Angela Brazil

Mavis and Merle had been so tremendously interested in the romantic story of Bevis, as related by Jessop, that it had almost wiped from their minds the meeting with Gwen Williams and the rather unpleasant episode in the garden at The Warren. On the two occasions that they had encountered her she had made a very unfavourable impression upon them, so they were more surprised than pleased when on Tuesday morning she turned up at the French class. She walked into the room as if her presence were a favour, nodded to Opal Earnshaw, gave a half recognition to Edith and Maude Carey, but took no notice of anybody else, indeed she conspicuously turned her back on Aubrey Simpson and Muriel Burnitt.

"What's Miss Conceit doing here?" Merle whispered to Iva. "I hope she's not going to come every day."

"Gwen? Oh no! She and Babbie only come for French twice a week, and on dancing afternoons. They have a governess at home, and motor over here for special lessons. You don't like her? I don't think any of us do much, except Opal, who toadies to her most fearfully. She's always fishing for invitations to The Warren."

"It's a matter of taste," replied Merle. "I'm sure I wouldn't want to go to The Warren if I was asked."

But at that moment Mademoiselle, who had entered the room and taken her seat, glared at Iva and Merle for silence, and the lesson commenced. The class lasted from 2.30 to 3.30, after which the Williams's car was supposed to be in waiting to bear them back to Chagmouth, and the girls at The Moorings were due at a hockey practice. To-day, however, fate interfered with both of these events. The chauffeur sent a message to Gwen and Babbie that the car was undergoing some necessary repairs at the garage in Durracombe and would not be ready for at least an hour, and pouring rain put a stop to all plans of hockey.

Boarders and day-girls alike collected disconsolately in the playroom. Miss Pollard had given orders that nobody was to go home until the heavy shower was over, so the whole school were temporary prisoners.

Mavis, sitting on one of the lockers, and listening to the general grousing going on around her, shook herself impatiently.

"What a set of stupids they are," she whispered to Merle. "Always down in the dumps about everything. Can't we wake them up somehow? I vote we get up an impromptu stunt. It would be more fun than sitting grumbling. Why shouldn't we do that scene we had at the Whinburn High last term? You remember? Aunt Laetitia, I mean. You take the aunt, and I'll take Adelaide, and Iva and Nesta could be Dora and Marjorie. We'd explain their parts to them directly, there isn't much for them to do except back up Adelaide."

"Topping!" agreed Merle. "There'll be heaps of time. Here come Iva and Nesta. I'll take them into the cloakroom and coach them while you suggest the idea. It ought to catch on surely. I'll leave you to explain."

Merle secured Iva and Nesta and bore them off to give them a hasty outline of the sketch which they were to produce. Mavis meantime mounted a chair, and, clapping her hands to secure attention, made her proposal.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she started humorously. "I always begin 'Ladies and Gentlemen', even if there aren't any gentlemen present, because it's the proper thing to say and sounds nice. If you don't mind listening to me for a moment there's something I want to suggest to you. This rain is the absolute limit, and it's rather grizzly we can't go out to hockey. As we're all boxed up here, how would you like a ten minutes' stunt? Merle and I and two others can give you a short sketch if you care to listen. Anybody who wants to act audience, please squat on the floor."

BOTH MAVIS AND MERLE LET THEMSELVES GO

Page 89

The girls looked considerably astonished, but nevertheless seemed to welcome Mavis's proposal. They sat down as requested, most of them on the floor, but a few on chairs or lockers, seemingly prepared to listen to anything that was provided for them. They had not to wait long. Mavis and Merle were adepts in arranging lightning changes of costume, and could assume a character in a moment by the addition of a hat, a coat, or a handkerchief. Acting came naturally to them, and they loved nothing better than impromptu performances. They walked in now, attired, the one as a straight-laced, elderly lady, and the other as her ultra-fashionable niece, and supported by Iva and Nesta, whose speeches consisted mostly of "Yes" and "No", commenced a brisk and most amusing dialogue, in which the aunt deplored the attitude of the modern girl, and contrasted her with the maiden of mid-Victorian days, while the niece held a brief for present-day damsels, and gave a lively defence of their doings.Both Mavis and Merle thoroughly let themselves go. They threw themselves entirely into their parts, and by speech, manner, and action reproduced the characters they represented, quite carrying the audience with them. When they stopped at the end of their little sketch they were greeted by a storm of clapping. The girls at The Moorings had never seen acting like that before and were most enthusiastic over it.

