A Sensation
"Look here," said Betty to her room-mates that evening, "those poor
girls in No. 8 are just yearning for a sensation. Don't you think we
ought to be philanthropic and supply it for them?"
"Yearning for a what?" asked Marjorie, pausing with a sponge in her hand
and reaching for the towel.
"Yearning for a sensation," repeated Betty. "Life at an ordinary
boarding-school is extremely dull. 'The daily round, the common task',
is apt to pall. What we all crave for is change, and especially change
of a spicy, unexpected sort that makes you jump."
"I don't want to jump, thanks."
"Perhaps you don't, but those girls in No. 8 do. They're longing for
absolute creeps--only a ghost, or a burglar, or an air raid, or
something really stirring, would content them."
"I'm afraid they'll have to go discontented then."
"Certainly not. As I remarked before, we ought to be philanthropic and
provide a little entertainment to cheer them up. I have a plan."
"Proceed, O Queen, and disclose it then."
"Barbara Wright suggested it to me--not intentionally, of course. We'll
play a rag on them. One of us must pretend to sleep-walk and go into
their room. It ought to give them spasms. Do you catch on?"
"Rather!" replied the others.
"But who's going to do the sleep-walking business?" asked Irene.
"Marjorie's the best actress. We'll leave it to her. Give us a specimen
now, old sport, and show us how you'll do it. Oh, that's ripping! It'll
take them in no end. I should like to see Barbara's face."
Marjorie was always perfectly ready for anything in the way of a
practical joke, especially if it were a new variety. The girls had grown
rather tired of apple-pie beds or sewn-up nightdress sleeves, but nobody
had yet thought of somnambulism.
"I'm not going to stop awake again, though, until twelve," she objected.
"I had enough of it last night. It's somebody else's turn."
"Whoever happens to wake must call the others," suggested Irene.
"We'll leave it at that," they agreed.
For two successive nights, however, all four girls slept soundly until
the seven-o'clock bell rang. They were generally tired, and none of them
suffered from insomnia. On the third night Betty heard the clock strike
two, and, going into Marjorie's cubicle, tickled her awake.
"Get up! You've got to act Lady Macbeth!" she urged. "Best opportunity
for a star performance you've ever had in your life. You'll take the
house."
"I'm so sleepy," yawned Marjorie. "And," putting one foot out of bed,
"it's so beastly cold!"
"Never mind, the fun will be worth it. We're going to wait about to hear
them squeal. It'll be precious. No, you musn't put on your dressing-gown
and bedroom slippers--sleep-walkers never do--you must go as you are."
"Play up, Marjorie!" decreed the others, who were also awake.
Thus encouraged, Marjorie rose to the occasion and began to act her
part. There was one difficulty to be overcome. At night a lamp was left
burning in the corridor, but the bedrooms were in darkness. How were the
occupants of No. 8 going to see her? They must be decoyed somehow from
their beds. She decided to open the door of their room so as to let in a
little light, then enter, walk round their cubicles, and go out again on
to the landing, where she hoped they would follow her. Softly she
entered the door of No. 8, and advanced in a dramatic attitude with
outstretched hands, in imitation of a picture she had once seen of Lady
Macbeth. The light from the corridor, though dim, was quite sufficient
to render objects distinct. At the first stealthy steps Daisy Shaw awoke
promptly. Her shuddering little squeal aroused the others, and they
gazed spellbound at the white-robed figure parading in ghostly fashion
round their room. Avoiding the furniture, Marjorie, with arms still
outstretched, tacked back into the corridor. Exactly as she had
anticipated, the girls rose and followed her. They were huddled together
at the door of their dormitory, watching her with awestruck faces, when
an awful thing happened. Another door opened, and Miss Norton, blue
dressing-gown and bedroom slippers and all, appeared on the scene.
"What's the matter?" she asked sharply.
"Marjorie Anderson's walking in her sleep!" whispered the girls.
Now in this horrible emergency Marjorie had to act promptly or not at
all. She decided that her best course was to go on shamming
somnambulism. She walked down the corridor, therefore, with a rapid,
stealthy step.
