The eventful day had come at last. Anthony and his confederates had
worked hard, evening after evening, in the secrecy of their studies, and
the first number of the _Dominican_ was ready for publication. The big
frame had been smuggled in, and the big sheet was now safely lodged
behind the glass, with its eight broad columns of clearly-written
manuscript all ready to astonish Saint Dominic's. Two nails had
surreptitiously been driven into the wall outside the Fifth Form room,
on which the precious document was to be suspended, and Tony only waited
for "lights out" to creep down and, with the aid of Ricketts and
Bullinger, fix it in position. Everything succeeded well. The secret
had been kept most carefully, and when, next morning, Saint Dominic's
woke up and swarmed down the passage past the Fifth Form class-room, the
sight of a huge frame, with the words _The Dominican_ staring out from
it, and several yards of writing underneath, fairly startled them.
Master Paul, the fag who had been deputed to the no easy task of
preserving the structure from injury, had a hard time of it, there was
such a hustling and crowding in front of it whenever classes were not
going on. The little boys squeezed in front; the bigger boys read over
their heads; the Sixth examined it from the back of the crowd, and the
Fifth Form from various positions watched with complacency the effect of
this venture.
At first it was looked upon as a curiosity, then as a joke; then
gradually it dawned on Saint Dominic's that it was a Fifth Form
production, and finally it appeared in its true light as a school
newspaper.
Loman, attracted by the crowd of boys, strolled down the passage to the
place and joined the group, just as a small boy was reading aloud the
following descriptive extract from:
"Our Special Correspondent in Guinea-pig Land.
"Last night the ceremony of admitting a new member into the ancient and
honourable craft of Guinea-pigs was celebrated with the usual mysteries.
The event took place in the fourth junior class-room. The Guinea-pigs
assembled in force, with blackened faces and false whiskers. The lights
being put out, Brother Bilke proposed, and Brother Smudge seconded, the
election of the new aspirant, and the motion being put to the
Guinea-pigs, was received with a unanimous grunt. The Guinea-pig elect
was then admitted. He was classically attired in a pair of slippers and
a collar, and the ceremony of initiation at once commenced. The
candidate was stretched across the lowest desk, face downwards, and in
this position greeted with the flat side of a cricket-bat by the junior
brother present. He was then advanced to the next desk, where a similar
compliment was paid by the next youngest; and so on to the senior
brother present. Half way through the ceremony the new member expressed
a desire to withdraw his candidature, but this motion was negatived by a
large majority. When our reporter left, the ceremony was being repeated
with the round side of the bat. We understand the new Guinea-pig is
keeping his bed to-day after the exciting ceremony of initiation."
This was capital fun, and greatly appreciated by all--even by Stephen,
who knew it was intended to represent his own experience, which,
mercifully, had not been nearly so sore as pictured.
But the next extract was not quite as pleasing.
"Cricket Notice.
"The Alphabet Match will be played on Saturday. The following are the
two elevens [and here the list followed]. Of these twenty-two players,
it is worthy of mention that fourteen are from the Fifth, and only eight
from the Sixth. What is our Sixth coming to?"
This was not at all gratifying to the Sixth Form fellows present. It
was unfortunately true, but they did not at all fancy such prominence
being given to the fact. The next extract was still more pointed.
"Sixth Form Debating Society.
"The usual meeting of the Sixth Form Debating Society was held last
week, the Doctor in the chair. A sprinkling of lads from the Fifth, in
their Sunday coats and collars, was present, by kind permission. The
subject for discussion was, `That the present Sixth is degenerate.' In
the absence of any member of the Sixth to open the discussion, Master
Bramble, captain of the Tadpoles, kindly undertook the task. He had no
hesitation in asserting that the Sixth were degenerate. They had fallen
off in cricket since he could remember, and in intellect, he was sorry
to say, the falling off was still worse. If they would take his advice,
they would avoid the playground during the present season, and by all
means withdraw their candidate for the Nightingale Scholarship, as he
was certain to be beaten by boys in a lower form. As to behaviour, he
could point to virtuous behaviour among the Tadpoles, quite equal to
that of the monitors. He didn't wish to ask questions, but would like
to know what they all found so attractive in Maltby. Then, too, they
all oiled their hair. No previous Sixth had ever been guilty of this
effeminacy, or of wearing lavender kid gloves on Sundays. He repeated,
`What were we coming to?'"
