CHAPTER III

THE P. SQUAREDS

Kitty rolled over in bed and opened her eyes with a start. What was that? She was sure she had heard someone moving stealthily down the dormitory. The next instant she heard the sound of a smothered giggle and drew a breath of relief. Of course it was only those harum-scarum juniors up to some prank; and by the scuffling noise, thought Kitty, nearly the whole of the dormitory seemed astir.

Just as the sounds diminished Kitty heard a bed creak, as if someone had sat up suddenly, and a voice, which she recognized as Duane's, saying:

"Who's that? Is there anything the matter?" Kitty gave a little chuckle, then answered softly, "Couldn't say exactly, only I should guess most of the juniors of this dormitory are taking a little nocturnal airing."

"Oh, indeed! Well, I'll soon make sure of that."

The bed creaked once again as Duane turned out of it. Kitty, now wide awake, and feeling rather amused and curious, slipped quietly out too. The head of the dormitory, looking very tall and striking in a vividly-red dressing-gown, emerged at the same time, a lighted candle in her hand. She crossed to the opposite cubicle and, without ceremony, drew back the curtain. The cubicle was empty. Quickly she made a round of the dormitory; the nine cubicles occupied by juniors were all deserted. The only occupants of the dormitory at that moment were herself, Kitty and Hilary, who could be heard breathing deeply and steadily, soundly asleep.

"Shall we follow them, and see what they're up to?" asked Kitty eagerly, only too willing for an adventure.

"No fear!" replied Duane with a yawn. "Bed for me. They'll only be gorging themselves in the common-room, I expect. Little wretches! It'll do in the morning. Good night." Yawning again, she went off into her cubicle, carrying the light with her.

Kitty hesitated, disappointed, but not caring to switch on one of the lights, and at last decided that, under the circumstances, the most discreet thing to do was to follow Duane's example. In ten minutes, the latter was breathing as regularly and as evenly as Hilary. Kitty, lying awake, heard the delinquents return, and grinned to herself as she thought of their surprise in the morning. The head prefect, for once, evidently intended to exert her authority and enforce discipline.

Directly after morning lessons were over, at half past twelve, the nine juniors who slept in Dormitory A were summoned to their head prefect's study. Here they found Duane, Hilary and Kitty. The last named had much ado to refrain from smiling as the nine sheepish-looking juniors endeavoured to squeeze themselves into the little room. In the foreground was Peggy O'Nell, always the chief spokesman for the juniors. She was in the Fourth, an active, mercurial girl with a mop of thick black curls, sparkling blue eyes and a mischievous smile. She had won her position as leader of the juniors through sheer force of personality, and perhaps enjoyed a larger share of popularity than any other girl in the house. Close behind her was her faithful follower and shadow, little Erica Salter, Bertha's sister.

The friendship between the two was a curious one, for Erica was several years Peggy's junior and in the lowest form. She was a slim, fair-haired, fairy-like child, of rather a timid nature. In no respect did she resemble her sister Bertha. She adored the high-spirited, masterful Peggy with a slavish devotion; in her eyes Peggy could do no wrong. On the other hand, Erica was petted and made much of by the rest of the dormitory, because she was the youngest, the "baby."

"You'll find standing room, if there's nowhere to sit down," remarked Duane, in an affable drawl. "Would you mind shutting the door behind you? Thanks so much. Now we can get to business. I suppose you won't deny the fact that all nine of you left your dormitory in the middle of last night?"

"Wouldn't be much good, would it?" replied Peggy, somewhat impudently.

Duane ignored the impudence, and went on in the same tone:

"I also presume you are aware that, since a girl broke her leg last year at that same trick, it is one of the strictest house rules that girls are not to leave their dormitories after lights out, except in cases of necessity."

"Yes," said Peggy, "but I've heard you say yourself that rules are like piecrust--made to be broken."

"True, my child, but that was before I was made a prefect."

"Well, we're not prefects--yet."

"Then allow me to point out that, if you wish to indulge in rule-breaking you must so manage it that prefects don't get to know of it."

