White Elephants
It was Patsie's stroke of genius that originated the White Elephant
Sale. The school was racking its brains to raise a little money for the
Prisoners of War Fund, and had swept aside as impossible such schemes as
a bazaar, a pound day, or self-denial boxes.
"Lily tried it on last term, and it was no go," said Vivien; "couldn't
make the kids shell out."
"Well, they _are_ only kids," qualified Nellie; "and, of course, they
haven't much pocket-money, so what can you expect?"
"We mustn't aim too high," said Claire. "If we plan something too big we
scare them, and they won't do anything at all--say their mothers object,
and all the rest of the usual excuses."
"Well, everyone _is_ rather fed up with appeals," admitted Audrey,
lazily stretching her arms; "they come in by the dozen with the
morning's post."
"And are generally chucked into the waste-paper basket," commented
Lorraine. "_That_ doesn't help the prisoners of war. Suggestions,
please, quick!"
"Best put an advertisement in the newspapers: 'Wanted, a new way of
raising money without taking it out of the pockets of subscribers!'"
chuckled Dorothy.
"Look here!" said Lorraine. "Joking apart, I think everybody's prepared
either to give or spend just a little--even the kids. They've money
enough for chalks, pencils, and all the rubbish they fill their pockets
with."
"And swop in the cloak-room," added Claudia.
"Yes, they _do_ swop," exclaimed Patsie. "That's exactly what they love
beyond everything. Claudia Castleton, you've given me a brain wave!
We'll have a 'White Elephant' sale. Don't look so staggered! A 'white
elephant' is a thing you don't want yourself, but which someone else
might like very much. We must all of us have got heaps of such things at
home. Well, we'll bring them to school, and let them go as
bargains--cheap. They ought to go like wildfire, and if there are any
left, we'll have an auction. It would be prime fun!"
"Patsie Sullivan, I should like to shake hands with you!" declared
Lorraine. "When women go into Parliament, I believe you'll become a
distinguished member of the House of Commons! Brains like yours ought to
be devoted to the service of their country!"
"I think it _is_ rather a cute idea," admitted Patsie modestly.
"We'll get to work upon it at once."
The next day, Lorraine pinned up in the cloak-room a large hand-printed
poster which ran as follows:
WHAT PRICE WHITE ELEPHANTS?
Have you anything at home you don't want?
Then bring it to the school and sell it!
Do you wish to buy nice things cheap?
Come to our WHITE ELEPHANT SALE!
Bargains will be flying!
You will go home all smiles!
Remember, everything you buy helps to feed a British
Prisoner of War!
"Flatter myself it's rather telling!" she confessed, as she watched the
juniors crowd round to look. "There's nothing like a bargain to appeal
to people!"
"I reckon it's going to catch on!" chuckled Patsie.
It did catch on. The juniors decided that the idea was "topping", and
readily promised contributions.
"We shall want cash too," Lorraine reminded them. "Remember, you've to
buy somebody else's things as well as give your own."
"Right you are! We'll make a half-crown league, if you like."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that! It might be rough on some of the kids. Give
what you can, that's all."
The next step in the proceedings was to hunt at home for white
elephants. Lorraine and Monica turned out drawers and cupboards in
search of any articles with which they could dispense.
"It's not a rummage sale, so we mustn't send rubbish," decreed Lorraine.
"It's got to be something somebody will take a fancy to. I wonder if
Rosemary wants this book of songs? I believe Vivien would buy them."
"Then put them in the sale and ask Rosemary afterwards," counselled
Monica, rapidly running through the contents of an Indian box, and
contributing two chains of Eastern beads and some bangles. "I've a pile
of old story books I've done with. I expect those First Form kids would
like them. And I've some chalks and a drawing slate."
"And I've an almost new blotter, and some Indian curios, and some
foreign stamps, and a very good post-card album, and a quite new
birthday book."
"That Kate Greenaway one? Oh! you promised to give it to _me_!"
exclaimed Monica.
"You've got two of your own already!"
"I don't care! I want this as well."
"Then buy it at the sale."
"No, I'm going to get Jill's box of pastels and Miriam's autograph
album. I've bagged them in advance. Tibbiekins, I _must_ have that
birthday book!"
"You can't, Cuckoo! Don't be greedy!"
"But you _promised_!"
