FROM AN INKWELL

Southland Times, Issue 20585, 8 September 1928, Page 13 (Supplement)

FROM AN INKWELL

THREE SNEEZES

(By

Brunnhilde.)

Early in the evening of Tuesday, September 4, 1928, three people sneezed almost simultaneously, and although it is doubtful whether the three were connected in any way, each sneeze was a death-knell, as surely as if it had been accompanied by the tolling of a bell. Whether, had it been any other season than the pepulant spring, these catastrophies might have been avoided, it is difficult to determine now that they have the solid base of fact. There is always so much fiiore scope for wisdom after the event. In each case the preceding circumstances were both simple and brief, as if their fallibility lay in the very common place of their happening. For more years than it was her wont to remember, since she had not yet reached the age when it is customary to dabble in retrospect, Ellen Saul had sought popularity, not covetously, but with the precise eagerness of a student. Her desire was not to excite admiration nor devotion nor even envy in the eyes of her fellows; she merely wished intensely to be liked by them. She had lived long enought to know that allowances had to be made constantly for someone or other, and that sooner or later everyone had a turn, even one’s favourite teacher, whose conscientious struggles against favouritism were not always quite successful. It was the plea of her soberly uttered prayers that when allowances were made for her, they would not be because she was clever, nor because she was beautiful, but that they should grow out of the affection people gave her. It was to her credit that not once during the years in which she sought so ardently, did she sacrifice her individual honesty. That, in all probability, was why she sought so long. Ellen had, to a mild drgree, both beauty and brains. That is to say, she was attractive to look on, and she found no difficulty in leading the rest of the class in the subjects she liked. To the subjects she did not like, it must be confessed, she gave little consideration. That, too, should have been in her favour, because it was a vogue for the whole form not to like Latin or Trigonometry. At one time it seemed that the girl who could conveniently “cut” these classes the most, and manage to keep down her percentage the longest, stood fair to receiving the adoration of the whole class. But this, along with the other popular ways, was debarred from Ellen. For, although she did as little home work on these subjects as the rest of them, there was always a certain amount she could not help gleaning in the class periods. In a way it way the penalty of ordinary intelligence, a possession she would have sacrificed willingly without recognising it a sacrifice.

Active dislike would have meant more to her than the calm indifference she was conscious of provoking. Yet provoking is too definite a term; she was not significant enough for that. Realizing the value of sport in school prestige, she took up tennis and basket-ball in their seasons, and swimming all the year round. But her attention to them was too studious, and although no one, probably, made any comment on it, her inclusion in the B teams was rather admirable in the light of sheer achievement. In her fourth year she swam in form relays without conspicuous effort. The fact of the matter was that she was never adopted by the girls. Asked to their parties—yes—probably more than any of the others, for the simple reason that she belonged to no clique, and actually, had no enemies. She was never the last chosen when sides were being picked; neither was she the first. No one ever thought of asking her to “croc” together, or bake together, or even sit together. Because the girls she had dreamed of pairing with, sometimes had even asked, would always have made other arrangements, she was generally the victim of the first girl who asked her, probably one as inconspicuous as herself. Sometimes, in somebody’s absence, she might find herself with one whom she had desired; but on such occasions consciousness of being a makeshift always spoilt the consciousness of fulfilment. She was not even allowed the distinction of making a solitary figure, which.might have had its compensations. The teachers liked her in .an orthodox way, without receiving any impression of her. They found her a very reliable girl, and when the inspectors were there, saw that she sat in a front seat. At dancing class she rarely lacked partners; but the boys with whom she wished to dance, the boys who appeared sometimes in a fleeting dream, would murmur inaudibly when they were introduced, and pass on. Her intense desire to appear as impersonal as the girls they sought, gave her an unnatural aloofness. When she was pointed out to them, boys would admire her colouring. She danced very correctly, but again too studiously to move spontaneously. Had any i of the other boys been told that she wanted to dance with them, they would have blushed a little and shaken their heads, and spluttered over “Rats!” or “Rubbish” before crossing over to the other girls. Her life became, during the years she devoted to it, a chart bearing the graph of popularity. And the more she examined it, the more attainable it became, until there were times when she felt she would not have to search much longer. Not once did she doubt that success would be her inevitable achievement. The cult of beauty and the pursuit of knowledge have never had more ardent disciples than this seeker ; after the affection of fellows. The ! graph was involved and broken; but beI tween the breaks she traced her own per- | sonality, not realizing that there was no ! place marked on the chart for the individ- . ual, whether in sincerity of thought or I utterance. In the oblivion of concentration I she did not notice that the chart was very | narrow, so that originality had to be excluded along with sincerity. For the points I in the graph were the marks set other i people, and the connecting lines were in- ! delible, for when they were joined there i was no thought of alteration. She thought that by memorizing the graph she was | learning the standard for her own achievement. The impracticability of the standardization of an illusion had not occurred to On the morning of Tuesday, September 4, the second period had revealed to the Latin mistress a conspiracy in which the whole class was involved, with the result that, without exception, they were required to return to the school immediately after tea to do the prose they had thus obstinately omitted to prepare. In the interests of school discipline the mistress saw fit to postpone her own engagement to play bridge so that the class would be suitably supervised. In her mind lurked a suspicion that this gross act of insubordination was directed at her in the insidious manner of a personal affront. Perhaps the fact that she was a young teacher not long from the university accounted for her undue sensitiveness. She had determined to stem and satisfactorily break the uprising singlehanded. Against such an indignity to a senior form, the class was in an uproar. What had been intended purely as a demonstration of power had not been received in the spirit in which the plan was evolved, and subsequently executed. At first there

had been some talk of not putting in an appearance after tea; but the consequences of further open warfare were too farreaching, and the plans were dropped. After all, there were many ways of pinpricking by which the battle could be continued under cover. That the mistress would have to give up her evening for them was a further score on their side. They returned in the evening in high spirits, and, sensing that something might be afoot, there was not a girl who was not there half an hour beforehand. Naturally they set up an incessant chatter, during which many wild and impracticable plans were conceived. One girl suggested arranging the easel so that the blackboard would fall, another offered to faint as soon as everybody was silent; but both were discarded as unsporting, with regard to the effect on the mistress. The proposal that some of them should hide in the cupboard and utter weird noises met with hilarious scepticism. They wondered if it was possible for anyone to fit into one of the shelves with the door shut. With an eye on the graph that was always with her, Ellen Saul offered to try. When she was doubled, and pushed, and poked, the door would just shut. A ruler had to be inserted as a doubtful lever to keep in from swinging open. As they crowded round the cupboard, giggling and whispering, Ellen Saul did not see their faces, nor their long black legs. She was busily engaged in joining points in heavy, indelible lines. When the mistress was seen advancing along the passage, they shut the door very hurriedly, arranging the ruler precariously, and scuttled to their seats. They whispered to her that it was too late to come out without being seen, and by the time she had decided not to remain in hiding, but to risk their scorn and the mistress’s displeasure, she heard one of the girls answering that Ellen Saul had felt ill, and had had to go home. Then it was too late for her to do anything, because she could not betray the other’s lie. So she lay very still, and watched the lines on the graph slowly fade. It was about half-way through the lesson that she sneezed, at which the door of the cupboard swung open, discovering her scarlet countenance. The other girls sniggered and tried to infect the mistress with the joke; but the next day the Lady Principal, in her lecture before the whole school, said it was only because of Ellen Saul’s past record that she was not expelled. On the Thursday she did not put in an appearance; and neither the teachers nor any of the girls of the school, were ever to hear of Ellen Saul again. (To be concluded.)