The long Christmas term crawled slowly on unsatisfactorily to everybody.
It was unsatisfactory to Loman, who, after the football match,
discovered that what little popularity or influence he ever had was
finally gone. It was unsatisfactory to Wraysford, who, not knowing
whether to be ashamed of himself or wroth with his old friend, settled
down to be miserable for the rest of the term. It was unsatisfactory to
the Fifth, who felt the luck was against them, and that the cloud
overhead seemed to have stuck there for good. It was unsatisfactory to
Stephen, who raged and fretted twenty times a day on his brother's
behalf, and got no nearer putting him right than when he began. And
undoubtedly it must have been unsatisfactory to Oliver, a banished man,
forgetting almost the use of tongue and ears, and, except his brother,
not being able to reckon on a single friend at Saint Dominic's outside
the glorious community of the Guinea-pigs.
In fact, the only section in the school to whom the term was
satisfactory, was these last-named young gentlemen and their sworn foes,
the Tadpoles.
Now, at last, they had a clear issue before them--Greenfield senior, was
he a hero or was he a blackguard? There was no mistaking sides there.
There was no unpleasant possibility of having to make common cause and
proclaim an armistice. No! on the question of Greenfield senior,
Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles had something to fight about from morning till
night, and therefore _they_, at any rate, were happy!
"Jellicott," said Dr Senior one day, as the masters met for five
minutes' talk in the head master's study, "Greenfield in the Fifth is
not well, I'm afraid. I never see him out in the playground."
"Really?" said Mr Jellicott. "I'm so rarely out there that I haven't
noticed. I believe, however, he is quite well."
"I hope he is not overworking," said the Doctor. "He has done so very
well this term that it would be a pity if he spoiled his chance by
knocking himself up."
"Greenfield senior," put in Mr Rastle, "appears to be unpopular just at
present; at least, so I gather from what I have heard. I don't know
what crime he has committed, but the tribunal of his class have been
very severe on him, I fancy."
The Doctor laughed.
"Boys will be boys! Well, it's a relief if that's the solution of the
mystery, for I was afraid he was ill. We have no right to interfere
with these boyish freaks, as long as they are not mischievous. But you
might keep your eye on the little comedy, Jellicott. It would be a pity
for it to go too far."
Mr Jellicott did keep his eye on the little comedy, and came to the
conclusion that, whatever Greenfield had done, he was being pretty
severely paid out. He reported as much to the Doctor, who, however,
still deprecated interference.
"We might only make things worse," said he, "by meddling. Things like
this always right themselves far better than an outsider can right them.
Besides, as Greenfield will get his move up after Christmas, he will be
less dependent on the good graces of his present class-fellows."
And so the matter ended for the present, as far as the masters were
concerned. The reader will, perhaps, feel very indignant, and declare
the Doctor was neglecting his duty in treating so serious a matter so
lightly. He ought (some one says) to have investigated the whole affair
from beginning to end, and made sure what was the reason of the Fifth's
displeasure and of Oliver's disgrace. In fact, when one comes to think
of it, it is a marvel how the Doctor had not long ago guessed who took
the lost examination paper, and treated the criminal accordingly.
Christmas prize-day was always a great event at Saint Dominic's. For,
as all the examinations had been held at the beginning of the term, all
the rewards were naturally distributed at the end of it.
Fellows who were leaving made on these occasions their last appearance
before their old companions. Fellows who had earned their removes
figured now for the last time as members of their old classes; and
fellows who had distinguished themselves during the last year generally
were patted on the back by the masters and cheered by their
schoolfellows, and made much of by their sisters, and cousins, and
aunts.
For ladies turned up at the Christmas prize-day at Saint Dominic's;
ladies, and big brothers, and old boys, and the school governors, with
the noble Earl at their head to give away the prizes. It was a great
occasion. The school was decorated with flags and evergreens; Sunday
togs were the order of the day; the Doctor wore his scarlet hood, and
the masters their best gowns. The lecture-theatre was quite gay with
red-baize carpet and unwonted cushions, and the pyramid of
gorgeously-bound books awaiting the hour of distribution on the centre
table.
