The circumstances which had attended the publication of the first number
of the _Dominican_ had been such as to throw a damper over the future
success of that valuable paper. It was most uncomfortably connected in
the minds of the Fifth with the cowardice of Oliver Greenfield, and with
the stigma which his conduct had cast upon the whole Form, and they one
and all experienced a great diminution of interest in its future.
The Fifth were far more intent on vindicating their reputation with the
Sixth--and, indeed, with the rest of the school. They sought every
opportunity of bringing on a collision with the monitors. One or two of
their number went, so far as to pick quarrels with members of the rival
class, in hopes of a fight. But in this they were not successful. The
Sixth chose to look upon this display of feeling among their juniors as
a temporary aberration of mind, and were by no means to be tempted into
hostilities. They asserted their authority wherever they could enforce
it, and sacrificed it whenever it seemed more discreet to do so. Only
one thing evoked a temporary display of vexation from them, and that was
when Ricketts and Braddy appeared one day, arm-in-arm, in the passages
with _tall hats_ on their heads. Now, tall hats on week-days were the
exclusive privilege of the Sixth at Saint Dominic's, and, worn by them
during school hours, served as the badge of monitorship. This action on
the part of the Fifth, therefore, was as good as a usurpation of
monitorial rights, and that the Sixth were not disposed to stand.
However, Raleigh, the captain, when appealed to, pooh-poohed the matter.
"Let them be," said he; "what do you want to make a row about it for?
If the boys do mistake them for monitors, so much the less row in the
passages."
Raleigh was always a man of peace--though it was rumoured he could, if
he chose, thrash any two Dominicans going--and the monitors were much
disgusted to find that he did not authorise them to interfere with the
Fifth in the matter. But the Fifth _were_ interfered with in another
quarter, and in a way which caused them to drop their chimney-pots
completely. One afternoon the entire Fourth Junior appeared in the
corridors in their Sunday tiles! In their Sunday tiles they slid down
the banisters; in their Sunday tiles they played leapfrog; in their
Sunday tiles they executed a monster tug-of-war in the bottom corridor!
Stephen and Bramble fought their usual battle in top hats, and Master
Paul insisted on wearing the same decoration while washing up Oliver's
tea-things. It was a splendid hit, and for once in a way Guinea-pigs
and Tadpoles scored one, for the Fifth appeared next day in their
ordinary "boilers," and the dignity of the monitors was vindicated.
But the blood was up between Fifth and Sixth, and each Form looked
forward to the match, Sixth _versus_ School, with redoubled interest.
"Were not these boys fools?" some one asks.
To be sure they were, sir. But what of that? they were none the less
boys, and most of them fine young fellows, too, with all their nonsense.
However, as has been said, all this came out of the circumstances which
attended the bringing out of the first number of the _Dominican_, and
there seemed but a poor look-out for Number 2, which was now nearly due,
in consequence.
"What on earth am I to do?" asked Pembury of Tom Senior one day; "I've
not got a single contribution yet. There's you making out you're too
busy, and Rick the same. It's all humbug, I know! What are you busy at
I'd like to know? I never saw you busy yet."
"Upon my word, old man," said Tom, "I'm awfully sorry, but I've got a
tremendous lot to do. I'm going to try for the French prize; I am,
really."
"And you'll get it, too; rather! Wasn't it you who translated `I know
the way to write' into `_Je non le chemin a writer_' eh? Oh, stick to
French by all means, Tom; it's in your line! But you might just as well
write for Number 2."
"I really can't this time," said Tom.
Ricketts had an excuse very similar. Bullinger had hurt his foot, he
said, and could not possibly write; and Braddy had begun to study
fossils, he said, and was bound to devote all his spare time to them.
To all of whom Master Pembury gave a piece of his mind.
"Wray, old man," said he, that evening, "you and Noll and I shall have
to do the whole thing between us, that's all about it."
"Awfully sorry!" said Wraysford; "you'll have to let me off this time.
I'm working like nails for the Nightingale."
"Bother the Nightingale, I say! What is it to the _Dominican_? Come, I
say, old man, that won't do! you aren't going to leave me in the lurch
like all the rest?"
But Wraysford was; he would gladly have helped if he could, but he
really must not this time; perhaps he would for the next.
