CHAPTER IX
White Elephants
It was Patsie's stroke of genius that originated the White ElephantSale. The school was racking its brains to raise a little money for thePrisoners of War Fund, and had swept aside as impossible such schemes asa bazaar, a pound day, or self-denial boxes.
"Lily tried it on last term, and it was no go," said Vivien; "couldn'tmake the kids shell out."
"Well, they _are_ only kids," qualified Nellie; "and, of course, theyhaven't much pocket-money, so what can you expect?"
"We mustn't aim too high," said Claire. "If we plan something too big wescare them, and they won't do anything at all--say their mothers object,and all the rest of the usual excuses."
"Well, everyone _is_ rather fed up with appeals," admitted Audrey,lazily stretching her arms; "they come in by the dozen with themorning's post."
"And are generally chucked into the waste-paper basket," commentedLorraine. "_That_ doesn't help the prisoners of war. Suggestions,please, quick!"
"Best put an advertisement in the newspapers: 'Wanted, a new way ofraising money without taking it out of the pockets of subscribers!'"chuckled Dorothy.
"Look here!" said Lorraine. "Joking apart, I think everybody's preparedeither to give or spend just a little--even the kids. They've moneyenough for chalks, pencils, and all the rubbish they fill their pocketswith."
"And swop in the cloak-room," added Claudia.
"Yes, they _do_ swop," exclaimed Patsie. "That's exactly what they lovebeyond everything. Claudia Castleton, you've given me a brain wave!We'll have a 'White Elephant' sale. Don't look so staggered! A 'whiteelephant' is a thing you don't want yourself, but which someone elsemight like very much. We must all of us have got heaps of such things athome. Well, we'll bring them to school, and let them go asbargains--cheap. They ought to go like wildfire, and if there are anyleft, we'll have an auction. It would be prime fun!"
"Patsie Sullivan, I should like to shake hands with you!" declaredLorraine. "When women go into Parliament, I believe you'll become adistinguished member of the House of Commons! Brains like yours ought tobe devoted to the service of their country!"
"I think it _is_ rather a cute idea," admitted Patsie modestly.
"We'll get to work upon it at once."
The next day, Lorraine pinned up in the cloak-room a large hand-printedposter which ran as follows:
WHAT PRICE WHITE ELEPHANTS?
Have you anything at home you don't want? Then bring it to the school and sell it! Do you wish to buy nice things cheap? Come to our WHITE ELEPHANT SALE! Bargains will be flying! You will go home all smiles!
Remember, everything you buy helps to feed a British Prisoner of War!
"Flatter myself it's rather telling!" she confessed, as she watched thejuniors crowd round to look. "There's nothing like a bargain to appealto people!"
"I reckon it's going to catch on!" chuckled Patsie.
It did catch on. The juniors decided that the idea was "topping", andreadily promised contributions.
"We shall want cash too," Lorraine reminded them. "Remember, you've tobuy somebody else's things as well as give your own."
"Right you are! We'll make a half-crown league, if you like."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that! It might be rough on some of the kids. Givewhat you can, that's all."
The next step in the proceedings was to hunt at home for whiteelephants. Lorraine and Monica turned out drawers and cupboards insearch of any articles with which they could dispense.
"It's not a rummage sale, so we mustn't send rubbish," decreed Lorraine."It's got to be something somebody will take a fancy to. I wonder ifRosemary wants this book of songs? I believe Vivien would buy them."
"Then put them in the sale and ask Rosemary afterwards," counselledMonica, rapidly running through the contents of an Indian box, andcontributing two chains of Eastern beads and some bangles. "I've a pileof old story books I've done with. I expect those First Form kids wouldlike them. And I've some chalks and a drawing slate."
"And I've an almost new blotter, and some Indian curios, and someforeign stamps, and a very good post-card album, and a quite newbirthday book."
"That Kate Greenaway one? Oh! you promised to give it to _me_!"exclaimed Monica.
"You've got two of your own already!"
"I don't care! I want this as well."
"Then buy it at the sale."
"No, I'm going to get Jill's box of pastels and Miriam's autographalbum. I've bagged them in advance. Tibbiekins, I _must_ have thatbirthday book!"
"You can't, Cuckoo! Don't be greedy!"
"But you _promised_!"
