THE JOLLIEST SCHOOL OF ALL
by
ANGELA BRAZIL
Author of"The Luckiest Girl in the School," "The Princess of theSchool," "A Popular School Girl," "SchoolgirlKitty," "Marjorie's Best Year," etc.
A. L. Burt CompanyPublishers New YorkPublished by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Co.Printed in U. S. A.Copyright, 1922, byFrederick A. Stokes CompanyAll Rights Reserved
DEDICATED TO
THE MANY CHARMING AMERICAN GIRLS WHOM I HAVE MET
AND TO
THOSE UNKNOWN SCHOOLGIRLS OVER THE ATLANTIC TO WHOM THIS LITTLE BOOK CARRIES MY HEARTIEST GREETINGS
"'YOU MEAN THINGS!' RAGED PEACHY"
--_Page 124_]
CONTENTS
chapter page
I. Off to Italy 1 II. The Villa Camellia 16 III. Hail, Columbia! 27 IV. A Secret Sorority 41 V. Fairy Godmothers, Limited 52 VI. Among the Olive Groves 66 VII. Lorna's Enemy 81 VIII. At Pompeii 93 IX. Reprisals 113 X. The School Carnival 126 XI. Up Vesuvius 141 XII. Tar and Feathers 156 XIII. Peachy's Pranks 174 XIV. The Villa Bleue 190 XV. Peachy's Birthday 213 XVI. Concerning Juniors 230 XVII. The Anglo-Saxon League 243 XVIII. Greek Temples 257 XIX. In Capri 272 XX. The Cameron Clan 287 XXI. The Blue Grotto 303
THE JOLLIEST SCHOOL OF ALL
CHAPTER I
Off to Italy
In a top-story bedroom in an old-fashioned house in a northern suburb ofLondon, a girl of fourteen was kneeling on the floor, turning out thecontents of the bottom cupboards of a big bookcase. Her method of doingso was hardly tidy; she just tossed the miscellaneous assortment ofarticles down anywhere, till presently she was surrounded by a mixed-upjumble of books, papers, paint-boxes, music, chalks, pencils, foreignstamps, picture post-cards, crests, balls of knitting wool, skeins ofembroidery silk, and odds and ends of all kinds. She groaned as thecircle grew wider, yet the apparently inexhaustible cupboards were stilluncleared.
"Couldn't have ever believed I'd have stowed so many things away here.And, of course, the one book I want isn't to be found. That's whatalways happens. It's just my bad luck. Hello! Who's calling 'Renie'? I'mhere! _Here! In my bedroom!_ Don't yell the house down. Really, Vin,you've got a voice like a megaphone! You might think I was on the top ofthe roof. What d'you want now? _I'm busy!_"
"So it seems," commented the fair-haired boy of seventeen, saunteringinto his sister's room and taking a somewhat insecure seat upon a fancytable, where, with hands in pockets, he regarded her quizzically. "GreatScott, what a turn out! You look like a magician in the midst of a magiccircle. Are you going to witch the lot into newts and toads? Whence thisthusness? You won't persuade me that it's a fit of neatness and you'reactually tidying. Doesn't exactly seem _you_, somehow!"
"Hardly," replied Irene, with her head inside a cupboard. "Fact is, I'mlooking for my history book. I can't think where the wretched thing hasgone to. School begins to-morrow, and I haven't touched my holiday tasksyet; and what Miss Gordon will say if I come without those exercises Ican't imagine. I'm sure I flung all my books into this cupboard, and, ofcourse, here's the chemistry, which I don't want, but never so much as asingle leaf of the history. Don't grin! You aggravate me. I believeyou've taken it away to tease me. Have you? Confess now! It's in yourpocket all the time?"
Irene looked eagerly at the bulging outline of her brother's coat, buther newly formed hopes were doomed to disappointment.
"Never seen it! What should _I_ want with your old history book? I'vefinished for good with such vanities, thank the Fates!"
"Don't rub it in. It's a beastly shame _you_ should be allowed to leaveschool while _I_ must go slaving on at Miss Gordon's. Ugh! How I hatethe place! The idea of going back there to-morrow! It's simplyappalling. A whole term of dreary grind, and only a fortnight's holidayat the end of it. Miss Gordon gives the _stingiest_ holidays. If myfairy godmother could appear and grant me a wish I should choose never,never, _never_ to see St. Osmund's College in all my life again. I'd askher to wave her magic wand and transport me over the sea."
Irene spoke hotly, flinging books about with scant regard for theircovers. Her slim hands were dusty, and her short, yellow hair as ruffledas her temper. There was even a suspicion of moisture about the cornersof her gray eyes. She rubbed them surreptitiously with a ball of ahandkerchief when her head happened to be inside the cupboard. She didnot wish Vincent to witness this phase of her emotions.
