The Talents Tournament
By the time Marjorie had been a fortnight at Brackenfield she had
already caught the atmosphere of the place, and considered herself a
well-established member of the community. In the brief space of two
weeks she had learnt many things; first and foremost, that Hilton House
had been a mere kindergarten in comparison with the big busy world in
which she now moved, and that all her standards required readjusting.
Instead of being an elder pupil, with a considerable voice in the
arrangement of affairs, she was now only an Intermediate, under the
absolute authority of Seniors, a unit in a large army of girls, and,
except from her own point of view, of no very great importance. If she
wished to make any reputation for herself her claims must rest upon
whether or not she could prove herself an asset to the school, either by
obtaining a high place in her form, or winning distinction in the
playing-fields, or among the various guilds and societies. Marjorie was
decidedly ambitious. She felt that she would like to gain honours and to
have her name recorded in the school magazine. Dazzling dreams danced
before her of tennis or cricket colours, of solos in concerts, or
leading parts in dramatic recitals, of heading examination lists,
and--who knew?--of a possible prefectship some time in the far future.
Meanwhile, if she wished to attain to any of these desirable objects,
Work, with a capital W, must be her motto. She had been placed in IVa,
and, though most of the subjects were within her powers, it needed all
the concentration of which she was capable to keep even a moderate
position in the weekly lists. Miss Duckworth, her form mistress, had no
tolerance for slackers. She was a breezy, cheery, interesting
personality, an inspiring teacher, and excellent at games, taking a
prominent part in all matches or tournaments "Mistresses versus Pupils".
Miss Duckworth was immensely popular amongst her girls. It was the
fashion to admire her.
"I think the shape of her nose is just perfect!" declared Francie
Sheppard. "And I like that Rossetti mouth, although some people might
say it's too big. I wish I had auburn hair!"
"I wonder if it ripples naturally, or if she does it up in wavers?"
speculated Elsie Bartlett. "It must be ever so long when it's down.
Annie Turner saw her once in her dressing-gown, and said that her hair
reached to her knees."
"But Annie always exaggerates," put in Sylvia Page. "You may take half a
yard off Annie's statements any day."
"I think Duckie's a sport!" agreed Laura Norris.
The girls were lounging in various attitudes of comfort round the fire
in their sitting-room at St. Elgiva's, in that blissful interval between
preparation and supper, when nothing very intellectual was expected from
them, and they might amuse themselves as they wished. Irene, squatting
on the rug, was armed with the tongs, and kept poking down the miniature
volcanoes that arose in the coal; Elsie luxuriated in the rocking-chair
all to herself; while Francie and Sylvia--a tight fit--shared the big
basket-chair. In a corner three chums were coaching each other in the
speeches for a play, and a group collected round the piano were trying
the chorus of a new popular song.
"Go it, Patricia!" called Irene to the girl who was playing the
accompaniment. "You did that no end! St. Elgiva's ought to have a chance
for the sight-reading competition. Trot out that song to-morrow night by
all means. It'll take the house by storm!"
"What's going to happen to-morrow night?" enquired Marjorie, who, having
changed her dress for supper, now came into the room and joined the
circle by the fire.
"A very important event, my good child," vouchsafed Francie
Sheppard--"an event upon which you might almost say all the rest of the
school year hangs. We call it the Talents Tournament."
"The what?"
"I wish you wouldn't ask so many questions. I was just going to explain,
if you'll give me time. The whole school meets in the Assembly Hall,
and anybody who feels she can do anything may give us a specimen of her
talents, and if she passes muster she's allowed to join one of the
societies--the Dramatic, or the Part Singing, or the Orchestra, or the
French Conversational; or she may exhibit specimens if she wants to
enter the Natural History or Scientific, or show some of her drawings if
she's artistic."
"What are you going to do?"
"I? Nothing at all. I hate showing off!"
"I've no 'parlour tricks' either," yawned Laura. "I shall help to form
the audience and do the clapping; that's the role I'm best at."
