Part 6

"Well, you are luckier than I am, for you can play tennis almost any evening--and you quite like that."

It was, indeed, the one game that Trina Morrison treated with any kind of toleration; and when she chose to exert herself, she had a good eye and a steady wrist that made her quite an average player. Thanks to her friends amongst the seniors, who controlled the use of the courts, she could count on a set almost any evening; and what made Sally marvel was the little joy or interest she took in such opportunities.

This afternoon, for instance, just because she knew Miss Rogers had gone away for a week-end, and could not therefore force them to take some exercise, she had refused to join in an American tournament, preferring to recline instead under the trees with a novel.

Sally was surprised but pleased, because it meant that she could go and sit with her, while she waited for her innings as a Wolf, in a not very exciting tussle with the languid Bears.

Violet Tremson, also a Wolf, was batting at the moment, playing steadily and carefully, but with more "dash" than earlier in the season, and the younger girl watched her with approval.

"She's a lot better since I took her in hand, isn't she?" Sally said at last.

"Who?"

"Why, Violet Tremson. We have been practising at the net, and now she stands up to my bowling quite well. Some day she will be in one of the elevens."

Peter yawned. She was reading a letter that lay between the pages of her book, and did not look up.

Sally pulled her suddenly by the arm.

"Peter, do leave that letter for a minute, and pay attention--I want to know something. What do you really think of Violet Tremson?"

"I never think of her at all."

"Yes, but if you did? I want to know badly, please."

"Well, then, I would probably think her a good little girl--almost too good to be true."

At the obvious sneer the younger girl's look of curiosity deepened.

"That means you dislike her; and she doesn't like you either--and yet I like you both. Isn't that odd?"

"Well, which do you care for most?"

The tone was lazy, but there was a gleam of interest in the half-closed eyes. Trina was not quite as indifferent to admiration as she often seemed.

"Oh, Peter. Can you ask? You, of course. You were my first friend here. Violet is a good sort, but when I'm with her I feel as if I was drinking just ordinary water, while you are like something that's exciting, and fizzes--ginger ale, perhaps."

"Say champagne--it's not so cheap."

"But I don't like champagne. Uncle Frank used to give it to me when I lived with him, and it's all dry--and burns."

"You don't know but that I may turn out like that. I'm not at all a good friend for you, kid."

"Rot!"

Sally looked so indignant that the other laughed.

"Well, your dear Violet told me so--in fact she asked me to leave you alone."

"What?"

"Oh, I endured quite a sermon on the subject of corrupting the young, I assure you. She told me I wasn't being fair to a child like you, and seemed to think I was dragging you into mischief."

"You didn't drag me. Why, it was I who suggested going to Parchester that afternoon--and anyhow, it is none of her business."

"She seemed to think so. I suppose the poor thing has the missionary spirit, and can't help herself. She sees you going to the dogs, for instance, and must start off with a chain to drag you back."

Again there was the sneer, but this time Sally was too angry to notice it. Her cheeks were hot with humiliation at the idea of being "taken up" for her good by Violet, and "saved."

"I call it the most frightful cheek I ever heard," she said at last.

"On the contrary, it is painstaking and unselfish with such a thornbush as you are. In time, she may turn you into a respectable member of the school, with high ideals of duty--like Doris Forbes."

"I don't want to be respectable, or done good to." Sally's eyes were flashing now. She sprang to her feet, and dug viciously at the ground with her bat, to relieve her feelings.

"You ought to have told me before," she said. "When you saw us beginning to make pals. You know I wouldn't stand her jawing at you about me, as if she were my godmother--or someone odious and interfering like that.... I ... just won't stand it. It's beastly cheek."

"It may have been cheek, my child, but she was probably right. I don't know that I mean to stay here much longer."

"Peter, tell me, are you planning anything risky?"

Sally had seen her glance again at her letter, as she spoke, and had a sudden intuition that some new adventure was on foot.

Trina Morrison smiled.

"Almost as clever as Sherlock Holmes, and too clever for Seascape House. Well, what if I am?"

"I want to come too ... I must."

"I daresay; but I shan't take you, all the same. Violet may be a sanctimonious prig, but she's right about you and me. You are too young for more adventures at present."

The elder girl lay back and watched the other with teasing eyes as she spoke--only shaking her head at the furious protestations her announcement aroused.

In the midst of them Violet Tremson appeared, tranquil as usual.

"I made twenty-three," she said, "and then fell to a catch--a neat little donkey-drop sort, of beast--straight into Hilda Collet's hands. I came to say you are next in, after Maisie."

Sally said nothing; then, as the other waited, answered gruffly, turning her back: "All right--but I'm talking to Peter now."

Violet flushed, and her eyes as they met Trina Morrison's showed a little flame of anger.

