Chrisimissima

BARRY PAIN.

HRISTINA ARGENT was, officially and otherwise, the leader of the school at Helmstone. Her age and position in the school gave her the official leadership and made her monitor. But official leaders often have but little influence and dominance: Christina had much. If she had been younger and lower on the list, it is probable she would still have led.

There must be a reason for this, and Olive Pastowe would have said that the reason was that Christina was by far the nicest girl in the school and also the prettiest. But as Olive and Christina were great friends, Olive's evidence is open to objection on the score of bias. In some respects the girls were alike; they were both fifteen, both dark-haired. If Christina, who could look very proud, was really the prettiest girl in the school, certainly Olive came second. They had the same tastes; their handwriting was ludicrous in its similarity. But Christina had authority and Olive had none. Minna Nathan would have explained this on the ground that Christina was the wealthiest girl in the school and the daughter of titled parents. But Minna, to be frank, was a mean-souled snob; and one regrets to add that Minna's papa was another. Ellen Holmes would have pointed out that Christina was the best hockey-player and could throw a cricket-ball just like a boy. This is true as far as it goes. But Christina was no Admirable Crichton in work or in sport. Her arithmetic was marked "Deplorable" in her report. Her friend Olive could give her half fifteen at tennis, nor could she swim twice the length of the bath under water, a feat which Ellen Holmes herself could accomplish. We must perforce consider that Ellen was wanting in psychological analysis.

It is more satisfactory—and also quite easy—to say that Christina Argent was a leader because she possessed the gift of leadership.

It is a mysterious gift. It is a gift which has been possessed by people who in other respects bore little resemblance to each other—by Chatham, for example, and by General Booth; by Gladstone and by Beaconsfield. In such men lies the note of dominant personality, and the greatest amount of the highest attainments can never make up for the want of it or take the place of it. Look, for example, at such illustrious failures as But you may fill in the names for yourself; you will have no difficulty.

The natural consequence of Christina's pre-eminence was that Olive's principal claim to consideration was that she was the one intimate friend of Christina. She had her own merits. If you had asked specially about her tennis, you would have been told that she was simply splendid, and had won a tournament in which several adults were engaged. In work she had shown an aptitude that was almost uncanny for English history. But if you had merely said: "Who's Olive?" the answer would have been—"Olive? Why, she's Christina's greatest friend." The principal claim to distinction would have been first stated. Mabel Leroy would have said that Olive was Christina's best pal, but Mabel was always a little slangy. It was commonly pleaded in her defence that she had many brothers.

It would appear from the pages of history that the favourites of the great all fall from their high estate. The kindly historian assigns the fall to the capriciousness and fickleness of the monarch, but it must be confessed that the favourite has frequently brought it on himself. Because he has held his position for a long time he regards it as an assured position; he has presumed. When we come to consider the celebrated break between Olive and Christina, which created so much talk in the Helmstone school, we find that the first step came from Olive herself. As she admitted afterwards, she began it. She may have been right in what she did, or she may have been wrong; the bare facts shall be recorded.

{{c|{{x-smaller|[Illustration: "They read the letter together."]}}

The school possessed its own playing-fields, and the pupils spent most of their leisure there; but at certain times they were required to take a formal and processional walk through the streets of Helmstone—a thing abhorrent. It is true that the walk gave them a passing glimpse into fascinating shop-windows and enabled them to make notes of the prevalent feminine fashions; but these delights were miserably tempered. It was only a passing glimpse, and while you looked at one side of the street you missed things on the other. That delicious and prolonged flattening of the nose against the plate-glass, while you are wondering which you would buy if you could afford it, was not a thing that Miss Ferdinand or any of her agents would have permitted. If a horse had fallen or a motor-car broken down, the school might not stand around with wondering eyes and dropped jaws, and ask the policeman how it happened; the procession could give but one longing look and continue to proceed. Then, too, there was the consciousness that this procession of girls, each with the school colours on a severe straw hat, was greeted with humorous and impolite comment by the vulgar. Men said things and you could see the smile. For this reason Christina at the head of the procession always wore an expression of remote, refrigerated haughtiness; and even her friend Olive by her side did her best to appear less interested in things in general than she really was.

