The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's Part 63

As soon as ever, by superhuman exertions, Bramble and a few others of the "potted" ones had struggled through their Euclid, and served their term of detention, an evening was fixed upon for the great event to come off.

Immediately a question arose. Should the public be admitted?

"Rather!" exclaimed Bramble, the treasurer, "five bob each."

"Masters half price," suggested Padger.

"Greenfield senior free!" shouted the loyal Paul.

"Bah! do you think Greenfield senior would come to hear you spout, you young m.u.f.f!" roared the amiable Bramble.

"I know what he would come for," retorted Paul, "and I'd come with him too. Guess!"

"Shan't guess. Shall I, Padger?"

"May as well," suggested Padger.

"He'd come," cried Paul, not waiting for the Tadpole to guess--"he'd come a mile to see you hung. So would I--there!"

It was some time before the meeting got back to the subject of admitting the public. But it was finally agreed that, though the public were not to be invited, the door should be left open, and any one ("presenting his card," young Bilbury suggested) might come in, with the exception of Loman, Mr Rastle, Tom Braddy, and the school cat.

For the next few days the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles were busy, learning their parts, practising their songs, arranging all the details of their dramatic performance, and so on; and Mr Rastle had to "pot" one or two more of them, and detain one or two others, before he could get anything like the ordinary work of the cla.s.s done. All this the young vocal, instrumental, and dramatic enthusiasts bore patiently, devoting so many extra ounces of dynamite to Mr Rastle's promised blow-up for each offence.

At last the festival day arrived. Stephen, on whom, somehow, all the work had devolved, while the talking and discussion of knotty points had fallen on his two brother officers, looked quite pale and anxious on the eventful morning.

"Well, young 'un," said Oliver, "I suppose Wray and I are to be allowed to come and see the fun to-night."

"Yes," said Stephen, with considerable misgivings about the "fun."

"All serene; we'll be there, won't we, Wray? Not the first Guinea-pig kick-up we've been witness to, either."

"Do you think Pembury will come?" asked Stephen, nervously.

"Oh, rather. He'll have to report it in the next _Dominican_. I'll see he comes."

"Oh, I think he needn't mind," said Stephen, with a queer shyness; "I could write out a report for him."

"Oh, I dare say; a nice report that would be. No, Tony must be there.

He wouldn't miss it for a five-pound note."

Stephen retired to report these rather alarming prospects of an audience to his comrades.

"Talking of five-pound notes," said Wraysford, after he had gone, "does Loman ever mean to pay up that 8 pounds?"

"I don't know; it doesn't look like it," said Oliver. "The fact is, he came to me yesterday to borrow another pound for something or another.

He said Cripps had been up to the school and tried to make out that there was another owing, and had threatened, unless he got it, at once to speak to the head master."

"Did you lend it him?" said Wraysford. "It's a regular swindle."

"I hadn't got it to lend. I told him I was sure the fellow was a thief, and advised him to tell the Doctor."

"What did he say?"

"Oh, he got in an awful state, and said he would get into no end of a row, and wouldn't for the world have the Doctor know a word of it."

"I don't like it at all," said Wraysford. "Don't you have more to do than you can help with that business, Noll, old man."

"But the poor beggar seems regularly at his wits' end."

"Never mind; you'll do him and yourself no good by lending him money."

"Well, I haven't done so, for a very good reason, as I tell you. But I'm sorry for him. I do believe he can't see that he's being fleeced.

He made me promise not to utter a word of it to the Doctor, so I really don't know how to help him."

"It's my impression he's good reason to be afraid of the Doctor just now," said Wraysford. "That Nightingale business has yet to be cleared up."

The two friends pursued this disagreeable topic no farther, but agreed, for all Loman wasn't a nice boy, and for all they had neither of them much cause to love him, they would see the next day if they could not do something to help him in his difficulty. Meanwhile they gave themselves over to the pure and refined enjoyment of the "Vocal, Instrumental, and Dramatic Entertainment."

