For the School Colours Part 20

"No! no!" protested David emphatically. "Whatever you do, Ave, for goodness' sake don't blab! We've no proper evidence yet, and if stories begin to get about the village he'll know he's suspected, and he'll be careful. Just you leave this to me. It's my first 'case', and I want to worry it out. Remember, I'm going to be a barrister some day, when the war is over, if I don't go out to France first and get killed. Old Hockheimer's deep, but he doesn't know we're watching him. Two British boys ought to be a match for a German!"

"I'd shoot him first and watch him afterwards if I had my way," declared Tony bloodthirstily.

It was on that very same afternoon that a fresh planet swam into the Watson horizon, or, in other words, that they made a new acquaintance.

The Vicar was distinctly responsible for it. He was standing at the top of the churchyard steps, talking to a somebody, the toe of whose boot alone was visible round the corner, and when he saw Anthony pa.s.sing in the road below he beckoned to him. Tony mounted the steps, and found that the boot belonged to a young officer in khaki, who stood with his hands behind his back contemplating the tombstones.

"Hallo, sonnie!" said the Vicar affably. "Doing anything special this afternoon? This is Captain Harper, who's in charge of the camp near the river. He wants to go and see the Roman fort on the top of Weldon Hill, and he doesn't know the way. Have you time to take him?"

Anthony's grey eyes scanned the Captain's dark ones for one searching moment, but in that moment he loved him, and would have offered to act guide to the top of Mount Everest if required.

"I'd like to go," he volunteered. "You don't mind David coming too, do you?"

"I don't know who David is, but let him come, by all means!" smiled the officer. "Thanks very much, Mr. Holt, for finding someone to 'personally conduct' me!"

So it happened that David and Anthony started off with Captain Harper, and by the time they had reached the Roman Camp they had decided that they "liked him awfully", and when they returned to Lyngates they felt as if they had known him for years. They talked about school, and football, and fis.h.i.+ng, and treacling for moths, and a great many other interesting topics, and he told them a little about his experiences at the front, and how he had been wounded.

"How long have you been at Netherton?" asked Anthony as they paused by the gate of Walden.

"About six weeks."

"I wonder we've not seen you before."

"I've been very busy with my work. Is this where you live?"

"Yes. Come in and see Mother, won't you?"

Captain Harper's glance swept the front of the picturesque little house, and finally rested on the patch of ivy-covered wall where Daphne, a bewitching, hatless vision, with the sunset gleaming on her bronze hair, stood with unconscious profile turned towards them, planting snowdrop bulbs in the crannies.

"If she won't think I'm intruding," he replied diffidently.

But the boys had him each by an arm, and were hauling him in by sheer force.

"Mother's not one of those horrid stuck-up people who'll offer you two fingers to shake, and wither you up. Just come and speak to her, and judge for yourself."

"Mr. Holt calls her the very soul of hospitality," declared Anthony impressively.

CHAPTER XII

"Lady Tracy's At Home"

During almost the whole of the term the Dramatic Society had flourished among the boarders. That is to say, the prefects had chosen a play, had taken the best parts for themselves, and had allotted the minor parts to those girls who were fortunate enough to be their favourites. The particular piece they had selected was named "Lady Tracy's At Home", and included a large number of characters. Many of these were only in the nature of "supers", and had no words to say; others had a few short speeches. All the main action of the play centred on six princ.i.p.als, who were represented by the four prefects, with Muriel Knighton and Mabel Dennis, also members of the Sixth Form. There had been endless rehearsals. Adah, as stage manager, was extremely particular, and drilled her company remorselessly.

"We've got to make it a good show this time," she a.s.sured them.

"Remember, we're a big school now, and we shall be acting to a large audience. I expect those day girls will be fairly critical, so we mustn't give them any opportunity to find fault. Let's show them we know how to act."

"They used to have plays at their old school," volunteered Consie.

"I suppose they did, but I dare say they weren't up to much. You see, as they weren't boarders, they couldn't have had proper time for rehearsals, and perhaps didn't think out their costumes as we're doing."

"Very likely they only took Shakespeare or scenes from d.i.c.kens, or something tame of that kind," nodded Isobel.

Miss Thompson had allowed the Dramatic Society a certain wideness of choice, so they had abandoned the cla.s.sics, which seemed to savour too much of the schoolroom, and had selected an entirely modern and up-to-date comedy. In their eyes it was going to rival a piece from the real theatre. They had all seen up-to-date acting, and had their ideals of what a comedy ought to be.

"You must try to live in your parts beforehand, so that you catch the spirit of them," counselled Adah. "I've heard that Ellen Terry and Sarah Bernhardt always did that. It was the secret of their success. Throw yourself into your character till you entirely realize it."

"I suppose that's the artistic temperament," agreed Consie. "It would be gorgeous to take up the stage as a career, wouldn't it?"

"The stage of the future is going to be a School of Education for the People," moralized Adah. "Conscientious and cultured actresses will be a want."

"Miss Hopkins says Nature never creates a vacuum," ventured Joyce.

"Trust Mother Nature! If there's a want, she'll send someone to fill the gap."

"Only, of course, they've got to train themselves. There's nothing like beginning when one's young. And having the wish is half the battle."

As a result of this serious interest in dramatic culture, the character of the six "princ.i.p.als" underwent sudden and astonis.h.i.+ng changes.

