An earthquake could hardly have produced a greater shock than Oliver's
strange conduct produced on the Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's. For a
moment or two they remained almost stupefied with astonishment, and then
rose a sudden clamour of tongues on every hand.
"What can he mean?" exclaimed one.
"Mean! It's easy enough to see what he means," said another, "the
hypocrite!"
"I should never have thought Greenfield senior went in for that sort of
thing!"
"Went in for what sort of thing?" cried Wraysford, with pale face and in
a perfect tremble.
"Why--cheating!" replied the other.
"You're a liar to say so!" shouted Wraysford, walking rapidly up to the
speaker.
The other boys, however, intervened, and held the indignant Wraysford
back.
"I tell you you're a liar to say so!" again he exclaimed. "He's not a
cheat, I tell you; he never cheated. You're a pack of liars, all of
you!"
"I say, draw it mild, Wray, you know," interposed Pembury. "You needn't
include me in your compliments."
Wraysford glared at him a moment and then coloured slightly.
"_You_ don't call Oliver a cheat?" he said, inquiringly.
"I shouldn't till I was cock-sure of the fact," replied the cautious
editor of the _Dominican_.
"Do you mean to say you aren't sure?" said Wraysford.
Pembury vouchsafed no answer, but whistled to himself.
"All I can say is," said Bullinger, who was one of Wraysford's chums,
"it looks uncommonly ugly, if what Simon says is true."
"I don't believe a word that ass says."
"Oh, but," began Simon, with a most aggravating cheerfulness, "I assure
you I'm not telling a lie, Wraysford. I'm sorry I said anything about
it. I never thought there would be a row about it. I promise I'll not
mention it to anybody."
"You blockhead! who cares for your promises? I don't believe you."
"Well, I know I met Greenfield senior coming out of the Doctor's study
on Saturday evening, about five minutes past nine. I'm positive of
that," said Simon.
"And I suppose he had the paper in his hand?" sneered Wraysford, looking
very miserable.
"No; I expect he'd put it in his pocket, you know, at least, that is, I
would have."
This candid admission on the part of the ingenious poet was too much for
the gravity of one or two of the Fifth. Wraysford, however, was in no
laughing mood, and went off to his study in great perturbation.
He could not for a moment believe that his friend could be guilty of
such a dishonourable act as stealing an examination paper, and his
impulse was to go at once to Oliver's study and get the suspicions of
the Fifth laid there and then. But the fear of seeming in the least
degree to join in those suspicions kept him back. He tried to laugh the
thing to scorn inwardly, and called himself a villain and a traitor
twenty times for admitting even the shadow of a doubt into his own mind.
Yet, as Wraysford sat that afternoon and brooded over his friend's new
trouble, he became more and more uncomfortable.
When on a former occasion the fellows had called in question Oliver's
courage, he had felt so sure, so very sure the suspicion was a
groundless one, that he had never taken it seriously to heart. But
somehow this affair was quite different. What possible object would
Simon, for instance, have for telling a deliberate lie? and if it had
been a lie, why should Oliver have betrayed such confusion on hearing
it?
These were questions which, try all he would, Wraysford could not get
out of his mind.
When Stephen presently came in, cheery as ever, and eager to hear how
the examination had gone off, the elder boy felt an awkwardness in
talking to him which he had never experienced before. As for Stephen,
he put down the short, embarrassed answers he received to Wraysford's
own uneasiness as to the result of the examination. Little guessed the
boy what was passing in the other's mind!
There was just one hope Wraysford clung to. That was that Oliver should
come out anywhere but first in the result. If Loman, or Wraysford
himself, were to win, no one would be able to say his friend had
profited by a dishonourable act; indeed, it would be as good as proof he
had not taken the paper.
And yet Wraysford felt quite sick as he called to mind the unflagging
manner in which Oliver had worked at his paper that morning, covering
sheet upon sheet with his answers, and scarcely drawing in until time
was up. It didn't look like losing, this.
He threw himself back in his chair in sheer misery. "I would sooner
have done the thing myself," groaned he to himself, "than Oliver." Then
suddenly he added, "But it's not true! I'm certain of it! He couldn't
do it! I'll never believe it of him!"
Poor Wraysford! It was easier to say the generous words than feel them.
Pembury looked in presently with a face far more serious and overcast
than he usually wore.
"I say, Wray," said he, in troubled tones, "I'm regularly floored by all
this. Do you believe it?"
