CHAPTER II

THE SENIORS OF CARSLAKE's

With the clang of the everlasting bell in her ears Kitty awoke, wondering for a few minutes where she could be, and almost thinking she was back in her little bunk on board the _Wallaroon_.

Then she heard a yawn, and a sleepy voice, "Oh, bother! Was that rising bell?" and Hilary's voice in answer, "Yes, Peggy my child, it was. What's more, I can see it raining out of my window."

"Oh, blow!" said another voice. "Shan't get up then. Wake me by twenty to eight, somebody, please, if I fall asleep again."

"Get up, you lazy kids," said Hilary sternly. "It's disgraceful, the way you lie in bed when you might have a run round the field before breakfast or a turn in the gym. No wonder we never get represented in gym displays. You know it's the rule to turn out when rising bell goes."

"Bother the bell!" said the voice of Peggy. "And you can't make us, Hilary. Duane is head of this dormitory, not you."

"Well, you ought to have a mistress sleeping next door, like the other dormitories. You'd have to alter your ways a little then. Are you awake, Kitty?"

"I should hope so," replied Kitty promptly. "I couldn't very well stay asleep with all this talking going on."

"Bless you, there are plenty who do. Are you getting up?"

"Yes," answered Kitty, jumping out of bed with a spring.

"Good. I'll take you along to the gym for a look-round before breakfast. Be ready by a quarter to eight, won't you?"

"All right," answered Kitty at once. "Where do I get water from?"

"Oh, one of the juniors will get you hot water from the bathroom, if you put your jug outside your cubicle."

Kitty was quite ready when Hilary knocked for admittance. By that time, the rest of the dormitory, from the noise they were making, had evidently turned out.

"Half a tick," said Hilary. "I must perform my usual morning's task." She raised her voice.

"Duane, are you awake?"

A sleepy voice made reply:

"No. 'Tisn't time to get up yet."

"Yes, it is," replied Hilary firmly. "Hurry up and turn out."

"What's the time?" said the same drawling voice.

"A quarter to eight."

"Oh well, I can just do it in ten minutes. Call me at ten to."

"I'm just going. You'll be late one of these days. You know last term you were hardly ever properly dressed for breakfast."

"I'll count three and jump out on the 'three.'"

"Hurry up then."

"One----" began the speaker with the tired voice, and paused.

"Two----"

A still longer pause.

"Two and a half."

Another pause, then:

"Two and three quarters."

"Oh, go on," said Hilary. "Two and seven eighths! I'm going now, anyway," and patience evidently not being her strong point, she walked out of the dormitory, throwing a "Come along, Kitty," over her shoulder as she did so.

Now Kitty's cubicle was next to the one belonging to the tired individual. She had been listening to the conversation with a feeling of mingled pity and contempt, for slacking of any sort made no appeal whatever to the vigorous, active Australian girl. As Hilary walked out, Kitty's glance fell on her wet sponge, lying on the washstand. Catching it up, she sprang lightly on to the edge of the bed, caught hold of the top of the partition, and judging the whereabouts of the invisible speaker's face by careful guesswork, squirted the contents of the sponge over the partition. Apparently the shower of water found its mark, for there was the sound of a gasp and a violent creak of the bed. Kitty, judging discretion to be the better part of valour, hastily dropped the sponge and slipped swiftly out of the dormitory, catching Hilary up in the passage outside.

The two walked on together.

"Who's the girl you called Duane?" inquired Kitty, wondering why the unusual name sounded familiar, till, the next instant, she remembered the trunk at the station and its flaunting lettering. Wouldn't the boys at home laugh when she told them in her letter that one of her first acts in England was to squirt water over a member of the British aristocracy!

"Oh, you'll soon get to know who Duane is," replied Hilary. "She's just been appointed head prefect of our house. She's in my form, the Upper Fifth."

"Oh!" said Kitty, remembering the conversation in the train between Eileen and Salome. So this was the girl they had been discussing so freely! Somehow or other, though she had not seen her yet, Kitty was quite sure she was not going to like her head prefect.