"It was ripping!" approved Opal. "I say, we must have some more of this sort of thing. I call it A1."

"I don't know however you did it!" exclaimed Babbie Williams. (She had been standing open-eyed during the performance and was now gazing at Mavis and Merle as if she considered them geniuses in disguise.) "I'm so glad our car wasn't ready. I wouldn't have missed this for anything, would you, Gwen?" (turning impulsively to her sister).

Gwen, who had clapped with the rest, did not answer. She too was staring at Mavis and Merle, looking at them as if they were some strange new creatures whom she could not yet comprehend. Apparently they did not fit in with any of her preconceived standards. Meeting Merle's eyes, she turned hastily away. A boarder brought a message that their car was at the door, so, summoning Babbie, she made a hasty exit without bidding good-bye to anybody, even to Opal.

On the strength of the very favourable reception accorded to their first venture in the line of drama, Mavis and Merle held a long private confabulation, and decided to try and start a society to stir up the school.

"They've nothing," said Mavis, "absolutely nothing! And I see possibilities of such fun! We ought to get up sing-songs and plays, and ten dozen other things. I call it an opportunity."

"Yes, if Opal doesn't butt in and turn everything upside down. We shall have her to reckon with I expect."

"Oh, bother Opal! She's not the only girl in the school."

"No, but she thinks she is."

"Give her a decent part and she'll like it as much as anybody." "She's not going to be top-dog all along the line, though."

"Well, we can't leave her out of it. I suppose she'll have her turn just the same as other people, and we'll leave it at that."

Next day, therefore, the Ramsays went to school bristling with ideas, and, calling a mass meeting in the playroom, made their proposals. The girls, who were ready for anything in the way of variety, accepted the innovations with alacrity, and in the course of the quarter of an hour allotted to lunch they formed a society, the object of which was, as Mavis expressed it, "to stir things up a little and have acting and sing-songs and any other fun that comes along". They fixed Wednesday afternoon from 4 o'clock to 4.30 for their first meeting.

"Miss Pollard won't mind our staying half an hour after school when she knows what it's for," declared Opal. "We'll have our—what did you call it?—symposium, then, and I dare say she'll give us other times too if we want to rehearse for a play. It would be prime to get up something big for the end of the term, wouldn't it? Who's going to read papers on Wednesday? Hands up those who'll volunteer?"

"Not much time to write anything before then," grumbled Nesta.

"It needn't be original unless you like," put in Mavis. "For this first time you may recite some poetry if you want. It's just to get us all together and make a start." "Are those kids going to be in it?" objected Muriel, with a baneful eye on the juniors.

"There's no harm in their coming to listen. It's really more fun if there's an audience. In a thing like this it's a case of 'the more the merrier'. I vote the whole school turns up on Wednesday at four."

"Yes, yes! Don't leave us out of it!" squeaked the small fry, in much terror lest they should be excluded from the delightful ceremony.

"Will you promise to sit as mum as mice and not interrupt?"

"We'll be absolute mascots!"

Mavis and Merle, as originators of the innovations, felt a little anxious when Wednesday afternoon arrived. It is one thing to carry on old-established societies, where you can quote the traditions of years and the opinions of many past head-girls, and quite another to float them in a school where nothing of the sort has ever been formulated before. Opal's high-handed ways would probably be the main obstacle, but Mavis thought that with tact even Opal might be managed. As soon as ever afternoon classes were over every girl at The Moorings crowded into the playroom. There was a considerable amount of giggling and chattering, especially among the younger ones, but Merle, who was accustomed to public meetings, called out "Sh-sh!" in loud tones, and, mounting a locker, took advantage of the gap of silence to make an announcement.

