"That's what I say," said Dorothy. "But Hilda's got an attack of nerves or conscience or something. Pull yourself together, old girl, and stick to it. As Jack says, we're bound to get into a beastly row anyhow, so we might as well try and accomplish our purpose before we cave in."
"But what is our purpose?" argued Hilda, still unconvinced, but manifestly wavering.
"To teach Miss Burton a lesson, of course. To show her that she can't go sticking the Lower Fifth in corners as though we were a parcel of babies from the First Form! To make her see how jolly unpopular she's made herself, and to induce her to treat us better for the future if she stays on—which I jolly well hope Miss Oakley won't let her do!" said Jack, with a fine flourish of eloquence.
"Good old Jack!" said Dorothy approvingly. "That's put it in a nutshell. Now, Hilda, say you'll stick to it and refuse to work for Miss Burton, or—or we'll send you to Coventry or something!"
The threat was made laughingly. Dorothy knew well enough that Hilda's strength of purpose was not sufficient for her to stand out against the whole of her form when it actually came to the point. This was not the first time she had had to deal with the conscience of the head of the form. Hilda was apt to get these belated attacks of panic when nefarious schemes were afoot in the Lower Fifth, but never yet had she been known to make a stand for her convictions. And this occasion proved no exception to the general rule. Seeing that public opinion was all in favour of continuing the strike, she yielded, with one last feeble protest.
"Well, don't blame me when Miss Oakley comes down upon us like a ton of bricks!" she said, as she got out the books and papers for the preparation set by Miss Latham and Mademoiselle.
"We won't, old thing," promised Jack. "And if there's anything left of us after the Head's done with us, we'll let you say, 'I told you so,' as many times as you like! I'm sure it will be no end of a consolation to you!"
While this argument was in progress, Gerry had been quietly finishing her lines. She had now completed writing out "Chestnuts are bad for the digestion" one hundred times, and, fastening her papers neatly together with a paper-fastener, she glanced up at the clock. It still wanted four minutes to five o'clock. If she was quick she would just about have time to hand over her lines to Miss Burton before the prep bell sounded, and, getting up from her desk, she left the classroom and hurried along to the mistress's private study.
The bell rang just as she reached it, but, having come so far, Gerry did not mean to turn back now. She tapped at the door. Then, as no answer came, she tapped again, a little louder this time.
"Bother! She isn't there," she said to herself. "Never mind, though," she added. "I'll put them on the table where she'll be sure to see them." And turning the handle of the door, she pushed it open to go inside.