Tennis Shoes (14 page)

After the play was over somebody came on the stage and said that a hundred and twenty-three pounds had been made for the hospital, which was very good indeed. When they got home grandfather gave them each a wrist-watch, because they had done so well. It really was a most exciting evening.

The next night, so that they would not feel too depressed, grandfather took them all to see the pantomime of
Cinderella
. They had seats in the front row of the dress circle. It, too, was a very nice evening. Taking the matter all round, they thought that their performance of
Cinderella
was the better of the two.

‘We did stick much more to the story,' said Susan in the first interval.

‘You looked much prettier than that lady,' David observed.

Grandfather opened a box of chocolates.

‘I must say I preferred Susan meself.'

‘I can't think why they have to have that big fat girl for Prince Charming,' Nicky complained. ‘I suppose at Christmas all the men actors are busy, so that they had to dress her up and pretend.'

They were most surprised by the time they reached the next interval. They had never been to a pantomime before, because they had missed the one they had meant to go to, by having measles. They never knew that in pantomimes it is the custom to dash about all over the world. So they were very startled when Cinderella, the two ugly sisters, and Cinderella's mother, who was dressed as an old lady with elastic-sided boots, all came to stay at a smart hotel in Mars. Everybody went to Mars in balloons. There was a very funny scene in a balloon and a very exciting one, of rows of balloons flying across the backcloth. All the same, nobody felt that Mars was the right place for Cinderella to be in. They had to admit that the transformation scene was better done. There were twelve real ponies and a gold coach and proper coachmen, though even then they thought Susan would look much nicer inside the coach than the other Cinderella. The end of the play was better than theirs. All the people that had been to the court ball came marching down a silver staircase. Jim hardly noticed the end of the play, because he was wondering so hard if it were possible to put up a staircase like that in their theatre for next Christmas. They drove home quite dazed with so much dancing and singing and lights.

‘Thank you so much, grandfather,' said Susan. ‘It was lovely.'

‘Yes, it was,' Jim agreed. ‘'Though I think they ought to stick more to the story.'

‘Don't you think, grandfather'—Nicky snuggled against him—‘there ought to have been a jester in the court scene, like me?'

David leant against grandfather's other side.

‘It was all mos' sumt'us,' he murmured, and went to sleep.

CHAPTER IX

THE SUMMER TERM

Susan and Nicky shared a bedroom. It was not altogether a successful sort of sharing, as they had entirely different ideas about the things which ought to be in bedrooms. They made it fair by dividing the room in half. Each put what she liked (within reason) in her own half.

Susan, as the eldest, had the window end. This was nice. It had broad ledges to stand things on. Nicky had the half with the door. In Susan's half was the dressing-table and the wardrobe. In Nicky's the chest of drawers and the arm-chair. As Nicky had no window-ledges she had the top of the chest of drawers for putting things on. In both halves there was a bookshelf for their own books.

They had owned the room since they were small, so it had changed a lot as they grew older. There had been a time when Susan's window-ledge had three teddy-bears, a rabbit, and a golliwog on it. Now that she was almost twelve she had put those away, though, as a matter of fact, they were only in a drawer and she often took them out. Her window-ledge now had quite a grown-up look. There was, of course, the clock she had won as a prize. Usually something was growing, bulbs in the winter, or a geranium during the rest of the year. There were pictures framed in passe-partout of tennis stars: they were not very good pictures, as they were mostly cut out of papers, but they gave a sporting look and went well with her prize clock. The middle of the window-ledge she left clear. She never said why, and nobody but Jim knew that it was the space for the cups she hoped some day to win.