Subject to the approval of the authorities, the girls settled among themselves how they would be paired for the walk. Thus Elsa would say to Marjorie: "May I walk with you to-day?" And Marjorie would reply: "Yes, do let's," or "I've promised Dora," according to her inclinations or arrangements. But Christina and Olive always walked together as a matter of course, and had done so for a very long time—more than a fortnight, as Christina afterwards calculated. This makes the case look rather black against Olive; yet it is possible that in what she did she was actuated by kindness—degenerating into weakness, if you like, but still kindness. Hear and judge for yourself.

Olive came up to Christina in the cloak-room five minutes before the walk started, and said: "Chrisimissima"—this was her fond abbreviation of her leader's name—"I hope you don't mind, but I'm walking with Nellie Holmes to-day. She's asked me so often that I was simply ashamed to keep on saying that I was engaged."

Christina treated the matter with a suspicious lightness. "Of course you're not engaged," she said. "Hope you'll have a nice time. I'd promised to walk with Gwen, anyhow." This last statement was quite untrue, and it is unfortunately not the only untruth with which we shall have to discredit Christina. She went off at once to make the arrangement with Gwen—a pusillanimous wretch who broke a distinct promise to Mabel Leroy in order that she might accept the flattering boon of Christina's society.

Olive did not enjoy the walk in the least. She was troubled and depressed. She asked herself if she had done right. She loved Christina, but she did not want to hurt anybody's feelings—not even those of Nellie Holmes. Still, if Christina was going to be offended, was Nellie Holmes worth it?

Nellie, as has already been pointed out, could swim twice the length of the bath under water. But she stopped there.

Yes, the above paragraph is unfortunately expressed. What is really meant is that Ellen Holmes had no accomplishments other than natatory. Also, she was as plain as a motor-omnibus.

Christina was very angry. That "I hope you don't mind" of Olive's was tactless and rankled. Why on earth should she mind? Any girl in the school would be only too glad and proud to be her companion on the walk. All the same, she did hate people who did not know their own minds, or pretended to be very fond of you when they really did not care. And if that was the way Olive was going on, she would soon show her Elliptical but threatening.

She spoke of Olive to Gwen quite dispassionately, with scrupulous fairness, not shutting her eyes to the fact that Olive had her slightly ridiculous side. The slave Gwendolen endeavoured to echo the note, and got badly snubbed for her pains. Gwendolen had not realised that in her place by Christina's side she was merely a caretaker, and that caretakers should not behave like owners.

Christina and Olive met after the walk. "I'd much sooner have been with you," said Olive at once.

Christina wore that air of not having heard which is not uncommon with those who have the gift of leadership. Olive had to repeat her remark, with some of the enthusiasm chilled out of her.

"Really!" said Christina, giving her attention to the arrangement of her hair. "I should have thought Minnie Nathan would just have suited you."

"It wasn't Minnie Nathan," said Olive indignantly, "and you know it wasn't. I simply can't stand her. It was only poor little Nellie, because nobody {{nowrap|seems{{bar|2}}"}}

Christina swept away from the looking-glass with a fair-to-middling assumption of boredom. "Oh, well," she said, "you can't expect me to know who all your friends are; besides, it doesn't interest me."

The rapidity with which news of importance is obtained and circulated in girls' schools is a problem that still baffles the inquirer. That very afternoon it was whispered in the class-room that the old, almost monumental, friendship between Christina and Olive was quite broken up. The report was brought for confirmation to Christina herself by Minna. Nathan, who was generally active in any pretty work of the kind. "You can't break up what wasn't," said Christina with cold disdain.

Later in the day it was announced, officially, that Miss Ferdinand would give a special prize for history at the end of the term; and, unofficially, that Olive Pastowe meant to go in for it. "Funny," said Christina, when she heard. "I'm going in for it myself. However," she added, with a humility which would have been more touching if it had been convincing, "she's bound to beat me."

It must be admitted that, as a rule, the disposition of extra prizes in this school was a matter of arrangement among the girls themselves. Naturally, the complete duffer was not allowed to annex them; that would have been unjust and would have awakened the suspicions of the authorities. But when four girls all had a chance for the same prize, they settled among themselves which of the four was to get it. The selection depended on various considerations. The girl who got the prize last time would, of course, be ruled out. The girl who was certain of other prizes would also be told not to be greedy. On the other hand, a girl who was in for a bad conduct report would have some claim on that prize as a counter-weight. The girl who first demanded it—"Bags I the history prize" would be the correct formula—and had been promised a sovereign by papa if she brought a prize home, would have a very strong case, more especially if she agreed to divide a moiety of that sovereign among the other competitors.