"Mr R-g-h opened in the negative. He denied all the charges made by
the young gentleman who had last spoken. He undertook to get up an
eleven to beat any eleven the Tadpoles could put into the field; and as
to intellect, why, didn't the Tadpoles, some of them, get their sums
done by the Sixth? Besides, even if their intellect was weak, couldn't
they use cribs? He didn't use them himself, but he knew one or two who
did. He didn't understand the objection to the hair-oil; he used it to
make the hair sit down on his head. [Raleigh, it should be said, had a
most irrepressible bunch of curls on his head.] He wore kid gloves on
Sunday because he had had a pair given him by his great-aunt Jane Ann.
He maintained the Sixth was not degenerate.
"Mr L-m-n followed on the same side. He thought it the greatest
liberty of any one to discuss the Sixth. He was a Sixth Form fellow,
and a monitor, and if he wasn't looked up to he ought to be, and he
intended to be. He was in the cricket eleven, and he was intellectual--
very, very much so. He was going in for the Nightingale Scholarship,
and had no doubt in his own mind as to the result. He hardly understood
his friend's reference to Maltby. Why shouldn't he go there and take
his fag too if he chose? He didn't see what right the Fifth had to fags
at all. He had a fag, but then he was in the Sixth. His fag admired
him, and he never told him not to. The Sixth _could not_ be degenerate
so long as _he_ was in it."
"Other speakers followed, including Mr W-r-n, who maintained that
Michael Angelo was a greater musician than Queen Anne. He was here
called to order, and reminded that Michael Angelo had nothing to do with
the degeneracy of the Sixth. He begged leave to explain--
"At this point our reporter fell asleep."
The laughter which greeted the reading of this extract was by no means
shared by the Sixth Form boys present, who, had the next selection been
in a similar strain, would have quitted the scene and taken their chance
of satisfying their curiosity as to the rest of the contents of the
paper at a more convenient season.
But the next lucubration was the unfortunate Stephen's examination
paper, with the answers thereto embellished, and in many cases bodily
supplied, by the fertile Anthony. The luckless Stephen, who was wedged
up in the front row of readers, could have sunk into the earth on
meeting once more that hateful paper face to face, and feeling himself
an object of ridicule to the whole school. For the wonderful answers
which now appeared were hardly any of them his own composition, and he
did not even get credit for the few correct things he had said. Shouts
of laughter greeted the reading, during which he dared not lift his eyes
from the ground. But the answer to Question 6, "What is a minus?" was
more than human flesh and blood could endure.
"What is a Minus?"
"`Minus' is derived from two English words, `my,' meaning my, and `nus,'
which is the London way of pronouncing `nurse.' My nurse is a dear
creature; I love her still, especially now she doesn't wash my face. I
hated having my face washed. My nurse's name is Mrs Blake, but I
always call her my own Noodle-oodle-oo. I do love her so! How I would
like to hug her! She sewed the strings of my little flannel vest on in
front just before I came here because she knew I couldn't tie them
behind by myself--"
"She didn't!" shouted Stephen, in a voice trembling with indignation.
Poor boy! The laughter which greeted this simple exclamation was enough
to finish up any one, and, with a bursting heart, and a face crimson
with confusion, he struggled out of the crowd and ran as fast as his
legs would take him to his own class-room.
But if he imagined in his misery that the whole school was going to
spend the entire day jeering at him, and him alone, he was greatly
mistaken, for once out of sight Stephen soon passed out of mind in
presence of the next elegant extract read out for the benefit of the
assembled audience. This was no other than Simon's "Love-Ballad."