"The first business of the meeting is to elect a chairwoman. Will one of you please nominate somebody and we'll put it to the vote?"

The girls looked at one another, and out of sheer force of habit began to murmur "Opal", but Iva Westwood stood up, and, turning rather pink, proclaimed:

"I should like to nominate Mavis for the chair. She knows more about it than any of the rest of us; and she'll show us what we ought to do, and put us in the way of running the society properly."

"And I've much pleasure in seconding her," said Nesta eagerly. "Hands up all in favour of Mavis!"

The vote was unanimous. Even Opal held up her hand quite readily. She would yield place to Mavis, though she would not have transferred an ounce of authority to Merle. Mavis was hustled forward into the seat of honour and took her place amid applause.

She made a winsome little president, with her blue eyes and her dull-gold hair, and everybody looked at her in expectation.

"As this is our first symposium," she began, "I want to explain that it's a meeting partly to have fun and enjoy ourselves and partly to give all members an opportunity of showing what they can do. Did I hear somebody say 'showing-off?' That's a nasty way of putting it! We want everybody to do something to entertain the meeting. Of course there isn't time in one afternoon for you all to have turns, so I shall only call upon a few, and the rest must wait for another time. I'll now ask Opal Earnshaw to read us her contribution."

It was tactful of Mavis to give Opal the first innings. She stood up at once, looking quite pleased. She had spent more than an hour the evening before writing a story, and was rather proud of her first-born literary bantling. Her tastes inclined towards melodrama, so she had chosen a scene allowing full scope for romance. She unrolled her manuscript, cleared her throat a trifle nervously, and began:

COUNT BERTINO'S BRIDE

It was a glorious moonlight night in the fair Island of Corsica. Outside in the garden the air was heavy with the scent of southern flowers, and nightingales warbled in a concert of joy. The lovely Lady Elvira, only daughter and heiress of the Duke of Alezzo, leaned over the marble balustrade of the piazza, pensively gazing at the beauty of the scene before her. A scarlet camellia adorned her dark tresses, and round her swan-like neck was wreathed a rope of priceless pearls. She sighed as she gazed at the calm and peaceful landscape, for red riot raged within her heart.

"Francesca!" she called to one of her maidens, "has Bernardo not yet returned? I pray you send a page in search of news. 'Tis seldom he tarries so late."

"I go, my lady!" and Francesca sped on her errand.

Left alone, Elvira paced the piazza with impatient footsteps. A dark figure moving among the flowers below was suddenly seen in the pale moonlight. The lady sprang to the balustrade.

"Bernardo! Bernardo! Is it thou?" she whispered in tones tremulous with agitation. But her cheeks blanched, as instead of the longed-for features of her lover appeared the hated visage of her arch enemy Count Bertino.

"Ha, ha, lovely lady, at last I have found thee alone! Time allows me not to beat about the bush, and, rough warrior as I am, my suit must be brief. Too long hast thou trifled with me. Redeem thy promise and wed me!"

"Never!" moaned Elvira. "My heart is given to another!"

"And that other," triumphed the Count, "is now in my power. He lies in my darkest dungeon loaded with chains. Wed me, and he will be restored to liberty. Refuse, and by the tombs of my ancestors he dies the death!"

"Wretch!" panted Elvira, "you have trapped me! But have a care! I may yet escape from your toils. Swear, by all you hold sacred, that at the hour of our nuptials Bernardo will be released and sent with a safe convoy to Rome."

"I swear! Yet thou shalt not escape!"

Great were the preparations for the wedding of the powerful Count Bertino and the heiress Elvira, yet of all the gifts showered upon her the one treasured most by the bride was an emerald ring sent by Albaro, the Moorish alchemist. As she turned it upon her finger she murmured, "'Tis my gate to freedom".