The system had its advantages. It prevented rivalry and bitterness of feeling, under a strictly competitive system four girls would have worked cruelly hard, and three would have been disappointed; by this method one girl worked moderately, three were as slack as they pleased, and there were no disappointments at all. The captious moralist may say that it suggests that the auction knock-out is a feminine invention, but we have no concern with him.

It will be seen, then, that Christina had disregarded the etiquette of the school. Olive, by using the "Bags!" formula, had put in a claim for the history prize. That claim would have been subjected to discussion, and might, or might not, have been established. But it was contrary to all settled principles for another girl to introduce a crude rivalry into the business, and, without any discussion of Olive's claim, to oppose it by sheer work. It meant bad feeling. It meant a lowering of the standard to that of mere competition. It meant that the girl who knew the most history would get the history prize. It was subversive. It was all wrong.

Yet there was no general condemnation of Christina's action; such was the strength of her position. It was regarded with sorrow rather than with anger. With gentle resignation all other possible competitors for that extra prize withdrew. In this life-or-death struggle between Olive and Christina there was no place for the ordinary weakling. Six to four in small square caramels was offered on Christina and taken.

It was terrific. The ease and exactitude with which both Christina and Olive answered all questions in each day's history lesson astounded, even while it pleased, Miss Ferdinand. Guilelessly she held up these two girls as examples to the class. Little did she know that Olive had borrowed money (which was against the rules) to buy candles (which were not allowed) for the purpose of nocturnal work in her bedroom—a thing absolutely illegal. Little did she know the still more horrid fact that the pages of Christina's prayer-book were liberally pencilled with mundane and ungodly dates, and that Christina committed them to memory when she should indubitably have been thinking of other things. "I wouldn't work like those two for a good deal," said Flossie Bayle, and she spoke the truth and voiced the general sentiment. Any reasonable girl would have been reluctant to work like that, but people do silly things when their blood is up.

The break between the two friends increased and became more definite with their rivalry. They spoke to one another as little as possible now, and always with icy civility. Olive looked sometimes at Christina with wistful eyes, but Christina was careful never to look at Olive at all, and when Christina changed her place in the dining-hall so as not to sit next to Olive, Olive bit her lip and took the only course possible to a girl of spirit; she complained of a draught, and thus got herself removed from the seat beside Christina in the class-room.

On the day before the examination Christina had gone back to even betting. Minna Nathan, who had accepted six to four from the friends of Christina, now backed Christina herself for five caramels, and openly proclaimed that she was on velvet either way. It is needless to add that Minna took the arithmetic prize.

Breakfast-time came on the great day of the history examination, and no books might be read at breakfast. Christina, however, circumvented the regulation. She received a letter from home addressed in the hand-writing of her elder sister. The letter itself dealt with the Rockingham Administration, the career of Wilkes, the character of Thurlow, and other pleasant trifles of the period. In this way Christina was enabled to gorge knowledge up to the very last moment.

Olive also had a letter from home, but her letter was quite genuine, and Olive turned as white as the cloth when she read it.

The examination began at nine; when a girl had finished her paper, she handed it up to Miss Packman and was then free to go and play. Mabel Leroy looked through the questions, said "By gum!" under her breath, wrote two lines of fantastic imbecility about the surrender of Lord Cornwallis, and showed up her paper at 9.7 precisely. But this was not tolerated. She was commanded to think and to try again. At 9.30 she was allowed to go, Nellie Holmes had written all she knew, and some things that she did not know, a few minutes later. It was a stiff paper, and few there were that could wrestle long with it. When Minna Nathan showed up her paper at 11.15, after surreptitiously tossing a coin to settle the date of Chatham's death, she left only Christina and Olive still writing. The paper suited Christina perfectly. It would have suited Olive equally well, but Olive had received bad news that morning, and could not keep her mind on her work. Seated with her face to the wall, she had wept quietly and unobserved. But she was still struggling on when twelve struck; and the two girls met at the desk to give in their papers. Christina noticed Olive's face, seemed on the verge of speaking, and then turned away.

Christina knew that she had done well. She had answered every question. She had been a little in doubt as to the date of Austerlitz, and had made a shot. The shot, she found on referring to her history, had been singularly blessed. But, even as she turned the pages of the history, she was haunted by that look of Olive's. What could have happened to her? Christina felt that she must find out, and for that purpose she sought Minna Nathan. Minna was not popular, and knew far too much arithmetic; but Minna had also a gift for knowing the private affairs of other girls.

