"Marjorie Jones has measles," answered Eleanor, their stage manager: "come here, all of you, and think hard. Who can take Scrooge at such short notice? Is there any new girl with a good memory? It's the longest part by far."
Various names were proposed and rejected for one reason or another, and then Eleanor's eye fell on Judith, who saw her consider for a moment, speak in a low tone to the two other prefects; then very reluctantly she answered the summons, "Judith, come here and read this page for me, will you, please? Perhaps you'll do."
Judith read the page and a tiny feeling of resentment began to make itself felt. She hadn't been asked to do anything nice, or anything she wanted, and now they weren't even asking her if she would be willing to take Marjorie's place.
"I guess you'll do," was Eleanor's uncomplimentary comment when Judith had finished.
"There's really no one else," she said, turning to Patricia, "and I think Judy can be word-perfect by Friday. I'll coach her every spare minute myself. Come along, Judy," she added, "and read over the part before we begin."
Somewhat breathless from this prompt decision, Judith obediently took the manuscript and seated herself at one corner of the stage. Suddenly as she read, the full meaning of this new turn of events flashed into her brain. The final term examination in literature was listed for Friday morning, and Judith had planned to spend all her spare time between now and then in the thorough revision of her work, for there was still much to be done, and this examination would really decide whether she or Joyce or Phyllis would head the list.
For a long ten minutes Judith read her part and at the same time debated within herself, while Eleanor settled some difference of opinion about exits and entrances. Self number one tried to hoodwink self number two—"Top Self" and "Deep-Down Self," Judith as a little girl had christened these two voices within her. "Daddy would like you to come out first; you oughtn't to disappoint him. Lessons must be done. Just go and tell Eleanor you can't do it and then your time will be your own."
"No," said Deep-Down Self, "be fair, Judy. You know you can't act well, you won't be a success like Genevieve. You don't want Catherine and the others to see you fail, and honestly, do you want to come out first for Daddy's sake or for your own? I really believe you don't think enough fuss has been made over you. You'd rather work at your literature and come first, perhaps, but you can memorize quickly and they need you. Which ought you to do?—never mind whether it's hard or not."
Judith had always been honest with herself and she knew quite well what the real issue was.
The struggle was hard, the hardest, perhaps, which Judith had ever fought. Mechanically she turned the pages while the argument continued within her. She seemed to have no way of deciding, when suddenly she remembered Nursing Sister Ruth's words, "York Hill girls have the reputation overseas of being willing to tackle any job—no matter how hard—and of putting it through." Top Self hadn't a chance after that. Filling in here seemed her most immediate duty and Judith settled down grimly to her task.