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

  CHAPTER FOUR.

  FAGGING.

  There is a queer elasticity about boys which no one, least of allthemselves, can account for. A quarter of an hour after the bigpractice had begun Stephen had forgotten all about his examination, andcould think of nothing but cricket.

  As he sat cross-legged on the grass among half a dozen youngsters likehimself, he even began to forget that he was a new boy, and wassurprised to find himself holding familiar converse with one and anotherof his companions.

  "Well bowled, sir!" shouted Master Paul, as a very swift ball fromRicketts took Bullinger's middle stump clean out of theground--"rattling well bowled! I say," he added, turning round; "ifRicketts bowls like that to-day week, the others will be nowhere."

  "Oh," said Stephen, to whom this remark seemed to be addressed.

  Master Paul looked sharply round.

  "Hullo, young 'un, is that you? Jolly good play, isn't it? Who are youfor, A or Z?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Mean? Do you back the A's or the Z's? that's what I mean. Oh, Isuppose you don't twig, though. A to M, you know, against N to Z."

  "Oh," said Stephen, "I back the A to M's, of course; my brother is inthat half."

  "So he is--isn't that him going in now? Yes; you see if Rickettsdoesn't get him out in the first over!"

  Stephen watched most eagerly and anxiously. They were not playing aregular game, only standing up to be bowled at in front of the nets, orfielding at fixed places; but each ball, and each hit, and each piece offielding, was watched and applauded as if a victory depended on it, forout of those playing to-day the two elevens for the Alphabet match wereto be chosen; and out of those two elevens, as every one knew, theSchool eleven, which would play the County in June, was to be selected.Oliver, despite Paul's prophecy, stood out several overs of Rickett's,and Loman's, and the school captain's, one after the other, cutting someof their balls very hard, and keeping a very steady guard over hiswicket. At last a ball of Loman's got past him and snicked off hisbails.

  Stephen looked inquiringly round at Paul, and then at the small knot ofSixth fellows who were making notes of each candidate's play.

  "He's all right," said Paul; "I guess Raleigh," (that was the schoolcaptain) "didn't fancy his balls being licked about like that. Nevermind--there goes Braddy in."

  And so the practice went on, each candidate for the honour of a place inthe eleven submitting to the ordeal, and being applauded or despisedaccording as he acquitted himself. Wraysford, of course, came out ofthe trial well, as he always did.

  "I declare, the Fifth could lick the Sixth this year, Tom," said Pemburyto Tom Senior, as they sat together looking on.

  "I'm sure they could; I hope we challenge them."

  Just then a Sixth Form fellow strolled up to where the speakers werestanding.

  "I say, Loman," said Pembury, "we were just saying our men could lickyours all to fits. Don't you think so yourself?"

  "Can't say I do; but you are such a wonderful lot of heroes, you Fifth,that there's no saying what you couldn't do if you tried," repliedLoman, with a sneer.

  "But you take such precious good care we shall not try, that's just it,"said Pembury, winking at his companion. "Never mind, we'll astonish yousome day," growled the editor of the _Dominican_ as he hobbled away.

  Loman strolled up to where the small boys were sitting.

  "Which of you is young Greenfield?" he said.

  "I am," said Stephen, promptly.

  "Run with this letter to the post, then, and bring me back some stampswhile you are there, and get tea ready for two in my study by half-pastsix--do you hear?"

  And off he went, leaving Stephen gaping at the letter in his hand, andquite bewildered as to the orders about tea.

  Master Paul enjoyed his perplexity.

  "I suppose you thought you were going to get off fagging. I say, you'llhave to take that letter sharp, or you'll be late."

  "Where's the post-office?"

  "About a mile down Maltby Road. Look here, as you are going there, getme a pound of raisins, will you?--there's a good chap. We'll square upto-night."

  Stephen got up and started on his errands in great disgust.

  He didn't see why he was to be ordered about and sent jobs for the otherboys, just at a time, too, when he was enjoying himself. However, itcouldn't be helped.

  Three or four fellows stopped him as he walked with the letter in hishand to the gates.

  "Oh, are you going to the post? Look here, young 'un, just call in atSplicer's about my bat, will you? thanks awfully!" said one.

