A pair of a school girl

IT was precisely five minutes past eleven on the first day of the autumn term, and

Avondale College, which for seven whole weeks had been lonely and deserted,

and given over to the tender mercies of paperhangers, painters, and charwomen,

once more presented its wonted aspect of life and bustle. The reopening was a

very important event in the opinion of everybody concerned, partly because it

marked the beginning of a fresh school year, and partly because the building had

been altered and enlarged, many changes made in the curriculum, and many new

names added to the already long list in the register. Three hundred and eightyseven

pupils had assembled that morning in the great lecture hall, the largest

number on record at the College; five additional classes had been formed, and

there were six extra mistresses. At the eleven o'clock interval the place seemed

swarming with girls; they thronged the staircase and passages, filled the pantry,

blocked the dressing-rooms, and overflowed into the playground and the

gymnasium—girls of all sorts and descriptions, from the ten-year-olds who had

just come up (rather solemn and overawed) from the Preparatory to those elect

and superior damsels of seventeen who were studying for their Matriculation.

By the empty stove in the Juniors' Common Room stood half a dozen

"betwixt-and-betweens", whose average age probably worked out at fourteen

and a quarter, though Mavie Morris was a giantess compared with little Ruth

Harmon. The six heads were bent together in closest proximity, and the six

tongues were particularly active, for after the long summer holidays there was

such a vast amount to talk about that it seemed almost impossible to discuss all

the interesting items of news with sufficient rapidity.

"The old Coll. looks no end," said Grace Russell. "It's so smart and spanky

now—one hardly knows it! Pictures in the classrooms, flowers on the

chimneypieces, a stained glass window in the lecture hall, busts on brackets all

along the corridor wall, and the studio floor polished! Every single place has

been done up from top to bottom."

"I'd like it better if it didn't smell so abominably of new paint," objected

Noëlle Kennedy. "When I opened the studio door, the varnish stuck to my

fingers. However, the school certainly looks much nicer. Why, even the book

cupboard has been repapered."

"That's because you splashed ink on the wall last term. Don't you remember

how fearfully cross Miss Hardy was about it?"

"Rather! She insisted that I'd done it on purpose, and couldn't and wouldn't

believe it was an accident. Well, thank goodness we've done with her! I'm glad

teachers don't move up with their forms. I'm of the opposite opinion to Hamlet,

and I'd rather face the evils that I don't know than those I do. Miss Pitman can't

possibly be any worse, and she may chance to be better."

"I say, it's rather a joke our being in the Upper Fourth now, isn't it?" remarked

Ruth Harmon.

"I'm glad we've all gone up together," said Dorothy Greenfield. "There's only

Marjory Poulton left behind, and she won't be missed. We're exactly the same

old set, with the addition of a few new girls."

"Do you realize," said Mavie Morris, "that we're the top class in the Lower

School now, and that one of us will be chosen Warden? There'll be an election

this afternoon."

"Why, so there will! What a frantic excitement! We shall all have to canvass in

the dinner-hour. I wonder if Miss Tempest has put up the list of candidates yet? I

vote we go to the notice board and see; there's just time before the bell rings."

Off scrambled the girls at once, pushing and jostling one another in their

eagerness to get to the lecture hall. There was a crowd collected round the notice

board, but they elbowed their way to the front notwithstanding. Yes, the list was

there, in the head mistress's own handwriting, and they scanned it with varying

comments of joy or disappointment, according as their names were present or

absent.

"Hurrah!"

"Disgusting!"

"No luck for me!"

"I don't call it fair!

"You're on, Dorothy Greenfield, and so am I."

"I say, girls, which of you'll promise to vote for me?"