Oliver was as bad; he declared the things he had written before--even
with Pembury's assistance--had taken him such ages to do, that he wasn't
going in for the next number. He was very sorry to disappoint, and all
that; but if Tony was in for a scholarship next Michaelmas he would
understand the reason. Why not let the thing drop this month?
This, however, by no means met Tony's views. A pretty figure he would
cut if it were to be said he couldn't keep up a paper for two numbers
running! No! his mind was made up. Number 2 _should_ come out, even if
he wrote every word of it himself! And with that determination he
hobbled off to his study. Here he met Simon waiting for him.
"Oh," said the poet; "I only brought this, if you'll put it in. I think
it's not bad. I could make it longer if you like. I find poetry comes
so easily, you know!"
Tony glanced over the paper and grinned. "Thanks, awfully! This will
do capitally; it would spoil it to make it any longer. You're a brick,
Simon! I wish _I_ could write poetry."
"Oh, never mind. I could do some more bits about other things, you
know, if you like."
Pembury said he didn't think he should require any more "bits," but was
awfully obliged by this one, which was first-rate, a recommendation
which sent Simon away happy to his study, there immediately to compose
the opening stanza of his famous epic, "The Sole's Allegery--a sacred
Poem."
With one contribution in hand, Tony locked his door and sat down to
write. There was something out of the common about Pembury. With the
body of a cripple he had the heart of a lion, and difficulties only made
it more dauntless. Any one else would have thought twice, indeed,
before undertaking the task he was now setting himself to do, and
ninety-nine out of every hundred would have abandoned it before it was
half done. But Tony was indomitable. Every night that week he locked
his study-door, and threats and kicks and entreaties would not open it
even to his dearest friends. And slowly the huge white sheet before him
showed the signs of his diligence. The great long columns, one after
another, filled up; paragraph followed paragraph, and article article.
He coolly continued the "History of Saint Dominic's" begun last month by
Bullinger, and the "Reports of the Sixth Form Debates" commenced by Tom
Senior. And the "Diary of the Sixth Form Mouse" went on just as if
Wraysford had never abandoned it; and the poem on the Guinea-pigs,
promised in Number 1, by the author of "To a Tadpole," duly appeared
also. Besides this, there were the continuations of Tony's own
articles, and his "Personal Notes," and "Squeaks from Tadpoleopolis,"
and advertisements just as usual; until, in due time, the last column
was filled up, the sheet triumphantly fixed in its frame, and as
triumphantly hung up on its own particular nails on the wall outside the
Fifth Form door.
It was a feat to be proud of, and Tony was justly and pardonably proud.
It was at least a gratification next morning to see not only that the
school generally took unabated interest in the _Dominican_, but that he
had fairly astonished his own class-fellows. Their admiration of the
editor was unbounded and undisguised. Their consciences had all, more
or less, reproached them for backing out of their responsibilities in
the way they had; and now it quite touched them to see how,
notwithstanding, Anthony had by his own labour made up for their defect,
and sustained the reputation of the Fifth before all the school.
The crush outside the door was greater than ever this time, and Master
Paul, who again acted as policeman, was obliged to summon Stephen to his
assistance in watching to see that no damage came to the precious
document.
The account of the Alphabet Match was very graphic, and written quite in
the usual absurd "sporting style," greatly to the amusement of most of
those who had taken part in it. Here is a specimen:--
"At 4.30, sharp, the leather was taken into custody by `Gamey' Raikes,
at the wash-house end, who tried what his artful `yorkers' could do in
the way of dissolving partnership. But Teddy Loman kept his willow
straight up, and said `Not at home' to every poser, leaving Noll to do
all the smacking. This pretty business might have gone on till
to-morrow week had the men's upper stories been as `O.K.' as their
timbers, but they messed about over a pretty snick of Noll's, and, after
popping the question three times, Teddy got home just in time to see his
two bails tumble out of their groove. Teddy didn't like this, and
bowled his partner a wide compliment, which Noll, like a sensible man,
didn't walk out to, and Teddy was astonished to find his party could get
on without him;" and so on.
This version of the incident was by no means pleasant to Loman, but to
every one else it was highly diverting, and it actually made one or two
of the Fifth think that Oliver, after all, had not done such a very
discreditable thing in taking that angry word in silence. If only he
had shown more spirit about the blow, they could have forgiven the rest.