"Old Mollie'll put you up to tips if you're yearning to go on the
platform," suggested Elsie. "She's A 1 at recitations, reels them off no
end, I can tell you. You needn't hang your head, Mollums, like a modest
violet; it's a solid fact. You're the ornament of St. Elgiva's when it
comes to saying pieces. Have you got anything fresh, by the way, for
to-morrow night?"
"Well, I did learn something new during the holidays," confessed Mollie.
"I hope you'll like it--it's rather funny. I hear there's to be a new
society this term. Meg Hutchinson was telling me about it."
"Oh, I know, the 'Charades'!" interrupted Francie; "and a jolly good
idea too. It isn't everybody who has time to swat at learning parts for
the Dramatic. Besides, some girls can do rehearsed acting well, and are
no good at impromptu things, and vice versa. They want sorting out."
"I don't understand," said Marjorie.
"Oh, bother you! You're always wanting explanations. Well, of course you
know we have a Dramatic Society that gets up quite elaborate plays; the
members spend ages practising their speeches and studying their
attitudes before the looking-glass, and they have gorgeous costumes made
for them, and scenery and all the rest of it--a really first-rate
business. Some of the prefects thought that it was rather too formal an
affair, and suggested another society for impromptu acting. Nothing is
to be prepared beforehand. Mrs. Morrison is to give a word for a
charade, and the members are allowed two minutes to talk it over, and
must act it right away with any costumes they can fling on out of the
'property box'. They'll be arranged in teams, and may each have five
minutes for a performance. I expect it will be a scream."
"Are you fond of acting, Marjorie?" asked Mollie.
"I just love it!"
"Then put down your name for the Charades Tournament. We haven't got a
great number of volunteers from St. Elgiva's yet. Most of the girls seem
to funk it. Elsie, aren't you going to try?"
Elsie shook her curls regretfully.
"I'd like to, but I know every idea I have would desert me directly I
faced an audience. I'm all right with a definite part that I've got into
my head, but I can't make up as I go along, and it's no use asking me.
I'd only bungle and stammer, and make an utter goose of myself, and
spoil the whole thing. Hallo! There's the supper bell. Come along!"
Marjorie followed the others in to supper with a feeling of
exhilaration. She was immensely attracted by the idea of the Talents
Tournament. So far, as a new girl, she had been little noticed, and had
had no opportunity of showing what she could do. She had received a hint
from Mollie, on her first day, that new girls who pushed themselves
forward would probably be met with snubs, so she had not tried the piano
in the sitting-room, or given any exhibition of her capabilities
unasked. This, however, would be a legitimate occasion, and nobody could
accuse her of trying to show off by merely entering her name in the
Charades competition.
"I wish Dona would play her violin and have a shy for the school
Orchestra," she thought. "I'll speak to her if I can catch her after
supper."
It was difficult for the sisters to find any time for private talk, but
by dodging about the passage Marjorie managed to waylay Dona before the
latter disappeared into St. Ethelberta's, and propounded her suggestion.
"Oh, I couldn't!" replied Dona in horror. "Go on the platform and play a
piece? I'd die! Please don't ask me to do anything so dreadful. I don't
want to join the Orchestra. Oh, well, yes--I'll go in for the drawing
competition if you like, but I'm not keen. I don't care about all these
societies; my lessons are quite bad enough. I've made friends with Ailsa
Donald, and we have lovely times all to ourselves. We're making scrap
albums for the hospital. Miss Jones has given us all her old Christmas
cards. She's adorable! I say, I must go, or I shall be late for our call
over. Ta-ta!"
The "Talents Tournament" was really a very important event in the school
year, for upon its results would depend the placing of the various
competitors in certain coveted offices. It was esteemed a great
privilege to be asked to join the Orchestra, and to be included in the
committee of the "Dramatic" marked a girl's name with a lucky star.