When breakfast was over, Miss Carslake announced that the Principal wanted to see all the school prefects in her room that morning. "She also wishes to see all the senior girls of the house," the mistress added; "so those who are not prefects must also be ready after chapel."

Of course there was a certain amount of excitement at this unusual proceeding, and many reasons were suggested for it.

"Shall I have to go?" inquired Kitty.

"Oh, yes. Come along. You're sure to be in the Upper or Lower Fifth, so you must look upon yourself as a senior."

Consequently, about ten o'clock, Kitty found herself with the six other senior girls of her house in the sanctum of Miss St. Leger, Principal of Easthampton College. She was very popular with her girls, who were wont to declare that they could not imagine Easthampton without her.

The seniors sat gravely on chairs in a little semicircle. Kitty, through hearing them address one another, had already learned their names, and surveyed them interestedly, for these were to be her future companions. There was, first of all, the slight, fair Hilary, insignificant in appearance but ready of tongue and decidedly shrewd of brain. Then there were the Lower Fifth-formers sitting side by side. Margaret Batt was liked by everybody; she was a nice, simple, unaffected English girl, not brilliant in any way, but always ready to lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it. Sonia Edwards was a pretty, golden-haired, smartly dressed girl, inclined to be vain and rather empty-headed, though not ill-natured. Kitty rather sweepingly described her to herself as a "fluffy-haired, dressed-up doll." Bertha Salter was not very prepossessing in appearance. She had straight, carroty hair, a sturdy but stockily-built figure, and a rather heavy, sullen expression. Kitty fancied she looked rather sly, then quickly reproved herself for an unkind thought about a total stranger. The girl was very likely quite a decent sort. She couldn't help her looks.

There remained the other two Upper Fifth-formers. The second of the three prefects was the chestnut-haired girl who played the organ for chapel services. She was not exactly pretty, but there was something distinctive about her carriage and dress. Later, Kitty discovered that Francesca Kent had a natural taste for art, and was firmly and proudly convinced that she had what she called an "artistic temperament," though in reality she had the sweetest of tempers. She was quite a character in the school.

Last, but not least, was the Hon. Duane l'Estrange Estevan. Kitty decided that there was nothing insignificant about her looks, at least. She was as tall and long-limbed as Kitty herself, but there the resemblance stopped. She was rather broader of shoulder, and there was nothing awkward or angular about her. Her hair was black and thick and cut in a straight mediæval bob; her complexion was inclined to be sallow; her eyes were very grey and formed a curious contrast to her black hair and eyebrows, looking remarkably vivid and luminous in their dark setting. She lounged, rather than sat, in her chair and listened with a blasé, preoccupied indifference to what the revered Principal was saying. Duane's voice was curiously soft, with a decided drawl in it; her movements, too, were listless and deliberate. She was an English aristocrat from head to foot, Kitty told herself, and Kitty had all a self-respecting Australian's contempt for the English aristocracy.

Now the Principal was speaking to them, and Kitty's whole attention was fixed on her words.

"I wanted specially to say just a few words to the older girls in Miss Carslake's House. I expect you can guess what I want to say. To put it frankly, girls, I don't like to see one of the houses so hopelessly below all the others in both school work and sports."

"Well, somebody must be bottom, Miss St. Leger," remarked Frances Kent brightly. Francesca loudly and frequently proclaimed that she was not really interested in anything except art.

"True, Frances," replied Miss St. Leger, "but not always--nor in everything--nor so easily."

"Oh, but surely, Miss St. Leger," protested Duane in her tired voice, "it is not so bad as that."

Miss St. Leger smiled. "Perhaps I was exaggerating a little, for your own good. I want to see you girls rouse yourselves, and make up your minds that your house isn't going to take bottom place in everything. Let us look at a few facts fairly. Last year this house only carried off two prizes among the seniors, Frances first in drawing, and Hilary second in English. Neither did your juniors earn the number they could have done. You have plenty of intelligent juniors, if they would only make up their minds to try.

"Now look at sports. You are going to be bottom this year if you don't make a big effort this term. Are you going to win any cricket or tennis matches, or any of the events on Sports Day? As you are a long way behind the others at present, you will have to make a big effort to catch up."

