All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy--and Jill a dull girl also.
Miss Bretherton was a firm believer in this old adage, and loyally tried
to provide a due proportion of amusement for her pupils. In the winter
terms bad weather often interfered with outdoor sports, but every
alternate Saturday evening a reception was held in the drawing-room
between the hours of seven and nine thirty, on which occasions thirty
pupils dressed for the fray with gleeful anticipation, and the thirty-
first with trembling foreboding, for it was she who was chosen to play
the part of hostess and take sole management and responsibility of the
entertainment.
All pupils in the fourth and fifth term were considered old enough to be
hostesses, so that no girl was called upon to play the part more than
twice a year; but when the great occasions arrived, ambition mingled
with nervousness, and the heroine of the hour, calling to mind the
errors and failings of her companions, determined to profit by them, and
achieve a brilliant success for herself.
The duties of the hostess were sufficiently onerous. She was
responsible for the arrangement of flowers in the drawing-room, could
distribute chairs and sofas as she thought fit, and punctually at seven
o'clock must be on duty prepared to receive her guests and direct the
passing round of tea and coffee. The first hour was dedicated to
conversation; for the second, some form of amusement must be designed
and arranged, and lastly, a sum of ten shillings had to be so expended
as to provide some form of light refreshment which should be consumed
before the company dispersed.
To take the last duty first, ten shillings divided into thirty portions
(the younger pupils were not allowed to stay up for "supper") did not
allow a very handsome sum per head! Most hostesses came down and down
in their ambition until they reached the ignominious level of lemonade
and buns, but there had been occasional daring flights of fancy, as when
Nancy had provided thirty large sausage rolls, and the poor sufferers
whose digestions forbade playing with such dainties last thing at night
found no choice offered to them, and were obliged to retire to bed
hungry and wrathful. An hour's amusement was also somewhat difficult to
arrange, as nothing short of an official decree would induce a music
pupil to perform in public, a singer to sing, or an elocutionist to give
a recital. Paper games and competitions of a somewhat feeble nature
were the general refuge of the destitute, though each hostess started
out with the determination of hitting on something more amusing and
exciting. No difficulty as to amusement or provision, however, could
compare for one moment with the ordeal of that first hour, that hour of
reception and conversation, the horrors of which each fresh hostess
seemed to find more onerous than the last. To sail forward and shake
hands with Miss Bretherton in her best grey silk, to welcome her to her
own drawing-room, and engage in light conversation about the weather--
could one imagine a more paralysing ordeal? Then no sooner was the Head
disposed of in one arm-chair, than in would come a party of your best
friends, all primed with mischievous determination to make you giggle,
and so reduce you to humiliation. While one was elegantly shaking
hands, a second was furtively pulling hideous grimaces, a third was
pinching your arm, and a fourth treading on your toe. Crimson-faced and
quivering, you would convey these last arrivals across the room and
introduce them to Miss Bretherton, for it was one of the tiresome rules
that no one guest was supposed to know another at the moment of entering
these social gatherings. Thick and fast they came at last, and more and
more and more, all needing to be welcomed with appropriate words,
conducted to seats, introduced, provided with tea. The poor hostess had
no time to think of herself, and her worst moments began when all her
guests had assembled, for then she must perforce watch for the moment
when conversation became forced and fitful and promptly move the pawns
about the board, introducing them to fresh pawns, lingering until
conversation was safely afloat! The members of the staff never deigned
to help the poor struggling novice in the art of entertainment; it was
darkly suspected that they rather added to her difficulties by adopting
haughty, reserved airs which called for greater displays of generalship.
With what a sigh of relief was the striking of eight o'clock greeted by
the harassed mistress of the ceremonies!
Dreda Saxon's first experience as hostess arrived just about the middle
of the term, and, unlike her companions, she was greatly elated at the
prospect. No fears disturbed her night's rest; she received the half-
sovereign for refreshments as gratefully as if _it_ had been a fortune,
and graciously "allowed" a few favoured friends to join the troupe of
"dramatic impersonators" who were to provide the hour's amusement.
Everyone wanted to be a dramatic impersonator. It sounded much more
exciting than sitting primly looking on beneath the eyes of the teaching
staff; but Dreda had made a careful selection of Susan, Nancy, Barbara,
and two lanky, overgrown third form sisters, Molly and Florry Reece, and
sturdily refused to add to their number. Norah West in especial was
much injured at being passed over, for she cherished a schoolgirl's
adoration for the quiet Susan, and until Dreda's appearance on the scene
had invariably been included in any scheme in which either she or Nancy
were interested.
"I always did everything with everybody. I was always _in_ everything
until you came," she cried resentfully.