"No, I don't," replied Wraysford, but so sadly and hesitatingly that had
he at once confessed he did, he could not have expressed his meaning
more plainly.
"I'd give anything to be sure it was all false," said Pembury, "and so
would a lot of the fellows. As for that fool Simon--"
"Bah!" exclaimed Wraysford, fiercely, "the fellow ought to be kicked
round the school."
"He's getting on that way already, I fancy," said Pembury. "I was
saying I'd think nothing at all about it if what he says was the only
thing to go by, but--well, you saw what a state Greenfield got into
about it?"
"Maybe he was just in a sudden rage with the fellow for thinking of such
a thing," said Wraysford.
"It looked like something more than rage," said Pembury, dismally,
"something a good deal more."
Wraysford said nothing, but fidgeted in his chair. A long silence
followed, each busy with his own thoughts and both yearning for any sign
of hope. "I don't see what good it could have done him if he did take
the paper. He'd have no time to cram it up yesterday. He was out with
you, wasn't he, all the afternoon?"
"No," said Wraysford, not looking up, "he had a headache and stayed in."
Pembury gave a low whistle of dismay.
"I say, Wray," said he, presently, "it really does look bad, don't you
think so yourself?"
"I don't know what to think," said Wraysford, with a groan; "I'm quite
bewildered."
"It's no use pretending not to see what's as plain as daylight," said
Pembury, as he turned and hobbled away.
The Fifth meanwhile had been holding a sort of court-martial on the
affair.
Simon was made to repeat his story once more, and stuck to it too, in
spite of all the browbeating he got.
"What makes you so sure of the exact time?" asked one of his
inquisitors.
"Oh, because, you know, I wanted to get off a letter by the post, and
thought I was in time till I saw the clock opposite the Doctor's study
said five minutes past."
"Did Greenfield say anything to you when he saw you?" some one else
asked.
"Oh, yes, he asked me if I knew where the Doctor was."
"Did you tell him?"
"Oh, yes, I said he'd gone down to the hall or somewhere."
"And did Greenfield go after him?"
"Oh, no, you know, he went off the other way as quick as he could," said
Simon, in a voice as though he would say, "How can you ask such an
absurd question?"
"Did you ask him what he wanted in the study?"
"Oh, yes; but of course he didn't tell me--not likely. But I say, I
suppose we're sure to win the Nightingale now, aren't we? Mind, I'm not
going to tell anybody, because, of course, it's a secret."
"Shut up, you miserable blockhead, unless you want to be kicked!"
shouted Bullinger. "No one wants to know what you're going to do.
You've done mischief enough already."
"Oh, well, I didn't mean, you know," said the poet; "all I said was I
met him coming--"
"Shut up, do you hear? or you'll catch it!" once more exclaimed
Bullinger.
The wretched Simon gave up further attempts to explain himself. Still
what he had said, in his blundering way, had been quite enough.
The thing was beyond a doubt; and as the Fifth sat there in judgment, a
sense of shame and humiliation came over them, to which many of them
were unused.
"I know this," said Ricketts, giving utterance to what was passing in
the minds of nearly all his class-fellows, "I'd sooner have lost the
scholarship twenty times over than win it like this."
"Precious fine glory it will be if we do get it!" said Braddy.
"Unless Wray wins," suggested Ricketts.
"No such luck as that, I'm afraid," said Bullinger. "That's just the
worst of it. He's not only disgraced us, but he's swindled his best
friend. It's a blackguard shame!" added he, fiercely.
"At any rate, Loman is out of it, from what I hear; he got regularly
stuck in the exam."
"I tell you," said Ricketts, "I'd sooner have had Loman take the
scholarship and our two men nowhere at all, than this."
There was nothing more than this to be said, assuredly, to prove the
disgust of the Fifth at the conduct of their class-fellow.
"I suppose Greenfield will have the grace to confess it, now it's all
come out," said Ricketts.
"If he doesn't I fancy we can promise him a pretty hot time of it among
us," said Braddy.
One or two laughed at this, but to most of those present the matter was
past a joke.
For it must be said of the Dominicans--and I think it may be said of a
good many English public schoolboys besides--that, however foolish they
may have been in other respects, however riotous, however jealous of one
another, however well satisfied with themselves, a point of honour was a
point which they all took seriously to heart. They could forgive a
schoolfellow for doing a disobedient act sometimes, or perhaps even a
vicious act, but a cowardly or dishonourable action was a thing which
nothing would excuse, and which they felt not only a disgrace to the boy
perpetrating it, but a disgrace put upon themselves.