Isobel, erstwhile a rather shy and retiring maiden, put on a perkiness and a coy a.s.surance very puzzling indeed to anybody who did not know that _pro tem._ she was Miss Diana Davenport, the beautiful, das.h.i.+ng, fascinating Society debutante, who was breaking the hearts of young and old in fas.h.i.+onable Mayfair. She practised casting a glamour over people and glancing from under veiled lashes, and succeeded fairly well with those who understood and played up, but indifferently with Miss Hopkins, who asked her if she were suffering from an attack of indigestion, and whether a dose of sal volatile would relieve the pain. Muriel, whose role was that of Diana's rejected lover, Lord Darcy Howard, went about endeavouring to remember that she had a broken heart. She sighed frequently, kept an expression of yearning in her eyes, and smiled a sad, wan smile, fraught with memories. She maintained a calm, yet melancholy dignity, befitting one who is singled out by fate for disappointment, heroism, and an early grave. It was really a very difficult part for Muriel, whose natural tastes inclined to a more sporting character, and she would have preferred to act a comic Irish servant; but Adah a.s.sured her that it was useless to think of the stage unless she was prepared for all emergencies, and could take any role that might be offered her. Adah herself, as Lady Tracy, had blossomed into a loquacious, clever, manoeuvring, brilliant hostess, much set on worldly advantages, and immediately concerned with the due disposal in life of her daughter Marigold. Adah's manner had always been rather consequential, now it surpa.s.sed itself, and she swam about the school as Queen of Society. Mabel, as Marigold, schooled herself to extreme innocence. She would practise making round eyes and an engaging pout as she lisped out: "But, Mother dearest, what is the great big world really, really like?" After many rehearsals, she succeeded in sidling bashfully into a room, and extending a timid hand without relapsing into laughter. Consie, the das.h.i.+ng _debonnaire_ hero of the piece, had an easier task. It was comparatively simple to stride about paying flowery compliments and carrying all before her. She soon acquired an irresistible manner, and a habit of flinging herself lazily into arm-chairs and toying with an imaginary watch-chain. She succeeded so admirably, that when she wore her costume at dress rehearsal, some of the girls almost fell in love with her. To Joyce, as the villain, fell a harder lot. It is difficult to live the part of a villain consistently for weeks. At rehearsals, much coached and chivied by Adah, she would slink and frown and bite her finger-tips and look daggers, and throw sarcasm into her voice, but off the stage she would relapse at once into the comfortable, easygoing, happy-go-lucky ways which usually characterized her personality. She was a sore trial to Adah.

"If you'd ever seen 'Shylock' or 'Mephistopheles', you'd have a better idea," urged the head girl. "You're not nearly bold and bad enough, somehow. We'll give you a dark wig and a curled moustache, and that paper cigar, and you must grind your teeth when Lord Archibald taxes you with the conspiracy."

"Will the audience hear me grinding them?" asked Joyce helplessly.

"Of course not, stupid! But they'll see your mouth move."

"If the moustache doesn't cover it."

"We'll take care it shan't. Can't you manage to look like 'Gentleman Jim' on the cinema when the detective caught him with his hand inside the safe?"

"I'll try; but how long must I go on looking like that? In the cinema they whisk on to the next picture in half a second, but on the stage I'll have to stand there, and I don't feel inclined to grind my teeth for five minutes. I hope that tweed suit will fit!"

All the performers felt their costumes to be their last resource, supplying any deficiencies in the acting. They were determined to be ultra-fas.h.i.+onable, and sent home for suitable garments. Adah secured a perfect dream of a dress in grey voile trimmed with sequins, and a silk petticoat that rustled as she walked. They lent an added graciousness and seal of society to her impressive manner. Isobel borrowed a toque, and a veil with spots, and a feather boa, and a pair of tan boots with high French heels, and a large cameo brooch, and a vanity bag, and looked das.h.i.+ng enough to break the heart of the most hardened and deliberate woman-hater who ever trod the boards. Her companions, gazing at her bewildered, a.s.sured her that she looked at least twenty-one, if not more. The way she stretched out a dainty gloved hand and murmured "How d'ye do?" was considered a triumph of acting.

"If we do it really well, of course, we might be asked to give it over again," Adah confided modestly to her fellows.

"Here?" asked Isobel.

"Well, not necessarily. Sometimes managers lend theatres for charities."

"An amateur play generally makes a heap of money!" opined Joyce.

"It would be lovely to act it in a real theatre!" gasped Mabel.

"The Harlingden Operatic Society cleared thirty pounds for the hospital by the 'Gondoliers'," volunteered Consie.

In imagination the Silverside Dramatic was already emulating this gratifying example. They could picture their appearance on the boards of the Prince of Wales Theatre before a distinguished audience, including possibly the Mayor and Mayoress. Meantime they expected quite a crowded audience in the big cla.s.s-room, and made grand preparations. The performance was to be on the last Wednesday afternoon of term at four o'clock. It was a custom as old as the school. The day girls had always been invited to attend, and this year Adah pinned up the usual announcement on the notice board. She saw Annie and Gladys sn.i.g.g.e.ring over it, but set that down to their general lack of manners. She hoped what they were going to see would duly impress them. They would surely be proud to belong to a school that could get up such a dramatic entertainment.