The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's Part 12

"Suppose it was mine?" said Oliver, with a drawl.

"Then," said Loman, losing his temper, "all I can say is, the sooner you clear it away the better."

"Oh! all right; only it's not mine."

"Look here," said Loman, "I'm not going to fool about with you. You may think it all very funny, but I'll report it to the Doctor, and then you'll look foolish."

"How nice! So pleasant it will be to look for once like what you look always," observed Pembury, gnawing the top of his crutch.

At that moment there was a loud shout of laughter in the pa.s.sage outside, confirming the monitor's complaint. Wraysford walked hastily to the door.

"The next time there's a row like that outside our door," called he to the group outside, "we'll--what do you mean by it, you young blackguard?"

So saying, he caught Master Bramble, who happened to be the nearest offender within reach, by the collar of his coat, and lugged him bodily into the cla.s.s-room.

"There, now! Do you know this gentleman? He's a monitor. Have a good look at him. He's been complaining of the row you are making, and quite rightly. Take that, and tell all the little Pigs outside that if they don't hold their noise they will find themselves, every man jack of them, _mentioned by name_ in the next number!"

So saying, with a gentle cuff he handed the ill-starred Master Bramble out again to his fellows, and from that time there was scarcely a sound audible from the pa.s.sage.

"Good-bye," said Pembury, kissing his hand to Loman, who all this time had been standing in the middle of the room, in a white heat, and perplexed what to do or say next.

"You aren't going to live here, are you?" asked Bullinger.

"Any one got a toffee-drop?" drily inquired Oliver. To his surprise, and to the surprise of every one, Loman wheeled round towards the last speaker, and without a word struck him a blow on the mouth with his hand.

He saw he had made a mistake, and looked ashamed the moment the deed was done. All eyes turned to Oliver, whose face was crimson with a sudden flush of pain and anger. He sprang to his feet, and Braddy, the bully, was already beginning to gloat over the prospect of a fight, when, to every one's amazement, Oliver coolly put his hands back into his pockets, and walking up to Loman said, quietly, "Hadn't you better go?"

Loman stared at him in astonishment. He had at least expected to be knocked down, and this, behaviour was quite incomprehensible.

He turned on his heel and quitted the room without a word; and somehow or other from that time the Fifth heard no more protests from the monitors on the subject of the _Dominican_.

But Oliver's conduct, much as it had astonished the person chiefly concerned, had astonished the Fifth still more. For the first time in the history of their cla.s.s, as far as they could recollect, a blow struck had not been returned, and they could not tell what to make of it.

The blow had been a cowardly one, and certainly unmerited, and by all schoolboy tradition one fairly demanding a return. Could it be possible their man was lacking in courage? The idea was a shock to most present, who, although Oliver was never very popular among them, as has been said, had never before suspected his pluck. In fact, it was an awkward moment for all, and it was quite a relief when Simon broke silence by asking Oliver, "Why didn't you knock him down, I say?"

"Because I did not choose, if you want to know," replied Oliver, shortly.

"Oh! I beg your pardon," replied Simon, rather taken aback by this brusque answer.

This was not satisfactory. Had the offender been a Guinea-pig, one could have understood the thing; but when it was a Sixth Form fellow--a good match in every respect, as well as a rival--the Fifth were offended at their man for drawing back as he had done.

"I suppose you _will_ fight him?" said Ricketts, in a voice which implied that there was no doubt about it.

"Do you?" replied Oliver, briefly.

The boy's manner was certainly not winsome, and, when once put out, it was evident he took no trouble to conceal the fact. He refused to answer any further questions on the subject, and presently quitted the room, leaving more than half his cla.s.s-fellows convinced that, after all, he _was_ a coward.

An angry discussion followed his departure.

"He ought to be made to fight, whether he likes or not," said Braddy the bully.

"Some one ought to pay Loman out," suggested Ricketts, "if Greenfield doesn't."

"A nice name we shall get, all of us," said Bullinger, "when it gets abroad all over the school."

"It's a shame, because one fellow funks, for the whole Form to be disgraced; that's what I say," said some one else.

There were, however, two boys who did not join in this general cry of indignation against Oliver, and they were Wraysford and Pembury. The latter was always whimsical in his opinions, and no one was surprised to see him come out on the wrong side. As for Wraysford, he always backed his friend up, whether others thought him right or wrong. These two scouted the idea of Oliver being a coward; the one with his usual weapon of ridicule, the other with all the warmth of friendship.

