Monitress Merle by Angela Brazil (e book reader android TXT) 📗

slight degree to know their teachers. Before the school separated at 12.30 for dinner Miss Pollard had an announcement to make.

"Miss Mitchell and I have decided that for the general good of the school it will be wise to appoint four monitresses. Two of these must be boarders and will be chosen by us, but the other two may be elected by yourselves. We will have a ballot this afternoon. You may nominate any girls you like by writing their names upon slips of paper and handing them in to me before 2.30. All candidates, however, must be over the age of fifteen and must have spent at least two previous terms at 'The Moorings.' The voting will take place in the big schoolroom immediately after four o'clock."

Mavis and Merle, walking home to lunch at Bridge House, discussed the project eagerly as they went.

"Good for Miss Pollard! Or I expect it's really Miss Mitchell who suggested it! I call it a ripping idea. It's just exactly what's wanted. The monitresses will lead the games and all the various societies. Run the school, in fact. What sport!" rejoiced Merle, with shining eyes. "The old 'Moorings' will really wake up at last."

"Only four monitresses, and two of them are to be boarders and chosen by the powers that be!" mused Mavis. "That means Iva and Nesta, if I know anything of Miss Pollard and Miss Fanny! Now the question is who are to be the other two lucky ones?"

"It ought to be somebody who could lead!" flushed Merle. "Somebody really good at games and able to organise all that rabble of kids. Some one who's been accustomed to a big school and knows what ought to be done. Not girls who've spent all their lives in a tiny school like this. They've no standards. I've often told them that! They've simply no idea of how things used to swing at the Whinburn High!"

"I wish Miss Pollard and Miss Mitchell would have done all the choosing," said Mavis anxiously. "I think myself it's a mistake to put it to the vote. Probably somebody quite unsuitable will be elected. The juniors will plump for the girl they like best, without caring whether she knows anything about games or not. There's Aubrey Simpson!"

"Oh! They can't choose 'the jackdaw'!" interrupted Merle.

"They can choose her if they like. She's over fifteen and perfectly eligible. Edith Carey is rather a favourite, I believe."

"That silly goose! Good-night!"

"Well, there's Muriel Burnitt at any rate. She's been a long time at 'The
Moorings.'"

"All the worse for that, though she's better than Edith or Aubrey. I shall vote for her myself, and for you."

"And I'm going to vote for you, and for Muriel, because, as you say, she's better than the others. I sincerely hope you'll win."

"I hope we both shall. I'll nominate you if you'll nominate me!"

"Rather a family affair, isn't it? I think I'll ask first and see if anybody else is going to give in our names. Perhaps Iva or Nesta may. It would be much nicer than seeming to poke ourselves forward."

"If we don't hustle a little we'll never get there! That's my opinion! You're too good for this wicked world, Mavis! I've often told you so!" declared Merle, running into the house and putting down her books with a slam. "Angel girls are all very well at home, but school is a scrimmage and it's those who fight who come up on top! Don't laugh! Oh, I enjoy fighting! I tell you I want most desperately and tremendously to be made a monitress, and if I'm not chosen, well—it will be the disappointment of my life! I'm not joking! I mean it really and truly. I've set my heart upon it."

Mavis, who had a very fine sense of the fitness of things, and who did not think sisters should nominate one another, returned early to school that afternoon and hunted up Iva Westwood. She found her very enthusiastic about the election.

"We've never had anything of the sort before at 'The Moorings,'" purred Iva. "We're beginning to wake up here, aren't we? I'm going to give in your name as a candidate, Mavis! I'm just writing it now."

"Thanks! Won't you put Merle too?"

"Oh, I will if you like." (Iva's voice was not too enthusiastic.) "I suppose it doesn't matter how many we nominate. Somehow I never thought of Merle."

"She's a splendid leader, and A1 at games. You should have seen her at
Whinburn High!"

"Oh, I daresay! Well, to please you I'll put her name on my list. It can do no harm at any rate."

"Thanks ever so!"

"Old Muriel's canvassing like anything downstairs among the kids!"

"Is canvassing allowed?"

"Well, it hasn't been forbidden. Nesta and I are too proud to go and beg for votes, but Mu doesn't care in the least; rather enjoys it, in fact. She's sitting in the playroom, with Florrie Leach and Betty Marshall on her knee, 'doing the popular,' and giving away whole packets of sweets. If Merle really wants—hello! here's Merle herself!"

Mavis turned quickly, for her younger sister, looking flushed and excited, had burst suddenly into the room and was speaking eagerly.

"Mavis! Have you a shilling in your pocket? I left my purse at home! Do lend it to me! What for? I want to tear out and buy some sweets. Oh yes, I've time. I shall simply sprint. Hand it over, that's a saintly girl! Thanks immensely!"

Merle departed like a whirlwind, slamming the door after her. Iva
Westwood pulled an expressive grimace and laughed.

"So she's trying the popular trick too! Well, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. I think Edith Carey has a good chance myself. The kids are rather fond of her. Have you written your nominations yet, Mavis? Then come along, and we'll drop them inside the box."

As the first bell rang at 2.25 and the girls began to assemble in the big schoolroom, Muriel Burnitt walked in followed by a perfect comet's tail of juniors, some of whom were hanging on to her arms. Each was sucking a peppermint bull's-eye, and each wore a piece of pink ribbon pinned on to her dress.