Simon, it should be known, was one of the dullest boys in Saint
Dominic's, and it was a standing marvel how he ever came to be in the
Fifth, for he was both a dunce and an idiot. But he had one ambition
and one idea, which was that he could write poetry; and the following
touching ballad from his pen he offered to the _Dominican_, and the
_Dominican_ showed its appreciation of real talent by inserting it:--
"A Love-Ballad.
"I wish I was a buttercup,
Upon the mountain top,
That you might sweetly pick me up,
And sweetly let me drop.
I wish I was a little worm,
All rigling in the sun,
That I myself towards thee might turn
When thou along didst come.
Oh, I wish I was a doormat, sweet,
All prostrate on the floor,
If only thou wouldst wipe thy feet,
On me, what could I want more?"
["Rigling" is possibly "wriggling".]
Simon, who, with true poet's instinct, was standing among the crowd
listening to his own poem, was somewhat perplexed by the manner in which
his masterpiece was received. That every one was delighted there could
be no doubt. But he had an impression he had meant the ballad to be
pathetic. Saint Dominic's, however, had taken it up another way, and
appeared to regard it as facetious. At any rate his fame was made, and
looking as if a laurel wreath already encircled his brow, he modestly
retired, feeling no further interest, now his own piece was ended.
Oliver's poem on the Tadpoles, with its marvellous rhymes, fell
comparatively flat after this; and Bullinger's first chapter of the
History of Saint Dominic's failed to rivet the attention of the
audience, which, however, became suddenly and painfully absorbed in the
"Diary of the Sixth Form Mouse," from the pen of Wraysford. We must
inflict a few passages from this document on the reader, as the paper
was the cause of some trouble hereafter.
"Diary of the Sixth Form Mouse.
"Monday.--Up early and took a good breakfast in one of the desks where
there was a jam sandwich and several toffee-drops. The Sixth seem to
like jam sandwiches and toffee-drops, there are some of them in nearly
every desk. The desk I was in had a packet of cigarettes in one corner.
They were labelled `Mild.' I wonder why the Sixth like their
cigarettes mild. In the same desk were one or two books written by a
man called Bohn; they seemed queer books, for they had Latin and Greek
names outside, but all the reading inside was English. It is sad to see
the quarrelling that goes on in this room. You would not suppose, to
see these monitors walking grandly up and down the passages striking
terror into the hearts of all the small boys, that they could possibly
condescend to quarrel over the possession of an inkpot or the ownership
of an acid-drop found among the cinders. Alas! it is very sad. They
don't seem anything like the Sixth of old days. I shall emigrate if
this goes on.
"Wednesday.--A great row to-day when the Doctor was out of the room.
The two senior monitors engaged in a game of marbles--knuckle down--in
the course of which one player accused the other of cheating. There was
nearly a fight, only neither seemed exactly to like to begin, and both
appeared relieved when the Doctor came in and confiscated the marbles."
And so the diary went on, in a strain highly offensive to the Sixth and
equally delighting to the lower forms. After this the Sixth withdrew,
not caring to face further taunts of the kind, and leaving a free field
to the rest of Saint Dominic's, who perused this wonderful broadside to
the end with unflagging interest. Some of the advertisements with which
Tony had filled up the gaps caused considerable mirth--such as this: "A
gentleman about to clear out his desk, begs to give notice that he will
Sell by Auction to-morrow after `Lights out,' all those rare and
valuable articles, to wit:--one and a half gross best cherry-stones,
last year's, in excellent condition. About twelve assorted bread
crusts, warranted dry and hard--one with a covering of fossilised
sardine. Six quires of valuable manuscript notes on various subjects,
comprising Latin, Greek, Mathematics, French, and Crambo. One apple,
well seasoned, and embellished with a brilliant green fur of two years'
growth. And many other miscellaneous treasures, such as slate pencils,
nutshells, an antique necktie, several defunct silkworms, a noble
three-bladed knife (deficient of the blades), and half a pound of putty.
No reserve price. Must be cleared out at whatever sacrifice."