been invited to tea at the Morwoods, and had
received many kindnesses from them. Marion, though rather injudicious,
was well-meaning and affectionate. She had stuck loyally to her chum
through several tight places. The pair had jogged along very amicably
until Easter. Then Regina had appeared and had absolutely appropriated
Lesbia, who was only half willing to become so completely her property.
With Marion rather cool and offended, and Regina in a state of
perpetual jealousy, Lesbia sometimes grew so exasperated that she left
the pair of them to sulk and walked away with Calla or Aldora. Yet she
was sorry, for she liked Marion, liked her better than Regina really,
though the breach between them seemed slowly widening. All sorts of
silly things helped to push them apart. For Marion's birthday Lesbia
worked a little silk bag. It was the sort of fancy article which was
fashionable in the school at the moment, to hold knitting-wool and any
other trifles. Lesbia had put her prettiest design and her best
embroidery into it, and Marion had professed herself utterly delighted.
"It's almost too nice to use," she declared ecstatically. "I shall keep
it in a drawer at home, wrapped up in tissue paper, and only bring it
out on high-days and holidays."
"Oh, nonsense! It was made for use," demurred Lesbia, pleased all the
same at the high value set upon her handiwork.
It is sometimes very unfortunate when people take us at our own word.
Lesbia, going into the cloakroom at eleven, about a fortnight after the
birthday, was horrified to find her beautiful bag lying on the floor
near the boot rack. It had evidently contained lunch, for it was smeared
with butter, and showed plum stains at the bottom. It was indeed just
the wreck of her pretty present. She picked it up, and the hot colour
rushed into her face. It takes a St. Francis of Assisi to be "sweetly
angered and patiently disquieted". Lesbia's anger was anything but
saintly. It savoured, indeed, more of the sinner. She rushed across to
where Marion was standing eating red Victoria plums, and held the
unfortunate bag up by its scarlet cord.
"So this is the care you take of things people make for you," she
exploded.
Marion looked conscious, but at once excused herself.
"Well, you told me to use it," she retorted.
"I never thought you'd get it into such a filthy mess as this. It's only
fit for the laundry, and washing will utterly spoil it."
"I'm sorry----"
"Oh, don't apologize," snapped Lesbia sarcastically. "I know my poor
little efforts weren't worth taking care of. I didn't put in any time
over that bag. Oh, dear no!"
She turned away, feeling sore and uncomfortable, and at bottom ashamed
of her outburst. She knew how untidy and careless Marion was, seizing up
anything that came to hand, and that the ruin of the bag was certainly
by accident and not design. By some strange freak of memory an axiom of
Minnie's--kind, easy-going Minnie--flashed into her mind:
"It's best to take people just as they are, and then you get along with
them."
Marion would always be shiftless, and impulsive, and tactless; still she
had her good points.
"I'll forgive her--to-morrow!" thought Lesbia, cooling down a little.
But to-morrow, alack! came a fresh cause of offence. The Sixth were
getting up a photographic exhibition, mainly of pictures which they had
taken during the holidays. Marion was the lucky possessor of an
enlarging apparatus, and she very kindly offered to enlarge a photo for
each of her fellow-prefects if they would bring her the films.
Now, Lesbia's camera was a rather old-fashioned one and contained
plates. She had taken a portrait of the Webster family having tea by the
stream on a brilliant sunny day, and the negative was beautifully sharp
and clear. She brought it to school packed in a flat box. Several other
girls were clustering round Marion showing her their pet films.
"This is at Dawlish, on the sands."
"Mine's a view of Windermere."
"This is a snap of our fox-terrier, Barry. It's got him absolutely
perfectly."
"Oh, you'll like mine! It's my baby niece, yawning in her perambulator.
We think it's great."
"Here's mine, old sport," said Lesbia, unpacking her treasure.
She handed it to her chum, who, to do her credit, perhaps did not
realize it was a plate and not a film. Marion seized it so carelessly
that it slid from her hand, fell upon the floor, and smashed in three
pieces. For an instant there was a ghastly silence.
"Oh! Hard luck!" sympathized Calla.