"Well, I can't help it if I did, and I don't remember promising,anyway. That birthday book's going down to the sale, and if you want it,you'll just have to buy it. There!"
"You mean thing!" blazed Monica. "Just because you're head girl, youthink you can do as you like. Keep your old birthday book, and sell itto anybody you can. _I_ shan't buy it! But I'll pay you out forthis--see if I don't! I think you're perfectly hateful, Lorraine! I wishyou'd go away to a boarding school, or to a college like Rosemary. Idon't want you here at home, anyway!"
"All right, draw it mild!" said Lorraine, who was well accustomed to heryounger sister's outbursts of temper.
"You really did promise poor Cuckoo that Kate Greenaway birthday book,"remarked Mrs. Forrester later in the evening.
"I can't remember anything at all about it, Mother," said Lorraineimpatiently. "Cuckoo makes such an absurd fuss. Surely she might beready to give up something for the prisoners of war. It's not good forher always to get her own way! She's really so absurdly spoilt!"
"Somebody else likes her own way occasionally!" suggested Mrs.Forrester, with uplifted eyebrows.
"Well, you can't say I'm spoilt! The middle girl never is. It's Rosemaryand Monica who get all the attention in this family!" declared Lorraine,flouncing out of the room in a state of mind bordering on rebellion.
She wrapped up the birthday book in white tissue paper, and packed itthe first of all her articles for the sale. The best of us have ourfaults, and there was a strain of obstinacy in Lorraine's disposition.She and Monica had waged war before this, on occasion. They did notspeak to each other at supper.
"What a nice, cheerful thing it is to have two thunder-clouds sitting atthe table!" commented Mrs. Forrester. "It's so pleasant for the rest ofus, isn't it?"
"Mind the milk doesn't turn sour!" chuckled Mervyn. "You girls are thelimit!"
The sale, by special permission of Miss Kingsley, was fixed for threeo'clock on Thursday afternoon, a whole hour's lessons being remitted inits favour. It was to be held in the gymnasium, and the articles were tobe spread out on benches. Each form had contributed its own quota, andhad appointed two representatives as saleswomen. The goods were marked,but bargaining was permissible if the figure was considered by thesaleswoman to be too high. The monitresses constituted a court of appealon this score.
All had done really nobly in the way of bringing contributions, andmost of the "white elephants" were quite useful and desirablepossessions. The girls wandered round, looking at an assortment ofbrooches, penknives, pencil-boxes, paints, chalks, books, music,blotters, photo frames, toys, and a number of little trifles such asgirls love. Lorraine, with three weeks' accumulated pocket money, ahitherto unspent birthday present, and what was left in her savings-box,felt in a position to be munificent, and determined to patronize eachseparate stall. She first made a tour of them all, before she shoulddecide upon her purchases.
"It's quite a good show," said Vivien, fondly fingering a black catmascot she had just bought and fastened upon her blouse. "Seen the kids'things? They're ripping, some of them. They must have been looting athome! I've got the prettiest little purse! I'll show it to you. Onlygave sixpence for it. It's a real bargain!"
"I've been wanting a muff chain for _years_!" declared Nellie. "I put itdown regula
rly on my birthday and Christmas lists, but my family alwaysgave me something else instead. Now don't you think this is just thejinkiest one you've ever seen? I can't think how Audrey could part withit!"
"Muff chains aren't fashionable now!"
"That won't trouble me in the least!"
"I hunted out my old dolls and dolls' clothes," said Claire, "and thekids went wild over them. Dora doesn't care for dolls, so it was no usekeeping them for _her_. She's a regular tomboy."
"What did you bring, Claudia?" asked Nellie.
"Those _Art Magazines_ and copies of _The Connoisseur_. Dad let me havethem from his studio."
"Oh, goody! They're the very things I want!" rejoiced Lorraine. "TellPatsie not to sell them till I come!"
She had reached the Second Form stall, and was hurriedly reviewing itscontents, gazing over the heads of a chattering mob of juniors. Suddenlyshe gave a gasp of consternation. In the middle of the bench, temptinglyspread forth in a row, were a number of objects with which she wasfamiliar--some coloured supplements from Christmas numbers, a mug with arobin on it, a sandalwood box, a carved photo frame, a travellingink-pot, two plaques of Thorwaldsen's "Night" and "Morning", and a modelof a Swiss chalet. They were household articles which she hadappropriated to herself, and had hidden away for safety in a drawer onthe top landing at home. Each one was a treasure. She loved the colouredsupplements, and had meant to have them framed when she could afford it.The robin mug was her last link with childhood. The chalet, thoughreally the property of Richard, had been knocking about in the attictill she had rescued it, and the other things had all been apparentlydiscarded by their rightful owners until she had adopted them. To seethem here, laid out ready for sale, was a shock.