Prize-day, too, was the object of all sorts of preparations long before
the eventful date came round. Ten days at least before it arrived the
Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles were wont secretly to buy pumice-stone for
their finger ends, and used one by one to disappear casually into Maltby
and come back with their hair cut. Then the Fourth Senior, who were for
ever getting up testimonials to their master (they gave him a
testimonial on an average twice every term), were very busy collecting
contributions and discussing whether Mr Brand would prefer an ormolu
mustard-pot, or a steel watch-chain, or an antimacassar. The musical
set at the school, too, were busy rehearsing part songs for the
evening's festivities, and the dramatic set were terribly immersed for a
fortnight beforehand in the preparations for a grand charade.
Altogether the end of the Christmas term at Saint Dominic's was a busy
time, and the present year was certainly no exception to the rule.
Greatly to the relief of Stephen and Oliver, Mrs Greenfield found
herself unable at the last moment to come down and take part in the
proceedings of the eventful day. As long as the boys had expected her
to come they had looked forward to prize-day with something like horror,
but now that that danger was passed, Oliver recovered his old unconcern,
and Stephen relapsed once more into his attitude of terror-in-chief to
his big brother, snapping and snarling at any one who dared so much as
to mention the name of Greenfield senior in his hearing.
Well, the day came at last, fully as grand an occasion as any one
expected. The noble Earl turned up half an hour early, and spent the
interval in patting the greasy heads of all the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles
he came across. The mothers and sisters swarmed up and down the
staircases and in and out the studies, escorted proudly by their dear
Johnnys and precious Bobs. The red robes of the Doctor flashed down the
corridor, and in the lecture-theatre there was such a rustling of silk
gowns and waving of feather bonnets, and gleaming of white collars and
sparkling patent-leather boots, as must have fairly astonished that
sombre place. Every one was there--every fellow nearly had got a mother
or somebody to show off to. Even Bramble turned up with a magnificent
grandmother, greatly to the envy of friend and foe, and would have been
the proudest Tadpole alive if the dear good old lady had not insisted on
taking her descendant's _hand_ instead of his arm, and trotting him
about instead of letting him trot her. Oliver and Stephen alone had no
kith and kin to see them on this proud day.
In due time the lecture-theatre filled up, crowded from floor to
ceiling. The noble Earl walked in amid terrific cheers and took his
seat. The Doctor walked in after him, amid cheers almost as terrific,
and after him the ordinary procession of governors, masters, and
examiners; and when they were all seated prize-day had begun.
For up steps Mr Raleigh, the captain of the school, on to the raised
dais, whence, after bowing profoundly to the noble Earl and everybody,
he delivers a neat speech in honour of a good old soul who lived three
or four centuries ago, and left behind him the parcel of ground on which
Saint Dominic's now stands, and a hatful of money besides, to found the
school. Raleigh having said his say (and how proud the smallest boys
are of the captain's whiskers as they listen!), up steps Wren and
commences a similar harangue in Greek. The small boys, of course, cheer
this even more than the English. Then up gets Mr Winter and spins off
a Latin speech, but this does not go down so well, for the juniors know
a _little_ Latin, and so are a good deal more critical over that than
over the Greek. The French and German speeches however, restore them to
good humour, and then the speeches are done.
Then comes the noble Earl. He is an old, old man, and his voice is weak
and wavering, and scarcely any one hears a word he says. Yet how they
cheer him, those youngsters! They watch the back of his head, and when
it bobs then they know the end of a sentence has come, and they let out
accordingly.
"My dearie," says Bramble's grandmother, "don't stamp so. The poor old
gentleman can't hear his own voice."
"That's no matter," says "my dearie," pounding away with his feet. "If
we keep it up the old boy may give us an extra week's holiday."
The old lady subsided at this, in a resigned way; and certainly when the
good old nobleman did reach his final bob, his merry, jovial face looked
particularly promising for the extra week. And now the Doctor advances
to the table with the prize list in his hand. The prize boys are
marshalled in the background, in the order in which their names appear,
and Bramble tries hard to look as if nothing but his duty to his
grandmother would have kept him from forming one of that favoured band
himself.