"Every girl ought to be provided with a decent fairy godmother," shegulped. "If mine did her duty she'd come to rescue me now. Yes, shewould, and be quick about it too!"
How very seldom in the course of an ordinary life such wishes aregranted! Not once surely in a million times! Yet at that identicalmoment, almost as if in direct answer to her daughter's vigorous tirade,Mrs. Beverley entered the room. There was a sparkle of excitement in hereyes, and her whole atmosphere seemed to radiate news. She ran in asjoyously as a girl, clapping her hands and evidently brimming over withsomething she was about to communicate.
"Why, Mums! Mums--darling! What's the matter?" asked Irene. "You look asif you'd had a fortune left you. Tell us at once."
"Not quite a fortune, but next best to it," said Mrs. Beverley, sittingdown on the end of the sofa. "Daddy says I may tell you now, bairns. Ithas all happened so suddenly, and has been arranged in a rush. Youremember Dad mentioning a few weeks ago that Mr. Southern, the firm'srepresentative in Naples, was very ill? Well, Mr. Fenton has decided tosend Dad to Italy to take his place, for a year at any rate, and perhapslonger. We're to start in a fortnight."
Such a stupendous announcement required a little realizing. Vincentremoved his hands from his pockets.
"You don't mean to say we're _all_ going?" he inquired. "Jemima! LeavingLondon fogs and toddling off to Italy? Materkins, you take my breathaway! How's the whole business to be fixed up so soon?"
"Quite easily. We shall let this house, just as it is, to Mr. Atherton,who will come from the Norfolk branch to fill Father's post in London.We are to rent Mr. Southern's flat in Naples, while he takes a voyageround the world to try to regain his health. Dad means to put you intohis office in Naples, Vin. Don't look so aghast! It's high time youstarted, and it will be a splendid opening for you. And as for Renie--ofcourse she's too young to leave school yet----"
"Mums! Mums!" interrupted an agonized voice, as Irene took a flying leapover her circle of books and, plumping herself on the sofa, clutchedtightly at her mother's sleeve. "You're not going to leave me behind atMiss Gordon's? You _couldn't_! Oh, I'd die! Mums darling, please! If thefamily's going to jaunt abroad I've got to jaunt too! Say yes, quick,quick!"
"What a little tempest you are! Cheer up! We'd never any intention ofdeserting you. We'll stick together for a while at any rate, though whenwe arrive in Naples you'll be packed off to a boarding-school, Madam, soI give you fair warning."
"An Italian school?"
Irene's gray eyes were round with horror.
"No, an Anglo-American school for English-speaking girls. Do youremember that charming Mr. Proctor who stayed with us last year on hisway from New York to Naples? His daughter is at this school, and hestrongly recommended it. It seems just exactly the place for you, Renie.It will
solve a great problem if we can educate you out there. It wouldhave complicated matters very much if we had been obliged to leave youin England. As it is you'll be quite near to Naples, and can come homefor all your holidays."
"Hooray! Then I'm not to go to Miss Gordon's again?"
"As we start in a fortnight it's not worth while your beginning a freshterm at St. Osmund's."
"Then I needn't bother to find the hateful old history book. I'm _so_glad I didn't do those wretched holiday tasks--they'd just have beensheer waste. Mums, I'm so excited! May I begin and pack for Italy now? Ican't wait."
For the next two weeks great confusion reigned in the Beverleyhousehold. It is no light matter to decide what you need to take abroad,what you wish to lock up at home, and to leave your establishment inapple-pie order for the use of strangers. Inventories of furniture,linen, blankets, and china had to be written and checked, a rigorousselection made of the things to be packed, and the luggage cut down tothe limits prescribed by the railway companies. Poor Mrs. Beverley wasnearly worn out when at last the overflowing boxes were fastened, thebags and hold-alls were strapped, and the taxis, which were to take themto the station, arrived at the door. Tears stood in her eyes as shecrossed the threshold of her own house.
"It's a tremendous wrench!" she fluttered.
"Never mind, Mums!" consoled Irene, linking her arm in her mother's."It's an adventure, and we all want to go. You'll love it when we'reonce off. No, don't look back: it's unlucky! Your bag's in the cab; Isaw Jessie put it in. Hooray for Italy, say I, and a good riddance tosmoky old London! In another couple of days we shall be down south andturning into Romeos and Juliets as fast as we can. You'll see Dadlearning a guitar and strumming it under your balcony, and serenadingyou no end."
"Hardly at his time of life!" said Mrs. Beverley; but the joke amusedher, she wiped her eyes, and, as Irene had hoped and intended, steppedsmiling into the waiting taxi, and left her old home with laughterinstead of with tears.