"Come here, Minna," said Christina, with dignity. "Now, then, what has Olive been crying about?"

"Don't you know? Her mother's ill, and there's to be an operation to-morrow morning. I believe she'll die; they generally do when there's an operation. I'll have a bet with you on it, if you like."

"No. Go on." "That's all. Oh, yes, she's to get a telegram to-morrow morning. She didn't seem to want to talk about it much, and she's gone off to the end of the garden by herself. It's ruined her chance of the history prize—she says that half the time she didn't know what she was writing about."

"I see," said Christina.

Christina had set her heart on that history prize. There could be no doubt that she would get it, and quite suddenly she found that she did not want it at all; the only thing she did want was that Olive should have it. She made her plan on the instant.

"Is there anything else you want to know?" asked the obsequious Minna. "I can find out some more if you like. Mother calls me her little detective." "Does she? Sweet child! No, I don't want any more. By the way, you're all wrong about the history prize. The paper didn't suit me a bit. I made a lot of howlers, and some of the questions I never even tried."

Minna went off, eager to disseminate the news of Christina's failure. Christina could generally calculate on what Minna would do.

Olive sat alone on a bench at the further end of the garden. It was very cold, but she did not notice it; the evergreens shut out from her view the terrible world. In one red hand she held a wet handkerchief, and in the other the letter from her father.

After all, it contained crumbs of comfort. "I hope to send you a reassuring telegram to-morrow morning," it said. "Don't be frightened." She read the sentences over and over again. Oh, if she only had somebody to whom she could really talk about it! In the old {{nowrap|days{{bar|2}}}}

She looked up at the sound of a footstep, and there was Christina—Christina, with both hands stretched out—Chrisimissima, with no dignity at all, and visible tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Olive dear! don't tell me to go away, or be polite, or anything. I've only just heard, and I'm most awfully sorry for you. And I wish I hadn't behaved like a pig and a beast to you. O-oh, o-oh, o-oh!" Christina was sobbing.

"Oh, Chrisimissima!" They became inarticulate, with their arms round one another.

A little later they read the letter together. And it appeared that Christina's mother had undergone an operation, and had got well again ever so soon; and that, on the whole, operations were rather a good thing, because doctors were most frightfully clever nowadays.

Olive was much comforted, and the delicate question of the history prize was touched upon. "Of course I've lost it," said Olive. "Really, I hardly knew what I was writing, and I couldn't think. But I'm glad you'll have it. The only thing is that my people will be disappointed—mummy particularly; and I hope it won't be bad for her. You see, history's about the only thing I was ever any good at."

"That's all right," said Christina. "It's absolutely certain you've got the prize. I can promise you that. The paper didn't suit me in the least, and none of the things that I had worked up were asked. I was perfectly putrid. I didn't even try half the questions."

"I did more than that," said Olive doubtfully. "But, still{{bar|2}}"

They compared notes. Christina repeated her assurance. Olive would get the prize, and Chrisimissima would be delighted.

It happened even as Christina had said. The history prize was awarded to Olive, who wondered how it had come to pass, but telegraphed the glad news home to a convalescent mother. Christina was told that her answers had been scanty and inaccurate. "You have disappointed me," said Miss Ferdinand. Christina smiled sweetly.

Now, Christina had done well in the examination, Olive had done badly, Miss Ferdinand marked the papers fairly, and yet Olive got the prize. The explanation is simple enough.

The position of monitor carried with it the very high privilege of acting as occasional errand-girl to Miss Ferdinand. It was always Christina who was deputed to bring the pile of examination papers from the class-room to Miss Ferdinand's study.

"Here is the key of the desk in which the papers are," said Miss Ferdinand solemnly. "And remember, Christina, that I am trusting to your honour."

Christina had only to transpose her own papers and Olive's, changing the outer sheets which alone bore the competitor's name. The close similarity of their handwritings prevented any detection of the fraud. Often in the old days had Olive written half of Christina's imposition for her, or Christina rendered a similar service to Olive.

Chrisimissima had been insanely jealous. She had told fibs. She had, in the matter of the examination papers, been guilty of a dishonourable breach of trust. Can anything be said for her?

{{PD/US|1928}}