On reaching Saint Dominic's the three boys discovered that the news of
their afternoon's adventure had arrived there before them. Paul,
despite his promise of secrecy, had not been able to refrain from
confiding to one or two bosom friends, in strict confidence, his version
of the _fracas_ on the tow-path. Of course the story became frightfully
distorted in its progress from mouth to mouth, but it flew like wildfire
through Saint Dominic's all the same.
When Oliver and his friend with Stephen entered the school-house, groups
of inquisitive boys eyed them askance and whispered as they went by. It
seemed quite a disappointment to not a few that the three did not appear
covered with blood, or as pale as sheets, or with broken limbs. No one
knew exactly what had happened, but every one knew something had
happened, and it would have been much more satisfactory if the heroes of
the hour had had something to show for it.
Oliver was in no mood for gratifying the curiosity of anybody, and
stalked off to his study in gloomy silence, attended by his chum and the
anxious Stephen.
A hurried council of war ensued.
"I must go and challenge Loman at once," said Oliver.
"Let me go," said Wraysford.
"Why?"
"Because most likely if you go you'll have a row in his study. Much
better wait and have it out decently in the gymnasium. I'll go and tell
him."
Oliver yielded to this advice.
"Look sharp, old man," he said, "that's all."
Wraysford went off on his mission without delay.
He found Loman in his study with his books before him.
"Greenfield senior wants me to say he'll meet you after tea in the
gymnasium if you'll come there," said the ambassador.
Loman, who was evidently prepared for the scene, looked up angrily as he
replied, "Fight me? What does he want to fight me for, I should like to
know!"
"You know as well as I do," said Wraysford.
"I know nothing about it, and what's more I'll have nothing to do with
the fellow. Tell him that."
"Then you won't fight?" exclaimed the astounded Wraysford.
"No, I won't to please him. When I've nothing better to do I'll do it;"
and with the words his face flushed crimson as he bent it once more over
his book.
Wraysford was quite taken aback by this unexpected answer, and hesitated
before he turned to go.
"Do you hear what I say?" said Loman. "Don't you see I'm working?"
"Look here," said Wraysford, "I didn't think you were a coward."
"Think what you like. Do you suppose I care? If Greenfield wants so
badly to fight me, why didn't he do it last term when I gave him the
chance? Get out of my study, and tell him I'll have nothing to do with
him or any of your stuck-up Fifth!"
Wraysford stared hard at the speaker and then said, "I suppose you're
afraid to fight _me_, either?"
"If you don't clear out of my study I'll report you to the Doctor,
that's what I'll do," growled Loman.
There was no use staying, evidently; and Wraysford returned dejectedly
to Oliver.
"He won't fight," he announced.
"Not fight!" exclaimed Oliver. "Why ever not?"
"I suppose because he's a coward. He says because he doesn't choose."
"But he _must_ fight, Wray. We must make him!"
"You can't. I called him a coward, and that wouldn't make him. You'll
have to give it up this time, Noll."
But Oliver wouldn't hear of giving it up so easily. He got up and
rushed to Loman's study himself. But it was locked. He knocked, no one
answered. He called through the keyhole, but there was no reply.
Evidently Loman did not intend to fight, and Oliver returned crestfallen
and disappointed to his study.
"It's no go," he said, in answer to his friend's inquiry.
"Oh, well, never mind," said Wraysford. "Even if you could have fought,
I dare say it wouldn't have done much good, for he's such a sullen
beggar there would have been no making it up afterwards. If I were you
I wouldn't bother any more about it. I'll let all the fellows know he
refused to fight you!"
"What's the use of that?" said Oliver. "Why tell them anything about
it?"
But tell them or not tell them, the fellows knew already. It had oozed
out very soon that a fight was coming off, and instantly the whole
school was in excitement. For, however little some of them cared about
the personal quarrel between Oliver and Loman, a fight between Fifth and
Sixth was too great an event to be passed by unheeded.
The Fifth were delighted. They knew their man could beat Loman any day
of the week, and however much they had once doubted his courage, now it
was known he was the challenger every misgiving on that score was done
away with.
