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Tom and Some Other Girls: A Public School Story

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<h3>Chapter Eighteen.</h3> <h4>Tom Arrives.</h4> Tom wrote by return to state that she considered Rhoda “a brick” for sending her such a “ripping” invitation; that it would be “great sport” to see her at home, and that she would arrive by the twelve o’clock train on the next Monday. “She isn’t pretty,” Rhoda explained anxiously to Harold, the fastidious; “in fact, she’s plain, very plain indeed. I’m afraid you won’t like her, but she likes you. She saw you on the platform at Euston, and said you were a ‘bee-ootiful young man,’ and that she was broken-hearted that she couldn’t stay to make your acquaintance.” “Good taste, evidently, though unattractive!” said Harold, smiling. “I’m sorry she’s not good-looking, but it can’t be helped. No doubt she makes up for it in moral worth.” “Well, she does, that’s perfectly true. I loathed and detested her at first, but I’m devoted to her now. She’s just, and kind, and awfully clever, and so funny that you simply can’t be in low spirits when she’s about. All the girls adore her, but you won’t. She says herself that men can’t appreciate her, so she’s going to devote her life to women, out of revenge. Men never care for women unless they are pretty and taking,” cried Rhoda, with an air, and Harold protested sententiously. “I’m the exception to the rule! I look beyond the mere exterior, to the nobility of character which lies behind. Dear Tom’s lack of beauty is nothing to me. I am prepared for it, and shall suffer no disillusion.” He changed his mind, however, when at the appointed time “dear Tom” arrived, and stepped from the carriage on to the platform of the little station. When his eye first fell upon her, in response to Rhoda’s excited, “There she is!” he felt a momentary dizzy conviction that there must be a mistake. This extraordinary apparition could never be his sister’s friend, but yes! it was even so, for already the girls were greeting each other, and glancing expectantly in his direction. He went through the introduction with immovable countenance, saw the two friends comfortably seated in the pony carriage, and called to mind a message in the village which would prevent him from joining them as he had intended. He required a few minutes’ breathing time to recover his self-possession, and the girls drove off alone, not at all sorry, if the truth were told, to be deprived of his company. “Well, Fuzzy!” cried Tom. “Well, Tom!” cried Rhoda, and stared with wondering eyes at the unaccustomed grandeur of her friend’s attire. Thomasina had done honour to the occasion by putting on her very best coat and skirt, of a shade of fawn accurately matching her complexion, while on her head was perched that garment unknown at Hurst, “a trimmed hat.” Fawn straw, fawn wings sticking out at right angles, bows of fawn-coloured ribbon wired into ferocious stiffness—such was the work of art; and complacent, indeed, was the smile of its owner as she met her companion’s scrutiny. “Got ’em all on, haven’t I?” she enquired genially. “Must do honour to the occasion, you know, and here’s yourself all a-blowing, all a-growing, looking as fresh as a daisy, in your grand white clothes!” “Indeed, then, I feel nothing of the kind, or it must be a very dejected daisy. You have heard the news, of course, and know that I am—” “Plucked!” concluded Tom, pronouncing the awful word without a quiver. “Yes. Thought you would be; you were so cheap that arithmetic morning. You can’t do sums when you are on the point of fainting every second minute... Very good results on the whole.” “Yes, but—isn’t it awful for me? Don’t you pity me? I never in my life had such a blow.” “Bit of a jar, certainly, but it’s over now, and can’t be helped. No use whining!” said Tom calmly, and Rhoda gave a little jump in her seat. After all, can anyone minister to a youthful sufferer like a friend of her own age? Tom’s remarks would hardly have been considered comforting by an outsider, yet by one short word she had helped Rhoda more than any elderly comforter had been able to do. It was interesting and praiseworthy to grieve over such a disappointment as she had experienced, to be sorrowful, even heart-broken, but to whine! That put an entirely different aspect on her grief! To whine was feeble, childish, and undignified, a thing to which no self-respecting girl could stoop. As Rhoda recalled her tears and repinings, a flush of shame came to her cheeks, and she resolved that, whatever she might have to