"Perhaps," interrupted Hilary, "you wouldn't mind enlightening us as to the reason for this midnight excursion?"

Silence!

The nine exchanged glances and glowered at the tall figure of their head prefect with sullen determination. Duane waited a few moments, then said, with bland deliberation:

"Of course, if you are going to refuse to make a clean breast of the whole affair the matter is beyond me. I shall simply have to report it to Miss Carslake and let her deal with you."

The juniors started, and exchanged frightened glances. Lines or order marks from prefects were not unusual punishments and could be put up with, but "reported to house mistress" was a far more serious affair, and a rare occurrence.

Duane crossed her arms behind her head and lounged back comfortably in her chair, with the agreeable sensation of being mistress of the situation.

"Well?" she said, serenely. "Peggy, you seem to be the leader of the party."

Peggy gulped. "We--we--were only having a supper down in the common-room."

"Oh, I see. That was what I surmised. There's generally some light refreshment attached to your little affairs. Most thrilling! Barbara, suppose you tell me what were the eatables in this repast of yours."

Barbara giggled. It seemed to be an incurable affliction with her. "Oh--er--sandwiches and cakes and--and lemon jelly. We took our soap dishes down to eat it from and made it in a Moab--I mean a wash-jug. And--and," here Barbara, rather singularly, hesitated and blushed furiously, "pork pies."

"H'm. Quite a feast! I almost wish I had been invited," murmured the head prefect. "Pork pies, too! Now, I wonder--" she paused, as a sudden thought struck her, and repeated again, "pork pies! Of course, there isn't any connexion between the--er--title of your society and that article of diet? I have often wondered what P. Squared stood for."

The faces of the juniors were a study. Peggy boiled over with rage.

"Yes, that's where we did get the title from," she flung out defiantly, "and--and--it's beastly mean of you to get it out of us like this. I half believe somebody told you."

"No, no, merely intuition--aided by Barbara's self-conscious blush," assured Duane. "I suppose the eating of pork pies at the beginning of each meeting constitutes a sacred ceremony. Oh well, I was young myself once. You do great credit to Miss Green's teaching. I must congratulate you on the intelligent way in which you have learnt algebra. Correlation of subjects, too, is one of the modern crazes."

She rose to her feet.

"Well, thank you for your frankness. I will think the matter over and decide on the sentence. There's dinner bell, so you'd better clear," and at the words of dismissal from the head prefect, who had become aware that the other two seniors were no longer able to control their merriment, the nine juniors gladly made their escape. As they disappeared Hilary's face sobered suddenly. She turned to Duane.

"You'll report 'em, I suppose? It's the only way to stop these silly societies. One wouldn't mind them, of course, but these kids are far more enthusiastic over a cricket match between P. Squareds and Budmushes than one between Carslake's and another house, and when they actually cut school matches because their blessed society is running a picnic or has a jape on against the other one, it's getting more than a joke."

Such was the point of view of the seniors.

Among the juniors there was great indignation when Miss Carslake called them together and, as a punishment for rule-breaking and rowdyism, forbade the formation of secret societies among themselves. Rarely did Miss Carslake arouse herself to such severity, but perhaps she also was beginning to realize the backslidings of her house.

The juniors were treated to a long lecture in which the house mistress advised them to devote their energies to more worthy and less childish objects, and especially to endeavour to raise the "tone" of the house and its prestige in the school. This could only be done by combining, with their seniors, to form a united house. Then complaints from form mistresses of careless preparation, reports from prefects of disciplinary troubles would cease, and both the work and the play of the house would reach a higher level.

She left behind her an audience simmering with indignation, wrath and outraged pride.

"Back up the prefects indeed!" cried Peggy. "Prefects like ours? No fear! Duane is a beastly sneak, that's what she is. Other prefects don't report little things like that. She did it on purpose to put a stop to the P. Squareds and Budmushes."

Daisy Carteret, leader of the Budmushes, was as indignant as Peggy. An indignation meeting was held until the descent of an irate mistress upon the common-room, demanding what their prefects were doing not to put a stop to the din, summarily put an end to the proceedings. Thus nothing came of the indignation meeting, but after Miss Carslake's drastic measures the atmosphere in the house was charged with a good deal of electricity.