In her fourteen years of experience Irene had traveled very little, sothe migration to Italy was a fairy journey so far as she was concerned.To catch the boat express they had made an early start, and theybreakfasted in the train between London and Dover. It was fun to sit incomfortable padded armchairs, eating fish or ham and eggs, and watchingthe landscape whirling past; fun to see the deft-handed waiters nippingabout with trays or teacups; and fun to observe the occupants of theother tables in the car. There was a fat, good-natured Frenchman whoamused Irene, a languid English lady who annoyed her, an elderlygourmand who excited her disgust, and a neighboring party, one member ofwhich at least aroused her interest and caused her to cast cautious sideglances in the direction of the next table. This center of attractionwas a small girl about eight or nine years of age, a dainty elfin littleperson with bewitching blue eyes and a mop of short, flaxen curls. Shewas evidently well used to traveling, for she would lift a tiny fingerto summon the waiter, and gave him her orders with all the_savoir-faire_ of an experienced diner-out. Perhaps her clear-tonedtreble voice was a trifle too high-pitched for the occasion, and wouldhave been better had it been duly modulated, but her parents seemedproud of her conversational powers and allowed her to talk for thebenefit of anybody within ear-shot. That she excited comment wasmanifest, for many looks were turned to her corner. The criticisms onher were complimentary or the reverse. "Isn't she perfectly _sweet_?"gushed a young lady at Irene's left. "Sweet? She ought to be in thenursery instead of showing off here!" came a tart voice in reply, fromsome one whose face was invisible but whose back and shoulders expressedan attitude of strong disapproval. "Hope we shan't be boxed up with herin the same carriage to Paris! I vote we give her a wide berth atCalais."
Irene laughed softly. The little flaxen-haired girl attracted her; shefelt she would have gravitated towards her compartment rather than haveavoided her. But traveling companions were evidently more a matter ofchance than choice, for the crowd that turned out of the train at Doverbecame mixed and mingled like the colored bits of glass in akaleidoscope. Irene realized that for the moment the one supreme andbreathless object in life was to cling to the rest of her family, andnot to get separated from them or lost, as they pushed through narrowbarriers, showed tickets and passports, traversed gangways, and finallyfound themselves on board the Channel steamer bound for France. Father,who had made the crossing many times, scrambled instantly fordeck-chairs, and installed his party comfortably in the lee of a funnel,where they would be sheltered from the wind. Mrs. Beverley, who hadinspected the ladies' saloon below, sank on her seat, and tucked a ruground her knees with a sigh of relief.
"It will be the 'Black Hole of Calcutta' downstairs," she remarked. "I'drather stay on deck however cold it is. The mother of the weeyellow-haired lassie is lying down already, evidently prepared to beill. The stewardess says we shall have a choppy passage. She earns hertips, poor woman! Thanks, Vincent! Yes, I'd like the air-cushion,please, and that plaid out of the hold-all. No, I won't have a biscuitnow; I prefer to wait till we get on terra firma again."
Irene, sitting warmly wrapped up on her deck-chair, watched the whitecliffs of Dover recede from her gaze as the vessel left the port andsteamed out into the Channel. It was the last of "Old England," and sheknew that much time must elapse before she would see the shores of herbirthplace again. What would greet her in the foreign country to whichshe was going? New sights, new sounds, new interests--perhaps newfriends? The thought of it all was an exhilaration. Others might seemsad at a break with former associations, but as for herself she wasstarting a fresh life, and she meant to get every scrap of enjoyment outof it that was practically possible.
The stewardess had prophesied correctly when she described the voyage as"choppy." The steamer certainly pitched and tossed in a mostuncomfortable fashion, and it was only owing to the comparativesteadiness of her seat amidships that Irene escaped that most wretchedof complaints, _mal de mer_. She sat very still, with rather whitecheeks, and refused Vincent's offers of biscuits and chocolates: hersole salvation, indeed, was not to look at the heaving sea, but to keepher eyes fixed upon the magazine which she made a pretense of reading.Fortunately the Dover-Calais crossing is short, and, before Neptune hadclaimed her as one of his victims, they were once more in smooth watersand steaming into harbor.
Then again the kaleidoscope turned, and the crowd of passengersremingled and walked over gangways, and along platforms and up steepsteps, and jostled through the Customs, and said "_Rien a declarer_" tothe officials, who peeped inside their bags to find tea or tobacco, andhad their luggage duly chalked, and showed their passports once more,and finally, after a bewildering half-hour of bustle and hustle, foundthemselves, with all their belongings intact, safely in the train forParis. Irene had caught brief glimpses of the child whom she named"Little Flaxen," whose mother, in a state of collapse, had been almostcarried off the vessel, but revived when she was on dry land again: amaid was in close attendance, and two porters were stowing their pilesof hand-luggage inside a specially reserved compartment. "The cross ladywon't be boxed up with them at any rate," said Irene. "I saw her get inlower down the train."