"I tell you," said Ricketts to a small knot of his class-fellows, "he
could finish him up easily in one round."
"Yes," chimed in another knowing one, "Loman's got such a wretched knack
of keeping up his left elbow, that he's not a chance. A child could get
in under his guard, I tell you; and as for wind, he's no more wind than
an old paper bag!"
"I wish myself it was a closer thing, as long as our man won," said Tom
Senior, with a tinge of melancholy in his voice. "It will be such a
miserably hollow affair I'm afraid."
"I'm sorry it's not Wren, or Callonby, or one of them," said another of
these amiable warriors; "there'd be some pleasure in chawing them up."
At this moment up came Pembury, with a very long face.
"It's no fight after all, you fellows," said he. "Loman funks it!"
"What! he won't fight!" almost shrieked the rest. "It must be wrong."
"Oh, all right, if it's wrong," snarled Pembury. "I tell you there's no
fight; you can believe it or not as you like," and off he hobbled, in
unusual ill-humour.
This was a sad blow to the Fifth. They saw no comfort anywhere. They
flocked to Oliver's study, but he was not there, and Wraysford's door
was locked. The news, however, was confirmed by other reporters, and in
great grief and profound melancholy the Fifth swallowed their tea, and
wondered if any set of fellows were so unlucky as they.
But their rage was as nothing to that of the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles.
These amiable young animals had of course sniffed the battle from afar
very early in the evening, and, as usual, rushed into all sorts of
extremes of enthusiasm on the subject. A fight! A fight between Fifth
and Sixth! A fight between Greenfield senior and a monitor! Oh, it was
too good to be true, a perfect luxury; something to be grateful for, and
no mistake!
Of course a meeting was forthwith assembled to gloat over the auspicious
event.
Bramble vehemently expressed his conviction that the Sixth Form man
would eat up his opponent, and went the length of offering to cut off
his own head and Padger's if it turned out otherwise.
Paul and his friends, on the other hand, as vehemently backed the Fifth
fellow.
"When's it to come off, I say?" demanded Bramble.
"To-night, I should say, or first thing in the morning."
"Sure to be to-night. My eye! won't Greenfield senior look black and
blue after it!"
"No, he won't," cried Paul.
"Turn him out!" shouted Bramble. "No one wants you here; do we, Padger?
Get yourself out of the meeting, you sneak!"
"Get yourself out!" retorted Paul.
The usual lively scene ensued, at the end of which the door suddenly
opened, and a boy entered.
"Look sharp," he cried: "it's half over by now. They were--"
But what the end of his sentence was to be, history recordeth not. With
a simultaneous yell the youngsters rushed headlong from the room, down
the passages, out at the door, across the quadrangle, and into the
gymnasium. Alas! it was empty. Only the gaunt parallel bars, and idle
swings, and melancholy vaulting-horse.
With a yelp of anger the pack cried back, and made once more for the
school-house. At the door they met Stephen.
"Where's the fight, young Greenfield?" shouted Bramble.
"Nowhere," replied Stephen.
"What! not coming off?" shrieked the youngsters.
"No," laconically answered Stephen.
"Has your brother funked it again?" demanded Bramble, in his usual
conciliatory way.
"He never funked, you young cad!" retorted the young brother.
"Yes, he did, didn't he, Padger? That time, you know, last term. But I
say, Greenfield junior, why ever's the fight not coming off?"
"Loman won't fight, that's why," said Stephen; and then, having had
quite enough of catechising, turned on his heel and left the indignant
youngsters to continue their rush back to the Fourth Junior, there to
spend an hour or so in denouncing the caddishness of everybody and to
make up by their own conflicts for the shortcomings of others.
Oliver meanwhile had settled down as best he could once more to work,
and tried to forget all about the afternoon's adventures. But for a
long time they haunted him and disturbed him. Gradually, however, he
found himself cooling down under the influence of Greek accents and
Roman history.
"After all," said he to Wraysford, "if the fellow is a coward why need I
bother? Only I should have rather liked to thrash him for what he did
to Stee."
