Just Gerry Part 8

CHAPTER IX

AN INTERVIEW WITH THE HEAD GIRL

And it stuck! From that day forward Geraldine was invariably known throughout the school as "German Gerry." "Gerry" alone the girl would not have minded so much. As a shortening for Geraldine, it compared quite favourably with most nicknames. But with the prefix of "German"

the t.i.tle became abhorrent to the unfortunate new girl, a fact which was very soon discovered by the Lower Fifth. And although Geraldine, or Gerry, as she now became, except to the mistresses and one or two of the older girls, did her best to disguise how much she minded, yet she could not help wincing sometimes when the objectionable name was uttered.

Once she tried the effect of a mild remonstrance.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," she said one evening during preparation, when Phyllis Tressider addressed her by the t.i.tle with a request for the loan of a book. "I'm _not_ German--and I _do_ so hate being called it!"

There was dead silence in the cla.s.sroom. The Lower Fifth had been expecting Gerry to remonstrate for some time past, and her failure to do so had been put down as another sign of her weak spirit. The Lower Fifth was quite unable to comprehend the mentality of a girl who, from a sheer nervous dread of "rows," would submit to almost any treatment rather than protest. The form waited now with some interest to see how the situation would develop, leaving Phyllis to deal with it as she thought fit.

Phyllis thought fit to say nothing for the moment. And after a brief pause, Gerry spoke again.

"I'm _not_ German, you know," she said pleadingly. "Not the very least little bit."

"Aren't you?" said Phyllis politely, but with the utmost indifference in her tone. "I say, has anybody done this beastly number eleven sum yet? Is 33 the right answer?"

"I'm not German, Phyllis! Truly I'm not!" repeated poor Gerry, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh, aren't you?" said Phyllis again. "Of course if you _tell_ us so----" with an ironic emphasis on the "tell." Then she broke off with an air of having done with the subject for ever. "But I'm really not interested, one way or the other," she concluded. "I say, Dorothy, you might tell me what your answer is to number eleven?"

"Then, _please_, don't call me that any longer," pleaded Gerry; but Phyllis ignored her altogether and turned to Jack Pym, who sat on one side of her.

"Extraordinary the number of Germans who're getting naturalised these days," she remarked conversationally. "Shows what a fat lot of patriotism they've got, doesn't it? As soon as their country's down and out they all desert her and refuse to acknowledge her any longer.

Oh, well--I suppose it's all one can expect from a lot of German Gerries!"

"Oh, shut up, for goodness' sake, and let me get on with my prep!"

growled Jack, planting her elbows firmly on her desk and bending over her papers. Jack had caught sight of tears in Gerry's eyes, and the sight had disconcerted her strangely. After all, Gerry was almost a new girl. It had really been quite an accident that she had got her into trouble on that first day of term; and even though she did speak German so well it need not necessarily mean that she had German tendencies. Did not Miss Parrot speak it equally fluently? n.o.body would ever dream of accusing Miss Parrot of having German sympathies.

Gerry really was having rather a rotten time of it, and it was a shame that Dorothy and Phyllis should be always at her like that. But unfortunately Jack was not strong enough in character to stand up on behalf of the new girl. She was always far too easily swayed by popular opinion, and since popular opinion appeared to be dead against Gerry, Jack dared not show her any sympathy. So she stifled her feelings of compunction and returned to work, endeavouring to banish all thought of Gerry Wilmott from her mind.

After this one attempt, Gerry abandoned all efforts to rid herself of the objectionable nickname. It never occurred to her to take the form into her confidence respecting the reason for her nerves. Indeed, she did not connect them herself with the air-raid night. Also, in the present state of affairs, there was really no one in whom she could confide, and in any case she would have found it difficult to speak of that terrible evening. She became more and more solitary, hardly attempting to speak to her companions, and a more miserable and lonelier girl than the one who inhabited Cubicle Thirteen, in the Pink Dormitory at Wakehurst Priory, it would have been hard to find. It really seemed as though some of the ill-luck proverbially attaching to the mystic number was hanging over her head. Lessons were almost her only solace. Having no other interest in life, Gerry set to work to excel in cla.s.s, and did so well that she very soon rose to the top of the form, a place which had been divided pretty evenly hitherto between Hilda Burns and Dorothy Pemberton. The new girl's success in form work aroused more jealousy on Dorothy's part, and on Phyllis's, too.

Phyllis's championship of her chum did not need much spurring, more especially when it concerned Gerry Wilmott.

But success in lessons cannot make up for unpopularity away from them.

To a girl at boarding-school the social life is by far the most important part as a rule, much more important than the hours pa.s.sed in the cla.s.sroom. And Gerry, who was no exception to the general run of girls in this respect, found her position in form a very poor consolation indeed for all the other troubles that she had to bear.

Unfortunately, too, she was a hopeless duffer at games, never having played any before coming to school. Hockey was the princ.i.p.al pastime during the two winter terms at Wakehurst, and practice two or three times a week was compulsory for all except for a few girls who were exempt on account of some physical defect. Gerry, who, although delicate, had nothing really organically wrong with her, was obliged to take her turn with the rest; but she disliked the muddy pastime immensely, and took no interest in trying to improve her play. She was put down in the very lowest team of all, along with quite small children and a few other beginners like herself; and although the prefect who took charge of the hockey practice tried occasionally to "buck up" the slack girl from the Lower Fifth, she, herself, was not very interested in the game and met with no success.

Just before half-term, a series of dormitory matches was arranged by the head girl, who was captain of the first team and immensely keen on the game. Muriel was naturally anxious that her own dormitory should distinguish itself, and she selected her team with great care and much anxious thought. Several of the matches had been played, and so far the Pink Dormitory had been victorious against all the opponents they had met. Now they were down to play against the Green Dormitory, a very powerful rival, which also possessed, so far, an unbroken record.

