The next day Darsie and Hannah were interviewed by their several
coaches, male and female, received instructions as to their future work,
and had the excitement of witnessing the return of the second and third
year girls, whose manner was strikingly different from that of the
modest Freshers. Dinner that evening was more of an ordeal than ever,
with a galaxy of such assured, not to say aggressive, young women,
staring with all their eyes at their new companions, and, to judge from
the expressions on their faces, forming the meanest opinion of their
intelligence!
Hannah Vernon was of all the Freshers the least upset by their scrutiny,
but then plain Hannah was proverbially thick-skinned about the opinion
of others.
"Let 'em stare if it amuses 'em--_I_ don't mind! Long time since I've
been so much admired," she returned composedly to Darsie's indignant
whisper. "Every dog has its day. Wait till it's _our_ turn! I'll wear
specs for that day--if I never do again, and glare over them like our
friend in green. I've been taking notes, and her glare is worth all the
rest put together. I feel sure she sees into my pocket, and knows
exactly how much there is in my purse. Perhaps she's jealous of you.
You're the prettiest girl here--old or new!"
"Oh, am I? _Nice_!" cried Darsie, dimpling. She peered around the
tables, examining the faces of the girls within sight with an appraising
eye, compared them with the reflection which looked back at her out of
her own mirror, and felt an agreeable sense of conviction. There was
one slim, dark-eyed girl with a bright rose flush on her cheeks, as to
whose claim she felt a moment's uncertainty, but when she turned her
head--lo, a nose was revealed soaring so unbecomingly skyward that
Darsie breathed again. Yes! she was the prettiest. Now if she could
just manage to be the most popular also, and, not the cleverest, of
course--that was _too_ much to expect--but well in the front rank, how
agreeable it would be, to be sure!
The dining-hall looked much more cheery tonight, when the long table was
surrounded by over sixty students in their brightly coloured dresses;
the buzz of conversation rose steadily throughout the meal, and by the
time that coffee was served curiosity seemed satisfied, for the staring
had come to an end.
"I think you must be Dan Vernon's sister. May I introduce myself? I am
Helen Ross." A tall girl, with brown hair brushed low over her ears,
stood beside Hannah's chair, holding out her hand with an air of
assurance which plainly intimated that the mention of her name was
expected to arouse instant recognition. Hannah, who had never heard it
before, and was not skilled in the art of pretence, stared back in blank
surprise.
"Oh-h! Really? Yes, I'm Hannah Vernon. This is my friend Miss
Garnett."
Helen Ross nicked her eyelashes at Darsie by way of a bow, but bestowed
no spoken greeting.
"Rather beastly, the first day, isn't it?" she drawled, turning to
Hannah once more. "Feel such a pelican in the wilderness, wandering
about, not knowing what to be after next. Make me useful, do! I'd like
to be useful. Told your brother I'd show you the ropes. Did you get
your milk last night? Half a pint each is your allowance. You get it
from the pantry directly after dinner, and take it upstairs for cocoa.
Have you discovered your gyp-room yet?"
Hannah stolidly shook her head, whereupon Miss Ross proceeded to further
explanations. The gyp-room was a species of pantry, one of which was to
be found on each corridor, whence cups, saucers, and other utensils for
the preparation of the famous ten o'clock "cocoas" could be obtained.
You helped yourself, don't you know, and you took the things back when
you had done with them, but you didn't wash them up. The gyp-room owned
a presiding dignitary of its own who was known as the "gyp-woman," who
obligingly performed that service. Then Miss Ross expressed a wish to
see Hannah's room, and the three girls ascended the stairs together, and
the two Freshers stood by meekly while the two-year girl indulged in
candid criticism.
"Humph! Not so bad. Rather a barn at present, but it'll look all right
when you've fixed it up. Always takes a few days to settle down, but
one lives in one's room so much that it's worth taking pains. You can
get no end into the coffin, that's one blessing!"
"Coffin!" Hannah and Darsie jerked at the ominous word, whereupon Miss
Ross smiled with complacent superiority.
"Ah! of course, you don't know that name. The chest's the `coffin,' and
you keep hats in it, likewise odd boxes, and evening cloaks, and other
perishable splendours. Every one calls them coffins, so you'll have to
get used to it, I'm afraid; and the bureau's a `burry,' and the screen's
a `farce,' and a topply one at that. You'll have to buy another to take
its place. They never _do_ supply you with decent screens. By the way,
there's an auction on to-night! Did any one tell you? That's your
chance of picking up the things you want. It's held in the Gym. at ten
o'clock, and is not bad fun. I'll come along and take you, if you'd
care to go."
