Just Gerry Part 7

CHAPTER VIII

MAINLY CONCERNING A MOUSE

The Lower Fifth was a long way removed from the Sixth Form at Wakehurst Priory. Between it lay the Middle Fifth, the Upper Fifth, and the Sixth Remove. But things had a way of getting round in the school, as they have in other places; and in due course it came to the ears of the Sixth Form that the new girl, Geraldine Wilmott, was not exactly popular with her companions. She had done something rather "sneaky,"

the Sixth understood, and was vaguely suspected of being a German--or at any rate of having a good deal of German blood in her.

"Too bad of Miss Oakley to have admitted her into the school if it's true," commented Kathleen Milne, one of the prefects and a prominent member of the Sixth. "Of course, I know the war's over now, and all that; but all the same, one can't quite forget some of the things they did. I, for one, must say that I'd prefer not to be educated at a school where they take German girls."

"Who's that that's German?" inquired Monica Deane, looking up quickly from the book she was poring over. It was during the evening preparation, and Monica, with one or two other members of the Sixth, had repaired to the large room, half cla.s.sroom, half library, where the Sixth Form cla.s.ses were held. Being a somewhat privileged form, the Sixth were at liberty to prepare their work where they liked, either in their common room, or in the small studies of which each member of the form possessed one.

It was Kathleen Milne who answered the question.

"That new girl in the Lower Fifth--Geraldine Wilmott."

Monica banged her book indignantly upon the table.

"Rot! She isn't! She's as English as I am. She sleeps next door to me in my dorm, and the first day of term she was telling me all about her home and her relations."

"Well, Phyllis Tressider told me that she _was_," persisted Kathleen.

"Her mother was German and married an Englishman, and they lived in Germany before the war. The kid jabbers German like a native. Fact, Monica. Phyllis says the kid told them so one day, bold as bra.s.s about it. She's got all their sneaky ways, too. She's always getting them into rows, and is an awful little funk into the bargain. If that isn't German, I don't know what is!"

Monica said nothing further then, but that evening after supper, she encountered Phyllis Tressider in one of the corridors and immediately cornered her on the subject of Geraldine's nationality.

"What makes you think she's German?" she asked. "Did she tell you she was?"

"Well--all but," said Phyllis. "You wouldn't have any doubts about it if you heard her talk their beastly lingo! She's got Pretty Polly beat to a frazzle."

"Well, I don't believe it," said Monica firmly. "And I think it's jolly rotten of you Lower Fifth kids to go spreading a rumour like that about the school. Even if it were true, the least you could do would be to keep it to yourselves. I didn't know that Wakehurst girls could be such rotten little sneaks!"

"We're _not_ sneaks!" said Phyllis indignantly. "It's _she_ who's a sneak! Why, she got Jack Pym kept in so's she couldn't be tested for the second eleven, on her very first day at school!" And she poured out a somewhat highly-coloured version of the episode of the caricature.

But Monica was not at all sympathetic with Jack's wrongs.

"She was new and didn't know," she said. "You are little brutes to go giving the kid a rough time just because Jack chooses to get herself into trouble. As for her being German--well, even if she is, she needn't necessarily be any the worse for that. I dare say there are some decent Germans--just as there are _some_ rotten English people!"

With which, for Monica, rather bitter little speech, the Sixth Form girl stalked away.

Phyllis chose to consider herself very much aggrieved by the wigging Monica had administered, and seeking out her chum, Dorothy, she confided her woes to her. Dorothy was properly sympathetic.

"Well, anyway, if she isn't German, she's a beastly little sneak--and a rotten little coward into the bargain! Let's do something to show Monica what she is really like, shall we? If we could scare her up in the dorm when Monica was there, so that she could see what a funk she is, perhaps she'd believe us."

"But what could we do?" asked Phyllis doubtfully. "Ghosts aren't allowed ever since the Green Dorm scared that little kid, Molly Forest, into fits last winter. Besides, Muriel would be down on us like a ton of coal if we tried on anything of that sort. And I don't want to get into Muriel Paget's bad books if I can help it."

The conversation was taking place in the boot-lobby, a favourite haunt of the two chums since they had discovered that after supper they usually had it entirely to themselves. Dorothy was perched up on the top of one of the lockers, and Phyllis was just climbing up beside her, when a sudden click near by made them both jump down with a little scream.

"What was that? Did you hear it, Phil?"

"It came from underneath this shelf, I think," said Phyllis, stooping down to reconnoitre. Then she thrust her hand under the row of boot-lockers with a little laugh.

"It's a mouse, caught in Bennett's mousetrap. I was in here when he was clearing the boots away yesterday, and he told me he was going to set one, because he was sure there was a mouse in the lockers somewhere. Look, here it is! Isn't it a darling?" And she held up a wooden and wire cage, in which a small mouse was held captive.

Dorothy clasped her hands with a sudden inspiration.

"The very thing!" she exclaimed delightedly.

"What is?" inquired Phyllis, mystified.

"Why, that mouse! It will do to frighten Geraldine with, _splendidly_.

We'll put it in her bed to-night, and she'll scream like anything when she finds it there. That'll show Monica that you weren't much out when you said she was a funk."

"I say! It _would_ be rather a lark," said Phyllis, her eyes dancing with mischief. "It won't make Muriel ratty, though, will it?"