Avondale College was a large day school. Its pupils were drawn from all parts

of Coleminster and the surrounding district, many coming in by train or tramcar,

and some on bicycles. Under the headmistress-ship of Miss Tempest its numbers

had increased so rapidly that extra accommodation had become necessary; and

not only had the lecture hall and dressing-rooms been enlarged, but an entire

new wing had been added to the building. Avondale prided itself greatly upon its

institutions. It is not always easy for a day school to have the same corporate life

as a boarding school; but Miss Tempest, in spite of this difficulty, had managed

to inaugurate a spirit of union among her pupils, and to make them work

together for the general good of the community. She wished the College to be,

not merely a place where textbooks were studied, but a central point of light on

every possible subject. She encouraged the girls to have many interests outside

the ordinary round of lessons, and by the help of various self-governing societies

to learn to be good citizens, and to play an intelligent and active part in the

progress of the world. A Nature Study Union, a Guild of Arts and Crafts, a

Debating Club, a Dramatic Circle, and a School Magazine all flourished at

Avondale. The direction of these societies was in the hands of a select committee

chosen from the Fifth and Sixth Forms, but in order that the younger girls might

be represented, a member of the Upper Fourth was elected each year as "Warden

of the Lower School", and was privileged to attend some of the meetings, and to

speak on behalf of the interests of the juniors.

Naturally this post was an exceedingly coveted honour: the girl who held it

became the delegate and mouthpiece of the lower forms, an acknowledged

authority, and the general leader of the rest. It was the custom to elect the warden

by ballot on the afternoon of the reopening day. Six candidates were selected by

Miss Tempest, and these were voted for by the members of the several divisions

of the Third and Fourth Forms.

Among the six chosen for this election, none was more excited about her

possible chances than Dorothy Greenfield, and as our story centres round her

and her doings she merits a few words of description. She was a tall, slim, rather

out-of-the-common-looking girl, and though at present she was passing through

the ugly duckling stage, she had several good points, which might develop into

beauty later on. Her large dark grey eyes, with their straight, well-marked brows,

made you forgive her nondescript nose. She lacked colour, certainly, but her

complexion was clear, and, despite her rather thin cheeks, the outline of her face

was decidedly pleasing. Her mouth was neat and firm, and her chin square; and

she had a quantity of wavy, fluffy brown hair that had an obstreperous way of

escaping from its ribbon and hanging over her ears. During the past six months

Dorothy had shot up like Jack's beanstalk, and she was still growing fast—an

awkward process, which involved a certain angularity of both body and mind.

She was apt to do things by fits and starts; she formed hot attachments or took

violent prejudices; she was amiable or irritable according to her mood, and

though capable of making herself most attractive, could flash out with a sharp

retort if anybody offended her. She had a favourable report in the school: she

was generally among those marked "excellent" in her form, and she was above

the average at hockey and tennis, had played a piano solo at the annual concert,

won "highly commended" at the Arts and Crafts Exhibition, and contributed an

article to the School Magazine.

Possessing such a good all-round record, therefore, Dorothy might have as

reasonable a possibility of success as anybody else at the coming election, and

she could not help letting her hopes run high. The ballot was to be taken at halfpast

three, which left little time for canvassing; but she meant to do the best for

herself that circumstances would allow. She was a day boarder, so, when

morning classes were over, she strolled into the Juniors' Common Room to

discuss her chances. Already some papers were pinned up claiming attention for

the various candidates:

"Vote for Val Barnett, the hockey champion."

"Hope Lawson begs all her friends to support her in the coming election."

"Grace Russell solicits the favour of your votes."

"Noëlle Kennedy relies upon the kindness of the Lower School."

"Hallo, Dorothy!" said Mavie Morris. "Aren't you going to add your quota to

the general lot? All the others are getting up their appeals. I wish Miss Tempest

had put me on the list of likelies!"

"I can't think why she didn't," replied Dorothy. "I should say you're far more

suitable than Noëlle Kennedy."

"Why, so do I, naturally. But there! it can't be helped. I'm not among the elect,

so I must just grin and bear it. Is this your appeal? Let me look."

She seized the piece of paper from Dorothy's hand, and, scanning it eagerly,

read the following lines:

Ye voters at the school election,

I beg you'll look in my direction;

I hate to boast and brag, but yet

For once I'm blowing my own trumpet.

Now don't you think in me you'd find

A candidate suited to your mind?

