beginning,” announced Miss Peabody at the assembly. “You girls still need some excitement and exertion. You need to experience the thrill of dropping into bed at night feeling completely fatigued. You need the exhilaration of competition!”
An uneasy murmur ran through the gym. Miss Scrimmage shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
In the seventh row, Cathy and Diane looked at each other in desperation. Now what was Peabody up to?
“I’ve ordered three hundred water pistols and a whole load of food colouring,” Miss Peabody went on with growing enthusiasm. “We’re going to have war games.”
Miss Scrimmage gave an audible gasp and reached in her purse for her smelling salts.
The girls stared at the Assistant Headmistress, mute withshock. Of all the things they had been sent to finishing school for, war games were the last on the list.
“My goodness!” blurted Miss Scrimmage in a high state of nerves. “Water pistols! Food colouring! War games! It all seems so — unladylike!”
“That’s right!” exclaimed Miss Peabody. “It isn’t ladylike — it’s war! And it develops vital skills like speed, agility and strategic planning — skills these girls will need someday — all in a spirit of healthy competition. Blue and White Squadrons against Red and Green Squadrons, fighting with harmless weapons to occupy the orchard. We’ll put some backbone into these jellyfish! And by the way, the winning army gets a weekend trip with Miss Scrimmage.”
“A whole weekend!” whispered Cathy. “Forty-eight hours without Peabody! This we win!”
“That’s what you said last time,” Diane whispered back.
“Shhh. I’m planning strategy.”
* * *
Coming from the Faculty Building, Bruno Walton walked directly to Dormitory 1. Now he had fifty-six demerits and four hundred lines. This was a job for The Committee’s Lines Department. He approached the door of room 114 and gave the secret knock.
“Lines Department,” came Mark Davies’ voice. “How may we help you?”
The door swung open and Bruno was treated to the sight of efficiency at its best. The room was full of boys seated at desks and tables, industriously writing lines.
Bruno whistled in admiration. He filled out:
NAME:
Bruno Walton
POSITION IN THE COMMITTEE:
President
NUMBER OF LINES:
400
SAMPLE OF HANDWRITING:
Wizzle must go!
(Bruno scrawled this in his usual unintelligible hand.)
PICK-UP DATE:
Friday Morning
“Gee,” said Mark, “that’s pretty soon for all those lines. But we’ll see what we can do.” He placed Bruno’s application on a stack of many others. “We’re really busy here.”
“You’re doing a great job,” said Bruno. “See you.”
* * *
Mr. Sturgeon walked into his kitchen and looked around hopefully. “Where’s dinner, Mildred? Haven’t you started it yet?”
“It’s all ready, dear. It’s in the refrigerator.”
“Well, hadn’t you better heat it up?”
“No, it’s a cold dinner. We’re having a big salad and some other vegetable dishes.”
The Headmaster’s face fell. “Oh, no. You’ve invited Wizzle. How many times do I have to tell you how much I dislike that young man?”
“Oh, William! You’re Headmaster and you have social responsibilities. I’ve also invited Miss Scrimmage and Miss Peabody.”
Mr. Sturgeon groaned. “Your timing is off, Mildred. You should invite Miss Peabody when you’re serving raw meat.”
“Now that’s enough, William,” said his wife sternly. “Thistime I want you to be genuinely sociable. Your attitude toward others leaves a great deal to be desired.”
“I’m sure Wizzle’s going crazy,” said Mr. Sturgeon, helping himself to a piece of leftover cold chicken. “He spent all day today on the phone raving about toilet paper. And I’ve told you about how he’s taken to running out of his house in his underwear in the middle of the night.”
“You’re exaggerating, William. Mr. Wizzle is really a very nice young man.” She glared.
An uneasy murmur ran through the gym. Miss Scrimmage shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
In the seventh row, Cathy and Diane looked at each other in desperation. Now what was Peabody up to?
“I’ve ordered three hundred water pistols and a whole load of food colouring,” Miss Peabody went on with growing enthusiasm. “We’re going to have war games.”
Miss Scrimmage gave an audible gasp and reached in her purse for her smelling salts.
The girls stared at the Assistant Headmistress, mute withshock. Of all the things they had been sent to finishing school for, war games were the last on the list.
“My goodness!” blurted Miss Scrimmage in a high state of nerves. “Water pistols! Food colouring! War games! It all seems so — unladylike!”
“That’s right!” exclaimed Miss Peabody. “It isn’t ladylike — it’s war! And it develops vital skills like speed, agility and strategic planning — skills these girls will need someday — all in a spirit of healthy competition. Blue and White Squadrons against Red and Green Squadrons, fighting with harmless weapons to occupy the orchard. We’ll put some backbone into these jellyfish! And by the way, the winning army gets a weekend trip with Miss Scrimmage.”
“A whole weekend!” whispered Cathy. “Forty-eight hours without Peabody! This we win!”
“That’s what you said last time,” Diane whispered back.
“Shhh. I’m planning strategy.”
* * *
Coming from the Faculty Building, Bruno Walton walked directly to Dormitory 1. Now he had fifty-six demerits and four hundred lines. This was a job for The Committee’s Lines Department. He approached the door of room 114 and gave the secret knock.
“Lines Department,” came Mark Davies’ voice. “How may we help you?”
The door swung open and Bruno was treated to the sight of efficiency at its best. The room was full of boys seated at desks and tables, industriously writing lines.
Bruno whistled in admiration. He filled out:
NAME:
Bruno Walton
POSITION IN THE COMMITTEE:
President
NUMBER OF LINES:
400
SAMPLE OF HANDWRITING:
Wizzle must go!
(Bruno scrawled this in his usual unintelligible hand.)
PICK-UP DATE:
Friday Morning
“Gee,” said Mark, “that’s pretty soon for all those lines. But we’ll see what we can do.” He placed Bruno’s application on a stack of many others. “We’re really busy here.”
“You’re doing a great job,” said Bruno. “See you.”
* * *
Mr. Sturgeon walked into his kitchen and looked around hopefully. “Where’s dinner, Mildred? Haven’t you started it yet?”
“It’s all ready, dear. It’s in the refrigerator.”
“Well, hadn’t you better heat it up?”
“No, it’s a cold dinner. We’re having a big salad and some other vegetable dishes.”
The Headmaster’s face fell. “Oh, no. You’ve invited Wizzle. How many times do I have to tell you how much I dislike that young man?”
“Oh, William! You’re Headmaster and you have social responsibilities. I’ve also invited Miss Scrimmage and Miss Peabody.”
Mr. Sturgeon groaned. “Your timing is off, Mildred. You should invite Miss Peabody when you’re serving raw meat.”
“Now that’s enough, William,” said his wife sternly. “Thistime I want you to be genuinely sociable. Your attitude toward others leaves a great deal to be desired.”
“I’m sure Wizzle’s going crazy,” said Mr. Sturgeon, helping himself to a piece of leftover cold chicken. “He spent all day today on the phone raving about toilet paper. And I’ve told you about how he’s taken to running out of his house in his underwear in the middle of the night.”
“You’re exaggerating, William. Mr. Wizzle is really a very nice young man.” She glared.
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