"Thanks. Yes, I'd like to see everything that's going on. What sort of
things are for sale?"
"All sorts of discards that have been left behind by other girls--
screens, bed-covers, curtains, china flower-pots, chairs, kettles,
pictures. Sometimes there's quite a fine show."
"Sounds attractive! And who is the auctioneer?"
"A second-year girl--the one who is credited with the greatest amount of
wit."
There was a moment's silence while the two Freshers each mentally leaped
a year ahead, and saw herself in this proud and enviable position.
"Who's the one to-night?"
"Margaret France." Miss Ross's lips curled expressively. "I hope you
won't judge us by her standard. She's certainly not the one whom _I_
should have chosen to fill the position!"
Silence again, while the Freshers reflected that they knew very well
whom Miss Helen Ross would have chosen if she had had the chance, and
were glad that she hadn't.
"Well, I'll call round about ten. Make up your fire, and be
comfortable. You're allowed a scuttle of coals a day, and let me warn
you to _use_ it! If it's not all burnt, keep a few lumps in a
convenient cache--a box under the bed will do. It comes in handy for
another day, and when it gets really cold you can stoke up at night and
have a fire to dress by in the morning. The authorities don't approve
of that--they say it's bad for the stoves. Personally I consider myself
before any stoves."
She nodded casually and strode from the room, leaving the two friends
divided between gratitude for her kindness and prejudice against her
personality.
"Don't like her a bit, do you?"
"Humph. So-so! Means well, I think. Wonder how she knows Dan? He
never mentioned her name."
"Not at _all_ the sort of girl Dan would care for! Such a bumptious
manner. A good many of them have, I observe. Fearfully self-possessed.
Perhaps it's a special effort to impress the Freshers. She didn't take
much notice of me, but I'm coming with you all the same to buy fixings
for my room, and hear the second-year auctioneer. Call for me when
you're ready, like a dear. I'm off now to read until ten o'clock."
Darsie shut herself in her room, and set to work at her burry with all
the ardour of a beginner, so that the hour and a half passed like a
flash, and it seemed as if she had scarcely begun before Hannah's solid
bang sounded at the door, and she went out into the corridor to follow
Helen Ross to the Gym.
The auction had already begun, and the auctioneer, a fresh-looking girl
with grey eyes planted extraordinarily far apart, was engaged in
extolling the excellencies of an aged kettle to a laughing circle of
girls. She wore a black dress cut square at the neck, and a rose-
coloured ribbon twined round her head. She held out the kettle at the
length of a bare white arm, and raised her clear voice in delightful
imitation of the professional wheedle.
"Friends and Freshers! We now come to Lot Three, one of the most
striking and interesting on the catalogue. A kettle, ladies, is always
a useful article, but this is no ordinary kettle. We have it on
unimpeachable authority that this kettle was the kettle in residence at
the establishment of our late colleague Miss Constantia Lawson, the
Senior Classic of her year! The kettle of a Senior Classic, Freshers!
The kettle which has ministered to her refreshment, which has been, in
the language of the poem, the fount of her inspiration! What price
shall I say, ladies, for the kettle of a Senior Classic? Sixpence! Did
somebody say sixpence! _For the kettle of a Senior Classic_!
Eightpence! Thank you, madam. For the kettle of a-- What advance on
eightpence? Freshers would do well to consider this opportunity before
it is too late. What an--an _inebriating_ effect, if I may use the word
without offence to the late lamented poet, would be added to the cup
that cheers by the thought that the same handle, the same spout, the
same--er--er--furry deposit in the inside, have ministered to the
refreshment of one of the master spirits of our day! Going at
eightpence--eightpence-halfpenny--I thank you, madam! At tenpence! No
advance on tenpence? Going--going--_gone_!"
The hammer descended with a rap, the auctioneer leaned back with an air
of exhaustion, and handed the kettle to her clerk, in blue silk and
crystal beads.
"Lady to the right. Tell the lady, Joshua, that the small hole in the
bottom can easily be soldered by an obliging ironmonger, or, if she
prefers, she can hang the kettle on the wall as an object of vertu!"
Peals of laughter greeted this tragic disclosure. The lady to the right
refused for some minutes to hand over her tenpence, but finally
succumbed to the feeling of the meeting, when a crumpled cotton bed-
cover was next produced for sale.