"We are handicapped, Miss St. Leger," said Duane. "We are so few numerically."

"Yes, I know your house is smaller than Sheerston's or Prince's, but no smaller than Miss Green's, and they are making quite a plucky fight for scholastic honours and the House Sports Shield."

"I did not quite mean the number of girls in the house, Miss St. Leger," the head prefect defended herself. "I was referring to the number of seniors. After all, it is the seniors who form the backbone of the house teams. There are only seven of us; Sheerston's, for example, have over twenty."

"True again. Of course you have been unfortunate in losing three senior girls in the middle of the school year--a most unusual occurrence. That is why I put the only new senior girl this term in your house. But it is quality, as well as quantity, that counts." She looked at the listening girls, and a smile flashed over her face, smoothing out its lines and wrinkles. "You were studying Henry V last term in the Upper Fifth, weren't you, girls? Accept his point of view, then--the fewer fighters, the greater share of glory," and with a few more parting words of encouragement, she dismissed them.

Kitty found the rest of that day one whirl of "settling down." First of all, with half a dozen other new girls, all younger, she was put through a searching oral examination by Miss Sheerston, in order to be "placed." Kitty, whose nerves hindered her, acquitted herself more creditably than she had hoped.

Miss Sheerston was a queer, masculine-looking person, with a shirt blouse, high collar, and grey hair strained back from her face, but her manner was brisk, kindly, and invigorating in the extreme; her own girls thought the world of their house mistress. She praised Kitty's mathematics, declared her French to be appalling, and finally said, "You are sixteen, you say. Well, I don't see why you shouldn't make a shot for removal into the Sixth Form next term. Only you would have to give up any idea of taking extra classes, for the present, and devote extra time to your French."

Kitty, feeling that she would have quite enough to cope with in the Upper Fifth, and then in the Sixth, as it was, hastily disclaimed any desire to take special classes, and so it was settled that she should join the ranks of the most elevated members of her own house in the Upper Fifth.

In her few leisure moments she was busily arranging her part of the study she was to share with Hilary. All Sixth-formers were entitled to studies, of which they were very proud, sharing one between two. As there were now no Sixth-formers at Carslake's, the four studies were handed over to the Fifths, Upper and Lower.

Kitty rather wished she had been put in one of the other houses, not because Carslake's was the bottom house and bore rather a poor reputation, but because she was not particularly drawn to any one of her companions there. They were nice girls in their way, but there was not one of them whose tastes were sufficiently in common with Kitty's to make her desirable as a special chum. Hilary was quiet and reserved; besides, she was not allowed to play games, and half Kitty's enjoyment and interest in life came from games and outdoor exercises. Frances Kent was a being from another world altogether. So was the head prefect; her queer personality made no appeal to Kitty, who liked people who said what they meant and called a spade a spade and not a garden implement.

"If only jolly Paddy or that clever-looking Salome girl had been in this house," she thought, regretfully, "they would have made things hum between them. But these are evidently a hopeless lot."

On the evening of the second day, Hilary came into the study with the announcement, "All seniors to be in Cato's study at three-thirty to-morrow."

Afternoon lessons finished at three-fifteen, and from then till tea-time, at five, everybody was free to play games, go for a walk, or, if it were very wet, amuse themselves indoors.

"Who's Cato?" inquired Kitty, looking puzzled.

"Cato? Why, the Hon. Duane of course. Nearly everyone gets a nickname of some sort. The meeting is to talk over Prinny's little welcoming lecture."

"I don't see much good in talking," retorted Kitty. "It's doing that matters."

"Well, as far as sports are concerned, I don't see there's much we can do. Duane is the only one who is much good at them. I'm forced to be a looker-on, worse luck. Somebody wants to explode a bomb-shell in our midst and wake everybody up."

The seven seniors duly met. Hilary and Kitty were the first arrivals. They found Duane sprawling in the easy-chair with a book in her lap, and Frances, enveloped in an overall of bird-of-paradise hue, busily dabbing at a large sheet of paper mounted on an easel.

