CHAPTER VII

SPORTS DAY

Sports Day had come and gone. Carslake's was feeling extremely pleased with itself, not to say jubilant; at last the house had distinguished itself. Perhaps the girls realized it really was time they "bucked up"; perhaps Fortune, for once, was on their side. Certainly they had done better than they had hoped for, and when the points were totalled up Easthampton stared in amazement.

When the new term began, there were some changes in the school, as was only natural. For one thing, most girls had moved up a form; this was specially noticeable in Carslake's, where the majority of the turbulent Fourth had attained the dignity of seniors. That change, at least, was decidedly one for the better. Of course, some of the old familiar faces were gone. Phyllis Knight had left and Green's had a new head prefect. Prince's mourned the loss of Eileen Gilbert and others of the Sixth, but everybody was glad to see both Salome and Vanda return and resume their old positions. They had matriculated well, but--as they both intended taking a university course and were barely eighteen--they had come back to study for a university scholarship, for which there was a special class at Easthampton.

Kitty had been very pleased to hear that she had succeeded in passing the Senior Cambridge, having been rather doubtful of success. Hilary had taken a Second Class, Duane a Third, while France and Kitty had each achieved a pass. The four girls were now Sixth-formers, their successes having entitled them to their remove, while Kitty had been exalted to the rank of prefect. She felt herself to be quite an important personage now.

Hilary unfortunately had not returned. She had had a relapse after reaching home, and her people had sent her away for a long holiday. But she wrote to her form companions in a cheerful spirit, saying she hoped to be back amongst them before very long, prepared for more hard work.

Hilary's absence made quite an important difference in the relations of the new Sixth at Carslake's--but that shall be explained later. It would not be right to pass over Sports Day without entering into the details of some of the Carslake triumphs.

They had made a good beginning in the high jump. Salome was the winner, beating the school record with a jump of 4 feet 6 inches, but Kitty gained a very valuable two points in securing second place. The obstacle race had fallen to Paddy, and Carslake's did not win a point, nor in the tortoise race that followed. But Peggy O'Nell won the junior 100 yards in brilliant style, and Daisy Carteret was second in the junior 220 yards. The first and second places in throwing the cricket ball were secured by Prince's and Green's respectively, but Bertha was a close third with a good throw.

When the senior flat race finals began, interest increased. The half-mile had fewest entries, for it was naturally regarded as the stiffest. In this, the final, there were only four competitors, two from Prince's, one from Sheerston's and one from Carslake's. Each house shouted encouragement to its own runners. Vanda West was generally reckoned to be the most likely winner, though several hockey colours declared that Duane might "pull it off."

"You know," one of them declared as they lined up, "she can get down the field before you can look round, when she's on the ball and there's a chance for a shot at goal."

"You're right," said Gwen Parker, the former school right wing, who had returned with several others to compete for her house, Sports Day being officially a last year's event. "I've found myself with all my work cut out to keep up with her when she gets on the move in a match."

"Still, Vanda can _stay_, and that's what counts in the half-mile."

"Yes, or else I should have had a shot at it," replied Gwen.

Then somebody shouted: "Mind you don't go to sleep in the middle, Cato, thinking it's bedtime!" And that fetched a general laugh.

The next minute the four were off, running with steady strides, Vanda and Duane side by side and a few paces behind the other two. At the end of the second lap the two rash ones who had rushed ahead at the beginning had dropped behind, panting and breathless. Now Vanda and Duane were in front, running neck and neck. The pace was already fast but Eileen increased it, hoping to gain the lead, and as they entered the last lap, Vanda leading but Duane refusing to drop behind by more than a yard, the yells of the Prince's girls increased in volume. The excitement was intense. Even France, who was wont to declaim emphatically that she had no patience with these "races and things," hopped wildly about at Kitty's side and yelled to Duane as she passed:

"Go it! Remember the match against Winthorpe last year!"

The critical moment had come. Duane quickened her long strides with a scarcely perceptible effort, drew ahead of Vanda, and passed her, despite her attempt at a spurt, increasing her lead all down the last half-lap, "running," so France declared excitedly, "just as if it were the hundred yards' sprint."