"Muriel's favours!" they explained, giggling loudly. "We're all of us going to vote for her. Isn't it fun?"

Mavis glanced round for Merle, hoping her expedition to the sweet-shop would not have made her late, and to her relief saw her sitting on the opposite side of the room, in company with Beata and Romola Castleton, Fay Macleod, and a number of other new girls whose acquaintance she had evidently just made. They were passing round chocolates, and seemingly enjoying themselves. Merle waved a hand gaily at her sister, beckoning her to join the group, but at that moment Miss Mitchell entered the room, and all seated themselves on the nearest available benches while the roll-call was taken.

"We will meet here at four o'clock for the election," said the mistress, as she closed the register and dismissed the various forms to their classrooms.

The first day of a new term always seems intolerably long, and with such an interesting event as a ballot before them most of the girls felt the hour and a half to drag, and turned many surreptitious glances towards wrist watches. Merle in especial, who hated French translation, groaned as she looked up words in the dictionary, and made several stupid mistakes, because her thoughts were focussed on the election instead of on the matter in hand. Once she yawned openly, and drew down a reproof from Mademoiselle, whereupon she heaved a submissive sigh, controlled her boredom, and went on wearily transferring the flowery sentiments of Fénelon into the English tongue. At precisely five minutes to four the big bell clanged out a warning, dictionaries were shut, exercise-books handed in, pencil-boxes replaced in desks, and the class filed downstairs to the big schoolroom. Miss Pollard was not there: she was busy in the hostel; and Miss Fanny, looking rather flustered and nervous, had evidently given over the conduct of the meeting to Miss Mitchell, and was present merely as a spectator. The new mistress seemed perfectly at home and ready for the occasion. She passed round pieces of paper, inquired whether everybody had a pencil, then made her announcements.

"As Miss Pollard told you this morning, you are here to elect two monitresses. Two from among the boarders have already been chosen by us, these are Iva Westwood and Nesta Pitman, but the remaining two are to be balloted for from among the list of candidates. As perhaps some of you don't understand a ballot, I will tell you just what to do. I have written on the blackboard the names of those girls who have been nominated:

"Muriel Burnitt.

"Aubrey Simpson.

"Edith Carey.

"Mavis Ramsay.

"Merle Ramsay.

"What I want you to do is to write on your piece of paper the names of the two candidates for whom you wish to vote, then fold your paper and hand it in. You must not add your own name to it, and you have no need to tell anybody how you voted. The whole principle of a ballot is that it is done in secret. Are you ready? Then please begin."

The little ceremony was soon over, the girls scribbled rapidly, folded their papers, and passed them along the benches to Nesta and Iva, who collected them and gave them to Miss Mitchell.

"It will take a short time to count the votes," explained the mistress. "Those girls who wish to go home can do so, but any who like to wait and hear the result can stay."

Miss Mitchell and Miss Fanny retired to the study and the meeting broke up. Most of the day-girls put on their hats and coats in readiness to go home, but hung about the hall until the names should be announced. The contingent from Chagmouth, whose car was stationed outside in the road, and whose driver was waxing impatient, were obliged to depart without the exciting news. Merle went as far as the gate to watch them pack into their 'sardine-tin.' Four sat behind, and two in front with the chauffeur, all quite radiant and thoroughly enjoying themselves.

"Good-bye! I hope you'll win!" said Beata, waving a hand to Merle with difficulty, for she was tightly sandwiched between Fay and Tattie. "We did our best for you and Mavis. I didn't know any of those others. Romola, have you got the books? That's all right. I was afraid we'd left the satchel. Yes," (to the chauffeur) "we're quite ready now, thanks! Ta-ta, Merle! Good luck to you! We're off!"

Merle, looking after the retreating car, was joined by Aubrey Simpson, rather injured, and disconsolate.

"I didn't know all these new girls were to have votes," she grumbled.
"How can they choose a monitress when they don't know anybody!
It's rather humbug, isn't it?"

"They know me" perked Merle.

"Did you canvass them? Oh, how mean!"

"Why mean? You could have done it yourself. Muriel was canvassing among the juniors as hard as she could go."

"I might have canvassed among the new boarders! Why didn't I think of it?" wailed Aubrey.

"Well, really, it's your own stupid fault! Don't blame me!" snapped
Merle.

"Iva and Nesta said they didn't mean to ask for votes."

"Well, they'd no need to. They were both jolly certain that Miss Pollard would make them monitresses. It's easy to talk loftily when you're sure of your innings."

"Did Mavis canvass?"

"No—but then, of course, Mavis wouldn't!"

"Why not?"

"Oh—because she's Mavis! I can't see her doing it somehow. What a long time Miss Mitchell and Miss Fanny are over their counting! I wish they'd hurry up. I want to go home to tea."

The girls had not much longer, however, to wait.

In the course of a few minutes the new mistress entered the hall and read out the important result.

"The polling is as follows," she announced.

 "Muriel Burnitt . . . 27
  Mavis Ramsay . . . 20
  Merle Ramsay . . . 19
  Edith Carey . . . 14
  Aubrey Simpson . . . 12

"The two monitresses elected, therefore, are Muriel Burnitt and Mavis
Ramsay."

Some of the girls raised a cheer, others took no notice; Miss Mitchell, who seemed