Marion was stooping to pick up the fragments.
"I'm _awfully_ sorry!" she apologized. "It can be pieced together though
I'm sure. I'll take it to the Kodak shop and see what they can do with
it. They'll probably stipple it up so that it doesn't show in the
least."
In certain circumstances there is nothing more aggravating than too
great optimism. To have your trials made light of, and to be told a
thing will turn out all right when you are absolutely sure that such a
happy ending is quite outside the bounds of all possibility, irritates
rather than soothes.
"All right a hundred years hence perhaps, but all wrong now!" flared
Lesbia. "It _can't_ be mended, so don't talk humbug. You've smashed it,
and it's done for. I wish to goodness I'd left it safely at home and
never trusted it to you. Of all butter-fingered Handy Andies you're the
biggest!"
"Might as well let her try and get it mended," urged Calla.
"No thanks. I'd rather take it home."
And Lesbia, still with red spots in her cheeks, put the poor fragments
tenderly back in their box, and turned away to place them inside her
locker.
Marion, penitent, but annoyed at being called a butter-fingered Handy
Andy, let the matter slide for the moment. Marion could never keep up
any quarrel, however, for longer than a morning, and before afternoon
school she had made her peace, and was walking in the gymnasium with her
arm round her chum's waist, very much to the indignation of Regina, who
considered Lesbia her own special property.
It was the last week in October that the Franklin Shakespearean Company
came to Kingfield. Their advent had been well advertised by placards on
the hoardings, and by handbills which were left at people's houses or
sent by post. They were a famous company and were always sure of a
welcome in whichever town they arrived on tour. Lesbia, going from
school to catch her tram-car, saw the large notice of their performances
being posted by a bill-sticker, and stopped to look. _Hamlet_, _The
Merchant of Venice_, _As You Like It_, _Much Ado About Nothing_, _The
Tempest_, _Macbeth_. What would she not give to see a single one of
them? Lesbia had never been to a Shakespeare play in her life. She had
studied _Julius Caesar_ and _The Merchant of Venice_ carefully with the
notes at school, and had read many of the other plays as part of her
preparation for the literature class. To see all the familiar characters
actually on the stage would be bliss indeed. But there did not seem the
slightest chance that such an ambition would be gratified. Lesbia had
very little pocket-money. The Pattersons did not grumble at keeping her,
but they seldom expended anything extra on her behalf. She never liked
to ask for such indulgences as entertainments. She mentioned, indeed,
that the Franklin Shakespeare Company was coming to Kingfield, and how
splendid it would be to see them, but nobody took the hint. Kitty and
Joan were going that week to a concert and to a performance of _Trilby_,
and had no other evenings disengaged, even if they had offered to escort
Lesbia. Mrs. Patterson considered that schoolgirls should stick to their
lessons during term-time, and keep all such dissipations as theatres for
the holidays.
"It's no use," thought Lesbia dismally. "I know heaps of other girls
will be going, but it won't be my luck. I wasn't born lucky. I may wear
as many mascots as I like, but the fact remains."
Lesbia was not quite as ill-used by fate as she made out, for she
received and accepted an invitation to have tea with Marion on Saturday
afternoon.
"I've asked my two cousins," said her chum, "that will just make four of
us, and we'll play that new game of cards I learnt at the Graingers'.
It's absolutely priceless. We screamed over it. I never had such fun in
my life. You'll be _sure_ to come? Don't go and get a cold or a
toothache or anything stupid."
"Rather not! You'll see me turning up on Saturday whatever happens."
Lesbia was really looking forward to the visit. It seemed some slight
compensation for missing the theatre. Moreover, she always enjoyed
herself at the Morwoods' house. On Wednesday Calla greeted her in the
cloakroom and drew her aside.
"Doing anything on Saturday afternoon, old sport?" she asked
confidentially.
"Yes, I'm going out to tea."
"Oh, what a pity! Can't you put it off?"
"I'm afraid not. Why?"
"Well, we've got a ticket to spare for the _matinee_, and I was going to
ask you to come with us."