  Another wanted him to buy a sixpenny novel at the library; a thirdcommissioned him to invest threepence in "mixed sweets, chieflypeppermint;" and a fourth to call at Grounding, the naturalist's, with adead white mouse which the owner wanted stuffed.

  After this, Stephen--already becoming a little more knowing--stuffed theletter in his pocket, and took care, if ever he passed any one, not tolook as if he was going anywhere, for fear of being entrusted with afurther mission.

  He discharged all his errands to the best of his ability, including thatrelating to the dead mouse, which he had great difficulty in rescuingfrom the clutches of a hungry dog on the way down, and then returnedwith Paul's raisins in one pocket, the mixed sweets in another, the bookin another, and the other boy's bat over his shoulder.

  Paul was awaiting him at the gate of Saint Dominic's.

  "Got them?" he shouted out, when Stephen was still twenty yards off.

  Stephen nodded.

  "How much?" inquired Paul.

  "Eighteenpence."

  "You duffer! I didn't mean them--pudding raisins I meant, aboutsixpence. I say, you'd better take them back, hadn't you?"

  This was gratitude! "I can't now," said Stephen.

  "I've got to get somebody's tea ready--I say, where's his study?"

  "Whose? Loman's? Oh, it's about the eighth on the right in the thirdpassage; next to the one with the kicks on it. What a young muff youare to get this kind of raisin! I say, you'd have plenty of time tochange them."

  "I really wouldn't," said Stephen, hurrying off, and perhaps guessingthat before he met Mr Paul again the raisins would be past changing.

  The boy to whom belonged the mixed sweets was no more grateful than Paulhad been.

  "You've chosen the very ones I hate," he said, surveying the selectionwith a look of disgust.

  "You said peppermint," said Stephen.

  "But I didn't say green, beastly things!" grumbled the other. "Here,you can have one of them, it's sure to make you sick!"

  Stephen said "Thank you," and went off to deliver up the bat.

  "What a time you've been!" was all the thanks he got in that quarter."Why couldn't you come straight back with it?"

  This was gratifying. Stephen was learning at least one lesson thatafternoon--that a fag, if he ever expects to be thanked for anything hedoes, is greatly mistaken. He went off in a highly injured frame ofmind to Loman's study.

  Master Paul's directions might have been more explicit--"The eighth dooron the right; next to the one with the kicks." Now, as it happened, thedoor with the kicks on it was itself the eighth door on the right, witha study on either side of it, and which of these two was Loman's Stephencould not by the unaided light of nature determine. He peeped intoNumber 7; it was empty.

  "Perhaps he's cut his name on the door," thought Stephen.

  He might have done so, but as there were about fifty different letterscut on the door, he was not much wiser for that.

  "I'd better look and see if his name is on his collars," Stephen nextreflected, remembering with what care his mother had marked his ownlinen.

  He opened a drawer; it was full of jam-pots. At that moment the dooropened behind him, and the next thing Stephen was conscious of was thathe was half-stunned with a terrific box on the ears.

  "Take that, you young thief!" said the indignant owner of the study;"I'll teach you to stick your finger in
my jam. What do you mean byit?" and a cuff served as a comma between each sentence.

  "I really didn't--I only wanted--I was looking for--"

  "That'll do; don't tell lies as well as steal; get away."

  "I never stole anything!" began Stephen, whose confusion was beingrapidly followed by indignation at this unjust suspicion.

  "That'll do. A little boy like you shouldn't practise cheating. Offyou go! If I catch you again I'll take you to the Doctor."

  In vain Stephen, now utterly indignant, and burning with a sense ofinjustice, protested his innocence. He could not get a hearing, andpresently found himself out in the passage, the most miserable boy inall Saint Dominic's.

  He wandered disconsolately along the corridor, trying hard to keep downhis tears, and determined to beg and beseech his brother to let himreturn home that very evening, when Loman and a friend confronted him.

  "Hullo, I say, is tea ready?" demanded the former.

  "No," said Stephen, half choking.

  "Why ever not, when I told you?"

