The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's: A School Story

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

  A TURN OF THE TIDE.

  An earthquake could hardly have produced a greater shock than Oliver'sstrange conduct produced on the Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's. For amoment or two they remained almost stupefied with astonishment, and thenrose a sudden clamour of tongues on every hand.

  "What can he mean?" exclaimed one.

  "Mean! It's easy enough to see what he means," said another, "thehypocrite!"

  "I should never have thought Greenfield senior went in for that sort ofthing!"

  "Went in for what sort of thing?" cried Wraysford, with pale face and ina perfect tremble.

  "Why--cheating!" replied the other.

  "You're a liar to say so!" shouted Wraysford, walking rapidly up to thespeaker.

  The other boys, however, intervened, and held the indignant Wraysfordback.

  "I tell you you're a liar to say so!" again he exclaimed. "He's not acheat, I tell you; he never cheated. You're a pack of liars, all ofyou!"

  "I say, draw it mild, Wray, you know," interposed Pembury. "You needn'tinclude me in your compliments."

  Wraysford glared at him a moment and then coloured slightly.

  "_You_ don't call Oliver a cheat?" he said, inquiringly.

  "I shouldn't till I was cock-sure of the fact," replied the cautiouseditor of the _Dominican_.

  "Do you mean to say you aren't sure?" said Wraysford.

  Pembury vouchsafed no answer, but whistled to himself.

  "All I can say is," said Bullinger, who was one of Wraysford's chums,"it looks uncommonly ugly, if what Simon says is true."

  "I don't believe a word that ass says."

  "Oh, but," began Simon, with a most aggravating cheerfulness, "I assureyou I'm not telling a lie, Wraysford. I'm sorry I said anything aboutit. I never thought there would be a row about it. I promise I'll notmention it to anybody."

  "You blockhead! who cares for your promises? I don't believe you."

  "Well, I know I met Greenfield senior coming out of the Doctor's studyon Saturday evening, about five minutes past nine. I'm positive ofthat," said Simon.

  "And I suppose he had the paper in his hand?" sneered Wraysford, lookingvery miserable.

  "No; I expect he'd put it in his pocket, you know, at least, that is, Iwould have."

  This candid admission on the part of the ingenious poet was too much forthe gravity of one or two of the Fifth. Wraysford, however, was in nolaughing mood, and went off to his study in great perturbation.

  He could not for a moment believe that his friend could be guilty ofsuch a dishonourable act as stealing an examination paper, and hisimpulse was to go at once to Oliver's study and get the suspicions ofthe Fifth laid there and then. But the fear of seeming in the leastdegree to join in those suspicions kept him back. He tried to laugh thething to scorn inwardly, and called himself a villain and a traitortwenty times for admitting even the shadow of a doubt into his own mind.Yet, as Wraysford sat that afternoon and brooded over his friend's newtrouble, he became more and more uncomfortable.

  When on a former occasion the fellows had called in question Oliver'scourage, he had felt so sure, so very sure the suspicion was agroundless one, that he had never taken it seriously to heart. Butsomehow this affair was quite different. What possible object wouldSimon, for instance, have for telling a deliberate lie? and if it hadbeen a lie, why should Oliver have betrayed such confusion on hearingit?

  These were questions which, try all he would, Wraysford could not getout of his mind.

  When Stephen presently came in, cheery as ever, and eager to hear howthe examination had gone off, the elder boy felt an awkwardness intalking to him which he had never experienced before. As for Stephen,he put down the short, embarrassed answers he received to Wraysford'sown uneasiness as to the result of the examination. Little guessed theboy what was passing in the other's mind!

  There was just one hope Wraysford clung to. That was that Oliver shouldcome out anywhere but first in the result. If Loman, or Wraysfordhimself, were to win, no one would be able to say his friend hadprofited by a dishonourable act; indeed, it would be as good as proof hehad not taken the paper.

  And yet Wraysford felt quite sick as he called to mind the unflaggingmanner in which Oliver had worked at his paper that morning, coveringsheet upon sheet with his answers, and scarcely drawing in until timewas up. It didn't look like losing, this.

  He threw himself back in his chair in sheer misery. "I would soonerhave done the thing myself," groaned he to himself, "than Oliver." Thensuddenly he added, "But it's not true! I'm certain of it! He couldn'tdo it! I'll never believe it of him!"

  Poor Wraysford! It was easier to say the generous words than feel them.

  Pembury looked in presently with a face far more serious and overcastthan he usually wore.

  "I say, Wray," said he, in troubled tones, "I'm regularly floored by allthis. Do you believe it?"

  "No, I don't," replied Wraysford, but so sadly and hesitatingly that hadhe at once confessed he did, he could not have expressed his meaningmore plainly.

