The Jolliest School of All

Angela Brazil

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• Publié par: vool
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 23
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Jolliest School of All, by Angela Brazil, Illustrated by W. Smithson Broadhead This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Jolliest School of All Author: Angela Brazil Release Date: December 22, 2006 [eBook #20163] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE JOLLIEST SCHOOL OF ALL*** E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/c/) THE JOLLIEST SCHOOL OF ALL By ANGELA BRAZIL AUTHOR OF "The Luckiest Girl in the School," "The Princess of the School," "A Popular School Girl," "Schoolgirl Kitty," "Marjorie's Best Year," etc. A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York Published by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Co. Printed in U. S. A. Copyright, 1922, by FREDERICK A. STOKES C OMPANY All Rights Reserved D EDICATED 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 II. THE VILLA C AMELLIA III. H AIL, C OLUMBIA! IV. A SECRET SORORITY V. FAIRY GODMOTHERS, LIMITED VI. AMONG THE OLIVE GROVES VII. LORNA'S ENEMY VIII. AT POMPEII IX. R EPRISALS X. THE SCHOOL C ARNIVAL XI. U P VESUVIUS XII. TAR AND FEATHERS XIII. PEACHY'S PRANKS XIV. THE VILLA BLEUE XV. PEACHY'S BIRTHDAY 1 16 27 41 52 66 81 93 113 126 141 156 174 190 213 XVI. C ONCERNING JUNIORS 230 XVII. THE ANGLO -SAXON LEAGUE 243 XVIII. GREEK TEMPLES XIX. IN C APRI XX. THE C AMERON C LAN XXI. THE BLUE GROTTO 257 272 287 303 THE JOLLIEST SCHOOL OF ALL [1] CHAPTER I Off to Italy In a top-story bedroom in an old-fashioned house in a northern suburb of London, a girl of fourteen was kneeling on the floor, turning out the contents of the bottom cupboards of a big bookcase. Her method of doing so was hardly tidy; she just tossed the miscellaneous assortment of articles down anywhere, till presently she was surrounded by a mixed-up jumble of books, papers, paintboxes, music, chalks, pencils, foreign stamps, picture post-cards, crests, balls of knitting wool, skeins of embroidery silk, and odds and ends of all kinds. She groaned as the circle grew wider, yet the apparently inexhaustible cupboards were still uncleared. "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 what always happens. It's just my bad luck. Hello! Who's calling 'Renie'? I'm here! 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 of the roof. What d'you want now? I'm busy!" "So it seems," commented the fair-haired boy of seventeen, sauntering into his sister's room and taking a somewhat insecure seat upon a fancy table, where, with hands in pockets, he regarded her quizzically. "Great Scott, what a turn out! You look like a magician in the midst of a magic circle. Are you going to witch the lot into newts and toads? Whence this thusness? You won't persuade me that it's a fit of neatness and you're actually tidying. Doesn't exactly seem you, somehow!" "Hardly," replied Irene, with her head inside a cupboard. "Fact is, I'm looking for my history book. I can't think where the wretched thing has gone to. School begins to-morrow, and I haven't touched my holiday tasks yet; and what Miss Gordon will say if I come without those exercises I can't imagine. I'm sure I flung all my books into this cupboard, and, of course, here's the chemistry, which I don't want, but never so much as a single leaf of the history. Don't grin! You aggravate me. I believe you've taken it away to tease me. Have you? Confess now! It's in your pocket all the time?" Irene looked eagerly at the bulging outline of her brother's coat, but her [2] newly formed hopes were doomed to disappointment. "Never seen it! What should I want with your old history book? I've finished for good with such vanities, thank the Fates!" "Don't rub it in. It's a beastly shame you should be allowed to leave school while I must go slaving on at Miss Gordon's. Ugh! How I hate the place! The idea of going back there to-morrow! It's simply appalling. A whole term of dreary grind, and only a fortnight's holiday at the end of it. Miss Gordon gives the stingiest holidays. If my fairy 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 ask her to wave her magic wand and transport me over the sea." Irene spoke hotly, flinging books about with scant regard for their covers. Her slim hands were dusty, and her short, yellow hair as ruffled as her temper. There was even a suspicion of moisture about the corners of her gray eyes. She rubbed them surreptitiously with a ball of a handkerchief when her head happened to be inside the cupboard. She did not wish Vincent to witness this phase of her emotions. "Every girl ought to be provided with a decent fairy godmother," she gulped. "If mine did her duty she'd come to rescue me now. Yes, she would, and be quick about it too!" How very seldom in the course of an ordinary life such wishes are granted! Not once surely in a million times! Yet at that identical moment, almost as if in direct answer to her daughter's vigorous tirade, Mrs. Beverley entered the room. There was a sparkle of excitement in her eyes, and her whole atmosphere seemed to radiate news. She ran in as joyously as a girl, clapping her hands and evidently brimming over with something she was about to communicate. "Why, Mums! Mums—darling! What's the matter?" asked Irene. "You look as if you'd had a fortune left you. Tell us at once." "Not quite a fortune, but next best to it," said Mrs. Beverley, sitting down on the end of the sofa. "Daddy says I may tell you now, bairns. It has all happened so suddenly, and has been arranged in a rush. You remember Dad mentioning a few weeks ago that Mr. Southern, the firm's representative in Naples, was very ill? Well, Mr. Fenton has decided to send Dad to Italy to take his place, for a year at any rate, and perhaps longer. We're to start in a fortnight." Such a stupendous announcement required a little realizing. Vincent removed his hands from his pockets. "You don't mean to say we're all going?" he inquired. "Jemima! Leaving London fogs and toddling off to Italy? Materkins, you take my breath away! 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 voyage round the world to try to regain his health. Dad means to put you into his office in Naples, Vin. Don't look so aghast! It's high time you started, and it will be a splendid opening for you. And as for Renie—of course she's too young to leave school yet——" [3] [4] [5] "Mums! Mums!" interrupted an agonized voice, as Irene took a flying leap over her circle of books and, plumping herself on the sofa, clutched tightly at her mother's sleeve. "You're not going to leave me behind at Miss Gordon's? You couldn't! Oh, I'd die! Mums darling, please! If the family'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 of deserting you. We'll stick together for a while at any rate, though when we arrive in Naples you'll be packed off to a boarding-school, Madam, so I 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 you remember that charming Mr. Proctor who stayed with us last year on his way from New York to Naples? His daughter is at this school, and he strongly 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 would have complicated matters very much if we had been obliged to leave you in England. As it is you'll be quite near to Naples, and can come home for 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 fresh term 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 been sheer waste. Mums, I'm so excited! May I begin and pack for Italy now? I can't wait." For the next two weeks great confusion reigned in the Beverley household. 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 in apple-pie order for the use of strangers. Inventories of furniture, linen, blankets, and china had to be written and checked, a rigorous selection made of the things to be packed, and the luggage cut down to the limits prescribed by the railway companies. Poor Mrs. Beverley was nearly worn out when at last the overflowing boxes were fastened, the bags and hold-alls were strapped, and the taxis, which were to take them to the station, arrived at the door. Tears stood in her eyes as she crossed 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're once off. No, don't look back: it's unlucky! Your bag's in the cab; I saw Jessie put it in. Hooray for Italy, say I, and a good riddance to smoky old London! In another couple of days we shall be down south and turning into Romeos and Juliets as fast as we can. You'll