The prize list is arranged backwards way; that is, the small boys come
on first and the great events last.
It is a treat to see the little mites of the First, Second, and Third
Junior trot up to get their prizes. They look so pleased, and they
blush so, and look so wistfully up to where their relatives are sitting,
that it is quite pathetic, and the good old Earl has a vigorous wipe of
his spectacles before he calls up the Fourth Junior.
"General proficiency," reads the Doctor from his list--"Watson." No one
knows Watson; he is quite an obscure member of the glorious community,
and so he trots in and out again without much excitement. In fact, all
the best prizes of the Form go without much applause, but when the
Doctor summons "Paul" to advance and receive "the second arithmetic
prize," there rises a shout enough to bring down the house.
"Bravo, Guinea-pigs!" shouts one small voice up somewhere near the
ceiling, whereat there is a mighty laugh and cheer, and Bramble turns
crimson in the face, and tells his grandmother gloomily, "That fellow
Paul is a beast!"
But the youth's face brightens when the next name is called: "Third
arithmetic--Padger."
Then doth Bramble the Tadpole stand in his seat and cheer till he is
hoarse, and till his grandmother pulleth him by the tail of his jacket.
The hero Padger, perspiring very much in the face, but otherwise
composed, takes the homage of his chief and the third arithmetic prize
with becoming humility, and clears off the arena as fast as he
conveniently can.
Surely the Fourth Junior have come to an end now! No! there is one more
prize.
"First Latin--Greenfield junior."
This time there was a louder cheer than ever, for Stephen is a popular
boy outside his own class. Oliver joins in the cheer, and Pembury and
Wraysford and one or two others, and of course the Guinea-pigs, go in a
lump for him. It is quite a minute before the noble Earl can get hold
of the words of presentation; and when at last Stephen is dispatched,
the Doctor turns round and says, "If you boys will make a _little_ less
noise I dare say we shall get through the list quite as satisfactorily,
and possibly a little more quickly."
"Hear, hear!" says one of the governors, and nod, nod goes the noble
Earl's head.
The consequence of this is that the prizes to the First, Second, Third,
and Fourth Senior are presented amid something very much like silence,
which, however, grows less and less solemn as the proceedings go on.
The last Fourth Senior boy to be called is the hero Forrester, who is
now fully constituted a member of the first football fifteen. He gets a
vehement cheer at all costs, mingled with shouts of "Well kicked, sir!"
"Hack it through!" and the like, which clearly show that the sympathy of
Saint Dominic's is quite as much with the exploits accomplished by the
young hero's feet as by those of his head.
Now for the Fifth! If the Doctor expects the company is to remain
solemn during the next quarter of an hour he knows nothing at all about
the school over which he presides.
"Fifth Form--(cheers)--French--(cheers)--Pembury--(terrific applause,
during which Tony walks in demurely on his crutches and receives his
well-merited award). English history--(applause)--Pembury."
Once more enter Tony on his crutches to receive another prize.
"Bravo, Tony!"
"Hurrah for the _Dominican_!"
"Well done, Editor!" rise from various parts of the hall, in the midst
of which Pembury retires positively for the last time.
"First Greek prize--Wraysford."
Wraysford advances gravely and slowly. The instant he appears there
arises a cheer--the mightiest of any yet. Everybody cheers, and when
they have done cheering they stamp, and when they have done stamping
they clap. Wraysford stands disconcerted and flushed with the
demonstration, at a loss whether to smile or frown. He knows the
meaning of that cheer as well as anybody, and it grates on his ear
unpleasantly as he listens. What ages it seems before it is done, and
the noble Earl at last holds out the book and says, "I have great
pleasure, Wraysford, in handing you this prize. Your schoolfellows are
all proud of you; I feel sure you deserve their good opinion. I wish
you success, Wraysford;" and so saying, the good old gentleman bobs
affably, and Wraysford, amid another tempest of applause, bows too, and
takes off his prize.
