CHAPTER XXI
The Blinded Soldiers’ Fund
The examinations were drawing most horribly and imminently near, and the Fifth Form, feeling themselves for the most part ill prepared for the ordeal, were shivering in anticipation. Armed with textbooks, they made desperate efforts to pull up arrears, and stock their brains with an assortment of necessary facts. Ardiune crammed dates at every available moment, Morvyth studied the map of Europe, Valentine devoted herself to Virgil, and Magsie wept over French verbs, while the rest tried to fill up any educational gaps and holes where they knew they were lacking. The image of the Rev. T. W. Beasley, M.A. loomed large on the horizon, and his advent was hardly regarded with pleasure.
“I know I’ll be scared to death!” moaned Aveline. “If there are any viva voces I shall break down altogether. I know I shall! Directly he looks at me and asks a question, every single idea will go bang out of my head!”
“It doesn’t matter how well you know things if you’re nervous!” agreed Katherine.
“I hate the written exams!” groaned Raymonde. “They’re so long, and one gets so inky, and one’s 254 hand grows so stiff. I never can express myself well on paper. Gibbie says I’ve no gift for composition.”
“There aren’t any J pens left in the cupboard,” volunteered Maudie. “And Ma’m’selle says it’s not worth while sending for more just at the end of the term, and we must use Waverleys for the exam. There’s a whole boxful of those.”
“Oh, what a shame! I can’t write with a Waverley!” protested Raymonde in much indignation. “It’ll spoil my whole exam. I call that tyranny! Look here! I’m not going to be done! I shall send for a fountain pen with a broad nib. I saw one advertised in a magazine.”