In the Fifth at Malory Towers by Enid Blyton Page A

term, too. She opened her mouth to protest, but Moira had already finished with her. She was now speaking to Irene.
    “Can you get on with the music as soon as we’ve got the words?” she asked. “Or perhaps you prefer to write the music before you get the words and have them fitted afterwards?”
    “I’ll work in my own way, thank you,” said Irene, perfectly politely, but with a steady ring in her voice that said, “Keep off! Where music is concerned I’m going to do as I like.” She looked straight at Moira. “You can safely leave it to me. Music’s my job, it always has been and it always will be.”
    “Yes, but I must know how you’re going to set about it — what kind of tunes you’ll write, and so on,” said Moira, impatiently. “We can’t leave things like that in the air.”
    “You’ll have to as far as I’m concerned,” said Irene. “I don’t know what tunes I’m going to write till I hear them in my head. Then I’ll catch them and write them down. And I don’t know when I’ll hear them either, so don’t tell me to sit down at ten each morning and listen for them!”
    Catherine tried to pour oil on troubled waters once more. She loved doing that. “Well, after all — when you’re dealing with a genius ” she began. “You can’t have rules for geniuses, can you? Moira doesn’t quite understand , Irene.”
    “Don’t apologize for anything I say,” said Moira, scowling at Catherine. “What do you mean — I don’t quite understand ! I’ve done this kind of thing often enough. Didn’t I run the show last year, and help to run it the year before that?”
    Catherine put on a saintly expression. “Yes, of course, Moira. Don’t put yourself out. I shouldn’t have said a word I’m sure Irene understands?”
    She gave Irene such a sweet smile that everyone felt quite sick. Did Catherine have to make herself quite so humble?
    The meeting had to come to an abrupt end because the supper-bell went. “Good gracious — how the time flew!” said Maureen.
    “And now we shanty have time to go to the stables,” mourned Bill, dismally.
    “We’ll call a short committee meeting “tomorrow, same time,” said Moira, gathering up her things. “We’ll tie up any loose ends then.”
    She swept efficiently out of the room, almost as if she were a mistress!
    “Gosh! We’ll have to mind our Ps and Qs now,” said Daphne, with a comical look. “What have we done to have Moira wished on us this term!”

The balloon trick
    THE first week of term always went very slowly indeed. The next week slipped away faster, and then the weeks began to fly. But now it was still only the first week, with a lot of planning and timetables to make, and settling-in to be done.
    Darrell found herself very busy indeed. She had to attend committee meetings for the Christmas entertainment. She had to read through two or three pantomime scripts, and decide how to draft out her own version of Cinderella . She found Sally an enormous help here, and discovered that two heads are decidedly better than one.
    She was also in charge of the games, and had to draw up practice times for the lower school, and to do a little coaching to help the games mistresses. They consulted with her as to the best players to pick out for matches in the lower school, and Darrell enjoyed feeling important enough to argue with them about the various girls.
    “But you can’t have Rita,” she would say. “I know she’s good — but she simply won’t turn out for practice. She’ll go to pieces in a match.”
    “Well, what do you think of Christine then?” the games mistress would say. “She’s so small, I don’t like to pick her.”
    “But she runs like the wind!” Darrell would reply. “And she’s so keen. She’s just waiting for a chance!”
    Yes, Darrell had a lot to do, and she was always busy and always interested in her jobs. The lower school adored her, and vied to win an approving word from her. Felicity was very