Nicky's end was usually in a bit of a mess. She had eleven animals. Most of them she had been so fond of she had worn holes in them. Pinny had done what she could with patches. But, of course, patched animals do not add to the smartness of a room. As well, when they could be had, she kept caterpillars. They lived in cardboard boxes with muslin over them, and though she cleaned them a lot they never looked very spotless. At one time she had kept silkworms, but they had escaped and got into the beds. Unless you have found a silkworm in your bed you have no idea how nasty it is. It even put Nicky off, and, as she said, they never made silk anyway, and she did not know anybody with a mulberry-tree, so they were sent back to the girl who had given them to her. She also kept a collection of musical instruments. She said it was nice to have something handy to make a noise with if she wanted to. There was a drum and a trumpet and a lot of squeakers and whistles out of crackers, and two musical-boxes from Woolworth's. Susan was used to Nicky and her noises, but she kept hoping she would get to like something else. She never said so, because she knew if she did Nicky would find something noisier than ever.

As a matter of fact, Susan and Nicky got on better when they were in their beds than at any other time. Both going to St. Clair's there was a lot to gossip about, and lying in bed nothing else to do. As a rule they did not talk much at night because Nicky went to bed an hour earlier than Susan. But one night Susan went to bed early because she had a cold. Of course they talked, and it was then Nicky got her idea about joining the tennis club.

‘I wish'—Susan blew her nose—‘I knew sobe of those peoble at by club. When Jim's away I've no one to play with.'

Nicky sat up in bed and held her knees.

‘If it was me I'd just walk about and say: “Here's Nicky Heath. Any one like a game?”'

Susan snuffled.

‘You bould,' she said nosily. ‘You don't do that sorb of thi'g in clubs. You don't talk to anybody till they talk to you.'

Nicky wriggled with aggravation.

‘If everybody who goes to clubs says they can't speak to anybody until somebody speaks to them, nobody will ever speak, because there's nobody to begin.'

Susan blew her nose again.

‘Well, of course, there's the peoble who play fearfully well. They know eberybody. There's a girl called Robemary. She plays terribly well. She spoke to be once. We were in the changi'g room. She said: “Foul crush, isn't there?” I thought it was awfully nice of her.'

Nicky lay down. She gave a deep sigh. She could not understand the way Susan thought.

‘If it was me I wouldn't be pleased. I'd expect people to be pleased if it was me spoke to them.'

Susan turned her back.

‘I wouldn't wait for that. It'll neber habben.'

‘You don't know,' Nicky argued. ‘Everybody's pleased to talk to me at school.'

‘Whob?' Susan was very scornful. ‘Just the liddle girls in your own class. And what a class! It loses marks and marks for the house. An' it's nearly always your fault. You should hear whad Alison says. St. Catherine's is boddom nearly ebery week. Hardly adybody in your forb does thi'gs to earn marks.'

‘Lucky for the school,' Nicky said nastily, ‘they have Susan Heath. She may have a cold in her nose, poor girl, but she never loses any marks. She's so good she couldn't be gooder. Everybody says you'll play in the second six this summer. Think of all the marks you'll earn then.'

Susan was in an awkward position. She ought to refuse to speak to Nicky after impertinence like that. But she did want to know who the ‘everybody' was who said she'd play in the second tennis six. She decided to overlook Nicky's rudeness. She sat up, resting on her elbow.

‘Who said so?'

‘All the school.' Nicky leant out of bed to pick up her monkey who had fallen on to the floor. ‘Anyway, think for yourself. 'Course you will. Who else is there? I shouldn't wonder if you were a reserve for the first. The tennis is awful enough.'

Susan picked a clean paper handkerchief out from under her pillow.

‘Not awful enough for that.'

‘I don't know.' Nicky tucked her monkey in beside her. ‘If you want to know, I think it was very silly of you to start playing. You'll be captain one day, and that'll be a lot to be proud of. Me, I shan't ever play at school at all.'

Susan was in the middle of a particularly violent blow and could not answer for a moment. When she did she stammered with indignation.

‘Bud you bust. Thad's one of the reasons why you ought to work, so you'b get into a tennis forb. Think of your house. St. Catherine's would mind much less about you if you're playing in a team'b.'

Nicky stroked her monkey.

‘I don't want St. Catherine's to mind less about me. I hate the silly house and the silly rules. When I'm so old I simply have to move up I shan't play tennis, and nobody can make me.'

Susan sighed. It never was any good arguing with Nicky. Sometimes she wondered if she was wrong in the head. It seemed impossible that any ordinary child could be born with such terribly upside-down ideas.