"Well, I can't help it if I did, and I don't remember promising,
anyway. That birthday book's going down to the sale, and if you want it,
you'll just have to buy it. There!"
"You mean thing!" blazed Monica. "Just because you're head girl, you
think you can do as you like. Keep your old birthday book, and sell it
to anybody you can. _I_ shan't buy it! But I'll pay you out for
this--see if I don't! I think you're perfectly hateful, Lorraine! I wish
you'd go away to a boarding school, or to a college like Rosemary. I
don't want you here at home, anyway!"
"All right, draw it mild!" said Lorraine, who was well accustomed to her
younger sister's outbursts of temper.
"You really did promise poor Cuckoo that Kate Greenaway birthday book,"
remarked Mrs. Forrester later in the evening.
"I can't remember anything at all about it, Mother," said Lorraine
impatiently. "Cuckoo makes such an absurd fuss. Surely she might be
ready to give up something for the prisoners of war. It's not good for
her always to get her own way! She's really so absurdly spoilt!"
"Somebody else likes her own way occasionally!" suggested Mrs.
Forrester, with uplifted eyebrows.
"Well, you can't say I'm spoilt! The middle girl never is. It's Rosemary
and Monica who get all the attention in this family!" declared Lorraine,
flouncing out of the room in a state of mind bordering on rebellion.
She wrapped up the birthday book in white tissue paper, and packed it
the first of all her articles for the sale. The best of us have our
faults, and there was a strain of obstinacy in Lorraine's disposition.
She and Monica had waged war before this, on occasion. They did not
speak to each other at supper.
"What a nice, cheerful thing it is to have two thunder-clouds sitting at
the table!" commented Mrs. Forrester. "It's so pleasant for the rest of
us, isn't it?"
"Mind the milk doesn't turn sour!" chuckled Mervyn. "You girls are the
limit!"
The sale, by special permission of Miss Kingsley, was fixed for three
o'clock on Thursday afternoon, a whole hour's lessons being remitted in
its favour. It was to be held in the gymnasium, and the articles were to
be spread out on benches. Each form had contributed its own quota, and
had appointed two representatives as saleswomen. The goods were marked,
but bargaining was permissible if the figure was considered by the
saleswoman to be too high. The monitresses constituted a court of appeal
on this score.
All had done really nobly in the way of bringing contributions, and
most of the "white elephants" were quite useful and desirable
possessions. The girls wandered round, looking at an assortment of
brooches, penknives, pencil-boxes, paints, chalks, books, music,
blotters, photo frames, toys, and a number of little trifles such as
girls love. Lorraine, with three weeks' accumulated pocket money, a
hitherto unspent birthday present, and what was left in her savings-box,
felt in a position to be munificent, and determined to patronize each
separate stall. She first made a tour of them all, before she should
decide upon her purchases.
"It's quite a good show," said Vivien, fondly fingering a black cat
mascot she had just bought and fastened upon her blouse. "Seen the kids'
things? They're ripping, some of them. They must have been looting at
home! I've got the prettiest little purse! I'll show it to you. Only
gave sixpence for it. It's a real bargain!"
"I've been wanting a muff chain for _years_!" declared Nellie. "I put it
down regularly on my birthday and Christmas lists, but my family always
gave me something else instead. Now don't you think this is just the
jinkiest one you've ever seen? I can't think how Audrey could part with
it!"
"Muff chains aren't fashionable now!"
"That won't trouble me in the least!"
"I hunted out my old dolls and dolls' clothes," said Claire, "and the
kids went wild over them. Dora doesn't care for dolls, so it was no use
keeping them for _her_. She's a regular tomboy."
"What did you bring, Claudia?" asked Nellie.
"Those _Art Magazines_ and copies of _The Connoisseur_. Dad let me have
them from his studio."
"Oh, goody! They're the very things I want!" rejoiced Lorraine. "Tell
Patsie not to sell them till I come!"
She had reached the Second Form stall, and was hurriedly reviewing its
contents, gazing over the heads of a chattering mob of juniors. Suddenly
she gave a gasp of consternation. In the middle of the bench, temptingly
spread forth in a row, were a number of objects with which she was
familiar--some coloured supplements from Christmas numbers, a mug with a
robin on it, a sandalwood box, a carved photo frame, a travelling
ink-pot, two plaques of Thorwaldsen's "Night" and "Morning", and a model
of a Swiss chalet. They were household articles which she had
appropriated to herself, and had hidden away for safety in a drawer on
the top landing at home. Each one was a treasure. She loved the coloured
supplements, and had meant to have them framed when she could afford it.
