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Tom and Some Other Girls: A Public School Story

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<h3>Chapter Six.</h3> <h4>Tom’s Rule.</h4> The next moment, as it seemed, there came the roll of a distant gong, and instantly there burst into life a score of jangling bells, clanging and tinkling over one’s very head in a manner calculated to destroy the strongest nerves. Rhoda felt an agonised certainty that the Chase was on fire, and springing up was confronted by the blue walls of her little cubicle. Memory came back then, and with a pang of regret she lay back in bed, listening to the succession of groans, yawns, and sighs which arose from every corner of the room. They were so eloquent that one could almost see the sleepers stretching themselves in turn, blinking heavy lids, and rubbing dishevelled locks like so many sleek, lazy kittens. For a moment no one spoke, then began a chorus of lamentations. “Seven o’clock! It can’t be true. I haven’t slept a wink all night!” “I’ve been getting up at half-past eight all the holidays, and having a cup of tea in bed before that. It’s killing going back to this!” “Wait till the mornings are dark, and the water is frozen in the jugs; that’s the time it is really fun. This is a mere trifle.” “It’s not a trifle at all. I’m a growing girl, and need sleep. If Miss Bruce had any heart she would see it, and give me an excuse.” “She’ll give you a mark instead, if you are not quick. Hurry up now! No laggards!” cried Thomasina’s voice, in answer to which there came still louder groans, and the creaking of bedsteads as one girl after another rose to her feet. Rhoda rose with the rest, and for ten minutes there was silence, broken only by the splashing of water. Then suddenly the air was filled with a deep, melodious roll, at which, as at a signal, Thomasina appeared from her lair—beautiful in a magenta dressing-jacket, and hair coiled in a tight little knot at the top of her head—and opened wide the door of the dormitory. Rhoda, peering from between her curtains could see other doors opening all the way down the corridor, and bare arms hastily withdrawn from view, while all the time the music swelled into fuller force, and pealed over the great, silent house like some majestic wakening voice. “What is it?” she queried breathlessly, and Thomasina answered from behind her curtain: “The organ, of course. The organ in the hall. One of the music mistresses plays a voluntary every morning ten minutes after we get up, and the choir sings a hymn. You will hear them presently. Each house takes it in turn to do choir duty. It’s the Greens this week.” As she spoke the first note of the hymn sounded, and the words rose clearly on the air:— <blockquote> “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee. Holy, holy, holy, Merciful and Mighty, God in Three Persons, Blessed Trinity!” </blockquote> The clear voices were softened by distance into almost angelic sweetness, the treble rang true and sweet against the harmonious background of alto; the organ sank to a flute-like softness. It was an unexpected and beautiful beginning to the day’s work, and the tears started to Rhoda’s eyes as she listened, for she was of an emotional nature, quick to respond to any outside influence. She followed each line of the hymn with devout attention, and when it was finished knelt down beside her bed to offer a prayer, which was much longer and more fervent than it would have been ten minutes before. She prayed for strength, for guidance, and—with a remembrance of yesterday’s trials—for patience too, that she might be able to take a joke in good part, and not value too highly her own dignity, and finally rose from her knees in a glow of virtuous resolution. No sooner was she out of her cubicle than the blow descended. With the glow of good resolution still upon her, she was tried—and fell! <ANTIMG src="images/tgirl059.jpg" alt=""> Thomasina regarded her critically, and said, with a cool assurance more maddening than downright rudeness: “That coiffure is very becoming, Fuzzy, but it won’t do here. Go back to your den, and plait it in a pigtail like mine!” The glare of indignation, of scorn, of outraged dignity in Rhoda’s eyes was beyond description. She straightened her back into a poker of obstinacy, and replied— “I shall do no such thing! I shall wear my hair as I choose, and as I have always worn it.” “No you won’t, my dear. Pigtails are the rule in this establishment, and pigtails you must wear so long as you are within its walls.” “If a teacher tells me to wear one, I shall obey. If it is a rule, some one in authority will tell me. I won’t be ordered by you.” There was a gasp of astonishment throughout the room, and one head after another peered out to stare at the rebellious spirit who dared to defy that important personage, the Head Girl. Thomasina closed her eyes and