“Pity the Snark didn’t stop! She doesn’t know what she’s missing!” remarked Joanna Powers, as she took a meringue.
“Oh, Kafoozalum! We shouldn’t have had much fun if the Snark had stayed! Don’t bring her back, for goodness’ sake, Jo!”
“I wasn’t going to! Besides which, she’s probably halfway down town at present, having tea in a café. She generally does on Fridays.”
“She won’t get a better tea than we’re having!”
“I’ll undertake she won’t! This meringue is absolutely topping! I wonder if there’s another left.”
“No, they’re gone, every one of them!”
“Hard luck!”
Though the hour might be early, the girls’ appetites were quite equal to the task of finishing the various delicacies in the way of sweet stuff which they had brought with them. Cakes disappeared like snow in summer, and chocolate boxes, passed round impartially, soon returned empty to their owners. When everything seemed almost finished, Bess produced another hamper, which she had carried up from the cloakroom, and stowed away under her desk. She handed it rather shyly to Beatrice, who happened to be her nearest neighbor.
“Mother sent these, and wants you all to share them,” she remarked.
Beatrice, Francie, and Linda opened the hamper all three together, then with a delighted “O-Oh!” of satisfaction drew out six beautiful bunches of purple grapes. Ingred, finishing her cup of tea, choked and coughed. She knew those grapes well. They grew in the vinery at Rotherwood, and had been the pride of her father and of the head-gardener. She had not tasted one of them for five years, for during the war they had always been given to the patients in the Red Cross Hospital, but she could not forget their delicious flavor. Why had her father let the vinery with the house? The grapes ought to be hers to give away—not this girl’s. Nobody else in the room cared in the least where the fruit came from, so long as it was there. Appreciative eyes looked on in glad anticipation while Beatrice and Francie divided the bunches with as much mathematical accuracy as they could muster at the moment. A portion was laid upon each desk, and the girls fell to.
“Delicious!”
“Never tasted better in my life!”
“Absolutely topping!”
“Makes one want to go and live in a vineyard!”
“They’re exactly ripe!”
“Ingred, you’re not eating yours!”
“I don’t want them, thanks,” said Ingred hurriedly. “I don’t indeed. I’ve had enough. Pass them on to somebody else, please!”
“Well, if you really don’t want them, they won’t go a-begging, I dare say!”
Ingred felt as if the grapes would choke her. She could not touch one of them. She hated Bess for having brought them to school, quite irrespective of the fact that she would have done exactly the same in her place, had she been fortunate enough to have the opportunity. Bess, looking shy, and anxious to evade the thanks that poured in upon her, bundled the hamper away under the desk again, and made a palpable effort to change the subject.
“What about this election?” she asked. “Time’s getting on. It’s after half-past four.”
“Good night! Have we been all that time feeding? Here, girls, if you’ve quite finished, let’s get to business,” said Avis, rapping on her desk as a signal for silence, and constituting herself spokeswoman for the occasion. “You know what we’ve met here for—to choose a warden to represent us on the School Council. Well, I feel we couldn’t do better than send up Ingred Saxon. She’d look after our interests all right, if anybody would. I beg to propose Ingred Saxon.”
“And I beg to second that!” called Nora.
“Hands up, those in favor!”
Such a forest of arms immediately waved in the air that (though in strict order) it seemed hardly necessary for Avis to call out:
“Those against!”
No opposition hands appeared, so without further discussion the election was carried.
“Congrats, Ingred!” said Nora, patting the heroine on the back.
“I told you it would be a walk over, old sport!” whispered Verity.
“We’d talked it over beforehand, you see, and everybody had agreed to choose you, so it was really only a matter of form,” explained Francie.
“The Sixth are having a ballot,” put in Jess.
“And Vb are going to fight like Kilkenny cats over Magsie and Barbara.”
“There’ll be some hullabaloo in several of the forms, I expect.”
“Thanks awfully for electing me,” replied Ingred. “I suppose I ought to make a speech, but I really don’t know what to say!”
“You’ve got to say it all the same!” laughed Verity. “Members of Parliament always make speeches to their constituents. Here, take the Snark’s desk as your thingumgig—rostrum, or whatever it’s called, and begin your jaw-wag!”
“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, lend me your ears!” squeaked Kitty Saunders.
Pushed forward by a dozen hands, Ingred found herself occupying the mistress’s place, and, facing her audience, made a valiant attempt at oratory. With cheeks aglow, and dark eyes shining like stars, she looked an attractive little figure, and a bright and suitable leader for the form.
“I can’t really think why you should have chosen me,” she began (“don’t be too modest!” yelled a voice from the back), “but as you have made me your warden, I’ll take care that all our grievances are very well aired at the School Council.” (“You’ll have your work cut out!” interrupted Francie.) “Of course I know it won’t all be plain sailing, and that