suffer in the future, she would, at least, keep it to herself, and not proclaim her trouble on the house-tops. When the Chase was reached, Tom was taken into the drawing-room and introduced to Mrs Chester, who poured out tea in unusual silence, glancing askance at the fawn-coloured visitor who sat bolt upright on her chair, nibbling at her cake with a propriety which was as disconcerting to the kindly hostess as it was apparently diverting to her daughter. Rhoda had been accustomed to see Tom play a hundred sly tricks over this sociable meal, a favourite one being to balance a large morsel on the back of her right hand, and with an adroit little tap from the left send it flying into the mouth stretched wide to receive it, and it tickled her immensely to witness this sudden fit of decorum. She sat and chuckled, and Mrs Chester sat and wondered, until Tom politely declined a third cup of tea, and was dragged into the garden, with entreaties to behave properly, and be a little like herself, “I thought I was charming,” she declared. “I tried to copy Evie, and look exactly as she does when she is doing the agreeable. Didn’t you notice the smile? And I didn’t stare a bit, though I was longing to all the time. You do live in marble halls, Fuzzy, and no mistake! We could get the whole of our little crib into that one room, and we don’t go in for any ornaments or fal-lals. A comfortable bed to sleep in, and lots of books—that’s all my old dad and I trouble about.” Rhoda thought of the dismal little study at Hurst Manor, with the broken chairs, and the gloves on the chimney-piece, and could quite imagine the kind of home from which the owner came; but she murmured little incredulities, as in politeness bound, as she led the way in the direction best calculated to impress a stranger. Tom did not pay much attention to the grounds themselves, but she raved over the horses, and made friends with all the dogs, even old Lion, the calf-like mastiff, who was kept chained up in the stable-yard because of his violent antipathy to strangers. When he beheld this daring young woman walking up to his very side, and making affectionate overtures for his favour, he showed his teeth in an alarming scowl, but next moment he changed his mind, and presently Tom was pinching and punching, and stroking his ears, with the ease of an old acquaintance. “I’ve never met the dog yet that I couldn’t master!” she announced proudly. “That old fellow would follow me all round the grounds as meekly as a lamb, if he had the chance!” “We won’t try him, thank you; he might meet a messenger-boy en route, and we should have to pay the damages. Come along now, and I will show you—” but at this opportune moment Harold came in view, sauntering round the corner of the stable, and Rhoda called to him eagerly, glad to be able to impress him with a sense of Tom’s powers. “Harold, look here! See what friends Tom has made with Lion already. He lets her do anything that she likes. Isn’t it wonderful?” “By Jove!” exclaimed Harold, and looked unaffectedly surprised to see his gruff old friend submitting meekly to the stranger’s advances. “Tastes differ!” was the mental comment, but aloud he said suavely, “Lion is a good judge of character. He knows when he has found a friend.” “Yes, they all recognise me. I was a bulldog in my last incarnation,” said Tom calmly, and by some extraordinary power which she possessed of drawing her mobile features into any shape which she chose, certain it is that she looked marvellously like a bulldog at that moment: twinkling eyes set far apart, heavy mouth, small, impertinent nose, all complete! Harold was so taken aback that he did not know what to say, but Rhoda dragged laughingly at her friend’s arm and cried,— “Come along! Come along! It will soon be time to go indoors and dress for dinner, and we haven’t done half our round. I was going to take Tom to the links, Harold. She is a great golfer, and will be interested in seeing them. You’ll come too, won’t you?” “With pleasure. They are just our own tame little links, Miss Bolderston, which we have faked up in the park. You won’t think much of them if you are a player, but they give an opportunity for private practice, and we have some good sport there occasionally.” “Ah, yes! How many holes?” enquired Tom, sticking one thumb between the buttonholes of her coat, and tilting her head at him with such a businesslike air that he felt embarrassed to be obliged to reply. “Nine, with a little crossing about; some of the distances are very short, I’m afraid. Still, it has its points, and I’ve played on larger links with less