The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's Part 24

Oliver understands it evidently, and, to the joy of the Fifth, plays it.

But why does their cheer drop suddenly, and why in a moment is it drowned, over and over and over again, by the cheers of the Sixth and their partisans, as the crowd suddenly breaks into the field, and the ball shoots high up in the air?

A catch! Baynes, the odd man, had missed a chance a few overs back from standing too deep. This time he had crept in close, and saved the Sixth by one of the neatest low-catches that had ever been seen in a Dominican match.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A LOWER SCHOOL FESTIVAL.

"I tell you what, Wray," said Oliver one evening about a week after the match, "I heartily wish this term was over."

"Why, that's just what I heard your young brother say. He is going to learn the bicycle, he says, in the holidays."

"Oh, it's not the holidays I want," said Oliver. "But somehow things have gone all wrong. I've been off my luck completely this term."

"Off your luck!--You great discontented, ungrateful bear. Haven't you got the English prize? Aren't you in the School Eleven? and didn't you make top score in the match with the Sixth last Sat.u.r.day? Whatever do you mean by 'off your luck'?"

"Oh, it's not that, you know," said Oliver, pulling a quill pen to bits.

"What I mean is--oh, bother!--a fellow can't explain it."

"So it seems," laughed Wraysford; "but I wish a fellow could, for I've not a notion what you're driving at."

"Well, I mean I'm not doing much good. There's that young brother of mine, for instance. What good have I been to him? There have I let him go and do just what he likes, and not looked after him a bit ever since he came here."

"And I wager he's got on all the better for not being tied up to your ap.r.o.n strings. He's a fine honest little chap, is young Greenfield."

"Oh, I dare say; but somehow I don't seem to know as much of him now as I used to do before he came here."

"That's Loman's fault, I bet you anything," exclaimed Wraysford. "I'm sure he won't do the kid any good. But Rastle was saying only yesterday how well Stephen was getting on in cla.s.s."

"Was he? It's little thanks to me if he is," said Oliver, gloomily.

"And what else have you got to grumble about?" asked his friend.

"Why, you know how I'm out with the Fifth over that affair with Loman.

They all set me down as a coward, and I'm not that."

"Of course you aren't," warmly replied the other. "But, Noll, you told me a little while ago you didn't care a snap what they thought."

"No more I do, in a way. But it's very uncomfortable."

"Why don't you tell them straight out why you didn't let out at Loman?

They are sure to respect your motive."

"Yes, and set me down as posing as a martyr or a saint! No! I'd sooner pa.s.s as a coward than set up as a saint when I'm not one. Why, Wray, if you'll believe me, I've been a worse Christian since I began to try to be one, than I ever was before. I'm for ever losing my temper, and--"

"Shut up that tune, now," interposed Wraysford, hurriedly. "If you are beginning at that again, I'll go. As if you didn't know you were the best fellow in the school!"

"I'm not the best, _or_ anything like," said Oliver, warmly; "I hate your saying so--I wish almost I had never told you anything about it."

"Well, I don't know," said Wraysford, walking to the window and looking out. "Ever since you told me of it, I've been trying myself in a mild way to go straight. But it's desperate hard work."

"Desperate hard work even if you try in more than a mild way," said Oliver.

Both were silent for a little, and then Oliver, hurriedly changing the subject, said, "And then, to proceed with my growl, I'm certain to come a howler over the Nightingale."

Wraysford turned from the window with a laugh.

"I suppose you expect me to sympathise with you about that, eh? The bigger the howler the better for me! I only wish you were a true prophet, Noll, in that particular."

"Why, of course you'll beat me--and if you don't Loman will. I hear he's grinding away like nuts."

"Is he, though?" said Wraysford.

"Yes, and he's going to get a 'coach' in the holidays too."

"More likely a dog-cart. Anyhow, I dare say he will run us close. But he's such a s.h.i.+fty fellow, there's no knowing whether he will stay out."

Just at that moment a terrific row came up from below.

"Whatever's up down there?"

"Only the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles. By the way," said Wraysford, "they've got a grand 'supper,' as they call it, on to-night to celebrate their cricket match. Suppose we go and see the fun?"

"All right!" said Oliver. "Who won the match?"

"Why, what a question! Do you suppose a match between Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles _ever_ came to an end? They had a free fight at the end of the first innings. The Tadpole umpire gave one of his own men 'not out'

when he hit his wicket, and they made a personal question of it, and fell out. Your young brother, I hear, greatly distinguished himself in the argument."

"Well, it doesn't seem to interfere with their spirits now, to judge of the row they are making. Just listen!"

By this time they had reached the door of the Fourth Junior room, whence proceeded a noise such as one often hears in a certain popular department of the Zoological Gardens. Amid the tumult and hubbub the two friends had not much difficulty in slipping in un.o.bserved and seating themselves comfortably in an obscure corner of the festive apartment, behind a pyramid of piled-up chairs and forms.

The Junior "cricket feast" was an inst.i.tution in Saint Dominic's, and was an occasion when any one who had nerves to be excruciated or ear-drums to be broken took care to keep out of the way. In place of the usual desks and forms, a long table ran down the room, round which some fifty or sixty urchins sat, regaling themselves with what was left of a vast spread of plum-cake, buns, and ginger-beer. How these banquets were provided was always a mystery to outsiders. Some said a levy of threepence a head was made; others, that every boy was bound in honour to contribute something eatable to the feast; and others averred that every boy had to bring his own bag and bottle, and no more. Be that as it might, the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles at present a.s.sembled looked uncommonly tight about the jackets after it all, and not one had the appearance of actual starvation written on his lineaments.

The animal part of the feast, however, was now over, and the intellectual was beginning. The tremendous noise which had brought Oliver and Wraysford on to the scene had indeed been but the applause which followed the chairman's opening song--a musical effort which was imperatively encored by a large and enthusiastic audience.

The chairman, by the way, was no other than our friend Bramble, who by reason of seniority--he had been two years in the Fourth Junior, and showed no signs of rising higher all his life--claimed to preside on all such occasions. He sat up at the top end in stately glory, higher than the rest by the thickness of a Liddell and Scott, which was placed on his chair to lift him up to the required elevation, blus.h.i.+ngly receiving the applause with which his song was greeted, and modestly volunteering to sing it again if the fellows liked.

The fellows did like. Mr Bramble mounted once more on to the seat of his chair, and saying, "Look-out for the chorus!" began one of the time-honoured Dominican cricket songs. It consisted of about twelve verses altogether, but three will be quite enough for the reader.

"There was a little lad, (Well bowled!) And a little bat he had; (Well bowled!) He skipped up to the wicket, And thought he'd play some cricket, But he didn't, for he was-- Well bowled!

"He thought he'd make a score (So bold), And lead-off with a four (So bold); So he walked out to a twister, But somehow sort of missed her, And she bailed him, for he was Too bold.

"Now all ye little boys (So bold), Who like to make a noise (So bold), Take warning by young Walker, Keep your bat down to a yorker, Or, don't you see? you'll be-- Well bowled!"

The virtue of the pathetic ballad was in the chorus, which was usually not sung, but spoken, and so presented a n.o.ble opportunity for variety of tone and expression, which was greedily seized upon by the riotous young gentlemen into whose mouths it was entrusted. By the time the sad adventures of Master Walker had been rehea.r.s.ed in all their twelve verses, the meeting was so hoa.r.s.e that to the two elder boys it seemed as if the proceedings must necessarily come abruptly to a close for want of voice.