smiled in maddening fashion. “That’s where you make your mistake, sweet love, for it’s just exactly what you’ve got to do! I’m Head Girl, and don’t you forget it. The Queen on her throne is not more absolute than I am in this room. If you don’t do what I tell you, it will be my painful duty to report you for insubordination, and it is a sad thing for a girl to get a mark on her first day. I must trouble you for that pigtail, if you please.” She was speaking the truth, that was evident! Confirmation was written on every watching face, in every warning frown. Rhoda’s pride battled with a sense of helplessness so acute that she had much ado not to burst into tears on the spot. The two girls stood confronting each other, the new-comer flushed and quivering, like a beautiful young fury, with her flaxen hair streaming over her shoulders, and her blue eyes sending out sparks of fire; Thomasina composed and square, with her lips pursed up in a good-humoured, tolerant smile. “Hurry up!” she said, and Rhoda whisked round and dashed behind her curtain, which flew out behind in an aggrieved fashion, as if unused to be treated with such scant courtesy. The next few moments seemed to have concentrated in them a lifetime of bitterness. The comb tugged remorselessly through the curling locks, but the physical pain passed unnoticed; it was the blow to pride which hurt—the sharp, sharp stab of finding herself worsted, and obliged to give in to the will of another. It was nothing at that moment that the pigtail was ugly and unbecoming; Rhoda would have shaved her head and gone bald for ever if by this means she could have escaped that verdict; but to appear again before all the girls with that hateful, hateful wisp hanging down her back—she felt as if she would die rather than do it; yet would it not be even more degrading to wait for a summons? She stalked forth, straight and defiant, and was received with a bland smile. “Pretty fair for a first attempt. Plait it down further next time. I must have my girls neat and tidy. Now then, forward please—Right, left! right, left!” The order was accompanied by a tap on the shoulder, which put the finishing touch to Rhoda’s exasperation. She stepped into her place in the queue, trembling from head to foot, and with a painful throbbing in her head which was something new in her healthy experience. Immediately in front marched a tall, straight form, whom at first she failed to recognise, but at the head of the staircase there came a temporary wait, and then the head was turned towards her, and, behold, it was Dorothy herself, pigtailed like the rest, and looking curiously reduced without the background of hair. “Morning!” she cried cheerily, and Rhoda gasped a breathless question. “You too! Did she tell you? I never heard—” “Didn’t give her a chance! Heard her ordering you, and nipped mine up in a trice. Treat it as a matter of course, and don’t seem to mind—that’s the tip! Only get yourself disliked by making a fuss.” “I know, but I can’t help it,” sighed Rhoda dismally. “I’m not used to bullying, and it makes me wild. My head’s splitting. I feel all churned up.” “Worse troubles at sea!” said Dorothy shortly, and after that there was no more chance of conversation, for the queue moved on again, and they were separated at breakfast as at dinner the night before. Thomasina sat opposite to Rhoda, and pressed the various dishes upon her good-temperedly, ignoring all causes of discord, an attitude which, if she had only known it, but added to the score against her, for pride forced a haughty “No, thanks,” whilst appetite prompted “Yes, please.” To sit with empty plate, and see others feast on bread and marmalade is no slight trial when one is fifteen and a-hungred, but no one urged Rhoda to change her mind, or thought it possible to succeed where the Head Girl failed. There were no regular lessons during the morning, but a great deal of confusing moving to and fro from one class-room to another, to go over preliminary arrangements, and receive instructions from the mistresses. Sometimes the new girls were ignored altogether, and then they felt worms, and ready to sink through the earth; sometimes they were questioned as to their attainments, and then the very walls seemed to have ears, and their replies echoed through a deadly silence. Dorothy attained a fair level throughout, and reaped neither praise nor blame, but Rhoda knew alternate rapture and despair, as Mademoiselle and Fraulein beamed approval, and the “class-mistress” put up her eye-glasses and regarded her as one might regard a wild animal at the Zoo, upon hearing that she had “done” no Latin or mathematics. “You will not do much good at this school without them,” she said, severely. “They are the most important subjects. I advise you to give all the time you can spare to working them up, and to get, if possible, some coaching during the holidays. That is, of