In the Fifth at Malory Towers (7 page)

“Yes, but I must know how you’re going to set about it — what kind of tunes you’ll write, and so on,” said Moira, impatiently. “We can’t leave things like that in the air.”

“You’ll have to as far as I’m concerned,” said Irene. “I don’t know what tunes I’m going to write till I hear them in my head. Then I’ll catch them and write them down. And I don’t know
when
I’ll hear them either, so don’t tell me to sit down at ten each morning and listen for them!”

Catherine tried to pour oil on troubled waters once more. She loved doing that. “Well, after all — when you’re dealing with a
genius
” she began. “You can’t have rules for geniuses, can you? Moira doesn’t quite
understand
, Irene.”

“Don’t apologize for anything
I
say,” said Moira, scowling at Catherine. “What do you mean — I don’t quite
understand
! I’ve done this kind of thing often enough. Didn’t I run the show last year, and help to run it the year before that?”

Catherine put on a saintly expression. “Yes, of course, Moira. Don’t put yourself out. I shouldn’t have said a word I’m sure Irene understands?”

She gave Irene such a sweet smile that everyone felt quite sick.
Did
Catherine have to make herself quite so humble?

The meeting had to come to an abrupt end because the supper-bell went. “Good gracious — how the time flew!” said Maureen.

“And now we shanty have time to go to the stables,” mourned Bill, dismally.

“We’ll call a short committee meeting “tomorrow, same time,” said Moira, gathering up her things. “We’ll tie up any loose ends then.”

She swept efficiently out of the room, almost as if she were a mistress!

“Gosh! We’ll have to mind our Ps and Qs now,” said Daphne, with a comical look. “What have we done to have Moira wished on us this term!”

THE first week of term always went very slowly indeed. The next week slipped away faster, and then the weeks began to fly. But now it was still only the first week, with a lot of planning and timetables to make, and settling-in to be done.

Darrell found herself very busy indeed. She had to attend committee meetings for the Christmas entertainment. She had to read through two or three pantomime scripts, and decide how to draft out her own version of
Cinderella
. She found Sally an enormous help here, and discovered that two heads are decidedly better than one.

She was also in charge of the games, and had to draw up practice times for the lower school, and to do a little coaching to help the games mistresses. They consulted with her as to the best players to pick out for matches in the lower school, and Darrell enjoyed feeling important enough to argue with them about the various girls.

“But you
can’t
have Rita,” she would say. “I know she’s good — but she simply won’t turn out for practice. She’ll go to pieces in a match.”

“Well, what do you think of Christine then?” the games mistress would say. “She’s so small, I don’t like to pick her.”

“But she runs like the wind!” Darrell would reply. “And she’s so keen. She’s just waiting for a chance!”

Yes, Darrell had a lot to do, and she was always busy and always interested in her jobs. The lower school adored her, and vied to win an approving word from her. Felicity was very proud of her fifth-form sister.

“Everyone thinks you’re super,” she told Darrell. “You should see the way they turn out for practice now — on even the most disgusting days! I say — have I got a chance to get into one of the match-teams some day, Darrell? You might tell me.”

“I can only say that if you go on as you are doing you won’t be able to
help
getting in,” said Darrell, and Felicity gave a whoop of joy.

June was passing and gave her a sour look. She spoke to Gwyneth, the girl with her. “Talk about favouritism! You’ll see Darrell choosing her young sister before anyone else and putting her into the team.”

Darrell heard and was over beside June at once. “June! How
dare
you say a thing like that about a fifth-former! Just you wait a minute!”

She fished out the Punishment Book that all the fifth-formers were allowed to have and wrote down June’s name in it. She wrote something beside it, tore it out and gave it to June.

“There you are — a little hard work will keep you quiet, and teach you to guard that nasty tongue of yours!”

June took the paper sulkily. She glanced at it. Darrell had written:

“Learn three sonnets of Shakespeare’s, and say them to me or one of the other fifth-formers before Tuesday.”

June scowled. “I can’t do this,” she said. I’ve got something to learn for Alicia this week. I can’t do both.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to,” said Darrell. “I suppose you cheeked Alicia again. Well, we won’t have it. If you don’t learn manners now, and respect for your elders, you never will. You say those sonnets to me before Tuesday!”