The robin mug was her last link with childhood. The chalet, though
really the property of Richard, had been knocking about in the attic
till she had rescued it, and the other things had all been apparently
discarded by their rightful owners until she had adopted them. To see
them here, laid out ready for sale, was a shock.
"It's that abominable little wretch of a Cuckoo! I'll slay her for
this!" she thought grimly, and started off to find the offender. She
discovered her among a crowd of kindred pig-tails, and dragged her away
into a discreet corner.
"What do you mean by prigging my things for your stall?" she demanded
angrily.
"They're not your things!" retorted Monica. "Not more than anybody
else's. Those coloured pictures belong to Father and Mother, and the
chalet was Richard's, only I'm sure he doesn't want it, and the
ink-pot's the one Aunt Ellie left behind, and the photo frame is
Rosemary's. I found them all in a drawer on the top landing."
"You knew I'd put them there!"
Monica coloured to the tips of her ears.
"They're as much mine as yours!" she flared.
"Did Mother say you might have them?"
"I didn't ask her, and no more did you when you took them! Anyhow,
they're 'white elephants' now, and 'on sale'."
"You must get them back, Monica!" urged Lorraine desperately. "Tell
Kitty and Joan you took them by mistake!"
"How can I? Really, Lorraine, I wonder at you! Do you want me to
disgrace the family? Nice thing it would look for the head girl's sister
to take things back that she'd just given! Why, the whole form would
scoff at us! Surely you might be ready to give up something for the
prisoners of war? That's what you said about me, at any rate! If you
want your old things, you must buy them back!"
And Monica, making a sudden dive between two Fifth Form girls, escaped
from her sister, and sought the farthest corner of the gymnasium.
In spite of her indignation, Lorraine could not help acknowledging that
there was justice in these remarks. It would certainly be most
undignified, and in fact impossible, to take back articles once given to
the sale. Cuckoo's taunt about the prisoners of war stung Lorraine
badly. If she wanted her treasures, there was nothing for it but to put
the best face she could on the matter, and buy them at once before
anybody else had an innings. It might already be too late. In
considerable anxiety she hurried back to the stall, and found a
curly-headed junior critically handling the robin mug. She snatched it
from the child with scant ceremony.
"If you don't want this, Doris, I do! How much, Kitty, please? I'll take
these pictures too; yes, and this chalet; and I'll have the ink-pot and
the frame as well. That's all, if you'll make them into a parcel.
Thanks!" and Lorraine sailed away, leaving Doris open-mouthed, and Kitty
cheerfully clinking the change in her brown leather moneybag. It was
annoying to have spent so much, for it meant forgoing a piece of music
which she had intended to give to Morland. She watched her cousin buy it
instead.
"I'll borrow it from Vivien and copy it," she thought rapidly. "Or if
Morland plays it twice over, he'll have it by heart. Hallo! Four o'clock
already, and these stalls not half cleared! We shall have to have an
auction."
Patsie, on being consulted, agreed, and readily undertook the post of
auctioneer, to which she was voted by general accord.
"I don't know whether to take it as compliment or not," she twittered.
"I suppose you think I've got the gift of the gab, and will make a good
Cheap Jack! Well, I'll do my best for you. Here goes! Give me a ruler or
something for a hammer."
A treble line of girls spread themselves round in an amused circle.
Patsie, and especially Patsie in a bantering mood, was always worth
listening to. They prepared themselves for a half-hour of sheer fun.
The amateur auctioneer--or rather auctioneeress--seized upon the first
thing that came to hand, which happened to be one of Claire's discarded
dolls. She held it aloft, and descanted eloquently upon its virtues.
"Look at this!" she proclaimed. "A real Parisian doll--_bébé jumeau--je
fais dodo--je voudrais une maman_--and all the rest of it! Kindly
notice, they're real ball joints, and not just slung together with bits
of elastic. Observe the beautiful little teeth, that might have stepped
out of a dentist's advertisement, and the richness of the brown curls.