It was dark when they arrived in Paris, so Irene had only a confusedimpression of an immense railway station, of porters in blue blouses, ofa babel of noise and shouting in a foreign language which seemed quitedifferent from the French she had learned at school, of clinging veryclosely to Father's arm, of a drive through lighted streets, of a hotelwhere dinner was served in a salon surrounded by big mirrors, then bed,which seemed the best thing in the world, for she was almost too wearyto keep her eyes open.
"If every day is going to be like this we shall be tired out by the timewe reach Naples," she thought, as she sank down on her pillow."Traveling is the limit."
Eleven hours of sleep, however, made a vast difference in her attitudetowards their long journey. When she came downstairs next morning shewas all eagerness to see Paris.
"We have the whole day here," said Mrs. Beverley, "so we may as wellget
as much out of it as we can. Daddy has business appointments tokeep, but you and I and Vin, Renie, will take a taxi and have a look atsome of the sights, won't we?"
"Rather!" agreed the young people, hurrying over their coffee and rolls.
"I wouldn't miss Paris for worlds," added Vincent; "only don't spend thewhole time inside shops, Mater. That's all this fellow bargains for."
"We'll compromise and make it half and half," laughed Mother.
A single day is very brief space in which to see the beauties of Paris,but the Beverleys managed to fit a great deal into it, and to includeamong their activities a peep at the Louvre, a drive in the Bois deBoulogne, a visit to Napoleon's Tomb, half an hour in a cinema, and arush through several of the finest and largest shops.
"It's different from London--quite!" decided Irene, at the end of thejaunt. "It's lighter and brighter, somehow, and the streets are widerand have more trees planted in them. It's a terrible scurry, and Ishould be run over if I tried to cross the street. The shops aren't anybetter than ours really, though they make more fuss about them. Thelittle children and the small pet dogs are adorable. The cinema washorribly disappointing, because they were all American films, not Frenchones; but that light that falls from the domed roof down on toNapoleon's tomb was worth coming across the Channel to see. Yes, Mummiedear, I thoroughly like Paris. I'm only sorry we have to leave it sosoon."
The train for Rome was to start at nine o'clock in the evening, andimmediately after dinner the Beverleys made their way to the station. Itwould be a thirty-eight hour journey, and they had engaged two sleepingcompartments, _wagon-lits_ as they are called on the Continentalexpress. Mrs. Beverley and Irene were to share one, and Mr. Beverley andVincent the other. The beds were arranged like berths on board ship, andIrene, who occupied the upper one, found, much to her amusement, alittle ladder placed in readiness for her climb aloft.
"I don't need to use _that_!" she exclaimed, scrambling up with theagility gained in her school gymnasium. "How silly of the conductor toput it for me."
"How could the poor man tell who was to occupy the berth! You might havebeen a fat old lady for anything he knew!" replied Mrs. Beverley,settling herself on the mattress below.
It was a funny sensation to lie in bed in the jolting train, and Ireneslept only in snatches, waking frequently to hear clanking of chains,shrieking of engines, shouting of officials at stations, and otherdisturbing noises. As dawn came creeping through the darkness she drewthe curtain aside and looked from the window. What a glorious sight mether astonished gaze! They were passing over the Alps, and all aroundwere immense snow-covered mountains, great gorges full of dark firforests, and rushing streams of green glacier water. It was very cold,and she was glad to pull her rug up, and later to drink the hot coffeewhich the _conducteur_ made on a spirit-lamp in the corridor and broughtto those who had ordered it overnight.
Irene never forgot that long journey on the Continental express. Thesleeping compartments became sitting-rooms by day, for the berths turnedinto sofas, and a table was unfolded, where it would have been possibleto write or sew if she had wished. She could do nothing, however, butstare at the landscape; the snow-capped mountains and the great ravinesand gorges were a revelation in the way of scenery, and it was enoughoccupation to look out of the window. Switzerland and Northern Italywere a dream of wild, rugged beauty, but she woke on the followingmorning to find the train racing among olive groves and orange trees,and to catch glimpses of gay, unknown, wild flowers blooming on therailway banks. Here and there were stretches of the blue Mediterranean;and oxen and goats in the fields gave a vivid foreign aspect to thecountry. Everything--trees, houses, landscape, and people--seemedunfamiliar and un-English, yet strangely fascinating. The bright landwith its sunshine appeared to be welcoming her.
"I shall like it! I shall like it! I shall like it!" said Irene toherself, hanging out of the open window of their compartment andwatching some picturesque children who were waving a greeting to thetrain. "I _know_ I shall like it!"
"Put your hat on and strap up your hold-all," said Father's voice inthe corridor outside. "Everybody else has luggage ready, and in anotherten minutes or so we shall be in Rome."
The Jolliest School of All Page 1