She went off with Felicity. “June’s awful,” remarked Felicity. “If only she wasn’t so frightfully funny sometimes, I honestly would never speak to her. Nor would Susan. But she plays such idiotic tricks. She’s playing one tomorrow on Mam’zelle Dupont.”

“What is it?” asked Darrell, with interest. “I shouldn’t have thought there were any tricks left to play on poor old Mam’zelle.”

“Well, there are — and June plays them,” said Felicity. “And when I see Mam'zelle's face I laugh till I cry.”

“Yes, I know — I’ve laughed till I’ve ached too, sometimes,” said Darrell, remembering some of the jokes she and her form had played at times. “What’s June playing at tomorrow?”

“Oh, Darrell,” said Felicity, beginning to giggle as she thought of it. “She’s got a kind of flat balloon arrangement — well, she’s got four, in fact. And you put one under your blouse at the back and another in your front, and another under your skirt at the back, and the last one in front.”

Darrell chuckled. “Go on. I can guess what happens.”

“Well, June showed us,” said Felicity, beginning to laugh helplessly. “All the balloons are joined together by little tubes — and there’s an inflator you press to fill them and a deflator you pull out to empty them. When she pressed the inflator she swelled up, you see, and she looked simply
frightful
. Oh, dear — I laughed so much I couldn’t sit in my chair.”

Darrell laughed, too. “Well, that’s a new trick, certainly! I wish we’d had it when we were in the first form. Where does June get these tricks from? Alicia always got them from her brothers.”

“Oh, June gets advertisement booklets sent her from the firms that make conjuring tricks and funny tricks,” said Felicity. “I think she must spend all her pocket money on them.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea to have a spot of conjuring in our pantomime,” said Darrell, thoughtfully. “Alicia is awfully good at conjuring. Yes — I’ll put a conjurer into the pantomime — it shall be Alicia! If you can borrow that book — or however many she’s got — from June, I’d like to look through them.”

“Right. But I won’t tell her you want it,” said Felicity. “You’ll be mud to her now, after giving her those sonnets to learn. June’s doing the trick tomorrow morning at twelve in French
Dictée
, Darrell. You’re not free by any chance, are you? If so, couldn’t you come along with some message for Mam’zelle, or something, and see June swell up? You’ll know when it’s happening because I expect we’ll shriek with laughter.”

Darrell pondered. She had put that period aside to get on with the draft of the pantomime. Until she had worked out the characters they could not be chosen, so it was important to get on with it. But how could she resist the chance of slipping down to see Mam’zelle’s face?

“Well, I’ll come if I can,” she promised.

But when twelve o’clock came next morning Darrell was called to talk to Matron about some missing socks. Matron always went into matters of this sort very thoroughly indeed, and it was twenty minutes before Darrell was free.

“I wonder what’s happened down in the first form?” she thought, feeling rather guilty at her interest in something such babies did. “I wonder if the trick’s been played?”

It had. June, who always had to sit in one of the front desks, so as to be under every mistress’s eye, had inflated herself very successfully indeed. She did it gradually, so that when Mam’zelle kept looking at her to see that she was getting on with the dictation, she did not at first notice anything.

However, she certainly began to seem a little on the plump side after a bit. Mam’zelle pondered over it. “That child, June — she gets fat. Maybe a little fat will do her good. She is too restless — a truly difficult girl. Now,
fat
girls are not usually difficult — an interesting point.”

She glanced at June again and got rather a shock. Why, the child was positively bloated! She stared at June fixedly. One or two of the girls felt such a desire to laugh that it was agony to keep their faces straight.

June wrote steadily on. “June!” said Mam’zelle, sharply. “Are you holding your breath?”

June looked innocently at Mam’zelle. “Holding my breath?” she said, with wide eyes. “No. Why should I? But I will if you want me to, Mam’zelle. I can hold it for a long time.”

She blew out her cheeks and held her breath. The inflator worked marvellously. She swelled visibly, and Mam’zelle stared in alarm.

“No, no — let out your breath, June. You will burst. What is happening to you?”

June let out her breath with a loud hissing noise, and at the same time pulled the deflator. She deflated at once — and it looked exactly as if it was because she had let out her breath. Mam’zelle was most relieved to see her become her right size again.

