Loman, who had arrived at the same conclusion respecting Oliver's
bravery as the majority in the Fifth, did not allow his conscience to
trouble him as to his share of the morning's business. He never had
liked Oliver, and lately especially he had come to dislike him. He was
therefore glad to have made him smart; and now, since the blunder in the
cricket match, he felt greatly inclined to repeat the blow, particularly
as there did not seem much to fear if he did so.
He was quick, too, to see that Oliver had lost favour with his comrades,
and had no hesitation in availing himself of every opportunity of
widening the breach. He affected to be sorry for the poor fellow, and
to feel that he had been too hard on him, and so on, in a manner which,
while it offended the Fifth, as applied to one of their set, exasperated
them all the more against Oliver. And so matters went on, getting more
and more unsatisfactory.
Loman, however, had other things to think of than his rival's cowardice,
and foremost among these was his new fishing-rod--or rather, the rod
which he coveted for his own. Until the day after the Alphabet Match he
had not even had time to examine his treasure. Three pounds ten was an
appalling figure to pay for a rod; "But then," thought Loman, "if it's
really a good one, and worth half as much again, it would be a pity to
miss such a bargain;" and every one knew the Crippses, father and son,
were authorities on all matters pertaining to the piscatorial art.
Loman, too, was never badly off for pocket-money, and could easily raise
the amount, he felt sure, when he represented the case at home. So he
took the rod out of its canvas bag, and began to put it together.
Now, a boy's study is hardly the place in which to flourish a
fishing-rod, and Loman found that with the butt down in one bottom
corner of the room, the top joint would have to be put on up in the
opposite top corner. When this complicated operation was over, there
was no room to move it from its position, still less to judge of its
weight and spring, or attach the winch and line. Happy thought! the
window! He would have any amount of scope there. So, taking it to
pieces, and putting it together again in this new direction, he had the
satisfaction of testing it at its full length. He was pleased with the
rod, on the whole. He attached the line, with a fly at the end, in
order to give it a thorough trial, and gave a scientific "cast" into an
imaginary pool. It was a splendid rod, just right for him; how he
wished he was up above Gusset Weir at that moment! Why, he could--
Here he attempted to draw up the rod. There was an ugly tug and a crack
as he did so, and he found, to his disgust, that the hook, having
nothing else to catch, had caught the ivy on the wall, and, what was
worse, that the top joint of the rod had either snapped or cracked in
its inability to bring this weighty catch to shore. It was a long time
before Loman was able to disengage his line, and bring the rod in again
at the window. The top joint was cracked. It looked all right as he
held it, but when he tried to bend it it had lost its spring, and the
crack showed only too plainly. Another misfortune still was in store.
The reel in winding up suddenly stuck. Loman, fancying it had only
caught temporarily, tried to force it, and in so doing the spring broke,
and the handle turned uselessly round and round in his hand. This _was_
a streak of bad luck, and no mistake! The rod was not his, and what was
worse, it was (so Cripps said) a rod of extraordinary excellence and
value. Loman had his doubts now about this. A first-rate top-piece
would bend nearly double and then not break, and a reel that broke at
the least pressure could hardly be of the best kind. Still, Cripps
thought a lot of it, and Loman had undoubtedly himself alone to blame
for the accidents which had occurred. As it was, the rod was now
useless. He knew there was no place in Maltby where he could get it
repaired, and it was hardly to be expected that Cripps would take it
back.
What was to be done? Either he must pay 3 pounds 10 shillings for a rod
of no value, or--
He slowly took the rod to pieces and put it back into the canvas bag.
