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

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

  THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION.

  The adventures of the morning did not certainly tend to make the Fifththink better of Oliver Greenfield.

  Had he appeared before them humble and penitent, there were some whoeven then might have tried to forgive him and forget what was done. Butinstead of that he was evidently determined to brazen the thing out, andhad begun by snubbing the very fellows whom he had so deeply injured.

  Wraysford felt specially hurt. It had cost him a good deal to put on afriendly air and speak as if nothing had happened; and to find himselfscorned for his pains and actually avoided by the friend who had wrongedhim was too much. But even that would not have been so bad, had notOliver immediately gone and made up to Simon before all the class.

  Wraysford did not remain to join in the chorus of indignation in whichthe others indulged after morning school was over. He left them andstrolled out dismally into the playground.

  He must do something! He must know one way or the other what to thinkof Oliver. Even now he would gladly believe that it was all a dream,and that nothing had come between him and his old friend. But the morehe pondered it the more convinced he became it was anything but a dream.

  He wandered unconsciously beyond the playground towards the woods on theside of the Shar, where he and Oliver had walked so often in the olddays.

  The old days! It was but yesterday that they had last walked there.Yet what an age ago it seemed! and how impossible that the old daysshould ever come back again.

  He had not got far into the wood when he heard what seemed to himfamiliar footsteps ahead of him. Yesterday he would have shouted andwhistled and called on the fellow to hold hard. But now he had no suchinclination. His impulse was to turn round and go back.

  "And yet," thought he, "why should _I go_ back? If it is Oliver, whathave _I_ to feel ashamed of?"

  And so he advanced. The boy in front of him was walking slowly, andWraysford soon came in view of him. As he expected, it was Oliver.

  At the sight of his old friend, wandering here solitary and listless,all Wraysford's old affection came suddenly back. At least he wouldmake one more effort. So he quickened his pace. Oliver turned and sawhim coming. But he did not wait. He walked on slowly as before,apparently indifferent to the approach of anybody.

  This was a damper certainly to Wraysford. At least Oliver might haveguessed why his friend was coming after him.

  It was desperately hard to know how to begin a conversation. Olivertrudged on, sullen and silent, in anything but an encouraging manner.Still, Wraysford, now his mind was made up, was not to be put from hispurpose.

  "Noll, old man," he began, in as much of his old tone and manner as hecould assume.

  "Well?" said Oliver, not looking up.

  "Aren't we to be friends still?"

  The question cost the speaker a hard effort, and evidently went home.Oliver stopped short in his walk, and looking full in his old friend'sface, said, "Why do you ask?"

  "Because I'm afraid we are not friends at this moment."

  "And whose fault is that?" said Oliver, scornfully.

  The question stung Wraysford as much as it amazed him. Was he, then, ofall the fellows in the school, to have an explanation thus demanded ofhim from one who had done him the most grievous personal wrong oneschoolboy well could do to another?

  His face flushed as he replied slowly, "Your fault, Greenfield; how canyou ask?"

  Oliver gave a short laugh very like contempt, and then turned suddenlyon his heel, leaving Wraysford smarting with indignation, and finallyconvinced that between his old friend and himself there was a gulf whichnow it would be hard indeed to bridge over.

  He returned moodily to the school. Stephen was busy in his studygetting tea.

  "Hullo, Wray," he shouted, as the elder boy entered; "don't you wish itwas this time to-morrow? I do, I'm mad to hear the result!"

  "Are you?" said Wraysford.

  "Yes, and so are you, you old humbug. Noll says he thinks he did prettywell, and that you answered well too. I say, what a joke if it's a deadheat, and you both get bracketed first."

  "Cut away now," said Wraysford, as coolly as he could, "and don't makesuch a row."

  There was something unusual in his tone which surprised the small boy.He put it down, however, to worry about the examination, and quietlywithdrew as commanded.

  The next day came at last. Two days ago, in the Fifth Form, at anyrate, it would have been uphill work for any master to attempt toconduct morning class in the face of all the eagerness and enthusiasmwith which the result of the examinations would have been looked-for.Now, however, there was all the suspense, indeed, but it was thesuspense of dread rather than triumph.

  "Never mind," said Ricketts to Pembury, after the two had been talkingover the affair for the twentieth time. "Never mind; and there's justthis, Tony, if Wray is only second, it will be a splendid win for theFifth all the same."