“It was rather nice, holding my breath like that,” said June, foreseeing a very nice little game of holding her breath and inflating herself, and letting it out and deflating at the same time.

To Mam’zelle's horror she breathed in again, blew out her cheeks and held her breath — and visibly, before Mam’zelle’s alarmed gaze, she inflated till she looked really monstrous. Mam’zelle started up from her seat.

“Never have I seen such a thing!” she said, wildly. “June,
je vous prie
— I beg you, do not hold your breath in this manner. You will burst.”

The whole class burst at that moment. It was impossible to hold their laughter in any longer. June let out her breath and deflated rapidly.

“Don’t, don’t, June!” gasped Felicity, rolling about in her chair. “Oh don’t do it again.”

But June did, and Mam’zelle watched wildly whilst she swelled up once more. “Monstrous!” she cried. “June, I beg of you once more. Do not hold your breath again. See how it swells you up, poor child.”

And then something went wrong with the deflator! It wouldn’t work. June pulled it frantically, but it wouldn’t deflate the fat balloons under her clothes. She sat there, pulling wildly at the string fastened to the deflator. It came off!

Mam’zelle was almost in tears. “This poor June! Children, children, how can you laugh? It is no laughing matter. I go, to get help. Matron must come. Be still, June. Do not burst.”

She hurried out, wringing her hands. June looked decidedly alarmed. “I say! The beastly thing’s gone wrong. I can’t let Matron see me like this. I’d get an awful wigging. What can I do?”

Darrell had just arrived at the door at the moment that Mam’zelle rushed out, looking frantic. She had pushed by Darrell without even seeing her. Darrell looked in at the open door.

She saw the monstrous June. Felicity saw Darrell as an angel in disguise. “Darrell! The deflator’s gone wrong! Mam’zelle’s gone to get Matron. Quick, what can we do?”

“Get a pin, idiot,” said Darrell. “Stick it into June and she’ll go pop and subside. Then you’d better get her out of that arrangement quickly, because Matron will certainly do some exploring.”

A pin was produced. Felicity dug it into the four swellings and they each went off with a loud Pop! June became her own size and shape at once. She began to pull everything out, frantically and wildly. She was frightened now.

She got the rubber balloons out at last and put them into her desk, just as footsteps were heard down the corridor. Darrell slipped out, finding it difficult not to dissolve into laughter. How she would have loved to see Mam’zelle’s face when she first saw June swelling up!

Mam’zelle was alone, looking rather subdued. She hurried by Darrell and came to the first form. She went in and gazed at June.

“Ah — so — you are flat now! I told Matron about you and she laughed at me. She said it was a treek. A TREEK! What is this awful, horrible,
abominable
treek? I will find it. I will seek it. I will hunt for it in every desk in the room. Ahhhhhhhh!”

Mam’zelle looked so fierce as she stood there that nobody dared to say a word. June began to wish she had left the balloons in her clothes. If Mam’zelle did look in her desk she would certainly find them.

Mam’zelle found them. She lifted up the lid and saw the rubber balloons at once, flat and torn. She picked them out and shook them in June’s face. “Ah, now you can hold your breath again, you bad, wicked June! Hold your breath and listen to what I have to say! You will learn for me one hundred lines of French poetry before Tuesday. Yes, one hundred lines! Does that make you hold your breath, you bad girl?”

It certainly did. June already had two lots of English lines to learn — now she had a hundred French ones to add to the lot. She groaned.

Mam’zelle rummaged further in the desk. She took out some booklets and looked at them.

“New treeks. Old treeks. Treeks to play on your friends. Treeks to play on your enemies,” she read. “Aha! These I will take from you, June. You shall do no more treeks this term. These I will confiscate, and I do not think you shall have them back. No!”

She put the booklets with her books on the desk, and, very grim and determined, went on with the French
Dictée
. The class soon recovered and longed for the last bell to go, so that they might laugh once again to their heart’s content.

Mam’zelle said a sharp good morning when the bell went, and went off with the rubber balloons, the booklets about tricks, and her own books. She sat down in the room she shared with Miss Potts, the house-mistress of North Tower.