A Patriotic Schoolgirl Read online

  CHAPTER V

  Autographs

  The Brackenfielders, like most other girls, were given to fads. Thecollecting mania, in a variety of forms, raged hot and strong. Therewere the Natural History enthusiasts, who went in select parties,personally conducted by a mistress, to the shore at low tide, to grubblissfully among the rocks for corallines and zoophytes and spider crabsand madrepores and anemones, to be placed carefully in jam jars andbrought back to the school aquarium. "The Gnats", as the members of theNatural History Society were named, sometimes pursued theirinvestigations with more zeal than discretion, and they generallyreturned from their rambles with skirts much the worse for green slimeand sea water, and boots coated with sand and mud, but brimming overwith the importance of their "finds", and confounding non-members by theease with which they rapped out long scientific names. Those who hadcaught butterflies and moths during the summer spent some of theirleisure now in relaxing and setting them, and pinning them into cases.It was considered etiquette to offer the best specimens to the schoolmuseum, but the girls also made private collections, and vied with oneanother in the possession of rare varieties.

  The Photographic Society enjoyed a run of great popularity. There was anexcellent dark room, with every facility for developing and washing, andthis term the members had subscribed for an enlarging apparatus, withwhich they hoped to do great things. As well as these recognized schoolpursuits, the girls had all kinds of minor waves of fashion in the wayof hobbies. Sometimes they liked trifling things, such as scraps,transfers, coloured beads, pictures taken from book catalogues orillustrated periodicals, newspaper cuttings or attractiveadvertisements, or they would soar to the more serious collecting ofstamps, crests, badges, and picture post cards. In Marjorie's dormitorythe taste was for celebrities. Sylvia Page, who was musical, adorned hercubicle with charming photogravures of the great composers. IreneAndrews, whose ambition was to "come out" if there was anybody left todance with after the war, pinned up the portraits of Society beauties;Betty Moore, of sporting tendencies, kept the illustrations of prizedogs and their owners, from _The Queen_ and other ladies' papers.Marjorie, not to be outdone by the others, covered her fourth share ofthe wall with "heroes". Whenever she saw that some member of HisMajesty's forces had been awarded the V.C., she would cut out hisportrait and add it to her gallery of honour. She wrote to her motherand her sister Nora to help her in this hobby, with the consequence thatevery letter which arrived for her contained enclosures. Her room-mateswere on the whole good-natured, and in return for some contributions shehad given to their collections they also wrote home for any V.C.portraits which could be procured. As the girls were putting away theirclean clothes on "laundry return" day, Irene fumbled in her pocket anddrew out a letter, from which she produced some cuttings. She handedthem to Marjorie.

  "Mother sent me five to-day," she said. "I hope you haven't got themalready. Two are rather nice and clear, because they're out of _TheOnlooker_, and are printed on better paper than most. The others arejust ordinary."

  "All's fish that comes to my net," replied Marjorie. "I think they'retopping. No, I haven't got any of these. Thanks most awfully!"

  "Don't mench! I'll try to beg some more. They've always heaps of papersand magazines at home, and Mother looks through them to find mypictures. No, you're not taking the 'heroes' away from me. I like them,but I don't want to collect them. My cube won't hold everything."

  Marjorie sat down on her bed and turned over the new additions to hergallery. Three of them were the usual rather blurred newspaper prints,but, as Irene had said, two were on superior paper and very clear. Oneof these represented an officer with a moustache, the other was aprivate and clean shaven. Marjorie looked at them at first rathercasually, then examined the latter with interest. She had seen that facebefore--the shape of the forehead, the twinkling dark eyes, and thehumorous smile all seemed familiar. Instantly there rose to her memory avision of the crowded railway carriage from Silverwood, of the run alongthe platform at Rosebury, and of the search for a taxi at Euston.

  "I verily believe it's that nice Tommy who helped us!" she gasped toherself.

  She looked at the inscription underneath, which set forth that PrivateH. T. Preston, West Yorks Regiment, had been awarded the V.C. for pluckin removing a "fired" Stokes shell.

  "Why, that's the same regiment that Leonard is in! How frightfullyinteresting!" she thought. "So his name is Preston. I wonder what H. T.stands for--Harry, or Herbert, or Hugh, or Horace? He was mostunmistakably a gentleman. He's going to have the best place among myheroes. If the picture were only smaller, I'd wear it in a locket. Iwonder whether I could get it reduced if I joined the PhotographicSociety? I believe I'll give in my name on the chance. I must show it toDona. She'll be thrilled."

  The portrait of Private H. T. Preston was accordingly placed in a bijouframe, and hung up on the wall by the side of Marjorie's bed, in selectcompany with Kitchener, Sir Douglas Haig, the Prince of Wales, and HisMajesty the King. She looked at it every morning when she woke up. Thewhimsical brown eyes had quite a friendly expression.

  "Where is he fighting now--and shall I ever meet him again?" shewondered. "I'm glad, at least, that I have his picture."

  Marjorie lived for news of the war. She devoured the sheets ofclosely-written foreign paper sent home by Father, Bevis, and Leonard.She followed all the experiences they described, and tried to imaginethem in their dug-outs, on the march, sleeping in rat-ridden barns, orcruising the Channel to sweep mines. When she awoke in the night andheard the rain falling, she would picture the wet trenches, and sheoften looked at the calm still moon, and thought how it shone alike onpeaceful white cliffs and on stained battle-fields in Flanders. Theaeroplanes that guarded the coast were a source of immense interest atBrackenfield. The girls would look up to see them whizzing overhead.There was a poster at the school depicting hostile aircraft, and theyoften gazed into the sky with an apprehension that one of the Hunpattern might make its sudden appearance. Annie Turner came back afterthe half-term holiday with the signatures of two Field-Marshals, aGeneral, a Member of Parliament, three authors, an inventor, and acomposer, and straightway set the fashion at St. Elgiva's forautographs. Nearly every girl in the house sent to the Stores atWhitecliffe for an album. At present, of course, specimens of caligraphycould only be had from mistresses and prefects, except by those luckyones whose home people enclosed for them little slips of writing-paperwith signatures, which could be pasted into the books.