The top joint after all did not look amiss; and, yes, there was a
_little_ bit of elasticity in it. Perhaps the crack was only his fancy;
or perhaps the crack was there when he got it. As to the reel, it
looked as if it _ought_ to work, and perhaps it would if he only knew
the way. Ah! suppose he just sent the rod back to Cripps with a message
that he found he did not require it? He would not say he had not used
it, but if Cripps chose to imagine he received it back just as he sent
it, well, what harm? Cripps would be sure to sell it to some one else,
or else put it by (he had said he possessed a rod of his own). If he,
Loman, had felt quite certain that he had damaged the rod himself, of
course he would not think of such a thing; but he was not at all certain
the thing was not defective to begin with. In any case it was an
inferior rod--that he had no doubt about--and Cripps was not acting
honestly by trying to pass it off on him as one of the best make. Yes,
it would serve Cripps right, and be a lesson to him, and he was sure,
yes, quite sure now, it had been damaged to begin with.
And so the boy argued with himself and coquetted with the tempter.
Before the afternoon was over he felt (as he imagined) quite comfortable
in his own mind over the affair. The rod was tied up again in its bag
exactly as it had been before, and only wanted an opportunity to be
returned to Mr Cripps.
After that Loman settled down to an evening's study. But things were
against him again. Comfortable as his conscience was, that top joint
would not let him alone. It seemed to get into his hand in place of the
pen, and to point out the words in the lexicon in place of his finger.
He tried not to mind it, but it annoyed him, and, what was worse,
interfered with his work. So, shutting up his books, and imagining a
change of air might be beneficial, he went off to Callonby's study,
there to gossip for an hour or two, and finally rid himself of his
tormentor.
Stephen, meanwhile, had had Mr Cripps on his mind too, for that
afternoon his bat had come home. It was addressed to "Mr Greenfield,
Saint Dominic's," and of course taken to Oliver, who wondered much to
receive a small size cricket-bat in a parcel. Master Paul, however, who
was in attendance, was able to clear up the mystery.
"Oh! that's your young brother's, I expect; he said he had got a bat
coming."
"All I can say is, he must be more flush of cash than I am, to go in for
a thing like this. Send him here, Paul."
So Paul vanished, and presently Stephen put in an appearance, blushing,
and anxious-looking.
"Is this yours?" asked the elder brother.
"Yes; did Mr Cripps send it?"
"Mr Cripps the lock-keeper?"
"No, his son. He said he would get it for me. I say, is that a good
bat, Oliver?"
"Nothing out of the way. But, I say, young 'un, how much have you given
for it?"
"Not anything yet. Mr Cripps said I could pay in June, when I get my
next pocket-money."
"What on earth has he to do with when you get your pocket-money?"
demanded Oliver. "Who is this young Cripps? He's a cad, isn't he?"
"He seemed a very nice man," said Stephen.
"Well, look here! the less you have to do with men like him the better.
What is the price of the bat?"
"I don't know; it's one Mr Cripps had himself when he was a boy. He
says it's a beauty! I say, it looks as good as new, Oliver."
"You young muff!" said the elder brother; "I expect the fellow's
swindling you. Find out what he wants for it at once, and pay him; I'm
not going to let you run into debt."
"But I can't; I've only two shillings left," said Stephen, dejectedly.
"Why, whatever have you done with the five shillings you had last week?"
Stephen blushed, and then faltered, "I spent sixpence on stamps and
sixpence on--on brandy-balls!"
"I thought so. And what did you do with the rest?"
"Oh! I--I--that is--I--gave them away."
"Gave them away! Who to--to Bramble?"
"No," said Stephen, laughing at the idea; "I gave them to a poor old
man!"
"Where?--when? Upon my word, Stephen, you _are_ a jackass--who to?"
And then Stephen confessed, and the elder brother rated him soundly for
his folly, till the little fellow felt quite miserable and ashamed of
himself. In the end, Oliver insisted on Stephen finding out at once
what the price of the bat was, and promised he would lend his brother
the money for it. In return for this, Stephen promised to make no more
purchases of this kind without first consulting Oliver, and at this
juncture Wraysford turned up, and Stephen beat a retreat with his bat
over his shoulder.
The two friends had not been alone together since _the fracas_ in the
Fifth two days before, and both now appeared glad of an opportunity of
talking over that and subsequent events.
"I suppose you know a lot of the fellows are very sore at you for not
thrashing Loman?" said Wraysford.