enjoyment. We will take a short cut across here to the first hole. We start here, as you see, and a good full cleek shot should land you on the green. There are only two holes which really give a chance for a driver. Now you can see the second green, but it’s not so easy a hole as it looks from here, for the grass is tussocky, and one almost always gets a bad lie for the approach.” “Yes, but why not drive for the green?” “Well, you see, it’s rather too far for a cleek, and too short for a driver. Sometimes I try it with a brassey, but on the whole I think the cleek is best. If you over-drive you get into awful trouble, as you will see.” So the course was gone over and explained, and Tom’s eye was quick to see the possibilities, and note the dangers, nor did she hesitate sometimes to differ from Harold’s tactics. “Well,” said he, in conclusion, “what do you think of ’em? Rather sporting, aren’t they?” “Humph—yes!” said Tom. “That fifth hole is a little tricky, but I think they ought to be done in—er—What’s your record?” “M–well, it varies—of course. I’m no pro., but I can get round in forty, with luck.” “Forty! Humph!” Tom wheeled round on her heel, and gazed from right to left with calculating eyes. Her lips moved noiselessly, then she nodded her head, and cried confidently: “I’ll take you! I’ll play you to-morrow for the better man!” “Done!” agreed Harold at once, but he straightened his shoulders as he spoke with a gesture which meant that he had no intention, if he knew it, of being beaten by a school-girl, and his sister looked forward to the contest with very mingled feelings. If Tom lost, it would be a distinct blow; yet if Tom won, how Harold would dislike her! How hopeless it would be to look for any friendship between them after that! She was glad that the game would have to be deferred for a day at least, for an evening spent in Tom’s company must surely instal her in public favour. When, however, she went to her friend’s room to convey her downstairs to dinner, Rhoda’s confidence was shaken, and she nearly exclaimed aloud in dismay at the apparition which she beheld. Tom in full evening dress was a vision which had been denied to Hurst Manor, but on the present occasion she had evidently determined to pay every honour to her hosts, and bony arms and neck emerged festively from a shot-silk gown, which Rhoda felt convinced must have been a possession of the long-deceased mother. “What do you think of that?” Tom cried proudly, rustling round to confront the new-comer, arms akimbo, and eyes twinkling with complacency. “There’s a natty get-up! Quite a fashion plate, ain’t I? The very latest from Par-ee. You didn’t expect to see anything like that, did you?” “I didn’t!” cried Rhoda, truthfully enough; but Tom suspected no satire in her words, and taking up the hand-glass, began twisting and turning before the mirror so as to get a view of her hair, which was no longer plaited into a pigtail, but screwed into a knot the size of a walnut, planted accurately in the middle of her head. “I say, what do you think of my coiffure?” Rhoda looked, and burst into a shriek of laughter. “Oh, Tom! that’s it! I noticed there was something different, but couldn’t think what it was. Oh, no, no, Tom, you can’t leave it like that! You must make it bigger, and wear it either high or low. It’s too ridiculous—that little button just in the very wrong place. Sit down for one moment, and I’ll arrange it for you!” But Tom beat her off resolutely with the hair-brush. “I won’t! It’s my own hair, and I like it this way. It’s distingué—not like every other woman you meet. Now that I’ve left school and am grown-up, I must study les convenances, and it’s fatal to be commonplace. I may be prejudiced, but it seems to me that in this get-up I’m a striking figure!” The beaming good-humour of her smile, the utter absence of anything approaching envy or discontent, struck home to Rhoda’s heart, and silenced further protestations. She put her arm round Tom’s waist, gave her an affectionate grip, wishing, for perhaps the first time in her life, that she herself had put on an older frock, so that the contrast between herself and her guest should be less marked in the eyes of the household. Alas! socially speaking, Tom was not a success. Mrs Chester was plainly alarmed by her eccentricities; Mr Chester did not know whether to take her in fun or in earnest; and Harold’s languor grew more and more pronounced. The very servants stared with astonishment at the peculiar guest, and when dinner was over Rhoda, in despair, took Tom up to her own den to avoid the ordeal of an evening in