"It's that abominable little wretch of a Cuckoo! I'll slay her forthis!" she thought grimly, and started off to find the offender. Shediscovered her among a crowd of kindred pig-tails, and dragged her awayinto a discreet corner.
"What do you mean by prigging my things for your stall?" she demandedangrily.
"They're not your things!" retorted Monica. "Not more than anybodyelse's. Those coloured pictures belong to Father and Mother, and thechalet was Richard's, only I'm sure he doesn't want it, and theink-pot's the one Aunt Ellie left behind, and the photo frame isRosemary's. I found them all in a drawer on the top landing."
"You knew I'd put them there!"
Monica coloured to the tips of her ears.
"They're as much mine as yours!" she flared.
"Did Mother say you might have them?"
"I didn't ask her, and no more did you when you took them! Anyhow,they're 'white elephants' now, and 'on sale'."
"You must get them back, Monica!" urged Lorraine desperately. "TellKitty and Joan you took them by mistake!"
"How can I? Really, Lorraine, I wonder at you! Do you want me todisgrace the family? Nice thing it would look for the head girl's sisterto take things back that she'd just given! Why, the whole form wouldscoff at us! Surely you might be ready to give up something for theprisoners of war? That's what you said about me, at any rate! If youwant your old things, you must buy them back!"
And Monica, making a sudden dive between two Fifth Form girls, escapedfrom her sister, and sought the farthest corner of the gymnasium.
In spite of her indignation, Lorraine could not help acknowledging thatthere was justice in these remarks. It would certainly be mostundignified, and in fact impossible, to take back articles once given tothe sale. Cuckoo's taunt about the prisoners of war stung Lorrainebadly. If she wanted her treasures, there was nothing for it but to putthe best face she could on the matter, and buy them at once beforeanybody else had an innings. It might already be too late. Inconsiderable anxiety she hurried back to the stall, and found acurly-headed junior critically handling the robin mug. She snatched itfrom the child with scant ceremony.
"If you don't want this, Doris, I do! How much, Kitty, please? I'll takethese pictures too; yes, and this chalet; and I'll have the ink-pot andthe frame as well. That's all, if you'll make them into a parcel.Thanks!" and Lorraine sailed away, leaving Doris open-mouthed, and Kittycheerfully clinking the change in her brown leather moneybag. It wasannoying to have spent so much, for it meant forgoing a piece of musicwhich she had intended to give to Morland. She watched her cousin buy itinstead.
"I'll borrow it from Vivien and copy it," she thought rapidly. "Or ifMorland plays it twice over, he'll have it by heart. Hallo! Four o'clockalready, and these stalls not half cleared! We shall have to have anauction."
Patsie, on being consulted, agreed, and readily undertook the post ofauctioneer, to which she was voted by general accord.
"I don't know whether to take it as compliment or not," she twittered."I suppose you think I've got the gift of the gab, and will make a goodCheap Jack! Well, I'll do my best for you. Here goes! Give me a ruler orsomething for a hammer."
A treble line of girls spread themselves round in an amused circle.Patsie, and especially Patsie in a bantering mood, was always worthlistening to. They prepared themselves for a half-hour of sheer fun.
The amateur auctioneer--or rather auctioneeress--seized upon the firstthing that came to hand, which happened to be one of Claire's discardeddolls. She held it aloft, and descanted eloquently upon its virtues.
