Part 15 (1/2)
”I wonder what she'll do when it comes to literature and she finds we haven't prepared for that, either,” said Hilda, with rather a tragic expression on her face. Hilda's conscience was troubling her a good deal. She had very lively visions of what the headmistress would probably say about her responsibility as head of the form, when the matter should get to her ears.
”Treat us the same way as she did in algebra cla.s.s, I expect,” said Jack, with a grimace. ”Wasn't it a rotten thing to go and do? I'd much rather she had raved at us like she did over the German--that really was rather fun!”
”It was rather cute of her, all the same,” said Dorothy, with a sort of grudging admiration. ”It made me feel rather mean when she settled down to correcting those papers like that. If she hadn't been quite so lavish with her bad marks all the time, I almost believe I might have repented a bit then.”
”Oh, you'll repent all right, later on. Don't you worry about that,”
said Jack philosophically. ”You just wait until Miss Oakley has given us a jawing. She'll make you feel an utter worm; you just see if she doesn't!”
”I know she will!” said Hilda, with a groan. ”I say, don't you think we'd better give in and tell Miss Burton that we're sorry? There's a perfectly awful time waiting for us if we go on with the strike.”
”We've gone too far to draw back now,” said Dorothy. ”So we may as well go on a little longer and see if we can't accomplish something.
We've set out to show Miss Burton that she's come to an up-to-date public school, and that her old-fas.h.i.+oned kindergarten methods won't go down here. Don't let's give in before the campaign's properly begun!”
”Courage, _mes amis_,” cried Jack gaily, waving a biscuit over her head. ”The worst is still to come, I admit, but we are martyrs in a good cause. We'll teach Miss Burton a lesson before we've done! And if we burn our own fingers in the doing of it--well, we knew we shouldn't get off scot-free before we began, didn't we?”
”Anyway, we shall have a bit of a run for our money,” observed Nita Fleming, who had only just joined the group. ”Miss Oakley's gone away till Wednesday--I was in the hall just now and saw her drive off. That means Thursday before the row can come off, at the very earliest.”
”Hurrah!” shouted Jack. ”If we all hold together till then we shall have broken Miss Burton's spirit, and shown her that she can't treat us as though we were just a parcel of kids. Thursday--why, who knows, we may have brought her to terms by then!”
”There's the bell!” said Hilda. ”Buck up! it's Mademoiselle first, and we don't want to be late for her.”
The French lesson pa.s.sed off most successfully, full marks being gained by the whole form. Then came a breathless moment while the form waited for the reappearance of Miss Burton. But to everybody's astonishment it was the head girl, Muriel Paget, who walked into the cla.s.sroom at the conclusion of the French lesson.
”Miss Burton isn't coming to this cla.s.s,” announced the head girl in cold tones. ”Miss Latham has asked me to come and sit here during the lesson. Get out your _Henry the Fifths_, please. You are to copy out Act I. Scene ii. from the beginning, putting in all the stage-directions and footnotes. Those are Miss Latham's orders, and what you don't have time to do now, you are to finish in prep to-night.”
”My hat! The whole of the second scene!” groaned Phyllis in a whisper.
”Why, there's pages and pages of it!”
”Silence, please! There is to be no talking in cla.s.s,” rapped out Muriel, frowning. Phyllis, catching the frown, relapsed into instant silence, and meekly found the place in her copy of _Henry V_. Defying the new mistress was one thing, but to defy the head girl was quite another. And soon the whole of the Lower Fifth was struggling with ink-stained fingers and much inward groaning of spirit to accomplish the irksome and monotonous task allotted to it.
Miss Burton did not return to the cla.s.sroom at all that morning, and at the end of school, Muriel set the preparation for the evening and prepared to take the marks. Miss Latham's awards for English came first and were duly noted down. Then came the marks for the German cla.s.s.
”German, now,” said Muriel. ”Hilda Burns, how many?”
”None,” came from Hilda.
”Dorothy Pemberton?”
”None.”
”Phyllis Tressider?”
”None.”
And so on throughout the whole form, right down to Gerry Wilmott, whose name as the last comer was placed last upon the list. Muriel made no comment upon the scandalous result, but called for the marks for algebra. Once again the same comedy was enacted. Then came the good marks obtained from Mademoiselle, and then the last cla.s.s for literature. Muriel did not ask any questions respecting these.
”You have none of you any marks for literature,” she said. ”Any bad marks to give in?”