INKY ANNIE.
Meanwhile, Miss Colchester and Leslie Gilroy, standing in the middle of
their room, gazed one at the other. Miss Colchester put up her hand to
ruffle her red locks. Presently she uttered a short, sharp sigh.
“I see by the build of your head and your figure that you are painfully
tidy,” she said. “I had hoped that it might have been the will of
Providence to allow a congenial spirit to share this room with me; but,
evidently, that is not to be my lot. How much space do you require?”
“Half the room, I suppose,” said Leslie.
“Half! My dear, good creature, impossible! Don’t you see that my things
are everywhere? You will notice, too, that I am absorbed in study. I am
working hard for mathematical honors, and I have only this term in which
to prepare.”
“Surely a long time?” said Leslie.
“No time at all, I assure you. Come here; I will show you the list of
books I have to get through. Oh, I declare, here comes your trunk—two
trunks. What do you want two trunks for? How perfectly fearful! Put them
down, please, porter—there, near the door. Now then, we had better
settle this matter at once. You must promise that you will on no account
encroach on my half of the room. I take this side with the bay window;
you have the back, with the little side window. I require light for my
work. I give you permission to keep your part, just there in the corner,
as tidy as you please. Do you understand?”
“I shall certainly keep my part of the room tidy,” said Leslie with some
spirit. “And may I ask what this screen is for?”
“Oh! you can use it or not as you please. It is supposed to hide the
washhand-stand: most unnecessary in my opinion. Some of the students
here even go the length of turning the chest of drawers, so that the
drawers may face the wall; then they put an ornamental sort of
piano-sheet over the back of the drawers, and make it look like a piece
of ornamental furniture, ornamental instead of useful. Ridiculous! Does
not one want to bang open a drawer, stuff in one’s things, shut it again
as quickly as possible, and then not give another thought to the matter?
Surely there are untidy girls in the college: why was it my lot to have
you sent to share my room—you who are the very pink of neatness?”
“I see you are very sorry to have me, and, of course, I am sorry, too,
that you should be put out,” said Leslie, who thought it best to take
the bull by the horns. “But suppose, Miss Colchester—suppose I, who may
not have quite so much work to do at present as you have——”
“Of course you won’t, you silly girl; I am working for honors, I told
you.”
“Well, well; do let me finish. Suppose I undertake the tidying of the
whole room?”
“But, my dear, good creature, I like it untidy. I hate to have
everything in its place. When things are in their right places they can
never be found; that’s my opinion. Do you see my study table? I know
exactly where I have put my things; but, if anybody attempts to tidy
them, woe betide my comfort in the future! Well, I see you are
good-natured, and I don’t want to be disagreeable. You have a nice face,
too, and I dare say we shall pull together all right. If you wish to
tidy just round my table, you may. For instance, if you see my stockings
on the floor, you can roll them up and pop them into my drawer, any
drawer, it doesn’t matter which; and, if I do forget to put my boots
outside at night, you may gather them up with your own and fling them on
the landing. Oh, dear, dear, it is such a worry even to speak about it!
But what I was about to say,” continued Miss Colchester, “is this: You
may tidy for me if you please; but there is one point on which I am
resolved. This table is never to be touched. The housemaid knows it, and
now I warn you. Think what it means to me—I may make a note, through my
brain may be evolved an idea, which a careless housemaid may throw into
the waste-paper basket. Just think what it would mean! How do you
suppose I am to work in a place like this if I think of small, petty
things which occupy home-girls? You are a home-girl: have you a tidy
mother? Of course you have.”
“Yes,” said Leslie, “and a very hard-working and clever mother, too. She
spends a great deal of her time out, but she has trained my sisters and
myself——”
“I do believe you are going to quote that awful proverb about a place
for everything,” said Miss Colchester. “Don’t, I beg of you.”
“I was thinking of it. I did not mean to quote it,” said Leslie.
“Well, I must not waste any more time talking. I suppose you must have
your way. I am afraid your bedstead is a little uncomfortable. The
spring is broken; but you don’t mind, do you?”