It was pretty certain that the Dormitory Hockey Cup, which was the prize of these inter-school matches, would go to one or the other of these two teams, and excitement in the school ran high as the day approached on which the final match was to be played.

There were thirty inhabitants of the Pink Dormitory, so it ought to have been possible to have chosen eleven players from amongst them without having to fall back upon one who had only begun to play that term, and who hated hockey into the bargain. Nevertheless, by a series of unlucky accidents, the number of possible players was gradually reduced, until on the very morning of the day fixed for the match against the Green Dormitory, Muriel found herself confronted with the problem of choosing between Geraldine Wilmott and a small girl from the Middle Third for her eleventh player. In her perplexity she consulted Monica, who, although she was not in the first school eleven, was quite a useful player and Muriel's princ.i.p.al reliance in the Pink team.

"There's literally no one else," the head girl said in despair.

"Gladys and Bee are away for the week-end. Dora Wainscott's got a gathered hand, so she's out of the question; Ena Philpotts mayn't play at all this term; Sister's taking Pam to the dentist's this afternoon; and Ursula Hanson is going out with her aunt. All the others are either down with 'flu or just recovering from it, and Sister won't let any of them play until they've been up a week. That only leaves us Marjorie Brown or this new girl--Geraldine what's-her-name. 'German Gerry' the girls call her, don't they? Have you seen her play--have you any idea what she's like?"

"No, I've never seen her play, but I shouldn't think she's much good.

Who superintends her team practice? Do you know?"

"Yes, Kathleen Milne. She's right down in the bottom team, you see.

But so's Marjorie, too, for the matter of that. I've asked Kathleen which is the best, but she doesn't seem to know much about either of them. Says they are both so rotten that she really doesn't know which is the worse."

"Kathleen's rather a slacker at hockey herself," commented Monica.

"You can't really wonder her team doesn't do better when they've got such a slack coach. Can't you get that changed, Muriel? I don't see why it must always be a prefect who takes charge of the hockey practices for the lower teams. It would be much better to have somebody who knew something about hockey--even if it wasn't a prefect.

Don't you think so?"

"Yes, it is rather a bad practice, and I mean to get it altered in time," agreed Muriel. "Only there's so much to be done, and I've only been head two terms, you know. Still, I really will see about it as soon as I can. But that doesn't help me out of my fix over the dormitory match. Which of those two shall I play? Gerry or Marjorie?"

"I think I should give Gerry the chance," replied Monica thoughtfully.

"Marjorie is such a mite of a thing, and from what Kathleen told you she doesn't appear to be any better in her play. After all, one player won't make such a huge lot of difference since you've got ten of the original team left. You're really rather lucky, Muriel, only to have one of the eleven down with 'flu."

"Yes, I suppose I am," said the head girl. "Very well, then, it shall be Gerry. Where do the Lower Fifth hang out this time of the morning?"

"In their sitting-room, I expect, since it's Sat.u.r.day and there isn't any prep," said Monica.

Muriel opened the door of her study and hailed a small girl who happened to be pa.s.sing.

"Here, Babs, run round to the Lower Fifth sitting-room and tell Gerry Wilmott I want her in my study. If she isn't there, just hunt about until you find her. There's a good kid."

"All right, Muriel," said the small girl, and darted off on her errand--f.a.gging for Muriel Paget was esteemed a great honour amongst the smaller fry at Wakehurst Priory. And so Gerry, sitting half-hidden in a corner of the sitting-room, buried in a book, was presently aroused by a violent jog at her elbow, and looked up to find Babs Hethwaite standing beside her.

"Muriel Paget wants you in her study. She says you're to go to her _at once_," burst out the messenger.

Several of the members of the form looked up interestedly at this announcement, and many curious eyes followed Gerry as she made her way across the room.

"Hullo, what's up? I wonder what German Gerry's been doing for Muriel to want her in such a hurry?" commented Nita Fleming as the door closed behind the new girl.

"Oh, nothing! Perhaps Sister's been complaining about her drawers or something," said Jack, rather resenting the tone in which Nita spoke.

It was noticeable--or rather would have been noticeable if anybody had been interested enough to notice it--that Jack never spoke of Gerry by the objectionable nickname herself, although she made no comment when others used it. Always, whenever Gerry was unkindly spoken of by anybody, Jack felt an unaccountable desire to stick up for her and take her part. If Jack had only been a little braver, she probably would have done so. It was curious how drawn she had been to Gerry during that first evening of the term when Monica had handed the new girl over to her care. If only things had been different, she might have made a real chum OF Gerry Wilmott--Jack reflected rather wistfully. But though Jack was plucky enough where mice and hockey and material things of that sort were concerned, when it came to braving the good opinion of her fellows, her courage failed her altogether.

Gerry found Muriel sitting at her writing-desk, making out a revised list for the afternoon's match.

"Oh, there you are!" the head girl said, as Gerry entered the room in response to her "Come in." "Look here, you've got to play in the match this afternoon for the Pink Dorm. Gladys Williams is down with 'flu and you've got to take her place--right back. Do you think you can manage it?"

Gerry gave a gasp of dismay.

"Me! Oh, but, Muriel, I'm rotten at hockey!"

"I know you are," said Muriel candidly. "But there literally isn't anybody else--all the other girls in the Pink Dorm are away or down with 'flu, or something. I never came across such a lot in my life! I wouldn't put you in if there was anybody else--but there isn't. So you'll just have to play."

"But, Muriel----" protested Gerry desperately. But Muriel waved her protest aside.

"Not another word! You've got to play. It's for the honour of the dorm, you know. I shan't expect anything very great of you--just do your best and I shall be satisfied. It's 2.30 sharp up on the hockey ground, and mind you're ready in time."