"I guessed they would be. Are you riled, too, Wray?"
"Not I! I know what _I_ should have done myself, but I suppose you know
your own business best."
"I was greatly tempted to let out," said Oliver, "but the fact is--I
know you'll jeer, Wray--the fact is, I've been trying feebly to turn
over a new leaf this term."
Wraysford said "Oh!" and looked uncomfortable.
"And one of the things I wanted to keep out of was losing my temper,
which you know is not a good one."
"Not at all," said Wraysford, meaning quite the opposite to what he
said.
"Well, if you'll believe me, I've lost my temper oftener in trying to
keep this resolution than I ever remember to have done before. But on
Friday it came over me just as I was going to thrash Loman. That's why
I didn't."
Wraysford looked greatly relieved when this confession was over. "You
are a rum fellow, Noll," said he, after a pause, "and of course it is
all right; but the fellows don't know your reason, and think you showed
the white feather."
"Let them think!" shouted Oliver, in a voice so loud and angry that
Master Paul came to the door and asked what he wanted.
"What do I care what they think?" continued Oliver, forgetting all about
his temper; "they can think what they like, but they had better let me
alone. I'd like to knock all their heads together! so I would!"
"Steady, old man!" said Wraysford, good-humouredly; "I quite agree with
you. But I say, Noll, I think it's a pity you don't put yourself right
with them and the school generally, somehow. Everybody heard Loman call
you a fool yesterday, and you know our fellows are so clannish that they
think, for the credit of the Fifth, something ought to be done."
"Let them send Braddy to thrash him, then; I don't intend to fight to
please _them_!"
"Oh! that's all right. And if they all knew what you've told me they
would understand it; but as it is, they don't."
"They'll find out some day, most likely," growled Oliver; "I'm not going
to bother any more about it. I say, Wray, do you know anything of
Cripps's son?"
"Yes. Don't you know he keeps a dirty public-house in Maltby?--a
regular cad, they say. The fishing-fellows have seen him up at the Weir
now and then."
"I don't know how he came across him, but my young brother has just been
buying a bat from him, and I don't much fancy it."
"No, the youngster won't get any good with that fellow; you had better
tell him," said Wraysford.
"So I have, and he won't do it again."
Shortly after this Pembury hobbled in on his way to bed.
"You're a pretty fellow," said he to Oliver; "not one of our fellows
cares a rush about the _Dominican_ since you made yourself into the
latest sensation."
"Oh, don't let us have that up again," implored Oliver.
"All very well, but what is to become of the _Dominican_?"
"Oh, have a special extra number about me. Call me a coward, and a
fool, and a Tadpole, any mortal thing you like, only shut up about the
affair now!"
Pembury looked concerned.
"Allow me to feel your pulse," said he to Oliver.
"Feel away," said Oliver, glad of any diversion.
"Hum! As I feared--feverish. Oliver, my boy, you are not well.
Wandering a bit in your mind, too; get to bed. Be better soon. Able to
talk like an ordinary rational animal then, and not like an animated
tom-cat. Good-bye!"
And so saying he departed, leaving the friends too much amused to be
angry at his rudeness.
The two friends did a steady evening's work after this, and the thought
of the Nightingale Scholarship drove away for the time all less pleasant
recollections.
They slept, after it all, far more soundly than Loman, whose dreams were
disturbed by that everlasting top joint all the night long.
The reader will no doubt have already decided in his own mind whether
Oliver Greenfield did rightly or wrongly in putting his hands into his
pockets instead of using them to knock down Loman. It certainly did not
seem to have done him much good at the time. He had lost the esteem of
his comrades, he had lost the very temper he had been trying to keep--
twenty times since the event--and no one gave him credit for anything
but "the better part of valour" in the whole affair.
And yet that one effort of self-restraint was not altogether an unmanly
act. At least, so thought Wraysford that night, as he lay meditating
upon his friend's troubles, and found himself liking him none the less
for this latest singular piece of eccentricity.