"Oh" is an interjection agreeing with "ah."
"Ah" is an interjection agreeing with "oh." It wouldn't do. He must
try again.
"Why," cried the voice of Wraysford, half an hour later, "here's a
picture of industry for you, Greenfield. That young brother of yours is
beginning well!"
Stephen hurriedly caught up his papers for fear any one should catch a
glimpse of the hopeless attempts at answers which he had written. He
was greatly tempted to ask Oliver about "Mr Finis," only he had
promised not to get any help.
"Let's have a look at the questions," again demanded Oliver, but at that
moment Loman's voice sounded down the passage.
"Greenfield junior, where are you?"
Stephen, quite glad of this excuse for again refusing to show that
wretched paper, jumped up, and saying, "There's Loman wants his tea
cleared away," vanished out of the room.
Poor Stephen! There was little chance of another turn at his paper that
night. By the time Loman's wants had been attended to, and his
directions for future fagging delivered, the prayer-bell rang, and for
the half-hour following prayers the new boy was hauled away by Master
Paul into the land of the Guinea-pigs, there to make the acquaintance of
some of his future class-fellows, and to take part in a monster
indignation meeting against the monitors for forbidding single wicket
cricket in the passage, with a door for the wicket, an old inkpot for
the ball, and a ruler for the bat. Stephen quite boiled with rage to
hear of this act of tyranny, and vowed vengeance along with all the rest
twenty times over, and almost became reconciled with his enemy of the
morning (but not quite) in the sympathy of emotion which this
demonstration 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 first
bed-bell sounded.
"Come on," said Paul, "or they'll bag our blankets."
Stephen, wondering, and shivering at the bare idea, raced along the
passage and up the staircase with his youthful ally to the dormitory.
There they found they had been anticipated by the blanket-snatchers; and
as they entered, one of these, the hero of the inky head, was
deliberately abstracting one of those articles of comfort from Stephen's
own bed.
"There's young Bramble got your blanket, Greenfield," cried Paul, "pitch
into him!"
Stephen, nothing loth, marched up to Master Bramble and demanded his
blanket. A general engagement ensued, some of the inhabitants of the
dormitory siding with Stephen, and some with Bramble, until it seemed as
if the coveted blanket would have parted in twain. In the midst of the
confusion a sentry at the door suddenly put his head in and shouted
"Nix!" The signal had a magical effect on all but the uninitiated
Stephen, who, profiting by his adversaries' surprise, made one desperate
tug at his blanket, which he triumphantly rescued.
"Look sharp," said Paul, "here comes Rastle." Mr Rastle was the small
boys' tutor and governor. Stephen took the hint, and was very soon
curled up, with his brave blanket round him, in bed, where, despite the
despairing thought of his paper, the cruel injustice of the owner of the
jam-pots, and the general hardness of his lot, he could not help feeling
he was a good deal more at home at Saint Dominic's than he had ever yet
found himself.
Of one thing he was determined. He would be up at six next morning, and
make one last desperate dash at his exam paper.