The Madcap of the School Part 28

"Right you are!"

"I've got another idea," propounded Raymonde. "Suppose, instead of having our concert in the lecture hall, we ask the b.u.mble to let us have it in the barn instead? It would be just twice as c.o.o.ny."

"Top-hole! It would be a regular stunt!" agreed the committee.

A deputation waited upon Miss Beasley, and found her quite gracious and amenable to reason, both in respect of the choice of plantation ditties and the use of the barn as a place of entertainment. She even vouchsafed the further and most valuable suggestion that they might supply refreshments and charge for them, to help to swell the funds.

"You can send an order to the Stores at Gladford to-morrow for cakes and biscuits. Cook shall make you some lemonade, and you may have the oil stove in the barn and supply cocoa at twopence a cup."

"May we sell sweets, Miss Beasley?" asked Raymonde tentatively.

"Well--yes. I don't see why you shouldn't. You may put down chocolates with your order for cakes and biscuits, if you like."

The delegates made a cheerful exit from the study, and hurried to communicate their good tidings to the rest of the Form.

"O Jubilate! We'll make a night of it!" commented Katherine. "The b.u.mble's turned into an absolute honey-bee!"

Great were the preparations for the event. Costumes had to be contrived--a difficult matter with only the school theatrical box to draw upon--and ten c.o.o.ns to be turned out in uniform garb. The usual stock properties, such as the brigand's velvet jacket, the Admiral's c.o.c.ked hat, or the hunting top-boots, were utterly useless, and the girls had to set their wits to work. They decided to wear their best white petticoats with white blouses, and to make hats out of stiff brown paper trimmed with rosettes of scarlet crinkled paper (obtainable at the village shop), using bands of the same scarlet for belts and ties.

"Of course we'd rather have had real rush-hats and ribbons, but if you can't get them you can't, and there's an end of it, and you must just make up your mind to do without!" said Raymonde philosophically.

"If I sing too hard I know I'll burst my waistband!" objected Morvyth, who always looked on the gloomy side of events.

"Then don't sing too hard, and don't take any refreshments, if you've such an easily expanding figure!" snapped Raymonde.

"We could st.i.tch the crinkled paper over an ordinary belt, and then it wouldn't break through," suggested Valentine.

"Scarlet's not my colour!" mourned Fauvette.

"Never mind, Baby, you look nice in anything!" returned Aveline soothingly. "And your white petticoat's a perfect dream! I always said it was a shame to wear it under a dress."

The entertainment was to take place in the evening, after preparation, and on the afternoon of the day in question the Fifth Form took sole and absolute possession of the barn, turning everybody else out, even those indignant enthusiasts who were at work at the wood-carving bench.

"Mind, our tools haven't got to be touched, or we'll have something to say!" called out Daphne as she made an unwilling exit.

"I shall put them all in the box!" returned Morvyth, slamming the door.

The wood-carving bench had to serve as refreshment table, so it was cleared with scant ceremony, in spite of Daphne's protest; a clean cloth, borrowed from the cook, was spread upon it, and plates of cakes and biscuits, and packets of chocolates, were laid out as attractively as possible, with vases of flowers between.

Raymonde, who was nothing if not inventive, suddenly evolved a new and enterprising scheme.

"We must have a platform!" she decided. "Come along to the wood pile, and we'll get some packing-cases and put railway sleepers over them.

It won't take us long!"

It turned out a more strenuous business than she had antic.i.p.ated, however, for it was difficult in the first place to find packing-cases of the same height, and more difficult still to get the railway sleepers to fit neatly together on the top of them.

"I hope it'll hold up!" said Aveline dubiously, when the erection was at last complete.

"Oh, it'll just have to hold!" returned Raymonde in her airiest manner. "I think it's nicer than a stiff platform, and more suitable for a barn. It looks really 'c.o.o.ny', and suggests the Wild West, and log-cabins, and all that sort of thing."

Immediately after preparation, the c.o.o.ns retired to make final arrangements in the barn. The big stable lanterns were lighted and hung up for purposes of illumination, and a cauldron of water was set upon the oil cooking-stove. It was a horrible scramble, for time was short, and they still had to change their dresses. Everyone seemed in everybody else's way, and each gave directions to the others, though n.o.body was in authority, and all got decidedly cross and snapped at one another.

"It's not an atom of use sticking up that lantern unless you fill it first," urged Valentine. "I tell you it's almost empty, and won't burn twenty minutes. You don't want to perform in the dark, I suppose?"

"It ought to have been filled before!" grumbled Ardiune. "Here, give me the paraffin can."

"Take care what you're doing! You're slopping into the cauldron!"

"I'm not!"

"But I saw you! We shall have to empty out the cauldron and wash it and refill it."