"Come in, come in," called out the head prefect, in her soft drawl. "I know France is taking up all the room with her horrible mess, but you'll just have to sit down where you can--so long as you don't sit down on tubes of paint. You see what I have to put up with every day! Lumps of putty--I mean clay--everywhere."

"Don't rot, Duane," said France. "Art's a serious matter. There's nothing funny about it, as some people seem to think."

"'Tisn't the art that's funny, my dear," returned Duane. "It's the artist."

"'But what is it supposed to be?" inquired Hilary, surveying the artist's work with puzzled face.

The others, who had now all arrived, proffered various suggestions.

"A storm at sea," said Margaret.

"A futurist--or is it a cubist?--portrait of a lady," suggested Bertha.

"No. I've got it!" exclaimed Hilary. "One of those puzzle thingummies. Little Red Riding Hood walking through the wood. Find the wolf."

"Don't talk rot," said the artist again. "You know it isn't any of those things."

"But seriously, France," argued Hilary, "it's like nothing on earth that I've seen, anyway."

"Of course it isn't," said France, impatiently. "You see, it's upside-down. It's a new idea; to paint a picture upside-down so that you can visualize upside-down. Don't you understand?"

"Well, who on earth wants to visualize upside-down?"

"Turn it up," said Duane, "so that we can see what it's meant to be."

France did so. They all gazed at it in silence, till at last Margaret said hesitatingly:

"Don't--don't you think you've got it a bit mixed up, France, and the--the other way was the right way up after all? That looked more as if it might be something than--than this does."

The artist's face was a study of mingled feelings. Everybody burst into a roar of laughter, so that in the noise nobody heard the sound of a knock, or became aware of Paddy's entry until they heard her voice behind them.

"I say, is this France's upside-down picture? Why couldn't you stand on your heads and look at it, instead of turning it round? 'Twould seem more worth-while painting it, if you did that."

Kitty could no longer hold herself modestly in the background, as became a new girl.

"Let's try," she cried excitedly, and proceeded to balance herself on her hands, feet in the air. Of course, Paddy tried to follow her example, till the indignant artist tumbled her over with a sounding thump. When the confusion had somewhat subsided Duane wanted to know what Paddy was doing "trespassing on hallowed ground."

"How unkind it is of you, Duane," said Paddy, reproachfully, "when I'm saving you a little journey. Salome's sent over a copy of the rules you head prefects drew up at the meeting."

"Same old rules, I suppose?" inquired Bertha.

"Oh yes," said Duane, carelessly. "They're practically unaltered, needless to say."

"Still," put in Paddy, "as you've a new girl here, I'd better read them out for her benefit."

"You can if you like," returned Duane, indifferently, but with a faint smile twitching the corner of her mouth. She knew Paddy of old.

So Paddy picked up the paper, cleared her throat and began:

"No. 1.--No junior is allowed blacking on her boots more than once a month.

"No. 2.--Juniors must wash at least once a day.

"No. 3.--Only members of house elevens allowed to wear carpet slippers at hockey.

"No. 4.--Juniors must shut their eyes properly at grace, but seniors can keep theirs open to see the juniors don't.

"No. 5.--Only members of the school first elevens allowed to wear their sports blazers unbuttoned.

"No. 6.--Only girls with gym colours allowed to slide down the banisters.

"No. 7.----"

"Here, stow it," interrupted Hilary, laughing. "I should think Kitty is of the opinion that that's enough for one go."

"Quite enough to convince me that Paddy has a very fertile imagination," retorted Kitty, promptly.

"Sure," said Paddy, with a sigh. "I was afraid my efforts would be wasted on you. You've lived long enough in the world to know a little too much. Never mind," brightening up, "we've a couple of new juniors in our house, quite youngsters; I really think it's my duty to instruct them in the rules of the school. So I will, as sure as eggs is meat," and she departed, chuckling.

"What about our meeting?" said Duane, when Paddy had disappeared. "Seems to me we've got a pretty big job on, if we take on all Prinny's little hints."

"Too late to do much this year," said France. "If I take my first in art again, I shall be quite satisfied."

