Part 8 (2/2)
”No, I've never seen her play, but I shouldn't think she's much good.
Who superintends her team practice? Do you know?”
”Yes, Kathleen Milne. She's right down in the bottom team, you see.
But so's Marjorie, too, for the matter of that. I've asked Kathleen which is the best, but she doesn't seem to know much about either of them. Says they are both so rotten that she really doesn't know which is the worse.”
”Kathleen's rather a slacker at hockey herself,” commented Monica.
”You can't really wonder her team doesn't do better when they've got such a slack coach. Can't you get that changed, Muriel? I don't see why it must always be a prefect who takes charge of the hockey practices for the lower teams. It would be much better to have somebody who knew something about hockey--even if it wasn't a prefect.
Don't you think so?”
”Yes, it is rather a bad practice, and I mean to get it altered in time,” agreed Muriel. ”Only there's so much to be done, and I've only been head two terms, you know. Still, I really will see about it as soon as I can. But that doesn't help me out of my fix over the dormitory match. Which of those two shall I play? Gerry or Marjorie?”
”I think I should give Gerry the chance,” replied Monica thoughtfully.
”Marjorie is such a mite of a thing, and from what Kathleen told you she doesn't appear to be any better in her play. After all, one player won't make such a huge lot of difference since you've got ten of the original team left. You're really rather lucky, Muriel, only to have one of the eleven down with 'flu.”
”Yes, I suppose I am,” said the head girl. ”Very well, then, it shall be Gerry. Where do the Lower Fifth hang out this time of the morning?”
”In their sitting-room, I expect, since it's Sat.u.r.day and there isn't any prep,” said Monica.
Muriel opened the door of her study and hailed a small girl who happened to be pa.s.sing.
”Here, Babs, run round to the Lower Fifth sitting-room and tell Gerry Wilmott I want her in my study. If she isn't there, just hunt about until you find her. There's a good kid.”
”All right, Muriel,” said the small girl, and darted off on her errand--f.a.gging for Muriel Paget was esteemed a great honour amongst the smaller fry at Wakehurst Priory. And so Gerry, sitting half-hidden in a corner of the sitting-room, buried in a book, was presently aroused by a violent jog at her elbow, and looked up to find Babs Hethwaite standing beside her.
”Muriel Paget wants you in her study. She says you're to go to her _at once_,” burst out the messenger.
Several of the members of the form looked up interestedly at this announcement, and many curious eyes followed Gerry as she made her way across the room.
”Hullo, what's up? I wonder what German Gerry's been doing for Muriel to want her in such a hurry?” commented Nita Fleming as the door closed behind the new girl.
”Oh, nothing! Perhaps Sister's been complaining about her drawers or something,” said Jack, rather resenting the tone in which Nita spoke.
It was noticeable--or rather would have been noticeable if anybody had been interested enough to notice it--that Jack never spoke of Gerry by the objectionable nickname herself, although she made no comment when others used it. Always, whenever Gerry was unkindly spoken of by anybody, Jack felt an unaccountable desire to stick up for her and take her part. If Jack had only been a little braver, she probably would have done so. It was curious how drawn she had been to Gerry during that first evening of the term when Monica had handed the new girl over to her care. If only things had been different, she might have made a real chum OF Gerry Wilmott--Jack reflected rather wistfully. But though Jack was plucky enough where mice and hockey and material things of that sort were concerned, when it came to braving the good opinion of her fellows, her courage failed her altogether.
Gerry found Muriel sitting at her writing-desk, making out a revised list for the afternoon's match.
”Oh, there you are!” the head girl said, as Gerry entered the room in response to her ”Come in.” ”Look here, you've got to play in the match this afternoon for the Pink Dorm. Gladys Williams is down with 'flu and you've got to take her place--right back. Do you think you can manage it?”
Gerry gave a gasp of dismay.
”Me! Oh, but, Muriel, I'm rotten at hockey!”
”I know you are,” said Muriel candidly. ”But there literally isn't anybody else--all the other girls in the Pink Dorm are away or down with 'flu, or something. I never came across such a lot in my life! I wouldn't put you in if there was anybody else--but there isn't. So you'll just have to play.”
”But, Muriel----” protested Gerry desperately. But Muriel waved her protest aside.
”Not another word! You've got to play. It's for the honour of the dorm, you know. I shan't expect anything very great of you--just do your best and I shall be satisfied. It's 2.30 sharp up on the hockey ground, and mind you're ready in time.”
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