“I do mind,” answered Leslie. “I shall ask to have the spring mended
to-morrow. There is no good in having an uncomfortable bed; but for
to-night it does not matter.”
“Oh, I see you are going to be good-natured! That is your screen—you can
take the best of the two, because I never open mine. You can paste any
pictures you like on it if you are given that way; but I hope to
goodness you are not. The screen is to put round your washhand-stand.
That is your table, and that is your chest of drawers. Now, for
goodness’ sake, like a dear, good creature, put your things in order,
and don’t speak to me again. I must go on with my calculus of finite
differences.”
“What do you mean?” asked Leslie.
“Do you wish for an explanation? If so, pray sit down opposite to me and
don’t expect to stir for a week; it will take me at least as long to
explain the matter. Oh, don’t say any more just now, and do move as
softly as you can! Do just consider that my winning honors in
mathematics is a little more important than that your drawers should be
in immaculate order. Do you comprehend?”
“Perfectly.”
“Well, don’t say another word.”
The red-haired maiden returned to her desk, stuffed both her hands
through her fiery locks, which stuck out now like great wings on each
side of her head, and began murmuring slowly to herself.
Leslie stood still for a moment with a sense of dismay stealing over
her.
“What is to be done?” she thought. “Miss Colchester is a very peculiar
girl. What does a calculus of finite differences mean? I almost wish
dear old Lew had been mathematical, then perhaps I should have known.
Well, never mind; I won’t disturb that poor, dear scholarly girl; but
unpack my things I simply must.”
Thanks to her mother’s excellent training, Leslie was a proficient in
the art of stowing away things in small spaces; and before the gong for
dinner sounded she had put all her belongings away, had arranged the
screen round her washhand-stand, and had even brought out much-loved
photographs of her mother and her brother Llewellyn to ornament the top
of her chest of drawers. These gave a home look to the room, and she
glanced at them with satisfaction. Her bedstead, turned into a sofa by
day by means of a crimson rug, was now tidy and in order, and Leslie sat
down on the edge of it waiting for Annie Colchester to stir.
The second gong pealed through the house, and Annie suddenly started to
her feet.
“Good gracious! Oh, I forgot all about you. What is your name?”
“Leslie Gilroy.”
“Leslie Gilroy, please tell me if that is the first or second gong?”
“The second,” replied Leslie.
“And who are you?” continued Annie Colchester, gazing in a sort of
vacant way at her roomfellow.
“The girl who has come to share your room.”
“And you have put all your things away and made no noise? Excellent! Did
you say that that was the second gong, Miss——”
“Leslie Gilroy is my name.”
“Is that the second gong?”
“The second gong sounded two or three minutes ago.”
“Then we must fly. Oh, never mind our hands. Ink? Yes, I have ink on my
hands and on my face and on my hair; but never mind, never mind; they
know me now. I am called ‘Inky Annie.’ I rather glory in the name.”
“But I should have thought that a mathematical scholar would have been
the essence of order,” said Leslie. “Surely mathematics ought to conduce
to order of mind and body.”
“You know nothing whatever about it,” said Annie, casting a withering
glance at Leslie. “I wonder if you are clever or what you have come here
for. Girls who are merely orderly have no niche at St. Wode’s. But you
will learn doubtless; and if you are good-natured I will stick up for
you of course. Come along now; you are a fresher, you know, this term,
and will be treated accordingly.”
“But how are freshers treated, and why must I be given that unpleasant
name?” asked Leslie.
“Custom, my dear—custom. We always call the new girls freshers; you’ll
get used to it. No one is unkind to a fresher unless she makes herself
disagreeable, which I rather guess you won’t.” Here Annie smiled
brightly into Leslie’s face.
“Well, I hope we shall be good friends, and that I won’t inconvenience
you,” said the other girl.
“You won’t if you are silent and keep to your side of the room. Now
then, let’s join hands and fly downstairs.”
“Oh, yes, we are fearfully late, and the others have gone into the
dining hall.”
“Well, come this way,” said Annie. “I’ll squeeze you into a seat by me,
if you like, for this evening, Leslie Gilroy.”