  Stephen looked at him, and tried to speak, and then finally burst intotears.

  "Here's an oddity for you! Why, what's the row, youngster?"

  "Nothing," stammered Stephen.

  "That's a queer thing to howl at. If you were weeping because youhadn't made my tea, I could understand it. Come along, I'll show youhow to do it this time, young greenhorn."

  Stephen accompanied him mechanically, and was ushered into the study onthe other side of the door with the kicks to that in which he had beenso grievously wronged.

  He watched Loman prepare the meal, and was then allowed to depart, withorders to be in the way, in case he should be wanted.

  Poor Stephen! Things were going from bad to worse, and life was alreadya burden to him. And besides--that exam paper! It now suddenly dawnedupon him. Here it was nearly seven o'clock, and by ten to-morrow he wasto deliver it up to Dr Senior!

  How _ever_ was he to get through it? He darted off to Oliver's study.It was empty, and he sat down, and drawing out the paper, made a dash atthe first question.

  The answer _wouldn't_ come! Parse "Oh, ah!"

  "Oh" is an interjection agreeing with "ah."

  "Ah" is an interjection agreeing with "oh." It wouldn't do. He musttry again.

  "Why," cried the voice of Wraysford, half an hour later, "here's apicture of industry for you, Greenfield. That young brother of yours isbeginning well!"

  Stephen hurriedly caught up his papers for fear any one should catch aglimpse of the hopeless attempts at answers which he had written. Hewas greatly tempted to ask Oliver about "Mr Finis," only he hadpromised not to get any help.

  "Let's have a look at the questions," again demanded Oliver, but at thatmoment Loman's voice sounded down the passage.

  "Greenfield junior, where are you?"

  Stephen, quite glad of this excuse for again refusing to show thatwretched paper, jumped up, and saying, "There's Loman wants his teacleared away," vanished out of the room.

  Poor Stephen! There was little chance of another turn at his paper thatnight. By the time Loman's wants had been attended to, and hisdirections for future fagging delivered, the prayer-bell rang, and forthe half-hour following prayers the new boy was hauled away by MasterPaul into the land of the Guinea-pigs, there to make the acquaintance ofsome of his future class-fellows, and to take part in a monsterindignation meeting against the monitors for forbidding single wicketcricket in the passage, with a door for the wicket, an old inkpot forthe ball, and a ruler for the bat. Stephen quite boiled with rage tohear of this act of tyranny, and vowed vengeance along with all the resttwenty times over, and almost became reconciled with his enemy of themorning (but not quite) in the sympathy of emotion which thisdemonstration evoked.

  Then, just as the memory of that awful paper rushed back into his mind,and he was meditating sneaking off to his brother's study, the firstbed-bell sounded.

  "Come on," said Paul, "or they'll bag our blankets."

  Stephen, wondering, and shivering at the bare idea, raced along thepassage and up the staircase with his youthful ally to the dormitory.There they found they had been anticipated by the blanket-snatchers; andas they entered, one of these, the hero of the inky head, wasdeliberately abstracting one of those articles of comfort from Stephen'sown bed.

  "There's young Bramble got your blanket, Greenfield," cried Paul, "pitchinto him!"

  Stephen, nothing loth, marched up to Master Bramble and demanded hisblanket. A general engagement ensued, some of the inhabitants of thedormitory siding with Stephen, and some with Bramble, until it seemed asif the coveted blanket would have parted in twain. In the midst of theconfusion a sentry at the door suddenly put his head in and shouted"Nix!" The signal had a magical effect on all but the uninitiatedStephen, who, profiting by his adversaries' surprise, made one desperatetug at his blanket, which he triumphantly rescued.

  "Look sharp," said Paul, "here comes Rastle." Mr Rastle was the smallboys' tutor and governor. Stephen took the hint, and was very sooncurled up, with his brave blanket round him, in bed, where, despite thedespairing thought of his paper, the cruel injustice of the owner of thejam-pots, and the general hardness of his lot, he could not help feelinghe was a good deal more at home at Saint Dominic's than he had ever yetfound himself.

  Of one thing he was determined. He would be up at six next morning, andmake one last desperate dash at his exam paper.