A BREAK IN THE CLOUDS
Gerry passed quite a cheerful dinner hour at Table Five that day. Jack
had pushed Nita Fleming aside just before lunch and had herself taken
the place next to Gerry.
"You don't mind, old girl, do you?" she said to Nita. "But I want to
sit next to Gerry Wilmott, just for a change."
"I don't mind," said Nita good-naturedly, used to Jack's vagaries. And
when Gerry arrived at the table, she found to her delight and surprise
that Jack was to be her next-door neighbour.
"Thought I'd change with Nita to-day," observed Jack laconically, as,
grace having been said, the girls sat down in their chairs. "I get fed
up with sitting in one place all the time." And then, as though afraid
to pursue the subject any further, she made haste to change the
conversation.
"What's for dinner to-day?" she asked, as the maids began to hand round
plates with a speed and dexterity born of much practice. "Oh, hang it
all--it's boiled mutton again! And I bet you anything you like it will
be boiled suet roll afterwards! Matron always likes to arrange things
like that. Boiled mutton, boiled potatoes, boiled turnips--what did I
tell you? I put my money on boiled suet roll for sweets."
"You're too optimistic," said Nita gloomily. "I feel in my bones it's
going to be rice pudding. Or if it isn't rice it'll be sago. If
there's one pudding I loathe worse than rice it's sago!"
"It won't be sago to-day," said Jack cheerfully. "We had sago on
Wednesday. No--it'll be boiled suet roll, you just see if it isn't.
Louie darling,"--to the maid who was handing her vegetables at the
moment,--"what's for pudding to-day? Do tell us, there's an angel! Is
it sago or rice or boiled suet roll? Tell us the worst at once and
let's get it over."
"None of them, miss; it's treacle tart to-day," replied the maid, with
a grin. Jack was as thoroughly popular with the maids as she was with
everybody else at Wakehurst, and the little shriek of joy which the
girl emitted at her announcement made Louie determined to see that the
school favourite received a good-sized share of the popular sweet.
"Hurrah! Now I can even manage to eat a little boiled mutton," said
Jack. And setting to work she tackled her viands with an appetite
which drew forth a sardonic remark from Nita.
"For a person who doesn't like boiled mutton, I must say you're
managing to get it down pretty well," she said.
"Ah, but you see, the thought of treacle tart to follow sustains me,"
replied Jack, quite unabashed. "What's your favourite pudding, Gerry?
Treacle tart or the apple pie we get on Sundays? I wonder why on
Sundays it is always apple pie?"
"It's one of the rules of the Medes and Persians," said Nita, "that's
why."
"Which do you like best, Gerry?" persisted Jack.
"Apple pie, I think," said Gerry, laughing, as much with pleasure at
being included in the conversation again after all these weeks of exile
as with amusement at Jack's nonsense--which was put on, as she very
well knew, to hide the awkwardness of this reconciliation. Gerry, like
Jack, felt shy at the thought of any sort of "scene" taking place, and
was only too glad to fall back into friendly ways in this commonplace
manner. It was rather a case of making conversation all through that
meal, but Gerry responded bravely to Jack's efforts. And both girls
felt that they were well on the way towards renewing the friendship
which had been so nearly formed between them on the first evening of
the term.
"I say, are you walking with anyone this afternoon?" asked Jack
abruptly, when, dinner being over, the girls were leaving the
dining-hall.
"I'm playing hockey," replied Gerry regretfully. "Worse luck!"
"_Worse luck_?" said Jack in astonishment. Then remembering some of
Gerry's reasons for disliking the game, she coloured violently. "Oh,
well, never mind," she said quickly. "I was going to ask you to be my
walk-partner, but of course if you're playing hockey you can't."
"I'm awfully sorry," said Gerry. "I should have liked to have walked
with you very much."
"We'll fix up another day," said Jack. "Let's see; to-morrow's
Saturday, so there'll be no walk, as there's a first eleven hockey
match to watch. Sunday, I'm engaged to Nita. Monday, I've got hockey.
Tuesday--is Tuesday one of your hockey days?"
"No, not next week," replied Gerry.
"Well, then, will you be my walk-partner on Tuesday?"
"I'd love to," said Gerry, in a tone that left no doubt of her
sincerity. And so the two parted--Jack to get ready for her walk, and
Gerry to array herself in her hockey dress with a glow of happiness in
her heart which even the memory of her hour of humiliation in the
class-room could not subdue.
Things really seemed to have taken a turn for the better for Gerry at
last. Once again Muriel appeared to take the K teams' hockey practice,
and once again Gerry managed to win the approval of the head girl. At
the conclusion of the game, Muriel again elected to walk down to the
school with her protegee, and signified her pleasure at Gerry's
improvement in her play.
"I don't know that you'll ever be very first class, but there's no
reason at all why you shouldn't turn out a very useful player. I'm
going to move you up into H. Alice Metcalfe will be your coach there.
I'll tell her to put you on the forward line somewhere and train you
for forward altogether. Your next practice will be Monday. How are
things going for you in your form now--better? I saw you laughing
quite a lot at dinner to-day, so I rather imagine that they are."
"Oh yes, thank you--they're much better," declared Gerry, rather
confused at the sudden interest evinced in her affairs by the head
girl. Muriel was quick to perceive her confusion, and attributing it
to the right cause made haste to turn the conversation, and talked
hockey exclusively during the remainder of the walk to the school.
True to their compact, the whole of the Lower Fifth refrained from
doing a stroke of work for their new form-mistress in preparation that
evening, although one or two of the girls felt rather doubtful as to
what the consequences of this "direct action" might be. Gerry
especially was troubled with qualms of conscience. Not that she was
especially afraid of consequences--she was too happy at being taken at
last into favour by her form to trouble very much about them. But
Gerry had a capacity for putting herself into other people's places
which was rather unusual in a girl so young; and do what she would, she
could not quite banish the mistress's side of the case from her mind.
Miss Burton was new and strange. She would probably grow more human in
time if the girls did not too openly set themselves against her. And
it was horrible to be unpopular. Gerry had had full opportunity of
finding out how horrible unpopularity was. She was trying so hard to
be brave--to live up to Muriel Paget's estimate of her--wasn't it
rather cowardly to go against her conscience like this just for the
sake of gaining the good opinion of her form-mates? Gerry had a long
wrestle with her conscience as she sat at her desk that evening, when,
all the rest of her preparation done, she was debating within herself
whether or not she should start upon the work Miss Burton had set. But
in the end, her longing for Jack's friendship overcame her sense of
right and wrong. And she stifled back the small protesting voice
within her.
"I promised the others I wouldn't, and I can't break my promise now,"
she argued to herself.
And when the bell rang for the end of preparation, the struggle was
over. Friendship had won, and Gerry, in company with the rest of the
Lower Fifth, had left undone the whole of the work that Miss Burton had
set.