"The next name," says the Doctor, referring to his list, "is that of the
winner of the Nightingale Scholarship--(sensation)--and I may tell your
lordship that the boy is, in the opinion of his examiners and myself,
one of the most promising boys for his age that Saint Dominic's has
known. The examiners report that his answers to the questions on the
paper deserve the greatest credit. I will say only this before his
face: Nightingale Scholarship--Greenfield senior."
A solemn silence marks the close of the Doctor's speech, in the midst of
which Oliver, with pale face, but otherwise unmoved, advances to where
the noble Earl stands. A few of the strangers greet his appearance with
a clapping of hands, but the sound falls strangely on the silence all
round.
The noble Earl, who is evidently ready with a neat little speech which
shall sum the applause that never comes, is disconcerted at this
unwonted stillness. You might hear a pin fall as the old gentleman, in
dumb show, places the certificate into the boy's hand and tries to get
at the words which the silence has scared away.
Oliver waits no longer than he can help. With a bow, he takes the
parchment and turns to quit the scene.
It is at this moment, that somewhere or other in the hall, there rises a
faint, almost whispered, hiss. Slight as it is, it falls with startling
effect upon the dead silence which reigns. Then, like the first whisper
of a storm, it suddenly grows and swells and rushes, angrily and
witheringly, about the head of the wretched Oliver. Then as suddenly it
dies away into silence, and the presentation of the Nightingale
Scholarship is at an end.
The visitors, the committee, the ladies, the noble Earl, look about them
in blank astonishment and misery. The Doctor's face flushes up mightily
as he glares for one instant around him, and then drops his head over
the prize list.
The only thing there is for him to do he does. He calls on the next
name as composedly as he can, and proceeds with the business of the day.
But the magic has suddenly gone out of prize-day, and no coaxing can
bring it back. The Fifth, and after them the Sixth, advance and receive
their rewards amidst the listless indifference of the audience, and
uncheered by the faintest spark of enthusiasm. No one takes the trouble
to cheer anybody. Even Raleigh, the captain, comes in and out almost
unheeded; and when at last the final name is reached, it is a relief to
every one.
The rest of the day drags heavily--it is no use trying to get up the
steam. The visitors are out of humour, and the noble Earl leaves early.
The musical feast provided by the glee club is a failure altogether. A
few only come to it, and nothing interferes with music like a poor
audience.
As to the charade, it is abandoned at the last moment.
Then a great many mothers and aunts make the discovery that there is an
evening train from Maltby; and having made it, act upon it; and the tide
of emigration sets out forthwith.
Among the first to depart is Wraysford.
As he appears at the school door, trunk in hand, waiting for the school
omnibus (which vehicle, by the way, is having a busy time of it),
Pembury hobbles up, similarly equipped for the road.
"You off by this train?" says the latter to Wraysford.
"Yes; are you?"
"I may as well. I can get home by nine; and my people won't be in a
great rage if I turn up earlier than they expect."
"Well, we may as well get a fly as wait for the wretched omnibus," says
Wraysford. "Come along; there are flies at the corner of Hall Street."
Out walked the two, saying good-bye to one or two on the road. At the
drive gate two boys are standing waiting for the omnibus. Wraysford and
Pembury are upon them before they observe that these are Oliver and his
brother.
What is to be done? There is no escaping them--they must pass; yet both
of them, somehow, would at that moment--they couldn't tell why--have
dropped into the earth.
Oliver looks up as they approach.
Now or never! Wraysford feels he must say something!
"Good-bye, Greenfield," he says. "I hope--"
Oliver quietly takes Stephen's arm and turns on his heel.
Wraysford stares after him for a moment, and then slowly goes on his
way, breathing hard.
"I wonder," said Pembury, after a long silence--"I wonder, Wray, if it's
possible we are wrong about that fellow?"
Wraysford says nothing.
"He doesn't act like a guilty person. Just fancy, Wray,"--and here Tony
pulls up short, in a state of perturbation--"just fancy if you and I and
the rest have been making fools of ourselves all the term!"
Ah! my Fifth Form heroes, just fancy!