course, if you wish to excel.” If she wished to excel! If, indeed! Did any one suppose for a moment that Rhoda Chester would be content to remain among the rank and file? Did they think that she could continue to be ignored, and live! Ten thousand times no! “A day would come!” as Disraeli had said. They thought just now that she was nobody, but in time to come the school would know her name, would be proud of it, would boast of it to other schools. Rhoda reared her head and smiled complacently, and the class-mistress noted the action, and made a mental note that the new pupil must be “kept down.” The morning seemed very long, but it came to an end at last with a blessed ten minutes “off” before preparing for dinner. The other girls hurried to their cubicles, but Rhoda waylaid Miss Everett in the corridor, and appealed to her in breathless eagerness. “You said I was to come to you in any difficulty... I want to know if it is necessary for me to wear my hair like this? I never do it at home, and I’m sure my mother wouldn’t like it. Is it really the rule?” “I’m afraid it is,” said Miss Everett kindly. “You don’t like it, eh? Well, I don’t wonder! I shouldn’t myself, in your place; but you see, dear, bending over desks, and running about at games, loose hair gets in the way, and cannot possibly be kept tidy. It seems an arbitrary rule, but there’s reason in it, as there is in all the rules if you think them out, and it doesn’t apply to every day. On Thursday evening we have ‘Frolics,’ and then you can wear it loose, and put on your prettiest things. There is always something going on—concerts, dances, or theatricals—and Miss Bruce likes the girls to look bonnie and festive. On Sundays, too, you can go back to your mop if you choose. I hope you will, for I like to see it. I have a little sister with hair just like yours.” She laid her hand affectionately on the curly head, and the touch of kindliness acted as balm to Rhoda’s sore heart. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she said huskily: “I’ll do anything you tell me. I won’t mind; but that Thomasina—she’s hateful! I can’t stand being ordered about by a girl of my own age.” “Ah–h!” cried Miss Everett, and sighed as at the recurrence of a well-known trouble. “Well, you know, Rhoda, you must get over that feeling, and conform to the rules of the school. Thomasina is a great help to me, and makes a capital ‘head girl.’ You see, dear, I have no time to look after these details. The girls think that they are busy, but long after they are asleep at night I am slaving away correcting exercises. Oh such piles of books! it makes me tired even to see them. I’ll do what I can for you, but you mustn’t expect too much; and after all, in a week or ten days you will have mastered the rules, and the difficulty will be over. You wouldn’t make a fuss for one week, would you? Stay! There is one thing I can tell you now, and that is that you won’t be allowed to wear those slippers any longer. I’ll give you an order, and you can go downstairs to the bureau and get a pair of school shoes like the other girls wear.” Rhoda gasped with dismay. “What! Those frightful things with square toes and no heels! Those awful tubs that Thomasina waddles about in!” Miss Everett laughed gaily. She was only a girl herself, and she cast a quick glance up and down the corridor to see if any one were coming before she drew aside her skirt to exhibit her own flat feet. “They are awful! I love pretty shoes, too; and the first time I wore these I—I cried! I was very home-sick, you see, and nervous and anxious about my work, and it seemed the last straw. Never mind! it’s only a little thing, and on Thursday you shall wear your very best pair and I’ll wear mine, and we’ll compare notes and see which is the prettier.” To say that Rhoda adored her is to state the matter feebly. She could have knelt down in the passage and kissed the ugly little feet; she could have done homage before this young mistress as before a saint; when the light streamed out of a window and rested on her head, it seemed to take the form of a halo! She went meekly downstairs, procured the shoes, and carried them into Dorothy’s cubicle, to display before the eyes of that horrified young woman. “There! We’ve got to wear those, too! It’s the rule. Miss Everett told me, and gave me an order to get them. You had better ask her for one before Thomasina gets a chance.” Dorothy looked at her solemnly, and measured the slipper against her own neat shoe; then she took off the latter and held the two side by side. One was arched and slim, the other flat and square; one had French heels and little sparkling buckles, the other was of dull leather, unrelieved by any trace of ornament. “Here’s deggeradation!” she sighed hopelessly. “Here’s deggeradation!” <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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