"Lot Four. Handsome Oriental bedspread--design of peacocks, vultures,
and pear-trees, in gorgeous colourings. Encircling border on a
background of blizzard white, and corner pieces complete. Eight feet by
three. Joshua! carry the bedspread round and allow the ladies to
examine it for themselves. It is excessively hurtful to our feelings
when purchasers imply that deception has been practised in order to
induce them to purchase our goods. Show the ladies the spread! Pure
cotton, ladies. Fast colours. Design by Alma Tadema, in his happiest
mood. You could not possibly purchase such a spread in any
establishment, ladies, under the sum of two-and-six. Fine Oriental
goods, warranted to impart an air of opulence to the humblest bedstead.
Any Fresher wishing to give the last touch of costly elegance to her
room should not neglect this opportunity. What am I to say, ladies, for
this handsome spread? Sixpence again! Thank you, madam! Sixpences
seem in the ascendant to-night. Let us hope the collections on Sunday
next will benefit from the ensuing dearth. Ninepence! _At_ ninepence.
Pardon, madam? The lady in the eyeglasses wishes to make a remark,
Joshua. The lady in the eyeglasses remarks that one side of the spread
has been torn. The lady is evidently unaware that that fact is a proof
positive of the authenticity of the spread. No Eastern article, as all
travellers are aware, is _ever_ even at both sides." Another burst of
laughter greeted this point. The auctioneer showed her pretty white
teeth in a complacent smile, her wide grey eyes roved round the room,
and met Darsie's eyes raised to her in beaming admiration.
"One-and-six did you say, madam?" she cried instantly. "Did I
understand you to say one-and-six? The opportunity will never occur
again. At one-and-six for the lady in violet. Take the name and
address if you please, Joshua." And Darsie, with a shrug and a laugh,
paid out her one-and-six, and received in return the blizzard-white
cover, ornamented with a roughly mended tear all along one side.
The next articles offered for sale were framed pictures of various sizes
which had evidently not been considered worth the trouble of removing.
Water-colour sketches by 'prentice hands, faded photographs, or pretty-
pretty prints evidently torn from the pages of magazines. The
auctioneer exerted all the blandishments to induce the Freshers to
purchase these masterpieces, and deplored their scant response with
pathetic reproaches.
"_No_ bids for this tasty little picture? Ladies, ladies, this is a
great mistake! In the midst of your arduous brain toil, what could be
more soothing and refreshing than to gaze upon this charming pastoral
scene? This azure earth, this verdant sky, this lovely maid who
combined in her person all the simpering charms of youth, and never, for
one misguided moment, troubled her ochre head over the acquirement of
that higher knowledge which, as we all know, is the proud prerogative of
man! What price shall I say for `The Maiden's Dream'? _No_ bids! Put
it down if you please, Joshua. We have no art collectors with us to-
night. Let me have the Botticelli for a change."
The clerk in blue silk handed up another picture in a rickety Oxford
frame, at which the auctioneer gazed rapturously for several moments
before turning it towards her audience.
"Number Six on the catalogue. Genuine photograph of a Botticelli from
the collection of Miss Eva Dalgleish. Attention, Freshers, if you
please! This is an item of serious importance. The presence of a
Botticelli bestows at once the air of culture and refinement without
which no study is worthy of the name. A genuine photograph of a
Botticelli, purchased by the owner in the Italian city of Florence, and
borne home by her own fair hands, as the crack across the corner will
give proof. In an Oxford frame--a compliment to our sister University--
glazed and complete, with hanging loops and fragment of wire. _What_
offers for the Botticelli? Any Fresher who wishes to prove herself
endowed with refined and artistic--One shilling? Thank you, madam.
_And_ sixpence! One and nine. One and nine for this genuine
Botticelli. Ladies, ladies, this is a sad day for Newnham. And nine--
and nine. Going. Going--_gone_!"
It was Hannah who had testified to her own artistic qualities by
purchasing this photograph. She tucked it proudly under her arm, and
turned an envious eye on a brass flower-pot which was now engaging the
auctioneer's attention. A simultaneous movement of the audience showed
that this was an article on which many hopes had been set, and bidding
promised to be brisk.
"Now, ladies, we come to one of the principal events of the evening, the
bidding for this very rich and magnificent brass, hand-beaten, richly-
chased, Oriental, ornamental flower-pot. We have several flower-pots in
our catalogue, but none to be compared for one moment to the very
superior article which you now see before you. It is safe to say that
no student, even in her third year, can boast of a flower-pot to equal
this lot in either quality or design. The possession of it will in
itself ensure fame for its fortunate owner. Let me have a handsome bid,
if you please, ladies, to start this valuable article. Half a crown!!!