Beautiful in her bridal jewels, but pale as a lily, she approached the altar, and uttered the fateful words which bound her to the Count, but as he turned to lift her veil and claim her as his wife—

"It is enough!" she cried, "I have freed him and I pass onward to my rest," and, falling backward to the ground, she expired. Her emerald ring was a poisoned one, and by pressing its points into her fair white hand she had placed herself for ever beyond the power of the cruel and revengeful Count Bertino.

Opal sat down, out of breath but covered with glory. Quite a thrill passed round the room at so romantic a story.

"O-o-h! It ought to be put on the cinema," suggested Maude Carey. "I can see it all—the balustrade and the moonlight and the count coming, and then the wedding scene. How did you think of it?"

"Oh, it just came somehow," admitted Opal modestly.

"Well, it's ripping anyway."

"Only very sad," objected Muriel.

"Tales like that nearly always are sad," put in Mavis; "it wouldn't be so romantic somehow if it turned out happily."

"Couldn't the lovers have run away?"

"Of course not," said Opal sharply. "Bernardo wasn't to be released until the wedding was over."

"Did he get off after all, or did Bertino break his word?"

"Look here! you mustn't ask so many questions," interrupted Mavis. "If we don't hurry on we shall never finish our programme. Perhaps we'd better take a comic turn next. Merle, will you give us 'The Dandy Musician'?"

There was a piano in the playroom, and Merle moved forwards towards it. Her contribution was in the nature of a humorous entertainment.

"I'm going to show you," she explained, "how Professor Vladimir Limpidimpidumpski gave a recital in the Town Hall of Gapeford before an audience of the most distinguished people in the neighbourhood."

Merle was a capital little actress, and she took off the ways of a conceited pianist in a most amusing fashion. She twirled the music-stool energetically, sat down with great pomp, threw back her hair, flung her hands in the air, touched the keys with much affectation, thumped a growling bass, and ran a finger up and down the treble, gazing meanwhile at the ceiling with an air of intense sentiment. Then she hunched up her shoulders and made a violent and wild onslaught on the instrument, banging chords furiously with the weight of her whole arms, and rolling her head as if in frenzy; a sudden pause was followed by a faint tinkle in the treble, then up went the arms again, her head went down in the middle, and she finished by a tremendous thump at either end of the piano, while her nose played the central C.

The tremendous bows which she returned in answer to the applause were part of the performance, and provoked more clapping. The girls clamoured for an encore, but at that she shook her head.

"Professor Vladimir Limpidimpidumpski never gives encores," she declared. "He says it takes it out of him, and he can only do it once." "Poor, frail flower," laughed Nesta. "Send him to a nursing-home for a rest cure."

"Right-o! And we'll have your contribution while he goes."

"Oh no!"

"Yes, yes! Don't be bashful! Come along!"

"It's your turn, Nesta, really," urged Mavis, as chairwoman of the proceedings.

So Nesta, protesting but rather pleased all the same, was pushed forward and volunteered to give a recitation. It was quite a good one too, spirited and amusing, and fortunately not too long to hold the engrossed attention of the listeners. They clapped it warmly, and Nesta bowed, but, following Merle's example, declined to give an encore.

"We'd better scoot on with the programme or we'll never get through till next week," she declared.

Maude had brought a piano solo, which the girls received politely but coldly, evidently considering it was not the sort of contribution they wanted. Muriel warbled a song in a rather weak, thin voice. Edith was known to have a manuscript in her pocket, but blushed scarlet and utterly refused to produce it, giving up her turn to Iva, who tried a recitation but broke down in the middle. Things were getting a little slack, and time was running on very fast, so Merle, who knew Mavis had prepared a literary contribution, called for an item from "The Chair".

"Yes, yes!" squealed everybody. "Go on, Mrs. Chairwoman. It's your turn now. We're not going home without your piece. Hurry up before Miss Fanny comes worrying in. She said we might have half an hour, but she should break up the meeting if we went on any longer than that. Chair, please!"

So Mavis, who had produced a manuscript the evening before, considerably at the cost of her preparation, and was secretly dying to read it, though she did not wish to push herself unduly, gave a hasty glance at her watch, reduced some giggling youngsters to silence, and commenced to read.