"Nonsense!" interfered Raymonde. "There isn't time. Val, is that lantern finished? Then hang it up, and come along and dress. We shall have everybody arriving before we're half ready."

Almost every amateur concert begins late, and this was no exception to the rule. By the time the c.o.o.ns had scrambled into their costumes, and Fauvette had got her best lace-trimmed white petticoat fastened adequately on to her blouse with safety-pins, and Katherine had adjusted her tie to her satisfaction, and Muriel had induced her paper hat to tilt at the right angle on her head, the audience was clamouring for admission at the door of the barn, and making moral remarks on the subject of punctuality.

"We're awfully sorry," panted Raymonde in excuse, undoing the padlock which the c.o.o.ns had left fastened, and allowing the school to tramp into the place of entertainment. "Your shillings, please! Yes, we're taking the money first thing, instead of handing round the plate in the interval. Where's the b.u.mble?"

"Just coming now, with Gibbie and Ma'm'selle."

The barn with its dark rafters, stable lanterns, and improvised benches, certainly looked a most appropriate setting for a plantation programme, and Miss Beasley glanced round with amused interest on her arrival. She and the other mistresses were escorted to special posts of honour, and the performance began without further delay. Everybody admired the costumes; the red-and-white effect was quite charming, especially when worn by all ten alike, and the paper hats with their big rosettes gave a coquettish appearance that added to the piquancy of the songs. There could, of course, be no piano accompaniment, but the girls made up for it by a liberal clashing of cymbals, rattling of castanets, and jingling of tambourines. They were as "cute" and "c.o.o.ny" as they knew how to be, putting a great deal of action into the songs, and adding a few comic asides. At Raymonde's suggestion, they had decided during the performance of "The Darkies' Frolic" to dance a lively kind of combined fox-trot and cake-walk measure to ill.u.s.trate the words. They had practised it carefully beforehand, and considered it the _piece de resistance_ of the evening. But alas! they had not calculated on the difference between the firm floor of the barn and the extremely shaky erection on which they were perched. They were only half-way through, and were capering in most approved darky fashion, when the middle packing-case which supported the planks suddenly gave way, and the platform collapsed. Some of the girls sprang off in time, but several went down among the ruins, and were rescued by the agitated mistresses, fortunately without real injuries, though there were scratches and bruises, and at least half a yard of lace was torn from Fauvette's best petticoat.

As "The Darkies' Frolic" was the last item but one in the first half of the programme, and the performers were naturally ruffled by their unexpected accident, Miss Beasley suggested that they had better have the interval at once, and soothe their feelings with cakes and cocoa before resuming the entertainment. The little spread on the wood-carving bench looked attractive; the Stores had sent a tempting selection of cakes, and the audience was quite ready for refreshment.

Ardiune, presiding at the cauldron, mixed cups of cocoa as speedily as possible, and handed them out in exchange for twopences. At the first sip, however, an expression of acute disgust spread itself over the countenance of each consumer.

"Whew!" choked Hermie. "What's the matter with the stuff? It's simply atrocious!"

"It tastes of paraffin!" proclaimed Veronica, pulling a wry face.

"There! I told you so!" whispered Valentine to Ardiune. "You have just gone and done it this time!"

There was no doubt about the matter. The contents of the cauldron were quite undrinkable, and the girls had to fall back on the small quant.i.ty of lemonade which the cook had provided. It was a most mortifying experience, especially happening just after the failure of the platform. The Sixth were looking amused and superior, the juniors were grumbling, and Miss Beasley was saying "Never mind, so long as we help the blinded soldiers;" which was kind, but not altogether comforting. The audience made up for the lack of cocoa by their consumption of confectionery, and went on buying till not a solitary cake or packet of chocolate was left upon the bench.

The second half of the programme had to be performed upon the floor, but went off nevertheless in quite good style and with much flourish of instruments. Fauvette, with her torn lace hurriedly pinned up, piped a pretty little solo about "piccaninnies" and "ole mammies"; Aveline and Katherine gave a spirited duet, and the troupe in general roared choruses with great vigour. Everybody decided that the evening--barring the cocoa--had been a great success. The proceeds, in particular, were highly satisfactory.

"One pound ten shillings!" announced Raymonde. "Just count it over, somebody, please, to make sure I'm right! I don't call that half bad for a Form concert. If the others do as well, we shall have quite a nice sum. Shall I give it to the b.u.mble now?"

"She's gone upstairs. Besides, I believe it's Gibbie who's going to send off the money. You'd better keep it till the others have had their entertainments, and it can all be handed in together."

"Right-o! I'll take it and lock it up in my drawer. I say, it was awful fun being c.o.o.ns, wasn't it?"

"Top-hole!" agreed the others.

CHAPTER XXI

The Blinded Soldiers' Fund