A lady, whose ignorance we can only deplore, offers me half a crown for
a genuine antique brass! I am thankful that in such a large and
enlightened audience such an error is not likely to be repeated. Three
shillings. _Thank_ you, madam. And six. Four shillings--four
shillings. Freshers who neglect to take advantage of this opportunity
will be compelled to content themselves with one of these common china
articles to my left. A flowerpot is a necessary article of furniture
without which no room is complete. What is home without an aspidistra?
You laugh, ladies, but you can find no answer to that question. And
six! Five shillings! The raw material for this masterpiece must have
cost many times this sum. Five--five--no advance on five. The lady in
green, Joshua. Take the lady's address!"
The auctioneer put up her hand to her head and patted the rose-coloured
ribbon into place. Inspired by the laughing appreciation of her
sallies, her cheeks had flushed to the same bright shade, and with her
sparkling eyes and alert, graceful movements she made a delightful and
attractive figure, at which the Freshers stared in undisguised delight.
"I adore her!" whispered Darsie in her friend's ear.
"Decent sort!" croaked Hannah the undemonstrative, and then by a common
impulse their glance passed on to rest on Helen Ross's set, supercilious
face.
"I loathe her," came the second whisper.
"Mean thing--jealousy!" croaked Hannah once more, and turned her
attention to the business in hand.
After the china flower-pots had been disposed of, a trio of basket-
chairs gave an impetus to the bidding, as the truth of the auctioneer's
words went home to every heart.
"`Three luxurious basket-chairs, cushioned complete in handsome
cretonne, stuffed pure wool. Condition--as new.' Ladies, in these
basket-chairs you see not only elegant articles of furniture, but a
solution of the dilemma which dogs every owner of a one-comfortable-
chair study. One question haunts her waking and sleeping hours; one
problem embitters the most social occasions--`_Shall I be comfortable or
polite_?' To this question, in this college of Newnham, there can,
ladies, be but one reply--and the wretched hostess sits on the coal-box
and gives her visitor the chair. After long hours of mental toil, after
the physical strain of the hockey-field, a quiet hour is vouchsafed
beside her own fireside, with the companionship of a beloved friend to
soothe and cheer, and that hour, ladies--that precious hour--I say it
with emotion almost too strong for words--that stolen hour of peace and
rest must needs be passed--_on the coal-box_! Ladies, I need say no
more. The remedy is in your own hands."
So on, and so on. After the chairs came curtains; after the curtains,
bookcases, ornaments, and books. The auction flowed on, punctuated by
explosions of laughter, until the last item on the "catalogue" was
reached, and the auctioneer was crimson with exhaustion.
Darsie and Hannah had amassed between them quite a stock of furnishings.
A screen apiece, chairs, Oriental window-curtains in stripes of
contrasting colours warm and comfortable to look upon, flower-pots, and
odd pictures and ornaments. One felt a proprietor, indeed, as one
looked over the spoils, and the inroads into capital had been agreeably
small. Darsie was folding up her damaged "spread" when a voice spoke in
her ear, and with a little jump of the heart she looked up to find
Margaret France standing by her side.
"How do you do? I must thank you for your patronage. You chipped in
nobly. Hope you'll like 'em, when you've got 'em. Just up, aren't you?
What's your shop?"
For a moment Darsie stared blankly, then a flash of intuition revealed
the meaning of the word.
"Modern languages."
"Good! So'm I. And your friend?"
"Mathematics."
"Humph! Well, good luck! I'm off to bed. We shall meet on the
Rialto!"
She smiled, nodded, and was gone. With a sudden realisation of their
own fatigue the Freshers turned to follow her example. Helen Ross
joined them on their way along the corridors, and Darsie could not
resist expressing her appreciation of the auctioneer's wit.
"She was delicious. I _have_ enjoyed it. She _is_ amusing and clever."
"Think so?" said Helen coolly. "Really? Glad you were pleased. It's
usually _far_ better than that!"
With a curt good-night she turned into her own room, and the two friends
made haste to follow her example.
The banked-up fires burned warm and red; the scattered oddments had been
hidden from sight in the "coffin's" rapacious maw; photographs and
knick-knacks gave a homy look to the rooms which had looked so bare and
bleak twenty-four hours before. The Freshers tumbled into bed and fell
happily asleep.