Kitty cheered with the rest, and as Duane, breathing hurriedly but otherwise looking the same as usual, strolled up in her leisurely fashion with her hands in her blazer pockets, she said impulsively, "By Jove! you can run, then, Duane."

Duane's glance met Kitty's quizzically. "Really think so?" she drawled. "Have I at last won a word of praise from you? I can hardly express my overpowering emotion."

Kitty's face flamed, and she fell back a step, feeling as if the other girl had slapped her in the face. "It was horrid of her to say that," she thought to herself, feeling hurt and resentful. "I really did mean it quite sincerely." Duane, meanwhile, went on after a short pause, "It's your turn next. Now show them that I'm not the only gifted one."

Kitty looked straight at her just for a moment and her eyes sparkled. "I'm going to," she snapped, and turned away, vowing that she would win the quarter-mile or die in the attempt. Strange to say, for once Kitty was not thinking of the honour of Carslake's; as she lined up for the race with lips set determinedly, the house was not even in her mind, only the house's head prefect.

The faces of the Carslake girls became even more seraphic when Kitty won the quarter-mile, by a bare half-yard. After that there was a short interval. The afternoon was drawing to an end, and only two events remained to be contested. The excitement mounted when the girls who were keeping account of the points scored, announced that Sheerston's was leading, with despised Carslake's only one point behind.

"We must win one of these last two," said Kitty desperately. "Another first would probably do it."

But in the relay race, their luck deserted them. All three girls ran well, but Peggy, who was shaking with nervous excitement, muffed taking the flag from Duane and lost a valuable three or four seconds and the start Duane had given her. Both she and Kitty made a desperate attempt to overtake the leader, but found it beyond their powers, and finished third. They were now two points behind Sheerston's, who had finished second.

There was still the 100 yards to be run. The unhappy Frances, who was Carslake's sole representative, found herself overwhelmed with exhortations, advice and admonitions.

"It rests with you now, France," said Duane. "Mind you run for all you're worth." France groaned. "For goodness' sake stop that. I wish I'd never entered for the wretched thing. You put my name down, Duane, and you must be responsible for the consequences. I don't pretend to be able to run races. I'm not an athlete, I'm an artist."

"Never mind what you are," said Duane. "Just pull up your stockings and run. I know you can sprint a bit, for I've seen you dash across the quad when you've been a bit late for class. Imagine someone in front is running off with your most prized picture. Cheer up! It's only a hundred yards, so it won't kill you."

"I'll pose for you if you'll do your very best," urged Kitty. "Next Wednesday afternoon."

"No," replied France, with a funny air of dignity. "I don't want any bribes. Though I've entered for this race under protest, I'll run my very hardest," and she nodded her head determinedly.

France took her place with a painful expression on her face. "Looks as if she were going to have a tooth out, doesn't she!" whispered Peggy O'Nell to her right-hand neighbour, with a chuckle.

The flag fell. For a few breathless seconds there was nothing to be seen but a flash of black-clad legs, then the runners threw themselves headlong at the tape and burst beyond it. There was scarcely an inch between the first three girls, or so it seemed to the watchers, but the judges gave out the results; France first, Gwen Parker second and Paddy third. Carslake's had gained three points and Sheerston's one; and the day ended in Sheerston's and Carslake's tying for first place.

So, strange to say, it was France who was the hero of the occasion. She found it decidedly a pleasant sensation, and began to plume herself complacently, remarking in a confidential tone to the other seniors: "You know, I always did rather fancy myself as a winger at hockey, if only it weren't such a waste of time using all one's spare minutes just to play a game."

"And that's where you're going to play in future," said Duane firmly. "A girl who can sprint like you can is wasted anywhere else. We'll make it a fair bargain. You come to practices regularly and we'll pose for your blessed Academy pictures, or National Gallery portraits, whichever it happens to be. I'll even," she ended, in a burst of generosity, "come now and again and blow your organ for you when Orpheus is indisposed."