"Were you? Dear me! Then you should be glad of a rest," responded
naughty Dreda, when, needless to say, Norah waxed more indignant than
before.
"That Etheldreda Saxon is really getting insupportable," she announced
to her companions at dinner on Saturday morning. "A new-comer and a
fourth form girl, and she tries to boss the school. She's not a bit
good at her work either, except at things she can make up out of her own
head at a moment's notice. What right has she to give herself airs?"
The companion shrugged her shoulders with disappointing indifference.
"I don't know. What does it matter? It pleases her, and it don't hurt
us. She's good at hitting on new ideas anyhow, and that's a comfort.
Dramatic impersonations sounds a lot better than paper games. I'm quite
looking forward to to-night."
Now Norah had had paper games on a recent occasion when she had played
the part of hostess, so she felt herself snubbed, and sulked for the
whole afternoon, disdaining to take any notice of the whispering and
laughing, the rushings to and fro, the wholesale confiscation of
"properties," indulged in by Dreda and her troupe.
When the evening arrived she put on her second best dress, and purposely
dallied until the very last moment before entering the drawing-room.
She wished and expected to annoy Dreda by slighting her hospitality, but
Dreda was too much absorbed in the excitement of the moment to remember
past differences, so that the reluctant Norah found herself greeted with
the most radiant of smiles, and was promptly escorted across the room
and introduced to Mademoiselle in characteristic fashion.
"Mademoiselle, may I introduce my friend Miss West? Miss West is quite
a distinguished example of our _jeune fille_ sportive! I am sure you
will like to know her. Miss West--Mademoiselle Saudre."
Mademoiselle chuckled with delight, and subdued splutterings of
amusement sounded round the room while the _jeune fille_ sportive took
her seat with a very red face, miserably conscious that she was
handicapped with a new nickname which would remain with her for the rest
of her school life.
It was amusing to note the expression, half-approving, half-dismayed,
with which Miss Bretherton watched the self-possessed young hostess.
These evening At Homes had been instituted with the express design of
preparing the elder pupils to be of social use to their mothers on their
return home; to be able to make an introduction in due form, and to
overcome awkward self-consciousness. It was a trifle disconcerting,
however, to behold so very full-fledged a bantling, to find oneself
treated with benevolent patronage, and to see the old rules set at
naught in favour of startling innovations. Dreda had requisitioned two
of the maids to take charge of the tea-table, and ordered their
movements with the air of a commander-in-chief; she strolled about the
room--taking part in the conversations of the different groups, and,
when necessary, introducing new subjects with unblushing inconsequence.
As, for instance: "Yes; it has been terribly foggy. Quite the worst
October on record. Have you ever been in Switzerland?"
The startled hearers were dumb for some moments, and then one of the
number announced that she was going to Saint Moritz in January to take
part in the winter sports, whereupon everyone was full of interest and
curiosity, and Dreda swept onward to another bored-looking group, and
hurled another conversational arrow.
At last--far sooner than usual, as everyone allowed--the clock struck
eight, and immediately the two maids came forward, and, still under
Dreda's superintendence, moved all the seats to the far end of the room,
shutting off the portion by the door by means of three outstretched
screens. The dramatic impersonations were about to begin!
A scene from English history formed the first item on the programme, and
the screens being duly removed, an imposing figure was discerned
strutting slowly to and fro, clad in a white bath gown on which a
selection of shining dish-covers had been fastened with a very fair
effect of armoury. Behind this imposing personage paced two other
figures, cloaked and draped in would-be old-world fashion, who smirked
as they went, and, bowing and scraping, pointed mysteriously to a green
baize tablecloth stretched on the floor in mysteriously lumpy outline.
The haughty person in the dish-covers waved aside these confidences with
an air of impatience, then suddenly waxing wrathful, turned upon his
companions and issued dumb but imperious commands. A chair was
produced, and the attendants stood by in evident discomfort the while
their seated master pointed his hand rebukingly towards the green patch
on the floor. And then began a curious phenomenon, for the lumpy mass
beneath the green tablecloth suddenly awoke to movement; a rhythmical,
regular movement which swayed to and fro, up and down, creeping ever
nearer and nearer to the seated monarch. When at length the edge of the
cloth actually touched his august feet, horror and consternation were
depicted on the faces of the attendants, while their master arose in
leisurely dignity, and delivered in pantomime what was evidently a most
instructive and admonitory address.
Hearty clapping and cries of "Canute! Canute!" from the stalls greeted
the end of this performance, whereupon the green tablecloth was hastily
thrown aside and the "waves" appeared in the persons of Molly and
Florry, somewhat hot and red in the face as a result of their seclusion,
but satisfied that their efforts had produced quite the most striking
effect in the performance.