On the Saturday evening in question the whole school, in second-best
party dresses, met in the big Assembly Hall. It was a conventional
occasion, and they were received by Mrs. Morrison and the teachers, and
responded with an elaborate politeness that was the cult of the College.
For the space of three hours an extremely high-toned atmosphere
prevailed, not a word of slang offended the ear, and everybody behaved
with the dignity and courtesy demanded by such a stately ceremony. Mrs.
Morrison, in black silk and old lace, her white hair dressed high, was
an imposing figure, and set a standard of cultured deportment that was
copied by every girl in the room. The Brackenfielders prided themselves
upon their manners, and, though they might relapse in the playground or
dormitory, no Court etiquette could be stricter than their code for
public occasions. The hall was quite _en fete_; it had been charmingly
decorated by the Seniors with autumn leaves and bunches of
chrysanthemums and Michaelmas daisies. A grand piano and pots of palms
stood on the platform, and the best school banner ornamented the wall.
It all looked so festive that Marjorie, who had been rather dreading the
gathering, cheered up, and began to anticipate a pleasant evening. She
shook hands composedly with the Empress, and ran the gauntlet of
greetings with the other mistresses with equal credit, not an altogether
easy ordeal under the watching eyes of her companions. This preliminary
ceremony being finished, she thankfully slipped into a seat, and waited
for the business part of the tournament to begin.
The reception of the whole school lasted some time, and the Empress's
hand must have ached. Her mental notes as to the quality of the
handshakes she received would be publicly recorded next day from the
platform, with special condemnation for the limp, fishy, or
three-fingered variety on the one side, or the agonizing ring-squeezer
on the other. Miss Thomas, one of the music mistresses, seated herself
at the piano, and the proceedings opened with a violin-solo competition.
Ten girls, in more or less acute stages of nervousness, each in turn
played a one-page study, their points for which were carefully recorded
by the judges, marks being given for tone, bowing, time, tune, and
artistic rendering. As they retired to put away their instruments, their
places were taken by vocal candidates. In order to shorten the
programme, each was allowed to sing only one verse of a song, and their
merits or faults were similarly recorded. Several of the Intermediates
had entered for the competition. Rose Butler trilled forth a
sentimental little ditty in a rather quavering mezzo; Annie Turner,
whose compass was contralto, poured out a sea ballad--a trifle flat;
Nora Cleary raised a storm of applause by a funny Irish song, and
received marks for style, though her voice was poor in quality; and
Elsie Bartlett scored for St. Elgiva's by reaching high B with the
utmost clearness and ease. The Intermediates grinned at one another with
satisfaction. Even Gladys Woodham, the acknowledged prima donna of St.
Githa's, had never soared in public beyond A sharp. They felt that they
had beaten the Seniors by half a tone.
Piano solos were next on the list, limited to two pages, on account of
the too speedy passage of time. Here again the St. Elgiva's girls
expected a triumph, for Patricia Lennox was to play a waltz especially
composed in her honour by a musical friend. It was called "Under the
Stars", and bore a coloured picture of a dark-blue sky, water and trees,
and a stone balustrade, and it bore printed upon it the magic words
"Dedicated to Patricia", and underneath, written in a firm, manly hand,
"With kindest remembrances from E. H.".
The whole of Elgiva's had thrilled when allowed to view the copy
exhibited by its owner with many becoming blushes, but with steadfast
refusals to record tender particulars; and though Patricia's enemies
were unkind enough to say that there was no evidence that the "Patricia"
mentioned on the cover was identical with herself, or that the "E. H."
stood for Edwin Herbert, the composer, it was felt that they merely
objected out of envy, and would have been only too delighted to have
such luck themselves.
They all listened entranced as Patricia dashed off her piece. She had a
showy execution, and it really sounded very well. The whole school knew
about the dedication and the inscription; the Intermediates had taken
care of that. As their champion descended from the platform, they felt
that she had invested St. Elgiva's with an element of mystery and
romance. But alas! one story is good until another is told, and St.