"Don't go," said Trina sweetly. "We were just discussing you. I was just telling Sally that I thought you had gone out of your way to take a lot of trouble about her, and that she wasn't nearly grateful enough."

"What do you mean, Trina?"

"She means," broke in Sally furiously, "that you have been trying to patronise me, and do me good. I suppose that old toad, Mrs. Musgrave, put it on your conscience before I came."

"She didn't, Sally. Don't be an ass."

"Well, anyway, you tried to break off my friendship with Peter, and that was none of your business."

Violet Tremson pushed the younger girl aside, and stood looking down at the elder with contempt and indignation in her eyes.

"So you have been telling her what I said, have you?"

"Certainly. Since you preached to me before the whole Lower Fifth, I imagine it wasn't meant to be private."

"How dared you talk about me before all those cads?" Sally was trembling with rage; and Violet, it was evident, was having some trouble to keep down her own temper.

"Be quiet, Sally," she said; "you don't understand."

"But I do--and I don't want ever to be patronised by you again, thank you--I'll choose my own friends."

Trina Morrison, who had risen lazily to her feet, laughed.

"Turkey-Cock-sure, aren't you? You may be proud of her friendship some day," she said mockingly. "One never knows. Anyhow, stop gobbling, do, and go and bat. Maisie has just been bowled, and the whole field seems yelling for you."

"I don't care--they can burst if they like. I want Violet to understand what I feel."

"I think she does. You look wrathful enough to register displeasure and scorn in a cinema film. Anyhow, do go and bat, and I'll settle your final account with our mutual friend here."

Sally looked from one to the other, and with a great effort moved away towards the pitch.

"Don't imagine I want ever to make it up again," she called over her shoulder, and again Trina Morrison laughed; but her eyes were no longer amused, only shallow and hard.

"Well?" she asked, briefly.

Violet's hands were clenching and unclenching round the handle of her bat.

"I'm not clever enough to answer you," she said at last, in a low voice; "but you know what I think of you, and what a dirty game you have just played--poisoning Sally's mind. One day you will be expelled, and----"

"Probably, and the school saints will sing anthems of joy over one sinner cast into outer darkness."

"It will be for the good of the school--yes."

"And for the good of your darling Sally too, eh? We were talking about her, I think?"

Violet moved a little closer. "What I am afraid of is--that she may be expelled too. She is not the first child you have done your best to ruin, by dragging her into rows. If you do, just remember this, I shall go to Miss Cockran and tell her how much is your fault, and not Sally's. She would run straight if you let her alone."

"You will turn sneak, in fact--is that it? My dear girl, you will make yourself popular."

"I know--I hate sneaks; but sometimes things have to be stopped, and Doris Forbes' brain works so slowly that she doesn't see them."

"Well, it will be amusing to hear how Old Cocaine welcomes you. I don't fancy it will be with approval. Not even a prefect, are you?"

Trina laughed as she spoke, and picked up her hat.

"Tut, tut. What a fuss, and all about a little whippersnapper in the Remove. I'm quite exhausted. Do get out of my way. Oh, bother! There's the child herself coming; she must have been bowled at once."

Violet did not stir. "I'm not just fussing, Trina," she said, "I mean it. Leave Sally alone, or I shall spoil your game."

They looked straight into one another's eyes, and then Violet turned and walked off, without a glance at the younger girl, who, bat in hand, had come rushing up to join them.

"What have you both been saying? Tell me, Peter.... I sent a catch at once, when I saw you were still talking."

Trina Morrison shrugged. There was a smile round her mouth, but it lacked its usual charm; and her eyes were hard, under brows drawn together in a frown.

"Let us forget your missionary," she said petulantly, at last. "She goes nearer to making me lose my temper than anyone else in this place. Dull as water, you call her--I say, as 'ditchwater.'"

"Then give me--some champagne."

Sally looked significantly at the letter crumpled up in the elder girl's hand; and Trina, following her glance, hesitated perceptibly.

"Well, why not?" she said. "Since Violet has dared me and it's your risk, remember--my adventure, at least, was planned for myself alone."

"Oh, Peter, do tell me quick."

They were moving towards the house now, and Trina Morrison's frown had cleared away.

"It's from Austin--the letter--" she said. "He and the others want to meet me at Parchester Fair next Wednesday."

"How scrumptious! I love a Fair. But what time? They will spot we are up to something at once, if we don't go to prep., won't they?"

"Silly! this is an evening affair, when good little school-girls are in their beds. Why, anything of that sort is no fun in the day. Besides, there is to be a dance.... I forgot that... you are rather young for a dance. It's with some friends of Austin, in Parchester."

