“Georgina! Georgina Gascoyne! Georgina! Has anybody seen her?

I say, have you all gone deaf?

Don’t you hear me?

Where’s Georgina?

I–want–Georgina–Gascoyne!”

The speaker–Ingrid Bridge–a small, perky, spindle-legged Junior,

jumped on to the nearest seat,

raising her shrill voice to its topmost pitch,

twice shouted the”Georgina Gascoyne”,

with aggressive energy calculated to make herself heard above the babel of general chatter that pervaded the schoolroom.

Her effort,though far from musical,

at any rate, secured her the notice she desired.

 

“Hello, there! Stop that noise! It’s like a dog howling!” irately commanded a girl in spectacles who was cleaning the blackboard.

“And get down from my desk this minute!

Who said you might climb up there?”

“Look here, you kid, what are you doing in our classroom?”

“Take yourself off at once! Fly! Scoot!”