Duane took no notice of the hostility of the juniors, apparently believing it the wisest--and easiest--plan to let their indignation burn itself out, as no doubt it would do in time. She said nothing, even when one evening, on passing through the common-room in the company of three other Upper Fifth-formers, there was an audible hiss from one of the juniors. Duane walked on with her usual leisurely gait, Hilary flushed crimson, and France, who had been thinking out a colour scheme for a design, looked round in a bewildered fashion.

But Kitty stopped dead, then swung round and spoke curtly and coldly. "May I ask who that was meant for?"

"It's all right, Kitty. That wasn't meant for you, nor for France. You're a sport all right."

"I'm glad of that--for your sakes," said Kitty, still curtly, "and I should be still more obliged if it wasn't meant for anyone else, not when she's in _my_ company, at any rate," and she passed on, leaving the juniors a little taken aback.

As she caught the others up in the passage, she said involuntarily, lowering her tone, "if I were a prefect I'd never allow them to do that to me. Why do you, Duane?"

Duane looked at her. Kitty had quite a shock when she saw the unmistakable, and for once unconcealed, hostility in the other's sleepy grey eyes.

"You happen to enjoy their popularity, you see," Duane replied, coldly. "Besides, you're not a prefect. It isn't all jam to be head prefect--at least, the jam's only there to hide the bread underneath."

"A sort of gilded pill," laughed Kitty, to hide her discomfiture, but Duane walked on without reply. Kitty felt a little miserable as she brushed out her thick brown crop that night. "I was right from the beginning," she thought. "I knew the Hon. Duane and I would never hit it off. It's rotten having your own head prefect for an enemy."

Girls in the other houses raised expressive eyebrows when, next Wednesday afternoon, on the important occasion of the tennis match between Carslake's and Prince's, while there was a goodly proportion of the juniors of the latter house in attendance to support their players, the Carslake juniors were chiefly conspicuous by their absence.

"Sulking," explained France airily to Vanda. "Had a row with 'em last week. They'll come round in time."

"Seems to me you are always having rows in Carslake's," retorted Vanda, dryly.

Carslake's lost the match, but they put up a better fight than was expected. Kitty, indeed, played brilliantly again, and as a result received her first colour from the hands of Vanda. She was delighted at the honour of being chosen to represent the school, though her pleasure was rather spoilt when several of the juniors were heard to rejoice openly that she had been given the preference over Duane.

May passed in a blaze of sunshine and ended on a more hopeful note for Carslake's, the house gaining their first and most welcome cricket victory over Green's. They had previously lost to Sheerston's (who possessed a very strong side), leading into the field a team that had perforce to be composed largely of juniors, for Bertha was in bed with a severe cold, and Sonia was but a broken reed where games were concerned. After the dismissal of Duane and Kitty, except for a dogged stand by Daisy Carteret, the rest of Carslake's innings was a mere "procession," so that when the house next took the field against Green's, Paddy could be heard loudly propounding an original riddle to the scorers in the pavilion.

"Why is Carslake's cricket team like a tadpole?"

"Because one day it'll be a frog," hazily returned Hilary, who was in her usual post as scorer for her house.

"No, silly, because it's chiefly tail," retorted Paddy, triumphantly.

"You mean, 'and thereby hangs a tale,'" said Hilary, solemnly, refusing to see the point since it was made against her side.

However, although Carslake's only succeeded in making a moderate total themselves, Kitty's bowling was more successful this time. She not only bowled overhand with remarkable accuracy for a girl, but managed to make the ball break in a formidable fashion; and supported by some really smart ground fielding and catching on the part of the juniors, she dismissed Green's for a more moderate total still, leaving Carslake's victors by about a dozen runs.

This triumph acted as a badly needed tonic, and when, a week later, the house also defeated Green's at tennis, the seniors began to congratulate themselves that the "bad time" was over and the house was at last looking up. Alas! no one had the slightest presentiment of the trouble that Fate had in store for them before that term was ended.