  "I see nothing splendid in the whole concern," said Pembury. And thatwas the general feeling.

  Oliver entered and took his accustomed seat in silence. No one spoke tohim, many moved away from him, and nearly all favoured him with a longand unfriendly stare.

  All these things he took unmoved. He sat coolly waiting for class tobegin, and when it did begin, any one would have supposed he was theonly comfortable and easy-minded fellow in the room. The lesson draggedon languidly that morning. Most of the boys seemed to regard it assomething inflicted on them to pass the time rather than as a seriouseffort of instruction. The clock crawled slowly on from ten to eleven,and from eleven to half-past, and every one was glad when at last MrJellicott closed his book. Then followed an interval of suspense. TheDoctor was due with the results, and was even now announcing them in theSixth. What ages it seemed before his footsteps sounded in the passageoutside the Fifth!

  At last he entered, and a hush fell over the class. One or two glancedquickly up, as though they hoped to read their fate in the head master'sface. Others waited, too anxious to stir or look up. Others groanedinwardly with a sort of prophetic foresight of what was to come.

  The Doctor walked up to the desk and unfolded his paper.

  Wraysford looked furtively across the room to where his old friend sat.There was a flush in Oliver's face as he followed the Doctor with hiseyes; he was breathing hard, Wraysford could see, and the corners of hismouth were working with more than ordinary nervousness.

  "Alas!" thought Wraysford, "I don't envy him his thoughts!"

  The Doctor began to speak.

  "The following are the results of the various examinations held onMonday. English Literature--maximum number of marks 100. 1st,Bullinger, 72 marks; 2nd, West, 68; 3rd, Maybury, 51; 4th, Simon, 23.I'm afraid, Simon, you were a little too venturesome entering for anexamination like this. Your paper was a very poor performance."

  Simon groaned and gulped down his astonishment.

  "I say," whispered he to Oliver, who sat in front of him, "I know it's amistake: you know I wrote five cantos about the Shar--good too. He'slost that. I say, had I better tell him?"

  Oliver vouchsafing no reply, the unfortunate poet merely replied to thehead master's remarks, "Yes, sir," and then subsided, more convincedthan ever that Saint Dominic's was not worthy of him.

  "The Mathematical Medal--maximum number of marks 80. 1st, Heath, 65;2nd, Price, 54; 3rd, Roberts, 53. Heath's answers, I may say, were verygood, and the examiners have specially commended him."

  Heath being a Sixth Form man, this information was absolutely withoutinterest to the Fifth, who wondered why the Doctor should put himselfout of the way to announce it.

  "The Nightingale Scholarship."

  Ah, now! There was a quick stir, and then a deeper silence than ever asthe Doctor slowly read out, "The maximum number of marks possible, 120.First, Greenfield, Fifth Form, 112 marks. And I must say I and theexaminers are astonished as well as highly gratified with this really
brilliant performance. Greenfield, I congratulate you as well as yourclass-fellows on your success. It does you the very greatest credit!"

  A dead silence followed this eulogium. Those who watched Oliver saw hisface first glow, then turn pale, as the Doctor spoke. He kept his eyessteadily fixed on the paper in the head master's hand, as if waiting forwhat was to follow.

  The Doctor went on, "Second, Wraysford, Fifth Form, 97 marks, also acreditable performance."

  One or two near Wraysford clapped him warmly on the back, and throughoutthe class generally there was a show of satisfaction at this result, instrange contrast with the manner in which the announcement of Oliver'ssuccess had been received.

  Still, every one was too eager to hear the third and final announcementto disturb the proceedings by any demonstration just now.

  "Loman, Sixth Form--" and here the Doctor paused, and knitted his brows.

  "Loman, Sixth Form, 70 marks!"

  This finally brought down the house. Scarcely was the Doctor's backturned, when a general clamour rose on every hand. He, good man, set itdown to applause of the winners, but every one else knew it meanttriumph over the vanquished.

  "Bravo, Wray! old man. Hurrah for the Fifth!" shouted Bullinger.

  "Ninety-seven to seventy. Splendid, old fellow!" cried another.

  "I was certain you'd win," said another.

  "I have not won," said Wraysford, drily, and evidently not liking thesemarked congratulations; "I'm second."