  "I'd give anything to be sure it was all false," said Pembury, "and sowould a lot of the fellows. As for that fool Simon--"

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

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

  "Maybe he was just in a sudden rage with the fellow for thinking of sucha 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 silencefollowed, each busy with his own thoughts and both yearning for any signof hope. "I don't see what good it could have done him if he did takethe paper. He'd have no time to cram it up yesterday. He was out withyou, 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 youthink so yourself?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "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," saidSimon, in a voice as though he would say, "How can you ask such anabsurd 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, Isuppose we're sure to win the Nightingale now, aren't we? Mind, I'm notgoing 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 Imet him coming--"

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

  The wretched Simon gave up further a
ttempts to explain himself. Stillwhat 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, asense of shame and humiliation came over them, to which many of themwere unused.

  "I know this," said Ricketts, giving utterance to what was passing inthe minds of nearly all his class-fellows, "I'd sooner have lost thescholarship 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 theworst of it. He's not only disgraced us, but he's swindled his bestfriend. It's a blackguard shame!" added he, fiercely.

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

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

  There was nothing more than this to be said, assuredly, to prove thedisgust of the Fifth at the conduct of their class-fellow.

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

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

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

  For it must be said of the Dominicans--and I think it may be said of agood many English public schoolboys besides--that, however foolish theymay have been in other respects, however riotous, however jealous of oneanother, however well satisfied with themselves, a point of honour was apoint which they all took seriously to heart. They could forgive aschoolfellow for doing a disobedient act sometimes, or perhaps even avicious act, but a cowardly or dishonourable action was a thing whichnothing would excuse, and which they felt not only a disgrace to the boyperpetrating it, but a disgrace put upon themselves.

  Had Oliver been the most popular boy in the school it would have beenall 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 (asin the case of the cricket match last term) to bring glory on his schooland to make himself a hero in the eyes of Saint Dominic's, he had beenwont to take the applause bestowed on him with the utmost indifference,which some might even construe into contempt. And in precisely the samespirit would he take the displeasure which he now and then managed toincur.

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

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

  Most of the fellows had at the time of the Nightingale examinationeither forgotten, or forgiven, or repented of their suspicions, and,indeed, by his challenge to Loman the previous Saturday Oliver had beenconsidered quite to have redeemed his reputation in this respect. Butnow it all came up again. A fellow who could do a cowardly deed at onetime could do a mean one at another. If one was natural to hischaracter, so was the other, and in fact one explained the other. Hewas mean when he showed himself a coward last term. He was a cowardwhen he did a mean act this term.

  What wonder, in these circumstances, if the Fifth felt sore, very soreindeed, 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 hada 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. Helooked pale, but otherwise unconcerned, and those who looked-for tracesof shame and self-abasement in his face were sorely disappointed.

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

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

  "How did you get on yesterday in the English Literature?" asked Oliver.

  Ricketts' only answer was to turn his back and begin to talk to hisother neighbour.

  Those who were watching this incident noticed a sudden flush on Oliver'scheek as he stared for an instant at his late friend. Then with aneffort he seemed to recover himself.

  He did not, however, attempt any further conversation either withRicketts or his other neighbour, Braddy, who in a most marked manner hadmoved as far as possible away from him. On the contrary, he coollyavailed himself of the extra room on the desk and busied himselfsilently with the lessons for the day.

  But he now and then looked furtively up in the direction of Wraysford,who was seated at an opposite desk. The eyes of the two friends met nowand then, and when they did each seemed greatly embarrassed. ForWraysford, after a night's heart-searching, had come to thedetermination not, after all, to cut his friend; and yet he found itimpossible to feel and behave towards him as formerly. He tried veryhard indeed not to appear constrained, but the more he tried the moreembarrassed he felt. After class he purposely walked across the room tomeet his old chum.

  "How are you?" he said, in a forced tone and manner utterly unlike hisold self.

  It was a ridiculous and feeble remark to make, and it would have beenfar better had he said nothing. Oliver stared at him for a moment in aperplexed way, and then, without answering the question, walkedsomewhere else.

  Wraysford was quite conscious of his own mistake; still it hurt himsorely that his well-meant effort, which had cost him so much, should bethus summarily thrust aside without a word. For the first time in hislife he felt a sense of resentment against his old friend, the beginningof a gap which was destined to become wider as time went on.

  The only person in the room who did meet Oliver on natural ground wasthe poetic Simon. To him Oliver walked up and said, quietly, "I begyour pardon for hitting you yesterday."

  "Oh," said Simon, with a giggle. "Oh, it's all right, Greenfield, youknow; I never meant to let it out. It'll soon get hushed up; I don'tintend to let it go a bit farther."

  The poet was too much carried away by the enthusiasm of his ownmagnanimity to observe that he was in imminent risk, during the deliveryof this speech, of another blow a good deal more startling than that ofyesterday. When he concluded, he found Oliver had left him to himselfand hurriedly quitted the room.