Miss Norton turned on the frightened girls, and, whispering: "Don't
disturb her on any account!" followed in the wake of her pupil.
Then began a most exciting promenade. Marjorie, with eyes set in a stony
glare, marched downstairs into the hall. She stood for a moment by the
front door, as if speculating whether to unlock it or not. She could
hear Miss Norton breathing just behind her, and was almost tempted to
try the experiment of shooting back at least one bolt, but decided it
was wiser not to run the risk. Instead she walked into the house
mistress's study, turned over a few papers in an abstracted fashion,
threw them back on to the table, and went towards the window. Here again
Miss Norton shadowed her closely, evidently suspecting that she had
designs of opening it and climbing out. She turned round, however, and,
with apparently unseeing eyes, stared in the teacher's face, and stole
stealthily back up the stairs. At her own bedroom door she paused, in
seeming uncertainty as to whether to enter or not. Miss Norton laid a
gentle hand on her arm, and guided her quietly into her room and towards
her bed. Marjorie decided to take the hint. Wandering about in a
nightdress, with bare feet, was a very cold performance, and it was all
she could do to prevent herself from palpably shivering. Keeping up her
part, she gave a gentle little sigh, got into bed, laid her head on her
pillow, and closed her eyes. She could feel Miss Norton pulling the
clothes over her, and, with another quivering sigh, she sank apparently
into deepest slumber. The teacher stayed a few minutes watching her,
then, as she never moved, went very quietly away and closed the door
after her.
Nothing was said at head-quarters next morning about the night's
adventures, but Miss Norton looked rather carefully at Marjorie, asked
her if she felt well, and told her she was to go to Nurse Hall every day
at eleven in the Ambulance Room for a dose of tonic. Marjorie, who had
not intended her practical joke to run to such lengths, felt rather
ashamed of herself, but dared not confess.
"There'd be a terrific scene if Norty knew," she said to Betty, and
Betty agreed with her.
In the afternoon, when Marjorie ran up to her cubicle for a
pocket-handkerchief, to her surprise she found Mrs. Morrison there
superintending a man who was measuring the window. She wondered why, for
nothing, apparently, was wrong with it; but nobody dared ask questions
of the Empress, so she took her clean handkerchief and fled. Later on
that day she learned the reason.
"We're to have brass bars across our window," Sylvia informed her. "I
heard the Empress and the Acid Drop talking about it. They're fearfully
expensive in war-time, but the Empress said: 'Well, the expense cannot
be helped; I daren't risk letting the poor child jump through the
window. Her door must certainly be locked every night.' And Norty said:
'Yes, it's a very dangerous thing.'"
"Are they putting the bars up for me?" exclaimed Marjorie.
"Of course. Don't you see, they think you walk in your sleep and might
kill yourself unless you're protected. Nice thing it'll be to have bars
across our window and our door locked at night. It will feel like
prison. I wish to goodness you'd never played such a trick!"
"Well, I'm sure you all wanted me to. It wasn't my idea to begin with,"
retorted Marjorie.
Great was the indignation in No. 9 at the prospect of this defacement of
their pretty window. The girls talked the matter over.
"Something's got to be done!" said Betty decidedly.
[Illustration: THEY WERE HUDDLED TOGETHER, WATCHING HER WITH AWESTRUCK
FACES]
"Yes," groaned Marjorie, "I shall have to own up. There's nothing else
for it. But I'm not going to tell the Acid Drop. I'm going straight to
the Empress herself. She'll be the more decent of the two."
"I believe you're right," agreed Betty. "Look here, it was my idea, so
I'm going with you."
"And I was in it too," said Irene.
"And so was I," said Sylvia.
"Then we'll all four go in a body," decided Betty. "Come along, let's
beard the lioness in her den and get it over."
Mrs. Morrison was extremely surprised at the tale the girls had to tell.
She frowned, but looked considerably relieved.
"As you have told me yourselves I will let it pass," she commented, "but
you must each give me your word of honour that there shall be no more of
these silly practical jokes. I don't consider it at all clever to try to
frighten your companions. Jokes such as these sometimes have very
serious results. Will you each promise?"
"Yes, Mrs. Morrison, on my honour," replied four meek voices in chorus.