The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's Part 14

Wraysford looked greatly relieved when this confession was over. "You are a rum fellow, Noll," said he, after a pause, "and of course it is all right; but the fellows don't know your reason, and think you showed the white feather."

"Let them think!" shouted Oliver, in a voice so loud and angry that Master Paul came to the door and asked what he wanted.

"What do I care what they think?" continued Oliver, forgetting all about his temper; "they can think what they like, but they had better let me alone. I'd like to knock all their heads together! so I would!"

"Steady, old man!" said Wraysford, good-humouredly; "I quite agree with you. But I say, Noll, I think it's a pity you don't put yourself right with them and the school generally, somehow. Everybody heard Loman call you a fool yesterday, and you know our fellows are so clannish that they think, for the credit of the Fifth, something ought to be done."

"Let them send Braddy to thrash him, then; I don't intend to fight to please _them_!"

"Oh! that's all right. And if they all knew what you've told me they would understand it; but as it is, they don't."

"They'll find out some day, most likely," growled Oliver; "I'm not going to bother any more about it. I say, Wray, do you know anything of Cripps's son?"

"Yes. Don't you know he keeps a dirty public-house in Maltby?--a regular cad, they say. The fis.h.i.+ng-fellows have seen him up at the Weir now and then."

"I don't know how he came across him, but my young brother has just been buying a bat from him, and I don't much fancy it."

"No, the youngster won't get any good with that fellow; you had better tell him," said Wraysford.

"So I have, and he won't do it again."

Shortly after this Pembury hobbled in on his way to bed.

"You're a pretty fellow," said he to Oliver; "not one of our fellows cares a rush about the _Dominican_ since you made yourself into the latest sensation."

"Oh, don't let us have that up again," implored Oliver.

"All very well, but what is to become of the _Dominican_?"

"Oh, have a special extra number about me. Call me a coward, and a fool, and a Tadpole, any mortal thing you like, only shut up about the affair now!"

Pembury looked concerned.

"Allow me to feel your pulse," said he to Oliver.

"Feel away," said Oliver, glad of any diversion.

"Hum! As I feared--feverish. Oliver, my boy, you are not well.

Wandering a bit in your mind, too; get to bed. Be better soon. Able to talk like an ordinary rational animal then, and not like an animated tom-cat. Good-bye!"

And so saying he departed, leaving the friends too much amused to be angry at his rudeness.

The two friends did a steady evening's work after this, and the thought of the Nightingale Scholars.h.i.+p drove away for the time all less pleasant recollections.

They slept, after it all, far more soundly than Loman, whose dreams were disturbed by that everlasting top joint all the night long.

The reader will no doubt have already decided in his own mind whether Oliver Greenfield did rightly or wrongly in putting his hands into his pockets instead of using them to knock down Loman. It certainly did not seem to have done him much good at the time. He had lost the esteem of his comrades, he had lost the very temper he had been trying to keep-- twenty times since the event--and no one gave him credit for anything but "the better part of valour" in the whole affair.

And yet that one effort of self-restraint was not altogether an unmanly act. At least, so thought Wraysford that night, as he lay meditating upon his friend's troubles, and found himself liking him none the less for this latest singular piece of eccentricity.

CHAPTER TEN.

THE FOURTH JUNIOR AT HOME.

Stephen, before he had been a fortnight in the school, found himself very much at home at Saint Dominic's. He was not one of those exuberant, irrepressible boys who take their cla.s.s-fellows by storm, and rise to the top of the tree almost as soon as they touch the bottom.

Stephen, as the reader knows, was not a very clever boy, or a very das.h.i.+ng boy, and yet he somehow managed to get his footing among his comrades in the Fourth Junior, and particularly among his fellow Guinea-pigs.

He had fought Master Bramble six times in three days during his second week, and was engaged to fight him again every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday during the term. He had also taken the chair at one indignation meeting against the monitors, and spoken in favour of a resolution at another. He had distributed brandy-b.a.l.l.s in a most handsome manner to his particular adherents, and he had been the means of carrying away no less than two blankets from the next dormitory. This was pretty good for a fortnight. Add to this that he had remained steadily at the bottom of his cla.s.s during the entire period, and that once he had received an "impot" (or imposition) from Mr Rastle, and it will easily be understood that he soon gained favour among his fellows.

This last cause of celebrity, however, was one which did not please Stephen. He had come to Saint Dominic's with a great quant.i.ty of good resolutions, the chief of which was that he would work hard and keep out of mischief, and it grieved him much to find that in neither aim was he succeeding.

The first evening or two he had worked very diligently at preparation.

He had taken pains with his fractions, and looked out every word in his Caesar. He had got Oliver to look over his French, and Loman had volunteered to correct the spelling of his "theme;" and yet he stuck at the bottom of the cla.s.s. Other boys went up and down. Some openly boasted that they had had their lessons done for them, and others that they had not done them at all. A merry time they had of it; but Stephen, down at the bottom, was in dismal dumps. He could not get up, and he could not get down, and all his honest hard work went for nothing.

And so, not content to give that system a longer trial, he grew more lax in his work. He filched the answers to his sums out of the "Key," and copied his Caesar out of the "crib." It was much easier, and the result was the same. He did not get up, and he could not get down.

Oliver catechised him now and then as to his progress, and received vague answers in reply, and Loman never remembered a f.a.g that pestered him less with lessons. Stephen was, in fact, settling down into the slough of idleness, and would have become an accomplished dunce in time, had not Mr Rastle come to the rescue. That gentleman caught the new boy in an idle mood, wandering aimlessly down the pa.s.sage one afternoon.

"Ah, Greenfield, is that you? Nothing to do, eh? Come and have tea with me, will you, in my room?"

Stephen, who had bounded as if shot on hearing the master's unexpected voice behind him, turned round and blushed very red, and said "Thank you," and then looked like a criminal just summoned to the gallows.

"That's right, come along;" and the master took the lad by the arm and marched him off to his room.

Here the sight of m.u.f.fins and red-currant jam, in addition to the ordinary attractions of a tea-table, somewhat revived Stephen's drooping spirits.

"Make yourself comfortable, my boy, while the tea is brewing," said Mr Rastle, cheerily. "Have you been playing any cricket since you came?"

"Only a little, sir," said Stephen.

"Well, if you only turn out as good a bat as your brother--how well he played in the Alphabet Match!"

Stephen was reviving fast now, and embarked on a lively chat about his favourite sport, by the end of which the tea was brewed, and he and Mr Rastle sitting "cheek by jowl" at the table, with the m.u.f.fins and jam between them.

Presently Mr Rastle steered the talk round to Stephen's home, a topic even more delightful than cricket. The boy launched out into a full account of the old house and his mother, till the tears very nearly stood in his eyes and the m.u.f.fins very nearly stuck in his throat. Mr Rastle listened to it all with a sympathetic smile, throwing in questions now and then which it charmed the boy to answer.

"And how do you like Saint Dominic's?" presently inquired the master.

"I suppose you've made plenty of friends by this time?"

"Oh yes, sir. It's not as slow as it was at first."

"That's right. You'll soon get to feel at home. And how do you think you are getting on in cla.s.s?"

Stephen was astonished at this question. If any one knew how he was getting on in cla.s.s Mr Rastle did, and, alas! Mr Rastle must know well enough that Stephen was getting on badly.

"Not very well, I'm afraid, sir, thank you," replied the boy, not feeling exactly comfortable.