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Tom and Some Other Girls: A Public School Story

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<h3>Chapter Ten.</h3> <h4>Hard Work.</h4> From that day forward matters moved more smoothly for Rhoda. Dorothy reported that Tom had returned to the house-parlour to explain her regret at having misjudged a new-comer, and her desire that her colleagues would second her effort to make Rhoda happy, and, as usual, Tom’s word was law. That very evening several of the girls took an opportunity of exchanging friendly remarks with Rhoda, while at supper an amount of attention was bestowed upon her plate which was positively embarrassing. It was a delightful change, but through all the relief rang the sting of remembering that it had been accomplished by Thomasina, not herself; that the new friendliness was the result of Thomasina’s orders rather than her own deserts. To her fellow-students she was still an insignificant new-comer, with no claim to distinction. If she excelled in one subject, she was behind in the next, while at games she was hopelessly ignorant. It was wormwood and gall to be obliged to join the “Bantlings” at hockey, and be coached by a girl of twelve; but Rhoda set her teeth and determined that if pluck and energy could help, it would be a short time indeed before she got her reward. Oh, those first few games, what unmitigated misery they were! The ankle pads got in her way, and made her waddle like a duck, and when at last she began to congratulate herself on overcoming the first difficulty, they tripped her up, and landed her unexpectedly on the ground. Although she was repeatedly warned to keep her stick down, it seemed to fly up of itself, and bring disgrace upon her; and then, alas! the ball followed its example, bounded up from the ground, and landed neatly on her cheek immediately beneath her left eye. A hideous swelling and discolouration was the result, but after the first rush to see that the damage was not serious, no one seemed in the least agitated about the mishap. Erley Chase would have been convulsed with panic from attic to cellar, but Thomasina only struck an attitude, and exclaimed, “Oh! my eye!” and even Miss Everett smiled, more in amusement than horror, as she cried, “In the wars already, Rhoda? You have begun early.” Mrs Chester would hardly have recognised her darling in the knickerbockered girl, with her curly mane screwed into a pigtail, her dainty feet scuffling the ground, and her face disfigured by a lump, which changed to a different colour with each new dawn. If she could have had a glimpse of her during that tragic period it is certain that Rhoda’s term at “Hurst” would have been short indeed: but she was not informed of the accident, while each letter showed an increasing interest in work and play. Rhoda had put her back into her studies, and worked with an almost feverish earnestness. The hours of preparation were all too short, but she found a dozen ways of adding to their length, so that from morning to night her brain was never allowed to rest. She grew white and tired, and so perceptibly thin that Miss Bruce questioned her class-mistress as to the change in her appearance. “She is an ambitious girl,” was the reply, “and does not like to feel behind. She is working hard, and making progress; but she never complains, or appears to feel ill.” “Oh, well, everything in moderation. See that she is not overworked. There will be no time gained in that way,” said the principal, and forthwith banished the subject from her busy brain. There came a day, however, half way through the term, when Rhoda collapsed, and found it impossible to rise from her bed. Three times over she made the effort, and three times sank back upon her pillow faint and trembling, and then in despair she raised her voice, and wailed a feeble “Tom!” Tom came promptly, buttoning her magenta jacket, and went through a most professional examination. “To the best of my judgment,” she announced finally, “you are sickening for scarlatina, tonsilitis, and housemaid’s knee, but if you stay in bed and have an invalid’s breakfast I should say you would be fairly convalescent by twelve o’clock. Snoddle down, and I’ll see Nurse as soon as I’m dressed, and put her on the track.” “I want Miss Everett!” sighed Rhoda plaintively, and Tom gave a grunt of assent. “I expect you do. All the girls want her when they are ill. She’s no time to spare, but I’ll tell her, and probably she’ll squeeze in five minutes for you after breakfast. You are not going to die this time, my dear, so don’t lose heart. We shall see your fairy form among us before many hours are past!” Perhaps so. Nevertheless it was good to be coddled once more, to lie snugly in bed and have a tray brought up with a teapot for one’s very own self, and egg, and fish, and toast—actually toast! instead of thick slices of bread-and-scrape. The luxury of it took away one’s breath. It was pleasant, also, to have Nurse fussing around in motherly fashion, and hear her reminiscences of other young ladies whom she had nursed, in days gone by, and brought back from the jaws of death. From her manner, it is true, she did not appear to suffer any keen anxiety about her present patient: but, as Rhoda looked at the empty dishes before her, she blushingly acknowledged that, after all, she could not have been so ill as she had imagined. After breakfast came Miss Everett, sweet as ever, and looking refreshingly pretty in her pale blue blouse and natty collar and cuffs. If one did not know to the contrary, she would certainly have been mistaken for one of the elder girls, and her manner was delightfully unprofessional. “Well, my poor dear, this is bad news! I was sorry when Tom told me. What is it?