France eyed her study-companion reflectively. "If you can summon up enough energy to come and blow the organ, I'll play in all the house matches; so there," she declared.

The results of Sports Day had certainly improved matters at Carslake's. There was no open rebellion against the head prefect's rule, though now and again there were little unpleasant moments which showed that the house would never quite forget the fact that their head prefect's reputation had a deep and ineradicable stain on it. There was not the same cheerful alacrity displayed in obeying Duane's wishes as in obeying those of the other Sixth-formers; obedience was shown, but it was a grudging obedience and would probably never be anything different.

The following evening Duane was alone in her study, seated in her favourite attitude--that is to say, leaning in the depths of an easy-chair with her feet across another chair--when Kitty entered.

"Hallo! What is it?" inquired Duane, looking up from her book.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," said Kitty, politely.

"Not at all. I'm only finishing off that wretched paraphrasing set us for prep. Couldn't get it done before."

There was a pause till Kitty recollected she had not yet explained the reason for her visit. "Oh, by the way, France told me you had something to say to me. That's why I looked in."

"Oh, I see. It's nothing of much importance. Any time would have done. I thought, until Hilary returns, you might as well dig in here with France and me. It's lonely having a room all on your own."

Kitty flushed in surprise.

"Oh, but I don't mind that. I don't want to cause you any inconvenience."

"Not at all. There's heaps of room for three here, if we clear some of France's litter."

Kitty looked uncomfortable. "Was it you or France who thought of this?"

"Does it matter who thought of it?" returned Duane, carelessly.

Kitty was silent again, feeling still more uncomfortable.

"Thanks all the same," she said, at last, "but I don't think I will."

"Why not?" Duane, not unnaturally, wanted to know.

Kitty felt herself turning crimson and blurted out, "Well, you see, it might be rather awkward."

"Awkward? How?"

"What I mean is that you and I aren't exactly friends."

Duane lifted her glance now, and kept it fixed on Kitty, but merely remarked coolly:

"Aren't we?"

"You know we are not," replied Kitty, a little impatiently. "We never have been. We felt--felt antagonistic the very first moment we met each other."

"You did, I suppose," rejoined Duane. "I don't know that I felt anything at all. However, that's no reason why we need go on being antagonistic, is it?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Kitty, bluntly.

Duane leaned back in her chair and smiled lazily at Kitty.

"Why shouldn't we be friends now?"

Kitty flushed again, and moved uneasily, her agony of embarrassment mounting. Duane tilted her chair back and went on cheerfully:

"You don't seem in a hurry to speak. After all, there's no reason why we shouldn't be friends, is there?"

"I'm sorry," Kitty blurted out. "I'd rather not. You see----" she stopped.

"Well? Out with it!"

"It's the Richoter," poor Kitty went on, growing hotter and hotter, and angry with herself for feeling so uncomfortable under Duane's lazy, quizzical glance. "I--you see--I couldn't be friends with--with anyone who----"

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Duane. "You're mighty particular."

"I don't want to seem a prig. If it had been anything else--but--but that kind of thing----"

"Then, the Richoter affair aside, your only prejudice to admitting me to your--your circle of friends, would be gone?"

"I don't know," replied Kitty, frankly. "You can't _make_ yourself be friends with anyone, you know. At any rate, I don't think so. We're so utterly unlike, aren't we?"

"Are we? Then do you think that people must be alike to be friends?"

"They must have tastes in common," replied Kitty, firmly. "At least, so it has always seemed to me."

"Why not give it a trial?" suggested Duane.

Kitty stood irresolute, conscious that in some curious indefinable way she was attracted by the other girl's proposal and yet repelled at the same time. The affair was settled by the abrupt entrance of France.

"Oh, hallo, Kitty! I suppose Duane's told you about digging in with us till Hilary returns? What's that? Doesn't want to? Why not?"

"She says we're antagonistic," replied Duane.

"What nonsense!" said France, very firmly. "What on earth does she mean? You bring your things along, Kitty, and I'm sure we shall enjoy each other's company while we're here," and Kitty rather reluctantly gave way.