"Look at this!" she proclaimed. "A real Parisian doll--_bebe jumeau--jefais dodo--je voudrais une maman_--and all the rest of it! Kindlynotice, they're real ball joints, and not just slung together with bitsof elastic. Observe the beautiful little teeth, that might have steppedout of a dentist's advertisement, and the richness of the brown curls.'Hair rather thin', did someone remark? Well, buy a new wig for it,then; you can't expect everything! 'Lost a hand?' So have a good many ofour soldiers. It's only in the fashion. Be glad it hasn't lost both, anda leg too! White silk dress and red coat, and clothes that take on andoff! Why, I feel that I want to play with it myself, and take it to bedwith me. What offers? Someone kindly make a bid to begin. Twoshillings--thank you! Two and six! Three shillings! Come, ladies, it'sworth pounds instead of shillings at present-day prices! Four shillings!Four and six! I see I shall have to buy it myself. Only four and six!I'm getting too fond of it to part with it! Five shillings! I'm going toname it Rosabelle! Five shillings! Going at only five shillings! With ared coat and a white silk dress! I'll throw in this hat as well. Fiveshillings--who'll say five and six? It's a real bargain. The sort youonly meet once in a lifetime. Going at five and six! Real Parisian.Going! Going! Gone!"
Patsie struck her ruler on the back of an extemporized desk, and droppedthe doll in question into the delighted arms of Virginia Hewlett; then,leaving Dorothy to complete the business part of the transaction,transferred her attention to other objects of sale.
"Here's a post-card album!" she announced. "If you don't collect postcards, you ought to; and if you haven't an album to put them in, now'syour chance! Best crocodile back! 'Imitation', did somebody remark?Well, never mind, it's quite as good as original. We can't importcrocodiles during the war. The Kaiser's bought them all up tomanufacture crocodile tears! 'Some of the slips torn'? Mend them up witha little seccotine, and they'll be as good as new. Fourpence! Sixpence!Eightpence! A shilling! Going at a shilling! Going! Gone!"
There seemed no end to Patsie's powers of apt description. The girlsgiggled hysterically as, almost with tears in her voice, she descantedupon the merits of a cracked teapot, the beauties of a batteredbirdcage, or the capacity of a Japanese pencil-box. The fun ofout-bidding spread like infection, and many of the articles fetched farmore than they had originally been marked at by their owners. There arelimits, however, to school-girl pockets, and Miss Kingsley had made aspecial proviso that no credit was to be given. As the purses grew thin,the objects on sale went off, as Patsie expressed it, "dirt cheap", andseveral girls secured bargains surpassing even their wildest dreams.
"Time's getting on, and we put up the shutters at five," continued theloquacious auctioneeress. "I'll take the rest in lots. Some one pleasegive me a
cough lozenge, for my throat's getting hoarse. You don'twonder? Then take my place, and do the talking yourself. You're welcometo it. Oh! you'd rather not, when it comes to the point? Give me a bid,then, to start this charming assortment of fancy articles--chalks,marbles, pencils, wools all mixed together and going for next tonothing. Pennies will do it. We don't want to take anything home again."
Thanks to Patsie's persuasive tongue, the whole stock of goods was atlast disposed of, and quite a nice little sum was counted up for theprisoners of war.
The girls trudged home with their parcels, in high spirits, voting thewhole affair a huge success, and laughing immoderately over some of theincidents. Vivien, in an unwonted mood of generosity, actually offeredto copy the piece of music for her cousin. Claire and Nellie, afterquarrelling over a framed picture, patched up peace, and presented itbetween them to their form mistress.
Lorraine, when she reached her own bedroom, locked her particulartreasures securely in her bottom drawer. But that night, when she wassettling snugly on her pillow, there was a patter of bedroom slippersalong the landing, her door burst open, and a little sobbing,dressing-gowned figure came creeping into her bed.
"I'm sorry I took your things," it gulped. "I c--c--couldn't go to sleeptill I'd said so. I t--t--took them because I was cross about theb--b--birthday book. I was a b--b--b--east!"
"I was a bigger beast, Cuckoo!" confessed Lorraine, hugging her tight."Look here, I'll buy you another Kate Greenaway birthday book, exactlythe same only absolutely new, and give it to you for Christmas. Wouldyou like that?"
"Yes, I'd love it. But might I have it _before_ Christmas? I meant tocopy some of those dear little pictures on to a calendar for Mother. Shesaid she liked them so much, and I'd planned it for her present, and_that_ was why I wanted the birthday book so badly."
"Poor old Cuckoo! I understand. I'll order it at once at Smith's."
"You don't think me greedy?"
"Not a bit of it! I wish I'd known about the calendar. There, wipe youreyes, and go back to your own bed. It's striking ten, and you ought tohave been asleep an hour ago!"
The Head Girl at the Gables Page 10