—headache—back-ache—pain in your throat?” Rhoda stretched herself lazily and considered the question. “A kind of general all-overishness, if you know what that means. I feel played out. I tried to get up, but it was no use, I simply couldn’t stand. I feel as if I had no back left—as weak as a kitten.” Miss Everett looked at her quietly, then her eye roved round the room and rested meaningly on half-a-dozen pieces of paper fastened up in conspicuous positions. One sheet was tacked into the frame of the looking-glass, another into a picture, a third pinned against the curtain, and each was covered with Rhoda’s large writing, easily legible across the few yards of space: Rules of Latin Grammar, List of Substantives, Tenses of Verbs—they stared one in the face at every turn, and refused to be avoided. Miss Everett laid her hand upon the bed, and something rustled beneath her touch. Yet another sheet had been concealed beneath her pillow. “Oh, Rhoda!” she cried, reproachfully; “oh, Rhoda!” The girl put on an air of protest. “What? There’s no harm in it, is there? I can’t catch the others up unless I work hard. I have not enough time in preparation, so I put these up and learn them while I dress and undress, and every time I come in to prepare for a meal. You have no idea what a lot I get through. And I keep a list in my pocket too, and take it out at odd moments. Miss Murray is surprised at the way I am getting on.” “I have been surprised too, to see you look so ill, with such white cheeks and heavy eyes. I understand it now.” “But, Miss Everett, I must work. I must get on! If I am behind I must catch up. Even if I am tired I must get on in my class.” “Why?” Why? Why must she get on? It was such an extraordinary question to come from a teacher, that Rhoda could only gasp in bewilderment—“Why? You ask why?” “Yes, I do. One has always some object in work. I wondered what yours might be. Why are you so terribly anxious to come to the front?” A dozen answers rose to Rhoda’s lips. To impress Thomasina; to show her that if I do think a good deal of myself, it’s not without a cause... To take the conceit out of the girls who patronise me. To be able to patronise in my turn, and not remain always insignificant and powerless... To show Harold how clever I am, and to have my name put on the Record Wall when I leave! ... They were one and all excellent reasons, yet somehow she did not care to confide them to Miss Everett. Instead, she hesitated, and answered by another question. “I suppose you think there is a wrong and a right motive? I suppose you think mine is the wrong one. What is the right, then? I’m ill, and reduced in my mind, so it’s a good time to preach; I’ll listen meekly!” “And disagree with every word I say,” cried Miss Everett laughing. “No, no, Rhoda, I never preach. I know girls well enough to understand that that doesn’t pay. There are some secrets that we have to find out for ourselves, and it is waste of time telling the answers before the hearer is ready to receive them; only, when one has oneself suffered from ignorance, and sees another poor dear running her head against the wall, one is sorry, that’s all, and one longs to point out the danger signals. Find out, dear, what your motive is, and be satisfied that it’s a good one. Meantime, I’m going to take away these papers. Do you see? Every—single—one!” She walked round the room, confiscating the lists, and putting them in her pocket with an air of good-natured determination. “Let that tired head rest, and believe me, my dear, that your elders understand almost as much about girls as you do yourself. We are never blamed for under-working at Hurst, and you may take for granted that the hours for work are as long as you can stand. The short time spent in your cubicle is not intended for work, but for rest—of all kinds!” Rhoda blushed guiltily. During the first days at school the morning hymn had been both a delight and stimulus. She had listened to the words with a beating heart, and whispered them to herself in devout echo; they had seemed to strike a keynote for the day, and send her to work full of courage; but, alas! for weeks past the strains had fallen on deaf ears, and the lips had been too busy conning Latin substantives to have leisure for other repetition. Her sense of guilt made her meek under the confiscation of her lists, and pathetically grateful for the kiss of farewell. “Thank you for coming. I know you are busy, but I wanted you so! It’s nice to see you; you look so sweet and pretty!” “Oh, you flatterer! I’m surprised at you. As if it matters what a staid old teacher looked like; I’m above such silly vanities, my dear.” She looked, however, extremely pleased, quite brisked up in fact, and so delightfully like a girl that Rhoda took heart of grace, and enquired:— “I wish you would tell me your object! That wouldn’t be preaching, and you are so young to be working so hard! I have often wondered—” “Ah!” cried Miss Everett, and a curious look passed over her face—half glad, half sad, wholly proud. “I’ll tell you my object, Rhoda—it’s my brother, Lionel! I have an only brother, and he is a genius. You remember his name, and when you are an old lady in a cap and mittens you can amuse other old ladies by telling how you once knew his sister, and she prophesied his greatness. At school he carried all before him, and he is as good as he is clever, and as merry as he is good. He won a scholarship at Oxford, but that was not enough. My father is the vicar of Stourley, in D—shire, and has such a small stipend that he could not afford to help him as much as was needed. Then I wrote to Miss Bruce, and asked her if she could give me an opening. She is an old family friend, and knew that I had done well in examinations and was good at games (the younger teachers here must be able to play with the girls—it’s one of the rules), so she gave me my present position, and I am able to help the boy. He went up last year and did famously, but I have had sad news this week. He had been obliged to go home and convalesce after an attack of influenza, and is so weak still that the doctor says he will want any amount of rest and feeding up before he can go back. So you see I am more thankful than ever to be able to help!” “I don’t see it at all,” said Rhoda bluntly. “I should be mad. What’s the good of your slaving here if, after all, he can’t get on with his work? You might as well be comfortably at home.” “Rhoda! Rhoda! be quiet this moment. It’s bad enough to fight against my own rebellious feelings without hearing them put into words. I won’t stay another moment to listen to you!” She gave a playful shake to the girl’s shoulder, and ran out of the room, while Rhoda “snoddled” down to think over the conversation. “Well, then, I suppose her motive is love—love for her brother, and—er—thinking of him before herself. She comes here and slaves so that he may have his chance. She is an angel, of course, an unselfish angel, and I’m a wretch.” She lay still for a few moments, frowning fiercely, then suddenly the bedclothes went up with a wrench—“I don’t care—she’s ambitious too! She thinks he is clever, and wants him to be great! Well, so do I want to be great! If it isn’t wrong for one person, it can’t be for another. My motive is success, and I’ll work for it till I drop!” <hr></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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