"Not with us," declared Dorothy confidently. "She'll never find out who's done it, even if she _does_ think it didn't happen to be there by accident. She'll probably be awfully ratty with Geraldine, though.

She despises people who are afraid of mice. Don't you remember how down she was on Dora Wainscott last term because she screamed when one ran across the dining-hall one day?"

"But won't it get out before Geraldine gets into bed?" said Phyllis, longing to carry out the trick, yet half afraid of incurring the wrath of her beloved Muriel. Phyllis was as "gone" on the head girl as Muriel would ever permit any of the girls at Wakehurst to be.

"It won't if we tuck the bedclothes in tightly," replied Dorothy.

"Come along, Phil, and let's put it in now. We shall just have time before prayers if we buck up. You scoot ahead and see if the coast's clear while I come behind with the mouse. Remember, you left your handkerchief up in the dorm, and felt you were going to sneeze in Chapel, but couldn't find Sister to ask permission to fetch it, if we meet anyone."

The coast proved to be quite clear, however, and the handkerchief excuse was not needed, which was, perhaps, just as well. The two had used it some half-dozen times already this term, although barely a fortnight had gone by. Arrived in the Pink Dormitory, Dorothy produced a candle and a box of matches,--both were strictly forbidden in the dormitories on account of the risk of fire, but that was quite a minor detail with these two girls,--and having cautiously struck a light, the two proceeded to deposit the mouse in Geraldine Wilmott's bed.

It was not a very difficult proceeding. The mouse was quite a baby one, and far too scared to make any effort to escape when Dorothy shook it out of the trap and covered it up securely with the bedclothes.

Phyllis had already tucked the sheets in tightly so as to cut off any possible avenue of escape. And then the two conspirators made haste to restore the trap to its place under the boot-lockers and take their places in Chapel, the bell for prayers having already sounded.

The plot succeeded beyond their wildest antic.i.p.ations. The occupants of the Pink Dormitory were just about to get into bed that night, and Muriel, as dormitory monitress, was waiting to turn the lights out, when there came a piercing scream from Cubicle Thirteen. The next moment a slender night-gowned figure burst into the corridor, shaking in every limb. A dozen heads were thrust out from behind curtains to see what was the matter, and the head girl came hurrying down the dormitory to investigate the cause of the disturbance.

"Why, Geraldine! What is the matter? Who has been frightening Geraldine Wilmott like this?" demanded Muriel sternly, as she joined the group of girls cl.u.s.tering round Geraldine.

"n.o.body's been frightening her. She just screamed, and we came out to see what was the matter," said Phyllis Tressider, with an air of innocence and anxious solicitude. Had Muriel been watching her closely she might have suspected that extreme innocence, but as it was she was too much taken up with Geraldine to heed it.

"What is the matter, Geraldine?" she asked again, putting her hand kindly on the trembling girl's shoulder. "What happened? What was it frightened you so?"

"It was a m--m--mouse! It was in my bed. It jumped out at me when I was getting in. It's in my cubicle now. Oh, catch it for me! Do catch it!" the girl wailed. "I do _hate_ mice so!"

"A _mouse_?" Muriel's hand dropped from the girl's shoulder, and her voice was expressive of the utmost scorn. "Fancy making all that fuss about a _mouse_! Really, Geraldine, I should have thought you were too old for such nonsense. Get into bed at once and don't let me hear any more of this rubbish."

"Oh, I daren't? It may be there still," cried Geraldine, struggling to control her terror but not succeeding very well. Mice were a real bugbear to her, and had been ever since a foolish nursemaid had scared her with them as a tiny mite, and the fear had grown worse instead of better during the last three years. But, of course, the girls of Wakehurst Priory could not be expected to know this, or to have understood the terror even if they had--least of all Muriel Paget, whose own nerves were of that sane and healthy order for which mice and other fearsome creatures had no terrors at all. She stalked into Geraldine's cubicle and turned down the bedclothes of the small bed.

But though she made a thorough search both in the bed and under all the furniture, no trace of the mouse could be discovered. It had utterly disappeared, and the head girl was inclined to believe that the occupant of Number Thirteen had imagined the whole incident.

"There's nothing there. Get back into bed at once," she commanded, having looked in every possible and impossible place for the cause of Geraldine's alarm. "Even if it was a mouse, it couldn't hurt you. It would probably be much more frightened of you than you are of it."

"There really is nothing there, Geraldine," said Monica kindly. "Come along and get back into bed and let me tuck you up. I'm next door to you, you know, and I'll come along in a minute if you're frightened in the night."

Geraldine allowed herself to be taken back to bed and tucked in by the elder girl. Now that her first fright was over, and the unreasoning terror that always possessed her at the sight of a mouse had pa.s.sed away somewhat, she was very much ashamed of her panic, and dreaded the teasing it would probably bring upon her from the rest of the school.

A remark which Dorothy Pemberton made, as she scurried back to her own distant cubicle at Muriel's bidding, did not tend to ease poor Geraldine's mind.

"I think her name rather suits her, don't you?" she asked of the dormitory in general. "She's nothing but a German Gerry after all!"

And although Muriel Paget commanded her sharply to shut up and get into bed, yet the t.i.tter of appreciation that went round the dormitory warned Geraldine only too surely that Dorothy had found a nickname for her that would stick.