A bell rang. The screens were hastily pushed forward, and Barbara's
fingers could be heard laboriously pounding out her latest "piece" on
the piano, the while audible preparations were taking place for item
number two. Barbara was not musical by nature, and in addition to a
woodenness of touch, possessed a habit of playing the treble notes a
distinct beat in advance of the bass, peculiarly exasperating to her
instructress. Poor Fraulein! her expression suggested an attack of
indigestion rather than an amused spectator of a dramatic entertainment!
Te-tum, te-tum, tum-tum! The last uncertain chords quavered to an end,
the screens were again withdrawn, and the stage was discovered full of
characters, dressed with some ingenuity to represent the principal
personages in "Young Lochinvar." In arranging the _dramatis persona_
some difficulty had arisen from the fact that none of the girls was
willing to represent the elderly bridegroom so unflatteringly described
as "a laggard in love and a dastard in war." It was not an ingratiating
character, and Nancy and Barbara flatly refused to personate it. Susan
could do it, she was the smallest, and would best look the part. For
two minutes on end Susan stoutly refused to do anything of the kind, and
then placidly consented, being of a peace-at-any-price disposition,
which found it easier to submit than to preserve a determined
opposition. She submitted, therefore, and reaped her reward in the
shape of a costume which was beyond doubt the most striking in the
group. A Norfolk jacket, a shawl pleated to represent a kilt, and a
plaid thrown across her shoulders, were but insignificant details
compared to the delight of sporting a pair of whiskers manufactured out
of two long heads of pampas grass, so white, so silky, so bushy that
they had really to be seen to be appreciated! The pampas grasses had
been Dreda's inspiration, and when she had tied them securely into
place, run several long black crayon marks from nose to chin, and popped
a pair of spectacles over the eyes, behold the demure Susan transformed
into so comical an imitation of an old man that the spectators rocked on
their seats with merriment. There he stood, "plucking his bonnet and
plume," while Dreda simpered in a corner, and Nancy as Lochinvar
interviewed Barbara in the character of indignant father. Both actors
had donned imitations of the Scottish costume, and the former made a
picturesque figure as he led forward his lady love.
"One touch to her hand, and one word in her ears,
And they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near."
The charger was represented by an ancient and battered hobby horse,
astride which the eloping lovers galloped violently across the stage, to
disappear from sight through the open doorway. Confusion followed among
the spectators, who hurriedly supplied themselves with imaginary steeds
and galloped off in wild pursuit.
Again there was no difficulty in guessing the poem represented, but long
and continued applause testified to the delight of the audience, while a
special call was given to the wearer of the pampas whiskers.
After an interval of several minutes the screens were withdrawn for the
third impersonation, when an impromptu bed was beheld placed on the
extreme left of the stage. Lying snugly snoozled into a pillow was a
fair head, at sight of which the audience laughed uproariously, for the
head belonged to Dreda Saxon; but her fair hair, parted in the middle
and plastered straightly down on either side, gave a ridiculously staid
and old-world effect to her pink and white face. She snored gently,
unperturbed by the mocking laughter, and presently two stout dames
hurried into the room, and with a great show of agitation, roused the
damsel from her sleep. Her arms were thrust into a blue dressing-gown,
her bare feet into bedroom slippers, and, thus attired, she was escorted
past a second screen into the presence of two grave and reverend
segniors, who fell on their knees and humbly kissed her outstretched
hand. The ludicrous solemnity of Dreda's face beneath the plastered
bandeaux of hair brought down the house, and no one had the least
difficulty in recognising in the representation the youthful Queen
Victoria at the moment of her accession.
There was only enough time left for two more representations: Sir Walter
Raleigh spreading his cloak on the ground so that Queen Elizabeth could
escape the mud, and a spirited rendering of Horatius keeping the bridge,
in which last representation Nancy won much applause as the "great Lord
of Luna" clanking a four-fold shield in the shape of large-sized tea
trays. The bridge was typified by a blackboard stretched between two
tables--and the manner in which Horatius made his final dive into a nest
of cushions was blood-curdling to behold. In truth, the hour's
amusement passed like a flash, and when Dreda in ordinary dress re-
entered the drawing-room at the head of her troupe, she was everywhere
greeted with congratulations and applause.
"Supper" was another surprise, consisting, as it did, of fruit salad and
whipped-up cream. The fortunates who were first in the field waxed
eloquent in appreciation, but, alas! the cream soon fell short, and the
last helpings of "salad" were so small as to be almost invisible.
"But some people are never satisfied," quoth Dreda scornfully. "What if
the salad _did_ run short! It was a feast of reason and a flow of soul.
I've no pity for a person whose mind can't soar above stewed prunes!"