‘When Jim's away,' she explained, tucking her back in and settling down for the night, ‘school tennis is the only court practice I ged. Don't talk, I'm going to sleeb.'

Nicky scowled into the night. How infuriating people were who just finished conversations. No one person, she thought, ought to be allowed to. It ought to take both the people who were talking.

‘Suppose I still want to talk?' Susan made no answer. She even stopped her nose sniffing. Nicky made a face. Then she hummed. Susan knew that humming trick of old. If she grumbled Nicky would only hum louder. She pretended to be asleep and hoped she would not give herself away by sneezing. Nicky did not really want to hum, and if Susan was asleep and could not hear there was not much point in going on. She felt annoyed, but she too tucked in her back and settled down.

Although she settled down, Nicky did not go to sleep at once. She stared at a star which showed through the crack in the curtains. Odd, she thought, if one could get to the stars. Perhaps they would be quite nice to live on. Thinking of stars made her think of Rosemary, who had spoken to Susan. Perhaps she would be a tennis star. Not so good a star as Susan meant to be, but still a star. Stupid, she thought, not to let her join the club. How could any child be a tennis star who hadn't a court to play on, only a silly old wall? It was then she had her idea. Susan had said that when Jim was away school tennis was the only court practice she got. Her father must hate that. He thought school tennis bad for your game. Wouldn't he think it better if she joined and could play with Susan? Nicky rolled herself more tightly into the bedclothes to help her think. Grown-ups were very tiresome. They had an idea that if they'd once said ‘No' they ought to stick to it, which was, of course, idiotic. She had got ‘No' about the tennis club from her father and mother and even from Pinny. It was no good going to any of them again. Then suddenly she thought: Grandfather! He had not said ‘No.' She would write him a letter. She would write to-morrow. Pleased at having had so sensible an idea she went to sleep.

She wrote to grandfather during the middle-of-the-morning break at school:

D
EAR
G
RANDFATHER
,

I thought what a long time it was since I wrote to you did Susan tell you about the man who writes about tenis who told her she was good it is a pity she can't play at her club in the term becos Jim is away she has nobody to play with I am sawing and sawing to get enough money to join myself so I can play with her please give my love to James and Hibbert I hope the horses are quite well love from N
ICKY
.

Nicky had spent last week's pocket-money, so she had not got tuppence-ha'penny. She did not want to ask any one for a stamp, because she did not want them to know she had written to grandfather. She decided to borrow from Annie. She went to her when she got home.

‘Now then,' said Annie briskly. ‘You know I don't want you hanging about the big top when I'm dishing-up.'

‘Well, all I wanted,' Nicky explained, ‘was to know if you could lend me a stamp. I'll pay you back on Saturday.'

Annie drained the water off a cabbage. ‘What's the matter with asking the doctor? You know you don't pay for your own stamps. Or, if the doctor's out, that Miss Pinn will have one. She has your father's stamps—you know that as well as I do without troubling me.'

‘Well, you see'—Nicky lifted the top off the vegetable dish to see if the potatoes were in their coats, or just done in the dull way—‘it's a letter to grandfather, and I didn't want to say I'd written it.'

Annie knelt down and opened the oven door to take out the joint.

‘What have you written to your grandfather about? No good messing about with me. You're up to no good or we shouldn't have this hush-hush about the stamp.'

‘Well, as a matter of fact'—Nicky went over to the stove and gave an extra stir to the gravy—‘I just wrote to tell him how good Susan was at tennis, and what a pity it was she couldn't use her club when Jim was away.'

‘Trust you.' Annie lifted the joint on to the table. ‘They ought to take you on as a freak. The human serpent, or see how she twists. All the same, I'll lend you the stamp, because you'll be under my feet a little bit less if your granddad joins you to the club. Put the letter on the dresser. I'll see to it. Now go up and wash. My dinner's coming over in two shakes. And mind you,' she called after Nicky, tuppence-ha'penny on Saturday morning, or I'll know the reason why.'