  Nobody took up the hobby more hotly than Marjorie. Her album was boundin blue morocco with gilt edges, and had coloured pages. The portion ofit reserved for Brackenfield was soon filled by the Empress, mistresses,and prefects, who were long-suffering, though they must have grown veryweary of signing their names in such a large number of books. Outsidethe school Marjorie so far had no luck. Her people did not seem to haveany very noteworthy acquaintances, or, at any rate, would not troublethem for their autographs. She had thought it would be quite easy forFather to secure the signatures of generals and diplomats, but in hisnext letter he did not even refer to her request. Elaine secured for herthe name of the Commandant of the Red Cross Hospital, and of a lady whosometimes wrote verses to be set to music, but these could not competewith the treasures some other girls had to show. Marjorie began to get alittle downhearted about the new fad, and had serious thoughts ofutilizing the album as a book of quotations.

  Then, one day, something happened. Sixteen girls were taken by MissFranklin for a parade walk into Whitecliffe, and Marjorie was chosenamong the number. Every week a small contingent, under charge of amistress, was allowed to go into the town to do some shopping. Thechance only fell once in a term to each individual, so it was acherished privilege.

  They first visited the Stores, where a long halt was allowed in theconfectionery department for the purchase of sweets. The investment inthese was considerable, for each girl not only bought her own, butexecuted commissions for numerous friends. There was a school limit of aquarter o
f a pound per head, but Miss Franklin was not over strict, andthe rule was certainly exceeded. The book and magazine counter alsoreceived a visit, and the stationery department, for there was atpresent a fashion for fancy paper and envelopes, with sealing-wax orpicture wafers to match, and the toilet counter had its customers forscent and cold cream and practical articles such as sponges and toothpaste. There was a sensation when Enid Young was discoveredsurreptitiously buying pink Papier Poudre, though she assured them thatit was not for herself, but for one of the Seniors, whose name she hadpromised not to divulge, under pain of direst extremities. Poor MissFranklin had an agitating hour escorting her flock from one departmentto another of the Stores and keeping them all as much as possibletogether. She breathed a sigh of relief when they were once more in thestreet, and walking two and two in a neat, well-conducted crocodile.They marched down Sandy Walks to the Market Place, and turned along thepromenade to go back by the Cliff Road. In this autumn season there weregenerally very few people along the sea front, but to-day quite a crowdhad collected on the sands. They were all standing gazing up into thesky, where an aeroplane was flitting about like a big dragon-fly. Nowwhen a crowd exhibits agitation, bystanders naturally become curious asto what is the cause of the excitement. Miss Franklin, though a teacher,was human; moreover, she always suspected every aeroplane of beingGerman in its origin. She called a halt, therefore, and enquired fromone of the sky-gazers what was the matter.

  "It's Captain Devereux, the great French airman," was the reply. "He'sjust flown over from Paris, and he's been looping the loop. There! He'sgoing to do it again!"

  Immensely thrilled, the girls stared cloudwards as the aeroplane, afterdescribing several circles, turned a neat somersault. They clapped as ifthe performance had been specially given for their benefit.

  "He's coming down!" "He's going to descend!" "He'll land on the beach!"came in excited ejaculations from the crowd, as the aeroplane begangently to drop in a slanting direction towards the sands. Like the wingsof some enormous bird the great planes whizzed by, and in another momentthe machine was resting on a firm piece of shingle close to thepromenade. Its near vicinity was quite too much for the girls; withoutwaiting for permission they broke ranks and rushed down the steps toobtain a nearer view. Captain Devereux had alighted, and was nowstanding bowing with elaborate French politeness to the variousstrangers who addressed him, and answering their questions as to thelength of time it had taken him to fly from Paris. He looked socourteous and good-tempered that a sudden idea flashed into Marjorie'shead, and, without waiting to ask leave from Miss Franklin, she rushedup to the distinguished aviator and panted out impulsively:

  "Oh, I do think it was splendid! Will you please give me yourautograph?"

  The Frenchman smiled.

  "With pleasure, Mademoiselle!" he replied gallantly, and, taking anotebook and fountain pen from his pocket, he wrote in a neat foreignhand:

  "HENRI RAOUL DEVEREUX",

  and handed the slip to the delighted Marjorie.

  "Oh, write one for me, please!" "And for me!" exclaimed the other girls,anxious to have their share if autographs were being given away. Theairman was good-natured, perhaps a little flattered at receiving so muchattention from a bevy of young ladies. He rapidly scribbled hissignature, tearing out sheet after sheet from his notebook. So excitedwere the girls that they would take no notice of Miss Franklin, whocalled them to order. It was not until the sixteenth damsel had receivedher coveted scrap of paper that discipline was restored, and thecrocodile once more formed and marched off in the direction ofBrackenfield.

  Miss Franklin's eyes were flashing, and her mouth was set. She did notspeak on the way back, but at the gate her indignation found words.

  "I never was so ashamed in my life!" she burst forth. "I shall at oncereport your unladylike conduct to Mrs. Morrison. You're a disgrace tothe school!"