“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll take it upstairs. I like the ‘awful row.’ I put it here because I thought it would be a pleasure to you as well as to myself. I’m sorry.”
“What a tantrum! Evidently the clock is a tender point. Better leave it here and stop the gong. It will keep you awake all night.”
“I won’t stop the gong! I—I like to be waked!” declared Claire obstinately. She lifted the clock from its nail, and stalked out of the room, head in air.
Cecil whistled softly between pursed lips.
Chapter Twelve.
An unpleasant tea-party.
In the inevitable fatigue which had marked Claire’s first experience of regular work, she had looked forward with joy to the coming of the holidays when she would be able to take her ease, and for a month on end laze through the hours at her own sweet will. A teacher scores above other workers in the length of holidays she enjoys. Several months in the year contrasts strongly with the fortnight or three weeks enjoyed by a female clerk or typist; in no other profession is so large a proportion of the year given to rest.
Claire had condemned the staff at Saint Cuthbert’s for want of appreciation of this privilege; but, before the four weeks of the Christmas holidays were over, her eyes were opened to the other side of the picture. Holidays were horribly expensive! Living “at home” meant an added bill for fire and light to add to the necessary expenses abroad; that the last items were necessary could hardly be denied, for a girl who had been shut up in a schoolroom through three months of term, naturally wished to amuse herself abroad during holiday time, and in London even the most carefully planned amusement has a habit of costing money.