Had Oliver been the most popular boy in the school it would have been
all the same. As it was, he was a long way from being the most popular.
He never took any pains to win the good opinion of his fellows. When,
by means of some achievement in which he excelled, he had contrived (as
in the case of the cricket match last term) to bring glory on his school
and to make himself a hero in the eyes of Saint Dominic's, he had been
wont to take the applause bestowed on him with the utmost indifference,
which some might even construe into contempt. And in precisely the same
spirit would he take the displeasure which he now and then managed to
incur.
Boys don't like this. It irritates them to see their praise or blame
made little of; and for this reason, if for no other, Oliver would
hardly have been a favourite.
But there was another reason. Now that the Fifth found their faith in
Greenfield senior rudely dashed to the ground, they were not slow to
recall the unpleasant incidents of last term, when, by refusing to
thrash Loman, he had discredited the whole Form, and laid himself under
the suspicion of cowardice.
Most of the fellows had at the time of the Nightingale examination
either forgotten, or forgiven, or repented of their suspicions, and,
indeed, by his challenge to Loman the previous Saturday Oliver had been
considered quite to have redeemed his reputation in this respect. But
now it all came up again. A fellow who could do a cowardly deed at one
time could do a mean one at another. If one was natural to his
character, so was the other, and in fact one explained the other. He
was mean when he showed himself a coward last term. He was a coward
when he did a mean act this term.
What wonder, in these circumstances, if the Fifth felt sore, very sore
indeed, on the subject of Oliver Greenfield?
To every one's relief, he did not put in an appearance again that day.
He kept his study, and Paul brought down word at prayer time that he had
a headache and had gone to bed.
At this the Fifth smiled grimly and said nothing.
Next morning, however, Oliver turned up as usual in his place. He
looked pale, but otherwise unconcerned, and those who looked-for traces
of shame and self-abasement in his face were sorely disappointed.
He surely must have known or guessed the resolution the Fifth had come
to with regard to him; but from his unabashed manner he was evidently
determined not to take it for granted till the hint should be given
pretty clearly.
On Ricketts, whose desk was next to that of Oliver, fell the task of
first giving this hint.
"How did you get on yesterday in the English Literature?" asked Oliver.
Ricketts' only answer was to turn his back and begin to talk to his
other neighbour.
Those who were watching this incident noticed a sudden flush on Oliver's
cheek as he stared for an instant at his late friend. Then with an
effort he seemed to recover himself.
He did not, however, attempt any further conversation either with
Ricketts or his other neighbour, Braddy, who in a most marked manner had
moved as far as possible away from him. On the contrary, he coolly
availed himself of the extra room on the desk and busied himself
silently with the lessons for the day.
But he now and then looked furtively up in the direction of Wraysford,
who was seated at an opposite desk. The eyes of the two friends met now
and then, and when they did each seemed greatly embarrassed. For
Wraysford, after a night's heart-searching, had come to the
determination not, after all, to cut his friend; and yet he found it
impossible to feel and behave towards him as formerly. He tried very
hard indeed not to appear constrained, but the more he tried the more
embarrassed he felt. After class he purposely walked across the room to
meet his old chum.
"How are you?" he said, in a forced tone and manner utterly unlike his
old self.
It was a ridiculous and feeble remark to make, and it would have been
far better had he said nothing. Oliver stared at him for a moment in a
perplexed way, and then, without answering the question, walked
somewhere else.
Wraysford was quite conscious of his own mistake; still it hurt him
sorely that his well-meant effort, which had cost him so much, should be
thus summarily thrust aside without a word. For the first time in his
life he felt a sense of resentment against his old friend, the beginning
of a gap which was destined to become wider as time went on.
The only person in the room who did meet Oliver on natural ground was
the poetic Simon. To him Oliver walked up and said, quietly, "I beg
your pardon for hitting you yesterday."
"Oh," said Simon, with a giggle. "Oh, it's all right, Greenfield, you
know; I never meant to let it out. It'll soon get hushed up; I don't
intend to let it go a bit farther."
The poet was too much carried away by the enthusiasm of his own
magnanimity to observe that he was in imminent risk, during the delivery
of this speech, of another blow a good deal more startling than that of
yesterday. When he concluded, he found Oliver had left him to himself
and hurriedly quitted the room.