"_The Merchant of Venice?_" gasped Lesbia.
Calla nodded.
"Can't you wangle it?" she urged.
"I'd give everything I possess. But I promised _faithfully_ to go to
tea. I shall give frightful offence if I scoot off to the theatre
instead. In fact, it can't be done."
"N-n-o, I suppose not," admitted Calla regretfully. "I'm sorry though."
"You can't be sorrier than I am," sighed Lesbia, going upstairs to her
form room.
At eleven o'clock, as she was eating her lunch in the gymnasium Marion
rushed up to her.
"Oh, Lesbia," she said excitedly, "should you mind very much coming to
tea the week after instead of next Saturday? Would it make any
difference to you?"
"Not a scrap," answered Lesbia, clutching at the opportunity. "It would
suit me quite as well if it suits you. Shall we arrange it that way,
then?"
"Yes, please, if you really don't mind. Thanks ever so much!"
And Marion fled away without further explanation.
Lesbia congratulated herself upon having got out of her engagement so
easily. She would be able now to accept Calla's invitation and go to
_The Merchant of Venice_. The thought of it almost set her dancing. She
went in search of Calla at once, but could not find her before the bell
rang for botany class. As soon as school was over she took her aside and
broached the delightful subject. Calla's face fell.
"Oh, Lesbia, I'm so sorry!" she explained. "You said you couldn't come,
and I've asked Marion now."
"Marion?"
"Yes!"
"Why, it was Marion who'd asked me to tea on Saturday!"
"Oh, was it? You never told me that. How was I to know?"
Lesbia sat down on her boot-locker and relieved her feelings by giving a
very plain and unflattering opinion of her chum's conduct.
"I stuck to _my_ part of the bargain," she wound up wrathfully.
"But you didn't. You told her another week would do quite as well."
"Because I thought I was going to the theatre. You'd asked me."
"Well, Marion didn't know that. It's all a mix up. What am I to do? Tell
her about it?"
"No, if she's accepted she'd better go."
"I'm most dreadfully sorry, Lesbia! I wish we'd another ticket."
"Oh, it can't be helped now!" and Lesbia rather ungraciously wrenched
her arm from Calla's apologetic grasp, banged on her hat anyhow, and
fled from the cloakroom, feeling about the crossest girl in Kingfield.
"It's like my luck," she said to herself bitterly.
To try and take some of the sting out of her disappointment she asked
leave to go after school to Pilgrims' Inn Chambers, to return a book
which Miss Joyce had lent her. She found her friend looking quite _en
fete_, in a most artistic dress, with fresh flowers in the studio, and
elaborate cakes set forth on the tea table.
"I won't come in," said Lesbia, catching a vision of these splendours
through the open door, and concluding visitors were expected. "I've only
brought back your book, that's all."
"But you are coming in," insisted Miss Joyce. "Don't be silly! Who do
you think is coming to tea to-day? I'd give you a hundred guesses! Miss
Vivian L'Estrange, who plays a principal part in the Franklin Company.
She's old Mr. Broughten's niece, and she's staying with him while she's
in Kingfield. I promised I wouldn't ask a crowd to meet her, because
she's tired and wants to be quiet in the afternoons, but I'm sure she
won't mind a schoolgirl like you. Here they are!"
What followed was like a dream to Lesbia. Mr. Broughten remembered her,
asked about the antiquarian scrap-book, and introduced her to his niece,
a charming lady who seemed a mixture of Portia and Rosalind and Miranda
all rolled into one in private life. It was a friendly little
tea-gathering, and the end of it all was that Miss Vivian L'Estrange
offered the whole party seats in the stage box for Friday evening.
"Uncle Will wants to see me in _The Tempest_, and he hates to sit alone,
don't you, Uncle?" she said laughingly.
"Ask your aunt to let you go, dear, and I'll guarantee to take you, and
to see you safe home after the performance," said Miss Joyce to Lesbia.
"You'd like it, wouldn't you?"
"Like it? I'd be the envy of the whole school! It's the biggest piece of
luck in my life!" cried Lesbia, with shining eyes.