"Who calls him a coward?" exclaimed Wraysford, glaring at the last speaker.

Wraysford was not a coward, and looked so ready to avenge his friend by hard knocks, that the boy who had insinuated that Greenfield was afraid withdrew his charge as mildly as he could. "I only meant, it looks as if he didn't like to fight," he said.

"And what business of yours is it what it looks like?" demanded Wraysford.

"Come, old man," said Pembury; "don't eat him up! I fancy Greenfield might screw up courage to pull _his_ nose, whoever else he lets off, eh?

It's my private opinion, though, Oliver knew what he was about."

"Of course he did," sneered Braddy; "he knew jolly well what he was about."

"Dear me! Is that you, Mr Braddy? I had not noticed you here, or I should not have ventured to speak on a matter having to do with pluck and heroism. I'm glad you agree with me, though, although I didn't say he knew _jolly_ well what he was about. That is an expression of your own."

Braddy, who as usual felt and looked extinguished when Pembury made fun of him, retired sulkily, and the editor of the _Dominican_ thereupon turned his attack on another quarter. And so the dispute went on, neither party being convinced, and all satisfied only on one point--that a cloud had arisen to mar the hitherto peaceful horizon of Fifth Form existence.

The cricket match of the following day, however, served to divert the thoughts of all parties for a time.

As it was only the prelude to a much more important match shortly to follow, I shall not attempt to describe it fully here, as the reader will probably be far more interested in the incidents of Sixth versus School Match when it comes off.

The Alphabet Match was, to tell the truth, not nearly as interesting an affair as it promised to be, for from the very first the N's to Z's had the best of it. Stephen, who with a company of fellow-Tadpoles and Guinea-pigs was perched on the palings, looking on, felt his heart sink within him as first one and then another of his brother's side lost their wickets without runs. For once he and Bramble were in sympathy, and he and Paul were at difference. The row these small boys kicked up, by the way, was one of the most notable features of the whole match.

Every one of them yelled for his own side. There had, indeed, been a question whether every Guinea-pig, whatever his private initial, ought not to yell for the G's, and every Tadpole for the T's; but it was eventually decided that each should yell "on his own hook," and the effect was certainly far more diverting.

The first four men of the A to M went out for two runs between them, and Stephen and Bramble sat in gloomy despair. The next man in knocked down his wicket before he had played a single ball. It was frightful, and the jeers of the Z's were hateful to hear.

But Stephen brightened as he perceived that the next batsman was his brother. "Now they'll pick up!" said he.

"No they won't! Greenfield senior skies his b.a.l.l.s too much for my taste," cheeringly replied the small Bramble.

But Stephen was right. For the first time that afternoon the A's made a stand. Oliver's partner at the wickets was Callonby, of the Sixth, a steady, plodding player, who hardly ever hit out, and got all his runs (if he got any) from the slips. This afternoon he hardly scored at all, but kept his wicket carefully while Oliver did the hitting.

Things were looking up. The telegraph went up from 2 to 20. Wraysford, who had hitherto been bowling with Ricketts against his friend, gave up the ball to Raikes, and the field generally woke up to the importance of getting rid of this daring player.

Stephen's throat was too hoa.r.s.e to roar any more, so he resigned that duty to Bramble, and looked on in delighted silence. The score crept up, till suddenly Callonby tipped a ball into cover-slip's hand and was caught, to the great delight of the Z's, who guessed that, once a separation had been effected, the survivor would soon be disposed of.

The next man in was Loman. He was better as a bowler than a batsman; but he followed Callonby's tactics and played a steady block, leaving the boy he had struck yesterday to do the hitting.

Oliver was certainly playing in fine form, and for a moment his cla.s.s-fellows forgot their resentment against him in applauding his play. The score was at 35, and the new coalition promised to be as formidable as the last, when Oliver cut a ball past point.

"Run! no! yes, run!" he shouted. Loman started, then hesitated, then started again--but it was too late. Before he could get across, the ball was up and he was run out. He was furious, and it certainly was hard lines for him, although there would have been time enough for the run had he not pulled up in the middle. Forgetful of all the rules of cricket, he turned round to Oliver and shouted, "You are a fool!" as he left the wicket.