  "So you are, I quite forgot," said Ricketts: then turning to Oliver, headded, mockingly, "Allow me to congratulate you, Greenfield, on yourreally brilliant success. 112 marks out of 120! You could hardly havedone better if you had seen the paper a day or two before the exam!Your class, I assure you, are very proud of you."

  A general sneer of contempt followed this speech, in the midst of whichOliver, after darting one angry glance at the speaker, deliberatelyquitted the room.

  This proceeding greatly irritated the Fifth, who had hoped at least tomake their class-fellow smart while they had the opportunity. Theygreeted his departure now with a general chorus of hissing, and revengedthemselves in his absence by making the most of Wraysford.

  "Surely the fellow won't be allowed to take the scholarship after this?"said Ricketts. "The Doctor must see through it all."

  "It's very queer if he doesn't," said Bullinger.

  "The scholarship belongs to Wray," said Braddy, "and I mean to say it'sa blackguard shame if he doesn't get it!"

  "It's downright robbery, that's what it is!" said another; "the fellowought to be kicked out of the school!"

  "I vote some one tells the Doctor," said Braddy.

  "Suppose you go and tell him now, yourself," said Pembury, with asarcastic smile; "you could do it capitally. What do you say?"

  Braddy coloured. Pembury was always snubbing him.

  "I don't want to tell tales," he said. "What I mean is, Wraysford oughtnot to be cheated out of his scholarship."

  "It's a lucky thing Wray has got you to set things right for him,"snarled Pembury, amid a general titter.

  Braddy subsided at this, and left his tormentor master of the situation.

  "There's no use our saying or doing anything," said that worthy. "Weshall probably only make things worse. It's sure to come out in time,and till then we must grin and bear it."

  "All very well," said some one, "but Greenfield will be grinning too."

  "I fancy not," said Pembury. "I'm not a particular angel myself, butI've a notion if I had cheated a schoolfellow I should be a trifle offmy grinning form; I don't know."

  This modest confession caused some amusement, and helped a good deal torestore the class to a better humour.

  "After all, I don't envy the fellow his feelings this minute," continuedPembury, following up his advantage.

  "And I envy his prospects in the Fifth still less," said Ricketts.

  "If you take my advice," said Pembury, "you'll leave him pretty much tohimself. Greenfield is a sort of fellow it's not easy to score off; andsome of you would only make fools of yourselves if you tried to do it."

  Wraysford had stood by during this conversation, torn by conflictingemotions. He was undoubtedly bitterly disappointed to have missed thescholarship; but that was as nothing to the knowledge that it was hisfriend, his own familiar friend, who had turned against him and thusgrievously wronged him. Yet with all his sense of injury he couldhardly stand by and listen to all the bitter talk about Oliver in hisabsence without a sense of shame. Two days ago he would have flared upat the first word, and given the rash speaker something to remember.Now it was his misery to stand by and hear his old chum abused anddespised, and to feel that he deserved every word that was spoken ofhim!

  If he could only have found one word to say on his behalf!

  But he could not, and so left the room as soon as it was possible toescape, and retired disconsolately to his own study.

  As for the Fifth, Pembury's advice prevailed with them. There were afew who were still disposed to take their revenge on Oliver in a moremarked manner than by merely cutting him; but a dread of the tongue ofthe editor of the _Dominican_, as well as a conviction of theuselessness of such procedure, constrained them to give way and fall inwith the general resolution.

  One boy only was intractable. That was Simon. It was not in the poet'snature to agree to cut anybody. When the class dispersed he took itinto his gifted head to march direct to Oliver's study. Oliver wasthere, writing a letter.

  "Oh, I say, you know," began Simon, nervously, but smiling most affably,"all the fellows are going to cut you, you know, Greenfield. About thatpaper, you know, the time I met you coming out of the Doctor's study.But _I_ won't cut you, you know. We'll hush it all up, you know,Greenfield; upon my word we will. But the fellows think--"

  "That will do!" said Oliver, angrily.

  "Oh, but you know, Greenfield--"

  "Look here, if you don't get out of my study," said Oliver, rising tohis feet, "I'll--"

  Before he could finish his sentence the poet, who after all was one ofthe best-intentioned jackasses in Saint Dominic's, had vanished.