No bookworm I, but fond of sports,

Hockey or games of other sorts;

At acting I can run the show,

And play my part, as well you know.

At meetings all your wants I'd state,

And make a speech at the debate.

I'd back in all scholastic storms

The interests of the Lower Forms.

A zealous leader I should be,

So when you vote, please remember me!

I hope these verses you will pardon,

And choose me for the Lower School Warden.

"What do you think of it?" asked Dorothy. "I made it up during the history

lesson, and wrote it on my knee under the desk. One wants something rather

different from other people's, and I thought perhaps no one else would have a

rhyming address."

"It's not bad," commented Mavie, "but you do brag."

"I've apologized for it. One must state one's qualifications, or what's the use of

being a candidate? Look at Val's notice—she calls herself the hockey champion."

"No one takes Val too seriously. I don't believe she's the ghost of a chance,

though she did win the cup last season. One needs more than that for a warden;

brains count as well as muscles."

"I know; that's why I tried poetry."

"Please don't call that stuff poetry. Half of the lines won't scan."

There was a pucker between Dorothy's dark eyebrows as she snatched back

her literary bantling.

"I don't suppose that matters. Everybody isn't so viper-critical," she retorted.

"Shall I pin it up here or in the gym.?"

"It will be more seen here; but I warn you, Dorothy, I don't think the girls will

like it."

"Why not?"

"Well, it's clever enough, but it's cheeky. I'm afraid somehow it won't catch on.

If you take my advice, you'll tear it up and just write 'Vote for Dorothy

Greenfield' instead."

But taking other people's advice was not at present included in Dorothy's

scheme of existence; she much preferred her own ideas, however crude.

"I'll leave it as it is," she answered loftily. "It can't fail to attract attention

anyhow."

"As you like. By the by, if you're going round canvassing, there's been a new

——"

But Dorothy did not wait to listen. She was annoyed at Mavie's scant

appreciation of her poetic effort; and having manifested her independence by

pinning the offending verses on the notice board, she stalked away, trying to look

nonchalant. She was determined to use every means at hand to ensure success,

and her best plan seemed to be to go round personally soliciting votes.

"I'll tackle the dinner girls now," she thought, "and I expect there'll be just

time to catch the others when they come back in the afternoon. Thank goodness

the election is only among the Third and Fourth! It would be terrible if one had

to go all round the school. Why, I never asked Mavie! How stupid! But she's

certain to be on my side; she detests Val, and she's not particularly fond of Hope

either, though of course there's Grace. Had I better go back and make sure of

her?"

On the whole she decided that as she had left Mavie in rather a high and

mighty manner, it would seem a little beneath her dignity to return at once and

beg a favour, so she went into the playground instead to beat up possible

electors. She was not the first in the field, by any means. Already Valentine

Barnett and her satellites were hard at work coaxing and wheedling, while the

emissaries of Doris Earnshaw and Noëlle Kennedy were urging the

qualifications of their particular favourites. Hope Lawson was seated on the seesaw

in company with a number of small girls from the Lower Second.

"What's she doing that for?" thought Dorothy. "Those kids haven't got votes.

It's sheer waste of time to bother with them. She's actually put her arm round that

odious little Maggie Muir, and taken Nell Boughton on her knee! I shouldn't care

to make myself so cheap. I suppose she's letting Blanche Hall and Irene Jackson

do her canvassing for her."

Dorothy was, however, too much occupied with her own affairs to concern

herself greatly about her neighbours' movements. To put her claims adequately

before each separate elector was no mean task, and time fled all too quickly. She

used what powers of persuasion she possessed, and flattered herself that she had

made an impression in some quarters; but very few of the girls would give any

definite promises. Many of them, especially those of the Middle and Lower

Thirds, seemed to enjoy the importance of owning something which it was in

their power to withhold.

"I'm waiting till I've heard what you all six have to say for yourselves," said

Kitty Palgrave condescendingly. "I shan't make up my mind until the very last

minute."

