It was rather difficult to ask any favours of girls who despised her, but Miss Craigie was far away in Edinburgh, wrestling with the "influenza"—poor Miss Craigie!—and clearly she was on the edge of one of those pitfalls that lie in wait for new girls.
"If it wouldn't be a bother, perhaps you would tell me what I have to do?" she asked.
Noreen leaned forward confidentially. "Of course I will. There's not much to tell; just two or three little things that are always done by the scholarship winner."
The others all displayed a sudden and flattering interest in Joey. They leaned forward too, so as not to miss a word.
"Tidying the Lab is the most important thing," Noreen went on gravely. "We've got a jolly old French Stinks Professor, Monsieur Trouville; frightfully brainy over stinks, but untidy—oh! my Sunday hat and Dublin Castle!—untidy isn't the word for it!"
Joey tried to grasp the situation valiantly.
"Do I sweep or dust or wash up his messes or what?" she asked.
The girl with the bobbed hair coughed alarmingly. Syb thumped her back, and said, "Shut it, Barbara!"
Noreen seemed a little taken aback by this question. "No, you don't, I think—and, anyhow, you never empty messes out of one saucer into another or you'd probably blow up the Coll," she stated candidly. "You just—put bottles into the cupboards—and don't take any notice if he tells you to get out and boil yourself. He does say these sort of things. He's a beast of a temper," Noreen added kindly.
"When do I begin?" Joey asked.