"Never mind--thrash him over the Nightingale instead."
The mention of the Nightingale, however, did not serve to heighten
Oliver's spirits at all.
He turned dejectedly to his books, but soon gave up further study.
"You can go on if you like," said he to Wraysford. "I can't. It's no
use. I think I shall go to bed."
"What! It's not quite nine yet."
"Is that all it is? Never mind; good-night, old man. I'm glad it will
all be over on Monday."
Before Oliver went to bed he had a talk with Stephen in his study. He
succeeded in putting pretty vividly before his young brother the
position in which he had placed himself by going down to the
public-house and associating with a man like Cripps.
"What I advise you is, to make a clean breast of it to the Doctor at
once. If he hears of it any other way, you're done for." Oliver
certainly had an uncompromising way of putting things.
"Oh, Noll, I never could! I know I couldn't. I say, will you? You can
tell him anything you like."
Oliver hesitated a moment, and then said, "All serene; I'll do it.
Mind, I must tell him everything, though."
"Oh, yes! I say, do you think I'll be expelled?"
"I hope not. There's no knowing, though."
"Oh, Noll! what _shall_ I do?"
"It's your only chance, I tell you. If Cripps comes up and talks about
it, or Loman tells, you're sure to be expelled."
"Well," said Stephen, with a gulp, "I suppose you'd better tell him,
Noll. Need I come too?"
"No, better not," said Oliver. "I'll go and see if he's in his study
now. You go up stairs, and I'll come and tell you what he says."
Stephen crawled dismally away, leaving his brother to fulfil his
self-imposed task.
Oliver went straight to the Doctor's study. The door stood half-open,
but the Doctor was not there. He entered, and waited inside a couple of
minutes, expecting that the head master would return; but no one came.
After all, he would have to put off his confession of Stephen's
delinquencies till to-morrow; and, half relieved, half disappointed, he
quitted the room. As he came out he encountered Simon in the passage.
"Hullo, Greenfield!" said that worthy; "what have you been up to in
there?"
"I want the Doctor," said Oliver; "do you know where he is?"
"If saw him go up stairs a minute ago; that is, I mean down stairs, you
know," said the lucid poet.
This information was sufficiently vague to determine Oliver not to
attempt a wild-goose chase after the Doctor that night, so, bidding a
hurried good-night to Simon, he took his way down the passage which led
to Stephen's dormitory.
He had not, however, gone many steps when a boy met him. It was Loman.
There was a momentary struggle in Oliver's breast. Here was the--very
opportunity which an hour or two ago he had so eagerly desired. The
whole picture of that afternoon's adventures came up before his mind,
and he felt his blood tingle as his eyes caught sight of Stephen's
persecutor. Should he pay off the score now?
Loman saw him, and changed colour. He evidently guessed what was
passing through his enemy's mind, for a quick flush came to his face and
an angry scowl to his brow.
Oliver for one moment slackened pace. Then suddenly there came upon him
a vision of Stephen's appealing face as he interceded that afternoon for
the boy who had done him such mischief, and that vision settled the
thing.
Hurriedly resuming his walk, Oliver passed Loman with averted eyes, and
went on his way.
"Well?" said Stephen, in the midst of undressing, as his brother entered
the dormitory.
"He wasn't there. I'll see him in the morning," said Oliver.
"Good-night, Stee."
"Good-night, Noll, old man! I say, you are a brick to me!" and as the
boy spoke there was a tremble in his voice which went straight to his
brother's heart.
"You are a brick to me!" A pretty "brick" he had been, letting the
youngster drift anywhere--into bad company, into bad ways, without
holding out a hand to warn him; and in the end coming to his help only
by accident, and serving him by undertaking a task which would quite
possibly result in his expulsion from the school.
A brick, indeed! Oliver went off to his own bed that night more
dispirited and dissatisfied with himself than he had ever felt before.
And all through his dreams his brother's troubled face looked up at him,
and the trembling voice repeated, again and again, "You are a brick to
me--a brick to me!"