Githa's had been reserving a trump card for the occasion. Winifrede
Mason had herself composed a piece. She called it "The Brackenfield
March", and had written it out in manuscript, and drawn a picture of the
school in bold black-and-white upon a brown paper cover. It was quite a
jolly, catchy tune, with plenty of swing and go about it, and the fact
that it was undoubtedly her own production caused poor Patricia's waltz
to pale before it. The clapping was tremendous. Every girl in school,
with the exception of nine who had not studied the piano, was determined
to copy the march and learn it for herself, and Winifrede was
immediately besieged with applications for the loan of the manuscript.
She bore her honours calmly.
"Oh, it wasn't difficult! I just knocked it off, you know. I've heaps of
tunes in my head; it's only a matter of getting them written down,
really. When I've time I'll try to make up another. Oh, I don't know
about publishing it--that can wait."
To live in the same school with a girl who composed pieces was
something! Everybody anticipated the publication of the march, and felt
that the reputation of Brackenfield would be thoroughly established in
the musical world.
The next item on the programme was an interval for refreshments, during
which time various exhibits of drawings and of scientific and natural
history specimens were on view, and were judged according to merit by
Miss Carter and Miss Hughlins.
The second part of the evening was to be dramatic. A good many names had
been given in for the Charades competition, and these were arranged in
groups of four. Each company was given one syllable of a charade to act,
with a strict time limit. A large assortment of clothes and some useful
articles of furniture were placed in the dressing-room behind the
platform, and the actresses were allowed only two minutes to arrange
their stage, don costumes, and discuss their piece.
Marjorie found herself drawn with Annie Turner, Belle Miller, and Violet
Nelson, two of the Juniors. The syllable to be acted was "Age", and the
four girls withdrew to the dressing-room for a hasty conference.
"What can we do? I haven't an idea in my head," sighed Annie. "Two
minutes is not enough to think."
The Juniors said nothing, but giggled nervously. Marjorie's ready wits,
however, rose to the emergency.
"We'll have a Red Cross Hospital," she decided. "You, Annie, are the
Commandant, and we three are prospective V.A.D.'s coming to be
interviewed. You've got to ask us our names and ages, and a heap of
other questions. Put on that Red Cross apron, quick, and we'll put on
hats and coats and pretend we've had a long journey. Belle, take in a
table and a chair for the Commandant. She ought to be sitting writing."
Annie, Belle, and Violet seized on the idea with enthusiasm, and robed
themselves immediately. When the bell rang the performers marched on to
the platform without any delay (which secured ten marks for
promptitude). Annie, in her Red Cross apron, rapped the table in an
authoritative fashion and demanded the business of her callers. Then the
fun began. Marjorie, posing as a wild Irish girl, put on a capital
imitation of the brogue, and urged her own merits with zeal. She evaded
the question of her right age, and offered a whole catalogue of things
she could do, from dressing a wound to mixing a pudding and scrubbing
the passages. She was so racy and humorous, and threw in such amusing
asides, that the audience shrieked with laughter, and were quite
disappointed when the five minutes' bell put a sudden and speedy end to
the interesting performance. As Marjorie walked back to her seat she
became well aware that she had scored. Her fellow Intermediates looked
at her with a new interest, for she had brought credit to St. Elgiva's.
"Isn't she a scream?" she overheard Rose Butler say to Francie Sheppard,
and Francie replied "Rather! I call her topping!" which, of course, was
slang, and not fit for such an occasion; but then the girls were
beginning to forget the elaborate ceremony of the opening of the
evening.
Next day, after morning school was over, Jean Everard, one of the
prefects, tapped Marjorie on the shoulder.
"We've put your name down for the Charades Society," she said briefly.
"I suppose you want to join?"
"Rather!" replied Marjorie, flushing to the roots of her hair with
delight at the honour offered her.