"What about you others?" said Hilary, slowly. "Let's see what we can muster up in the way of prizes."

"Precious little, I bet," returned Duane. "I'm in the running for second prize in science, but Salome will take the first. I can't beat her."

"And of course I'm in the running for an English prize again," remarked Hilary. "But one can never be certain."

Margaret declared she would try for a history prize and Bertha for an arithmetic prize, but neither really thought much of their chances of success.

"Lively, isn't it?" said Hilary, reflectively. "We shall have to stir up our juniors a bit if we want anything done."

"They're too busy squabbling amongst themselves," said Duane. "You know they have two rival societies on the go. The Budmushes and the something else--I forget what."

"The P. Squareds, whatever that may mean. Sounds like an algebraic formula. Can't we put an end to it and get them to join forces?"

"Put an end to their blessed societies, you mean?" said Duane. "They wouldn't hear of it. They're free to have as many secret societies as they like, so long as they don't break rules. By the by, there'll be our usual inter-house cricket and tennis matches this term. I shall soon have to see about drawing up our teams."

Another silence. The head prefect appeared on the point of dropping off to sleep, and as nobody seemed to have anything to offer in the way of suggestions or ideas, the girls made their departure in ones and twos. Kitty thought it had been a very feeble, ineffectual affair altogether. After the invigorating atmosphere brought into the room for a few minutes by Paddy, it had seemed very flat and lifeless. Hilary alone had made some attempt to get a definite plan fixed, and she had not succeeded.

Kitty hated the idea of belonging to such a slack house. Couldn't she do something herself? She knew she was a good tennis and cricket player, and later on she would play for all she was worth. But the playing of one girl wouldn't make such a great deal of difference unless well supported. As the week slipped by she turned things over in her mind, until suddenly an idea flashed into it. Of course, they would think it frightful conceit on her part, but she didn't care about that. At least, it would give Carslake's the shock that was necessary to wake up the house from its lethargy....

By the end of the first school week, Kitty was beginning to feel at home. She and Hilary were invariably the first to turn out in the mornings, while the head prefect was equally certain to be the last. Kitty never attempted to repeat her venture of the first morning, leaving it to Hilary to arouse her lackadaisical head prefect. She wondered at first if Duane were aware of the identity of the perpetrator of the outrage, but was not certain until one dinner-time half-way through the week. Dinner that day began with soup. In passing a plateful to the next girl, Kitty's arm was accidentally jolted, the plate tipped up, and a liberal half of its contents poured over the cloth and into the lap of her unfortunate neighbour. The girl gave a loud exclamation, which drew everybody's attention to Kitty's table, and there was a hush in the buzz of talk. In the silence, the voice of the head prefect, with its unmistakable drawl, was heard all over the room.

"It's all right. Merely a little accident with the soup. Our friend Kitty is evidently of the opinion that shower-baths are good for people. In fact, it has become quite a generous habit of hers to treat people to them gratis!"

There was a general laugh, especially from the girls of Dormitory A who remembered the previous incident. Kitty, blushing somewhat at finding the public amused at her expense, laughed also, to cover up her confusion, and mopped up the mess with her serviette. So Duane did know who it was! Well, she certainly didn't blame her for getting her own back when the opportunity occurred.

On Monday morning Hilary cheered up the dormitory with the information that for once it was not raining. There were more cheerful faces that day than there had been all the week. When morning school was over, as the girls were idling around waiting for the dinner bell to go, Carslake's, on looking at its notice-board, received quite a shock. There, boldly written for all and sundry to see, was a notice to the effect that Kitty Despard, as an Australian girl who had just come from the Dominion, challenged any English girl in the house who cared to accept, to a singles tennis match.

All through the dinner-hour the house, juniors and seniors alike, could think of nothing but this audacious move on the part of a new girl. The news spread rapidly to the girls in the other houses, and they were not slow to offer their criticisms when they all met at afternoon lessons. The Upper Fifth were really moved for once. A few gazed upon Kitty coldly; a few, who belonged to the other houses, treated it as a huge joke; the majority looked somewhat askance at the challenger. Of course, it was pure, unadulterated cheek on her part, but it required a good deal of nerve, and they rather admired her for possessing so much As soon as the interval came, Paddy agilely clambered over half a dozen desks to Kitty's side.