"I can either dance or look on," said Sally calmly. "You promised you'd take me, Peter. I won't be a nuisance."

"I believe it would be best, if you didn't go--all the same," muttered the other. "I should be leaving here in two terms, anyhow, you see; but it's different for you."

It was difficult to tell from her expression whether a belated attack of conscience or a fear that the younger girl might indeed be in the way was troubling her most.

Sally slipped her arm through Trina's ingratiatingly. "Don't worry about my being expelled," she said; "I don't want to stay here when you are gone."

In the excitement of the moment, she believed this true, and, touched by the passion of affection in her voice, Peter slipped her arm round her.

"Nice kid," she said; "but you know it is a mistake to put all your eggs in one basket. I never do."

"You have so many friends," said Sally, a trifle wistfully, "and I have so many enemies"; adding, in her usual tone of bravado, "but of course I don't care about that."

"No?" said the other, a little mockingly. "Are you quite sure? If not, it would be a pity to get expelled."

"I tell you, I don't care," answered Sally obstinately. "And I'm going to the Fair. What about plans?"

They went into the house discussing them.

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH

A NIGHT ADVENTURE

It was Wednesday evening. Sally Brendan lay in her bed, with her eyes closed, and the sheet drawn up almost to her nose. Yet she was very far from being asleep; and had anyone turned back the clothes they would have seen that, instead of a nightdress, she wore gym. knickers, and a jersey that belonged to one of her brothers, which she had insisted on packing in a corner of her trunk because it was certain to come in useful.

She giggled softly to herself, as she thought of her appearance, and Peter's last whispered instructions as they came out of Chapel:

"For Heaven's sake, child, remember that whatever you wear, it must be something that doesn't give us away! I don't want anybody at the Fair saying that you came from Seascape House."

"Right oh! Old Cocaine herself would hardly know me," she had whispered back, and hurried off, for fear her friend should question her further and raise objections: she might even at the last minute refuse to take her.

Trina Morrison had been in a very uncertain mood since the scene between them on the cricket field; for the most part, irritable and impatient. Several times she had hinted that, on reflection, she felt sure it would be wiser for Sally not to come; and when that young lady had maintained, "But I am going anyhow--it's no use trying to stop me now," she had warned her that she might have to return alone.

"You see, you are much too juvenile for this sort of a dance, really, and I can't be bothered to act nursemaid. Why, I never meant to bring you into the show at all, until that ass Violet Tremson began to threaten me, and then I felt I must--just to annoy her."

"To threaten you with what?"

"Why, expulsion, of course. She said if I didn't reform my ways, especially with regard to you, she would expound my sins to Old Cocaine."

"What a sneaking cad she is!"

In her heart Sally Brendan found it difficult to apply this description to Violet Tremson, but she was still sore and angry with her. It is said that any stick is good enough with which to beat a dog: besides, it seemed to mollify Peter.

"I dare say you wouldn't be happy here with this crowd when I am gone, and that's a matter of two terms more at most," she had said, in a more friendly tone; and Sally had answered:

"Of course not--I have told you so. I always meant to get expelled, from that first day on the beach."

If not strictly true, the sentiment sounded well, and allowed Trina to put away, with a shrug of her shoulders, any responsibility she might ever have felt.

"All right, then--9.45 sharp--at the landing window; and remember, I shan't hang about for you."

It was for the clock to strike 9.30 that the girl now anxiously waited.

Seascape House went to bed early. The Matron had made her last round of the passages, and Decima Pillditch was snoring heavily, when Sally at last stole out of bed. By pulling to one side the curtain of her cubicle, she could focus the moonlight full on her looking-glass; and without delay she started on the final stage in her make-up.

It was quick and drastic: nothing less than the hacking off of the red curls that had made a fuzzy halo round her small freckled face. When it was completed, she was no longer bobbed, but shorn, and in her costume of knickers and jersey presented a very good picture of a street Arab of eleven or twelve.

The effect was magnificent, but something of a shock in its transformation--even to Sally herself; and she began to wonder how Peter would approve of the disguise--completed by a large hole in the back of her stocking, which she suddenly discovered, and had no time to draw together.

"I will keep on my cap and coat until we leave the garden," she told herself, rather guiltily; and thus wrapped up, opened the door, stole along the passage, and down the back stairs to the landing window.

It was open, and at first she thought that her friend had gone without her; but as she peered out, she heard a voice whisper:

"Come! Do be quick."

And climbing through the opening, she found herself alongside Trina, on the flat roof of the corridor, that ran round three sides of the gymnasium.

Without looking at her, Trina inserted a large wedge of wood between the window and the sash, then pulled the lower pane down to meet it.