"It's so difficult to choose between you," added Ellie Simpson, a pert little

person of twelve.

Their tone verged on the offensive, and in any other circumstances Dorothy

would have administered a snub. As it was, she pocketed her pride, and merely

said she hoped they would remember her. She heard them snigger as she turned

away, and longed to go back and shake them; but discretion prevailed.

"One has to put up with this sort of thing if one wants to get returned

Warden," she reflected. "All the same, it's sickening to be obliged to truckle to

young idiots like that."

She had not by any means found all the possible voters, so she decided to

return to the Juniors' Common Room. Mavie had gone, but a number of other

girls stood near the notice board talking, and reading the appeals of the various

candidates. Dorothy strolled up to see how her verses were being received. They

made a different impression on different minds, to judge from the comments that

met her ears.

"It's ripping!" exclaimed Bertha Warren.

"Says she can run the show, does she?" sneered Joyce Hickson.

"I call it just lovely!" gushed Addie Parker.

"Her trumpeter's dead, certainly!" giggled Phyllis Fowler. "Hallo, Dorothy! I

didn't see you were there."

"I'm going to vote for you, Dorothy," said Bertha, "and so is Addie. Phyllis

has promised Hope, and Joyce is on Val's side. If you like, I'll canvass for you

here, while you do the gym. You'd better not waste any time, because the others

are hard at it, and it's best to get first innings if you can."

Dorothy hastily agreed, and hurried off to the gymnasium, where she was

fortunate enough to catch some of her own classmates. They were all sucking

enormous peppermint "humbugs", and were almost speechless in consequence;

but they had the politeness to listen to her, which was more than she had

experienced from some of the girls.

"Very sorry!" replied Annie Gray, talking with difficulty. "You should have

asked us sooner. Val's been round, and simply coerced us."

"She made it a hockey versus lacrosse contest, and of course we plumped for

hockey," murmured Elsie Bellamy.

"Val's simply ripping at hockey!"

"Is that all you care for?" exclaimed Dorothy scornfully. "Val has nothing else

to recommend her."

"Hasn't she? What about peppermint 'humbugs'? I call them a very substantial

recommendation."

"Did Val give you those?"

"Rather! She put on her hat and bolted out into High Street and bought a

whole pound. Lucky Miss James didn't catch her as she dodged back!"

"She's handing them round to everybody," added Helen Walker. "I wish I had

taken two."

For once Dorothy's pale cheeks put on a colour. She could not restrain her

indignation.

"How atrociously and abominably mean!" she burst out. "Why, it's just

bribery, pure and simple. I didn't think Val was capable of such a sneaking trick.

She knows quite well how unfair it is to the rest of us."

"Why, you could have done the same if you'd liked," laughed Elsie. "It's not

too late now. I've a preference for caramels, if you ask me."

"I'd be ashamed!" declared Dorothy. "Surely you ought to give your votes on

better grounds than 'humbugs' or caramels? Such a thing has never been done

before at the Coll."

"All the more loss for us," giggled Helen flippantly.

"Do you mean to tell me you don't care whether a candidate behaves

dishonourably or not?"

"Not I, if she's jolly."

"I'm disgusted with you, absolutely disgusted! If you haven't a higher ideal of

what's required in a warden, you don't deserve to have votes at all."

"Draw it mild, Dorothy!" chirped Elsie.

"I won't. I'll tell you what I think of you: you're a set of greedy things! There

isn't one of you with a spark of public spirit, and if the election is going to be run

on these lines, I——"

But Dorothy's tirade was interrupted by the dinner bell; and the objects of her

scorn, hastily swallowing the offending peppermints, decamped at a run, leaving

her to address a group of empty chairs. She followed more leisurely, fuming as

she went. She knew she had been foolish and most undiplomatic to lose her

temper so utterly, but the words had rushed out before she could stop them.

"They wouldn't have voted for me in any case," she said to herself, "so it

really doesn't matter, after all, they're only a minority. I expect it will prove a

very even affair, perhaps a draw, and that no one will have a complete walkover.