At seven that evening, after tea, the Fourth Junior room became a centre of attraction to all Saint Dominic's. Fellows from the Sixth and Fifth, always ready for novelty in the way of amus.e.m.e.nt, looked in to see the sport. The Fourth Senior grandly condescended to witness the vulgar exploits of their juniors, and the other cla.s.ses were most of them represented by one or more spectators.

The programme had been carefully got up. Stephen took the chair solemnly at the appointed hour, and with a great deal of stammering announced that the proceedings were now about to commence, and then sat down. An awful pause ensued. At first it was borne with interest, then with impatience; then, when Stephen began to whisper to Paul, and Paul began to signal to Bramble, and Bramble gesticulated in dumb show at Padger, and all four whispered together, and finally looked very gravely in an opposite direction to the audience, then they began to be amused.

"Oh," said Stephen, very red, turning round abruptly after this awkward pause had continued for a minute or two--"oh, that was wrong; he doesn't begin, and the other fellow's away. Look here, Bramble, do your thing now."

"No, I can't," whispered Bramble in an audible voice. "I've forgotten the first line."

"Something about a kid asleep," suggested Padger, also audibly.

"Oh, yes," said Bramble, starting up and blus.h.i.+ng very red as he began.

"'Lines on Seeing my Wife and Two Children Asleep'--Hood."

This modest announcement of his subject was overwhelming in itself, and was greeted with such yells of laughter that the poor elocutionist found it utterly impossible to go on. He tried once or twice, but never got beyond the first half line.

"And has the earth--" and here he stuck, but in answer to the cheers began again, looking round for Padger to help.

"And has the earth--(Go it, Padger, give a fellow a leg up, can't you?)"

"I can't find the place," said Padger, very hot and flurried, and whipping over the pages of a book with his moist thumb.

"And has the earth--(Look in the index, you lout! Oh, won't I give it to you afterwards!)" once more began the wretched Bramble. He got no farther. Even had he remembered the words his voice could never have risen above the laughter, which continued as long as he remained on his feet.

He retired at length in dudgeon, and Stephen called on Paul for a song.

This went off better, only everybody stamped the time with his feet, so that the singer could neither be heard for the row nor seen for the dust. After that followed another "reading." This time the subject was a humorous one--"Ben Battle," by T. Hood. Every one, by the way, chose Hood. It was the only poetry-book to be had in the Fourth Junior. The reading progressed satisfactorily for the first two lines--indeed, until a joke occurred, and here the reader was so overcome with the humour of the thing that he broke into a laugh, and every time he tried to begin the next line he laughed before he could get it out, until at last it got to be quite as monotonous as watching the hyena at the Zoological Gardens. Finally he did get through the line, but in a voice so weak, wavering by reason of his efforts not to laugh, that the effect was more ludicrous than ever. He could get no farther, however. For the recollection of the joke that had pa.s.sed, and the antic.i.p.ation of the one that was coming, fairly doubled him up, and he let the book drop out of his hands in the middle of one of his convulsions.

The next performance was an "instrumental" one, which bade fair to be a great success. Four of the boys had learned to whistle "Home, Sweet Home" in parts, and were now about to ravish the audience with this time-honoured melody. They stood meekly side by side in a straight line facing the audience, waiting for the leader to begin, and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g their mouths up into the proper shape. Just as the signal was given, and each had taken a long breath and was in the act of letting out, some lout in the audience laughed! The result may be imagined. The first note, which was to have been so beautiful, sounded just like the letting off of steam from four leaky safety-valves, and no effort could recover the melody. The more they tried the more they laughed. The more they laughed the more the audience roared. There they stood, with faces of mingled agony and mirth, frantically trying to get the sound out; but it never came, and they finally had to retire, leaving the audience to imagine what the effect of "Home, Sweet Home" might have been had they only got at it.

However, as the "dramatic" performance came next, the audience were comforted. The modest subject chosen was _Hamlet_.