"No one is likely to notice that, and we shall be able to lift it all right when we return," she whispered. "But now, follow me and be quiet. We have to crawl along just below the mistresses' windows, stooping, in case they are there--but I think they are all in the sitting-room at this hour. When we come to Miss Castle's, there's a pipe down to the ground, and two bricks out in the wall, where one can put one's feet."

She started off, pulling her dark coat tight round her, and Sally followed, her eyes dancing with excitement. Most of the mistresses' windows were shut, but Miss Castle's was half open, with a curtain blowing slightly in the wind, though there was no light showing.

Trina made a grimace at the blank space, and shook her fist playfully; then began to lower herself over the edge of the roof. Her feet scraped along the pipe before they found their foothold, and Sally, at the noise, caught her breath; but there was no sound from the room above.

"She is not in there yet," the girl decided; and seeing the light in Miss Cockran's study at the end of the passage, wondered idly if she had gone along there.

"Jawing about us in our little beds to Old Cocaine," she said, and giggled as she began her own descent. It was hastened by a sudden flash of electric light in Miss Castle's room, just as she found her first foothold, and thereupon she lowered herself with a rapidity that nearly sent Trina Morrison, just below her, backwards into a flower bed.

"Young ass!" whispered Trina. "You will make me dirty my evening dress."

"'Ware Castle!" Sally returned, and they flattened themselves against the wall in the shadows, as they heard a voice from above call sharply,

"Who's there?"

[Illustration: "'WARE CASTLE!"]

Again the question was repeated, and as if in response two cats emerged from a bush and fled across the grass, one of them miawing loudly.

This seemed to satisfy Miss Castle, for she partially closed her window, and they heard the curtain drawn across. Keeping to the shadows, they crept along the flower beds till they turned the corner of the house, and came out on the grass of the tennis lawns, from whence they made their way into the shrubberies. No word was said until they had climbed into the tree, with branches overhanging the wall, that Sally knew from her previous adventure.

"I'd better leave my things here, hadn't I?" she whispered. "It's frightfully warm, and my overcoat is a school one"; but the elder girl, without answering beyond a nod of agreement, was already scrambling down the rough stonework, with the aid of a rope she had pulled out of the trunk and hung over a strong branch.

Sally followed her as quickly as she could, but with her shorter legs the drop was not so easy to manage, and Trina was walking rapidly down the road by the time she reached the ground.

"Are you going at that pace all the way to Parchester?" she panted, as she caught her up. "Anyhow, it's no good--we shan't be there before midnight."

"No, silly! The Fair is on the heath, on this side of the town, and anyhow, I have ordered a car at the Black Cull."

There was something very impressive to Sally's ears in the carelessness of her companion's tone, and as she undid her coat in the warm night air, and it fell back, revealing a pretty silk dress, the younger girl gave a gasp of admiration and distress.

"Why, you are most frightfully smart," she said. "I don't know whatever you will think of me."

"Good Golliwogs!"

Trina had turned her round towards the moon, and was staring at her, her own face in the shadows, so that Sally could not tell what she felt.

"You told me to disguise myself," she said half defiantly, expecting anger or scorn--anything but her companion's sudden outburst of laughter.

"My good child! Well, you have cut the painter--you are done for now with Old Cocaine."

"Lost by a narrow shave, instead of escaped by it," said Sally, greatly relieved. "Anyhow, no one at the Fair could possibly recognise me, could they?"

"I should say your own mother wouldn't--when you are returned to her, to-morrow."

Sally's rising spirits received a dash of cold water at the rejoinder. In a flash she suddenly remembered how Mrs. Brendan had begged her not to get expelled, and how she had promised she would try to stop at school. Standing outside the private door of the Black Bull, while Trina Morrison hammered with the knocker, she shuffled her feet uncomfortably, and tried to put out of her mind her mother's eyes, and her consciousness of the furious superior glance that Cecilia would give her, when she turned up once more like a bad penny. After all, she decided, there was no need for them to be caught. Peter had done this kind of thing before, quite safely, and cutting off one's hair was not an unpardonable crime, taken by itself.

"Oh, shut up shuffling, do," she heard the elder girl say. "I want to listen. They are all asleep, or I shall have to go to the public bar, and find someone. It's perfectly disgusting."

At this moment the door flew open, and a man with a red face appeared. He was in his shirt sleeves, with a coat over his arm, which he began to put on while he spoke--leering at them with a disagreeably familiar smile.

"All right, Missie. I booked the order true enough, but I tell you straight I don't fancy it. Thinking it over, after the young gentleman had bin here, I says to myself, 'It will as good as get me sacked, it will, if I'm found out--and that's not exactly a cheering sort of notion for a poor man.'"

"My cousin arranged with you to drive me to the opening of the Fair for ten shillings--an order is an order, isn't it?"