'Hair rather thin', did someone remark? Well, buy a new wig for it,
then; you can't expect everything! 'Lost a hand?' So have a good many of
our soldiers. It's only in the fashion. Be glad it hasn't lost both, and
a leg too! White silk dress and red coat, and clothes that take on and
off! Why, I feel that I want to play with it myself, and take it to bed
with me. What offers? Someone kindly make a bid to begin. Two
shillings--thank you! Two and six! Three shillings! Come, ladies, it's
worth pounds instead of shillings at present-day prices! Four shillings!
Four and six! I see I shall have to buy it myself. Only four and six!
I'm getting too fond of it to part with it! Five shillings! I'm going to
name it Rosabelle! Five shillings! Going at only five shillings! With a
red coat and a white silk dress! I'll throw in this hat as well. Five
shillings--who'll say five and six? It's a real bargain. The sort you
only meet once in a lifetime. Going at five and six! Real Parisian.
Going! Going! Gone!"
Patsie struck her ruler on the back of an extemporized desk, and dropped
the doll in question into the delighted arms of Virginia Hewlett; then,
leaving Dorothy to complete the business part of the transaction,
transferred her attention to other objects of sale.
"Here's a post-card album!" she announced. "If you don't collect post
cards, you ought to; and if you haven't an album to put them in, now's
your chance! Best crocodile back! 'Imitation', did somebody remark?
Well, never mind, it's quite as good as original. We can't import
crocodiles during the war. The Kaiser's bought them all up to
manufacture crocodile tears! 'Some of the slips torn'? Mend them up with
a little seccotine, and they'll be as good as new. Fourpence! Sixpence!
Eightpence! A shilling! Going at a shilling! Going! Gone!"
There seemed no end to Patsie's powers of apt description. The girls
giggled hysterically as, almost with tears in her voice, she descanted
upon the merits of a cracked teapot, the beauties of a battered
birdcage, or the capacity of a Japanese pencil-box. The fun of
out-bidding spread like infection, and many of the articles fetched far
more than they had originally been marked at by their owners. There are
limits, however, to school-girl pockets, and Miss Kingsley had made a
special proviso that no credit was to be given. As the purses grew thin,
the objects on sale went off, as Patsie expressed it, "dirt cheap", and
several girls secured bargains surpassing even their wildest dreams.
"Time's getting on, and we put up the shutters at five," continued the
loquacious auctioneeress. "I'll take the rest in lots. Some one please
give me a cough lozenge, for my throat's getting hoarse. You don't
wonder? Then take my place, and do the talking yourself. You're welcome
to it. Oh! you'd rather not, when it comes to the point? Give me a bid,
then, to start this charming assortment of fancy articles--chalks,
marbles, pencils, wools all mixed together and going for next to
nothing. Pennies will do it. We don't want to take anything home again."
Thanks to Patsie's persuasive tongue, the whole stock of goods was at
last disposed of, and quite a nice little sum was counted up for the
prisoners of war.
The girls trudged home with their parcels, in high spirits, voting the
whole affair a huge success, and laughing immoderately over some of the
incidents. Vivien, in an unwonted mood of generosity, actually offered
to copy the piece of music for her cousin. Claire and Nellie, after
quarrelling over a framed picture, patched up peace, and presented it
between them to their form mistress.
Lorraine, when she reached her own bedroom, locked her particular
treasures securely in her bottom drawer. But that night, when she was
settling snugly on her pillow, there was a patter of bedroom slippers
along the landing, her door burst open, and a little sobbing,
dressing-gowned figure came creeping into her bed.
"I'm sorry I took your things," it gulped. "I c--c--couldn't go to sleep
till I'd said so. I t--t--took them because I was cross about the
b--b--birthday book. I was a b--b--b--east!"
"I was a bigger beast, Cuckoo!" confessed Lorraine, hugging her tight.
"Look here, I'll buy you another Kate Greenaway birthday book, exactly
the same only absolutely new, and give it to you for Christmas. Would
you like that?"
"Yes, I'd love it. But might I have it _before_ Christmas? I meant to
copy some of those dear little pictures on to a calendar for Mother. She
said she liked them so much, and I'd planned it for her present, and
_that_ was why I wanted the birthday book so badly."
"Poor old Cuckoo! I understand. I'll order it at once at Smith's."
"You don't think me greedy?"
"Not a bit of it! I wish I'd known about the calendar. There, wipe your
eyes, and go back to your own bed. It's striking ten, and you ought to
have been asleep an hour ago!"