"Hallo, kid! You've started well, say with a regular flourish of trumpets. I do admire your nerve though. Carslake's wants shaking up a bit."

"That's why I've done it," Kitty confided upon a sudden impulse, for here was a kindred spirit. "But don't tell anybody. They think it's just showing off on my part."

"Bless you, they'll forget all about that you put up a good enough game to win your match," said Paddy consolingly.

Meanwhile others were attacking the Carslake girls.

"I say, Duane, I suppose somebody will accept the challenge, or else it will look as though you've nobody good enough."

"You'll have to do it yourself, Cato. There's nobody else who can play decently in your house, is there?"

"There's Francie. Now then, France, show what you're made of. You could stand on your head and serve, you know, and receive upside-down."

"I'm going to have a try, anyway," retorted France, with spirit. She was quite indignant at this conceit on the part of the new girl, and would not admit that in her inmost soul she rather admired her for it. But if Kitty hoped to move the head prefect, she was doomed to disappointment. That worthy was as imperturbable as ever, blinked lazily once or twice, then murmured, "Oh, I don't mind having a friendly game with her if she wants one. I dare say it will be quite a good match."

"We'll all be there to see the fun if it does come off," Paddy promised.

The sun continued to shine; a spell of fine spring weather had evidently set in, and by the following Wednesday summer sports had begun at Easthampton.

The first event in which everybody was interested was the playing of the challenge games between the new Australian girl and her own house. Carslake's decided that France and Duane, their two best tennis players, were sufficient to uphold the dignity of the house, and told themselves with satisfaction that if Kitty could beat them upon their own courts, she would indeed be a welcome acquisition to their ranks.

There was quite a crowd to see the first game, between Kitty and Frances. By mutual consent it had been agreed that both matches should consist of twelve games, unless there was a tie, when a decider should be played. Vanda West, head prefect of Prince's, and the school tennis captain, was umpiring.

The result was a foregone conclusion after the first two games. France played with elegance and style, and showed an astonishing fleetness of foot, but her strokes lacked force. She put up a gallant fight to the end, but she was helpless against Kitty's lightning movements, smashing strokes and accurate placing. She only succeeded in winning one game out of twelve, a fact which did not seem to trouble her in the least, for she smiled happily as she congratulated the winner, then hurried off to her organ practice.

The next day, Vanda, as she joined the waiting group by the court, said to Kitty, half jokingly, half earnestly:

"Play up, my child. I've got one or two empty places to fill in the school tennis eight, and Carslake's will have to supply me with somebody to fill one of them. You've a chance to get your tennis colour, like everyone else, you know."

Kitty's second match was a far harder struggle. Duane, who was a picture of elegance in her short white tennis frock and scarlet "colour," played with considerable skill, some of her strokes being extremely powerful, particularly her service. The spectators were kept interested, for Kitty's game--especially her volleying--was really spectacular. In spite of her ability to retrieve nearly everything Duane sent over the net, the first six games were ding-dong ones, each player winning her service. Duane, not so quick and dashing as Kitty, at first held her own, returning Kitty's deliveries by good anticipation and a wonderful reach. Then Kitty seemed to be playing on the very top of her form and gradually drew ahead. In the end her amazing vigour and lightning quickness gained the upper hand, and she finished the victor by seven games to five.

"Well played, Kitty," said Vanda appreciatively.

Duane donned her blazer and sauntered across to the winner. Kitty was hot and panting and flushed; Duane showed no signs of exertion, save that she was breathing more deeply than usual.

"Good game, Kitty, wasn't it!" she said, in her emotionless way. "You're a fine player. Can't think how you can fly about the court at the rate you do, though."

"Oh, I like plenty of exercise," returned Kitty, feeling a little shy and embarrassed at the congratulations showered upon her from all sides. She made her escape from the field as quickly as possible, while the spectators gradually drifted back to their own quarters, still discussing the match and the outstanding points of the play.