THE SPOOK HUNTERS
A TALE OF YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY

It had always been the ambition of Tom and Morris to see a good old-fashioned genuine specimen of a ghost or spectre; but though they had visited houses bearing a reputation of being haunted, and had hung about churchyards at midnight, and had even attended sÉances, their innocent and perfectly natural wish had never been gratified. They were beginning to come to the regretful conclusion that they were not psychic subjects, and therefore incapable of seeing spirits, when once more their hopes rose with a bound. They received an invitation to stay at Cawdor Castle, an ancient building which on really reliable evidence possessed no less than six resident family ghosts, and a few extra visiting spectres as well.

After begging for the most haunted of all the haunted rooms, Tom and Morris retired to bed with very reasonable expectations of at last obtaining a peep of a real old-world spook. For some time they tried to keep awake and on the look-out, but in spite of their efforts their eyes closed, and they slept and snored. The clock was striking the hour of midnight when Tom suddenly awoke. The moonlight, in orthodox fashion, was streaming into the room, and by his bedside stood a queer, half-transparent old gentleman in a court costume.

"Hello! Who the dickens are you?" exclaimed Tom. "You don't mean to tell me you're actually one of the family ghosts?"

"The same—at your service!" replied the old gentleman with a stately bow. "I am Sir Rupert, the second of that name, who lived in the reign of Queen Anne, of blessed memory!"

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure!" replied Tom heartily. "Can you introduce me to any more of the family?"

"With pleasure, if you don't object to accompany me into the picture gallery. We are celebrating an anniversary to-night, and you would find us all at home."

"Right-o!" agreed Tom, jumping out of bed and following the ghost.

His spectre friend led him upstairs and into the big gallery of the castle, where quite an assemblage of spirits of various periods was collected, some in armour, some in silks and satins, and some in shrouds. On a dais sat a magnificent individual in a coat of mail, holding a shield emblazoned with the royal arms.

"King Edward I, the founder of the family!" explained Sir Rupert, taking Tom to be introduced. "Don't be frightened at his Plantagenet manners! He means no harm!"

"Thanks for the hint!" returned Tom, bowing politely towards the dais as he approached.

"What, Sirrah! Hast thou no knee for thy Prince?" exclaimed the King angrily. "Make thy obeisance instantly, or by the sprig of broom in my helmet I'll clap thee in prison and torture thee!"

"Come, come, Edward my boy," murmured a fatherly-looking ghost at his elbow. "How often have I to tell you that these things really aren't done nowadays! You must adapt yourself and learn to march with the times. A court bow is really all that can be required from him, and if you——"

"Oh, please don't worry," interrupted Tom. "I'll adapt my manners to any period that pleases him if you'll kindly coach me as to exactly what he wants me to do. I take it he wishes me to kneel."

And down went Tom on his knees, anxious to oblige, but, to his great surprise, as he touched the floor he fell completely through, and found himself back in bed with the sun streaming through the window, and Morris, whom he had quite forgotten to introduce to the ghosts, snoring comfortably by his side.

Some of the girls sniggered at Mavis's story, a few timorous ones shuddered at the bare idea of ghosts, and some of the small fry asked if it were true; but just as Mavis was comforting them with the assurance that it was absolute fiction, Miss Fanny opened the door of the playroom and brought the symposium to an end.

"You day girls must go home at once," she decreed. "I gave you half an hour, but I can't have you lingering here any longer. Iva, you ought to be practising. You little ones must go and wash your hands!" and, separating her flock like sheep and goats, she swept the boarders away to their various duties or occupations, and sent the rest to their several homes.

"I don't think Miss Fanny altogether likes our society," ventured Merle, as the Ramsays walked down the High Street.

"She's afraid of anything new, that's evident," said Mavis. "She's lived in an out-of-the-way corner of the world and doesn't know what goes on in other schools. Well, we've made a beginning and had our symposium!"

"And a jolly good one too! The girls said it was topping, and they're just clamouring to have another."