the drawing-room. Once alone, with closed doors and no critical grown-ups to listen to their conversation, the hours sped away with lightning speed, while Tom told of her own plans, sympathised with Rhoda’s ambition, and let fall words of wisdom, none the less valuable for being uttered in the most casual fashion. Every now and again the remembrance of her recent disappointment would send a stabbing pain through Rhoda’s heart, but, as she had said, it was impossible to remain in low spirits in Tom’s company, and if no one else enjoyed that young lady’s society it was precious beyond words to her girl companion. The game of golf was played as arranged, but though Harold came off victor it was too close a contest to be agreeable to his vanity, or to increase his liking for his opponent, while Mr Chester confided to his wife that he could not understand Rhoda’s infatuation for such a remarkably unattractive companion. “If it had been that sweet little Miss Everett, now, she might have stayed for a year, and been welcome, but I confess I shall be glad when this girl takes her departure. She makes me quite nervous, sitting blinking at me with those little eyes. I have a sort of feeling that she is laughing to herself when she seems most serious.” “Oh, she could never laugh at you, dear. She couldn’t be so audacious!” declared Mrs Chester fondly; “but I can’t bring myself to like her, and where her cleverness lies is a mystery to me. I never met a more ignorant girl. She can neither sew nor knit nor crochet, and the remarks she made in the market yesterday would have disgraced a child of ten. I pity the man who gets her for his wife!” But, as we have seen, Thomasina had other ideas than matrimony for her own future. As she drove to the station by Rhoda’s side she fell into an unusual fit of silence, and emerging from it said slowly: “I’m glad I’ve seen your home, Fuzzy. It’s very beautiful, and very happy. You are all so fond of one another, and so nice and kind, that it’s a regular ideal family. I think you are a lucky girl. I like all your people very much, though they don’t like me!” Rhoda exclaimed sharply, but Tom’s smile was without a shadow of offence as she insisted— “My dear, I know it! Don’t perjure yourself for the sake of politeness. I’m sorry, but—I’m accustomed to it. Strangers don’t like me, and it’s not a mite of use trying to ingratiate myself. I did all I knew when I came here. I wore my best clothes, I tried to behave prettily, and you see, dead failure, as usual! You needn’t look doleful, for no doubt it’s all for the best. If I were beauteous and fascinating I might be distracted from my work, whereas now I shall devote myself to it with every scrap of my strength. Girls love me, and I love them, so I’ll give up my life for their service. We have all our vocation, and it would be a happier world if everyone were as well satisfied as I am. ‘In work, in work, in work always, let my young days be spent.’ Bother it! Here’s the station already, and I haven’t said half I wanted to!” “Nor I to you. It’s horrid to say good-bye, and think of school without you, but you’ll write to me, won’t you, Tom? You will promise to write regularly?” “Indeed, I won’t! Fifty odd girls implored me to write to them, and it’s too big an order. No, my dear Fuzz, I shall have no time to tell you how busy I am. Here we part, and we must leave it to fate or good fortune when we meet again. Bless you, my infant! Perk up, and be a credit to me.” “But—but—how am I to know, how am I to hear what happens to you? I can’t say good-bye and let you fade away completely, as if we had never met. It’s horrible. You must let me know!” “Look in the newspapers. You will see my doings recorded in the Public Press,” replied Tom, as she skipped into the carriage. Rhoda looked on blankly, her heart sinking with a conviction that Tom did not care; that it was nothing for her to say good-bye and part without a prospect of reunion. She was too proud to protest, but, waving her hand, turned abruptly away and walked out of the station. The train lingered, however, and the temptation to take one more peep became too strong to be resisted, so she ran along the path for twenty or thirty yards, and peered cautiously through a gate from which a sight of the carriage in which her friend sat could be commanded. Tom had leant back in her seat, and flung her hat on one side; her little eyes were red with tears, and she was mopping them assiduously with a ball-like pocket handkerchief! <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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