The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's Part 40

"Bah!" exclaimed Wraysford, fiercely, "the fellow ought to be kicked round the school."

"He's getting on that way already, I fancy," said Pembury. "I was saying I'd think nothing at all about it if what he says was the only thing to go by, but--well, you saw what a state Greenfield got into about it?"

"Maybe he was just in a sudden rage with the fellow for thinking of such a thing," said Wraysford.

"It looked like something more than rage," said Pembury, dismally, "something a good deal more."

Wraysford said nothing, but fidgeted in his chair. A long silence followed, each busy with his own thoughts and both yearning for any sign of hope. "I don't see what good it could have done him if he did take the paper. He'd have no time to cram it up yesterday. He was out with you, wasn't he, all the afternoon?"

"No," said Wraysford, not looking up, "he had a headache and stayed in."

Pembury gave a low whistle of dismay.

"I say, Wray," said he, presently, "it really does look bad, don't you think so yourself?"

"I don't know what to think," said Wraysford, with a groan; "I'm quite bewildered."

"It's no use pretending not to see what's as plain as daylight," said Pembury, as he turned and hobbled away.

The Fifth meanwhile had been holding a sort of court-martial on the affair.

Simon was made to repeat his story once more, and stuck to it too, in spite of all the browbeating he got.

"What makes you so sure of the exact time?" asked one of his inquisitors.

"Oh, because, you know, I wanted to get off a letter by the post, and thought I was in time till I saw the clock opposite the Doctor's study said five minutes past."

"Did Greenfield say anything to you when he saw you?" some one else asked.

"Oh, yes, he asked me if I knew where the Doctor was."

"Did you tell him?"

"Oh, yes, I said he'd gone down to the hall or somewhere."

"And did Greenfield go after him?"

"Oh, no, you know, he went off the other way as quick as he could," said Simon, in a voice as though he would say, "How can you ask such an absurd question?"

"Did you ask him what he wanted in the study?"

"Oh, yes; but of course he didn't tell me--not likely. But I say, I suppose we're sure to win the Nightingale now, aren't we? Mind, I'm not going to tell anybody, because, of course, it's a secret."

"Shut up, you miserable blockhead, unless you want to be kicked!"

shouted Bullinger. "No one wants to know what you're going to do.

You've done mischief enough already."

"Oh, well, I didn't mean, you know," said the poet; "all I said was I met him coming--"

"Shut up, do you hear? or you'll catch it!" once more exclaimed Bullinger.

The wretched Simon gave up further attempts to explain himself. Still what he had said, in his blundering way, had been quite enough.

The thing was beyond a doubt; and as the Fifth sat there in judgment, a sense of shame and humiliation came over them, to which many of them were unused.

"I know this," said Ricketts, giving utterance to what was pa.s.sing in the minds of nearly all his cla.s.s-fellows, "I'd sooner have lost the scholarship twenty times over than win it like this."

"Precious fine glory it will be if we do get it!" said Braddy.

"Unless Wray wins," suggested Ricketts.

"No such luck as that, I'm afraid," said Bullinger. "That's just the worst of it. He's not only disgraced us, but he's swindled his best friend. It's a blackguard shame!" added he, fiercely.

"At any rate, Loman is out of it, from what I hear; he got regularly stuck in the exam."

"I tell you," said Ricketts, "I'd sooner have had Loman take the scholarship and our two men nowhere at all, than this."

There was nothing more than this to be said, a.s.suredly, to prove the disgust of the Fifth at the conduct of their cla.s.s-fellow.

"I suppose Greenfield will have the grace to confess it, now it's all come out," said Ricketts.

"If he doesn't I fancy we can promise him a pretty hot time of it among us," said Braddy.

One or two laughed at this, but to most of those present the matter was past a joke.

For it must be said of the Dominicans--and I think it may be said of a good many English public schoolboys besides--that, however foolish they may have been in other respects, however riotous, however jealous of one another, however well satisfied with themselves, a point of honour was a point which they all took seriously to heart. They could forgive a schoolfellow for doing a disobedient act sometimes, or perhaps even a vicious act, but a cowardly or dishonourable action was a thing which nothing would excuse, and which they felt not only a disgrace to the boy perpetrating it, but a disgrace put upon themselves.

Had Oliver been the most popular boy in the school it would have been all the same. As it was, he was a long way from being the most popular.

He never took any pains to win the good opinion of his fellows. When, by means of some achievement in which he excelled, he had contrived (as in the case of the cricket match last term) to bring glory on his school and to make himself a hero in the eyes of Saint Dominic's, he had been wont to take the applause bestowed on him with the utmost indifference, which some might even construe into contempt. And in precisely the same spirit would he take the displeasure which he now and then managed to incur.

Boys don't like this. It irritates them to see their praise or blame made little of; and for this reason, if for no other, Oliver would hardly have been a favourite.

But there was another reason. Now that the Fifth found their faith in Greenfield senior rudely dashed to the ground, they were not slow to recall the unpleasant incidents of last term, when, by refusing to thrash Loman, he had discredited the whole Form, and laid himself under the suspicion of cowardice.

Most of the fellows had at the time of the Nightingale examination either forgotten, or forgiven, or repented of their suspicions, and, indeed, by his challenge to Loman the previous Sat.u.r.day Oliver had been considered quite to have redeemed his reputation in this respect. But now it all came up again. A fellow who could do a cowardly deed at one time could do a mean one at another. If one was natural to his character, so was the other, and in fact one explained the other. He was mean when he showed himself a coward last term. He was a coward when he did a mean act this term.

What wonder, in these circ.u.mstances, if the Fifth felt sore, very sore indeed, on the subject of Oliver Greenfield?

To every one's relief, he did not put in an appearance again that day.

He kept his study, and Paul brought down word at prayer time that he had a headache and had gone to bed.

At this the Fifth smiled grimly and said nothing.

Next morning, however, Oliver turned up as usual in his place. He looked pale, but otherwise unconcerned, and those who looked-for traces of shame and self-abas.e.m.e.nt in his face were sorely disappointed.

He surely must have known or guessed the resolution the Fifth had come to with regard to him; but from his unabashed manner he was evidently determined not to take it for granted till the hint should be given pretty clearly.

On Ricketts, whose desk was next to that of Oliver, fell the task of first giving this hint.