One day Miss Burd announced that on the following Saturday there was to be a match played in a suburb of Grovebury between two first-class ladies’ hockey clubs. She suggested that it might be of advantage to some of the girls to go and watch it, and proposed that each of the upper forms should elect one of their number as special reporter to write an account of the match which could be read aloud afterwards in school. The idea rather struck them.
“It’s Finbury Wanderers versus Hilton,” said Linda Slater, “and they’re both jolly good, I know. Wish I could have gone myself, but I’m booked already for Saturday.”
“Heaps of us are,” said Cicely Denham.
“We’d like to hear about it, though,” added Kitty Saunders. “I call it rather a brain wave to choose a reporter.”
“Hands up any girls who are free on Saturday!” called Beatrice Jackson.
The announcement had been made rather late, so most of the form already had engagements for the holiday. Only six hands were raised, belonging respectively to Ingred Saxon, Avie Irving, Avis Marlowe, Francie Hall, Bess Haselford, and Beatrice Jackson herself.
“A poor muster for Va!” remarked Kitty. “As Ingred’s our warden, I should think she’d better write the report.”
“The Finbury ground is a horribly awkward place to get to,” put in Beatrice. “I suppose you’ll motor there, Ingred.”
“We have no car now,” confessed Ingred, turning very red, for she was sure that Beatrice knew that fact only too well, and had brought it into prominence on purpose to humiliate her.
“Oh! I suppose you’ll be motoring, Bess? Couldn’t you give some of us a lift?”
“I believe I could take you all,” replied Bess pleasantly. “Of course I shall have to ask Dad first if I may have the car out on Saturday, but I don’t expect he’ll say no.”
“Oh, what sport! We’ll come, you bet. Look here, I beg to propose that Bess Haselford writes the report of the match.”
“And I second it,” declared Francie. “Hands up, girls! Bess shall be ‘boss’ for this show.”
Half the girls in the room had not heard Kitty’s proposal that Ingred should be chosen, and some of the others, listening imperfectly, had gathered that she was not able to go to the match, so without giving her a further thought they raised hands in favor of Bess, and the matter was carried.
“But indeed I’m no good at writing or describing things!” protested Bess.
“Yes, you are! You’ve got to try, so there!” cried her friends triumphantly. “You’ll do it just as well as anybody else would.”
Ingred turned away with a red-hot spot raging under her blouse. That she, the warden of the form, should have been passed over in favor of a girl whose sole qualification seemed to be that she could offer some of the others a lift in her car, was a very nasty knock. Was Bess to supplant her in everything?
“Perhaps you’d like to make her warden instead of me!” she remarked bitterly to Belle Charlton, who stood near. “I’m perfectly willing to resign if you’re tired of me!”
Belle only giggled and poked Joanna Powers, who said:
“Don’t be nasty, Ingred! Bess is a sport, and we most of us like her.”
“I can’t see the attraction myself!” snapped Ingred.
She did not want to go to the hockey match now, and made up her mind obstinately that nothing in this wide world should decoy her to it. Bess came to school next morning armed with full permission to use her father’s car and to invite as many of her schoolfellows as it would accommodate. She cordially pressed Ingred to join the party.
“I’m not going to the match, thanks,” replied the latter frigidly.
“But there’s heaps of room—there is indeed, without a frightful squash.”
“There’s something I want to do at home on Saturday.”
“Couldn’t you do it in the morning? The form will be disappointed if you don’t go—and, I say—” (shyly) “I wish you’d write that wretched report instead of me. I hate the idea of doing it!”
“The form won’t care twopence whether I go or stay away, and as they’ve chosen you to write the report you’ll have to write it or it’ll be left undone,” retorted Ingred perversely.
Bess, looking decidedly hurt, turned away. Her little efforts at friendship with Ingred were invariably met in this most ungracious fashion. She could not understand why her kindly-meant advances should always be so systematically repulsed. Ingred, on her part, stalked off with the mean feeling of one who at bottom knows she is in the wrong, but won’t acknowledge it even to herself. Under the sub-current of indignation she realized that she would have liked Bess immensely if only the latter had not taken up her residence at Rotherwood. That, however, was an offense which she deemed it quite impossible ever to forgive.
Ingred went about her work that morning in a very scratchy mood, so much so as to attract the attention of Miss Strong, who possibly felt a little prickly herself, since even teachers have their phases of temper. It was at that time a fashion in the form for the girls to keep all sorts of absurd mascots inside their desks, the collecting and comparison of which afforded them huge satisfaction. Now Miss Strong happened to be lecturing on “The Age of Elizabeth,” a subject so congenial to her that she was generally most interesting. But today she had reached a rather dry and arid portion of that famous
