Etheldreda the Ready Part 10

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 s.h.i.+ning 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 fas.h.i.+on, who smirked as they went, and, bowing and sc.r.a.ping, 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 ma.s.s 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 ba.s.s, 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 princ.i.p.al 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 gra.s.s, so white, so silky, so bushy that they had really to be seen to be appreciated! The pampas gra.s.ses 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 s.h.i.+eld 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 cus.h.i.+ons was blood-curdling to behold. In truth, the hour's amus.e.m.e.nt pa.s.sed 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!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

The energy with which Etheldreda the Ready set about her work as sub- editor threatened to ruin the magazine before its birth, for intending contributors grew so tired of daily and sometimes hourly reminders that by the end of a week weariness had developed into right-down crossness and irritation. "For goodness' sake leave me alone. I'm sick of the name of the old magazine! If you worry me once more I won't do a thing--so there!" Such answers were more than a little disconcerting to one who had worked herself up to a white heat of enthusiasm, and could neither think, dream, nor speak of any other subject under the sun. So engrossed was Dreda in trying to keep other writers to the mark, that it was not until ten day's of the allotted fourteen had pa.s.sed by that she set to work to think out her own contribution. It was to be a story, of course--not a stupid, amateury, namby-pamby story, such as you could read in other school magazines, but something striking and original, that would make everyone talk and wonder, and lie awake at night. So far so good; but when the time for writing it arrived it was astonis.h.i.+ngly difficult to hit upon a suitable idea! Dreda chewed the end of her pen, wrote "Synopsis of Plot" at the top of her paper in an imposing round hand with the downstrokes elaborately inked, dotted wandering designs here and there, and cudgelled her brains for inspiration. There must be a girl, of course--a girl heroine, blonde and lovely, and an adventuress (brunette), and a hero. But she did not intend to write a love story--that was piffle. Something _really_ thrilling and dangerous! She mentally ran over a list of misadventures--fire, flood, s.h.i.+pwreck. She had read of them all dozens of times over; and, mentioned in a synopsis, they would have quite an ordinary effect. It was after hours of anxious deliberation, during which ordinary lessons went completely to the wall, that the brilliant idea of an earthquake flashed upon Dreda's mind. An earthquake story might be as complicated as one pleased, for all the superfluous people could be killed off at the crucial moment, while legal papers and wills could disappear, so that one could not even be expected to unravel the mystery! She hovered uncertainly between three sensational t.i.tles--"A Hopeless Quest," "For Ever Hidden," "In the Twinkling of an Eye!"--and plunged boldly into the first sentence of the synopsis without having the faintest idea how it should end:

"A lovely young girl, Leila (English, yellow hair, sixteen) lives on a beautiful isle which had been a volcano hundreds of years before. (This will not be mentioned till the last, but mysterious remarks made about rumblings, to prepare the mind.) Dolores (Spanish), aged seventeen, pretends to be her friend, but is really jealous. They stay together at a country house with a veranda, and exciting things happen. Leila is supposed to be an orphan, and Dolores patronises her because she is poor. An English officer comes to call, and staggers back at sight of Leila. (He is really her father.) Dolores makes mischief, and persuades him to leave her all his money. They go to the lawyers, and Leila goes out for a sail in a boat to cheer her spirits. While she is sailing, the volcano blows up and everyone is killed. Leila is picked up by a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p, and inherits the money."

Compared with this sensational programme, Susan's story promised to be deplorably tame and uneventful, and Dreda curled her lip in scorn as she read the neatly written lines:

"I want to write the story of a man who was naturally very nervous and afraid, but who hid it so well that everyone believed him to be a hero.

I want to show that he really did become brave, because his friends believed in him, and he tried to be worthy of their trust."

"Gracious! How dull. It sounds like a tract. Susan is a dear; but she's a currant bun when all is said and done, and she can't get away from it. They _are_ stodgers!" quoth Miss Dreda, with a shrug, as she placed the paper beside her own in her desk. Her anger against Susan had died a rapid death, for the double reason that she herself found it impossible to harbour resentment, and that Susan steadily refused to be a second party to a quarrel. Scornfully though her help had been refused, she offered it afresh every evening, and after three days'

experience of struggle and defeat, Dreda was thankful to accept.

"But you _were_ mean about the editors.h.i.+p, all the same. It wasn't like you, Susan!" she declared severely, feeling it would be too great a condescension to capitulate without protest. "You are generally quite sweet about helping other people. I don't understand what you were thinking about!"

Susan's quiet smile seemed to express agreement with this last statement, but she made no protest and allowed herself to be kissed and petted with a condescending "We'll say no more about it, will we, dear?

Now for this exercise--it's a perfect brute!"

It was only by dint of ceaseless entreaties and cajoleries that the sub- editor succeeded in collecting a respectable number of entries for the first number of the magazine before the appointed date, and if the absolute truth had been known she was already feeling overweighted with the cares of office. It was a f.a.g to be worried out of one's life, and as a result to be disliked rather than praised.

"I shake in my shoes at the very sight of Dreda Saxon!" said Norah West of the spectacles and freckles. "There's no peace in life while she is on the rampage. This school has never been the same since she came.

She seems to have upset everything."

Nancy offered to contribute an article on "Characteristics of School Celebrities--Literary and Sportive," and refused to be coaxed to a more decorous subject. "That, or nothing!" was her mandate, so down it went on the synopsis, followed, by way of contrast, by Mary Webster's "Essay on Ancient Greece," and the head girl's "Great Women of History." Beryl Turner, who had a pa.s.sion for figure drawing, unjustified by skill, submitted half a dozen sketches of an impossible young woman apparently entirely devoid of joints, to explain which she proposed to write a story, thus entirely reversing the usual process of ill.u.s.tration; and, fired by a desire to show her own artistic superiority, Dreda hastily embellished her own paper with two vignette paintings of her own heroines. Leila, with luxuriant locks of yellow, splashed with green, and Dolores with inky hair and eyes of a rich gamboge. On the afternoon of the fourteenth day of the month Dreda spent her recreation hour in arranging the collected sheets to the best advantage, and in fastening them within the cover of an old exercise book. She was aglow with self- satisfaction at having accomplished her task in time, and intended to lay special stress on the fact in her next letter home and so win from the home circle that admiration and praise which her schoolfellows were so slow to bestow.

On the whole, she was well pleased with the result of her labours, and looked forward with a lively curiosity to Miss Drake's comments and criticisms. When the booklet was finished and a printed label pasted in the middle of the black cover, she laid it carefully inside her desk and went to rejoin her companions by the study fire. They stopped talking as she approached, and began to "rag" in true school fas.h.i.+on.

"Here comes our literary friend. Quite worn out with the strain of her intellectual efforts! Sit down, my love, and calm your fevered brow!"

This from Barbara, while Norah cried scornfully:

"Look at her fingers--inked to the joints! Anyone could tell she was a budding author!"

"Did you tie the papers together with blue ribbon? That's an absolute necessity. I have a piece I could give you."

"Thank you, Nancy. I'll accept it with pleasure--for my hair. The book is finished and needs no tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. It looks beautifully neat and professional. I can't show it to anyone until my--my colleague has seen it and made her alterations; but as soon as it comes back--"

She nodded in condescending fas.h.i.+on, and the girls chuckled and exchanged twinkling glances.

"`My colleague'! That's good!"

"Good word, Dreda! Bring that in in your story. It has a fine effect."

"I'm thankful it is finished at last. We shall be able to sleep in peace to-night without being disturbed by your plunging and snortings.

I've always heard that geniuses were trying to live with, but they are even worse by night than by day!"

"At what time are you going to present the Opus to your colleague?

After prep, to-morrow? Then I beg to suggest that until it has been reviewed and the verdict pa.s.sed the subject shall be forbidden. The strain is _too_ great!"

Norah rolled her eyes, a performance rendered weirdly effective by the presence of her large round gla.s.ses, and the other girls taking up the clue, flopped in their seats, leant feebly against a neighbouring shoulder, and fanned themselves faintly with their handkerchiefs. As a rule, Dreda was as quick to take offence as she was to forgive, but this afternoon she manifested no signs of irritation. "They laugh who win,"

and no one could deny that she had won this time--won all along the line--in gaining consent to the establishment of a magazine, in obtaining the post of sub-editor; lastly, and most striking of all, in being ready up to time, despite the gloomy prophecies to the contrary.

For the next twenty-four hours she was her brightest, most charming self, so radiant with happiness that she overflowed with sympathy and kindness to all around. She nursed little Vida Neale, the baby of the school, on her knee, and recounted such fascinating stories that earache was forgotten in squeals of delighted merriment. She went up early to dress for the evening and carried hot water to the cubicles of her four best friends; she talked in the most amiable of fas.h.i.+ons to poor, dull Fraulein at supper; listened to remarks on the superiority of Germany with a self-control bordering on the miraculous; and finally laid her head down on the pillow of her bed with the feeling of being at peace with all the world.

"Prosperity suits me," she told herself, snuggling cosily beneath the clothes. "It brings out the best points in my disposition. I ought never to be crossed!"

The next morning pa.s.sed slowly. Dreda did not distinguish herself at lessons, and it was with a somewhat strained manner that Miss Drake crossed the room to speak to her at the end of the preparation hour.

She had been obliged to find fault with her new pupil several times in the course of the day's cla.s.ses. There was that in her manner which showed that she feared lest yet another reprimand might be necessary.

"Dreda, have you remembered that to-day is the fifteenth of the month?"

"Yes, Miss Drake."

"Have you the synopsis of the school magazine ready to show me?"

"Yes, Miss Drake."