The Fifth were a good while coming round on the question of Greenfield
senior. But the delay was more on account of pride than because they
still considered their old class-fellow a knave. They had taken up such
a grand position last term, and talked so magnificently about honour,
and morality, and the credit of the school, that it was a sad come-down
now to have to admit they had all been wrong, and still more that they
had all been fools. And yet, after what had happened, they could no
longer retain their suspicions of Oliver Greenfield.
A few of the better sort, like Pembury and Bullinger, had the courage,
at whatever cost, to act up to their convictions, and declared at once
that they had been wrong, and were ashamed of it.
The next step was to approach Oliver, and that was more difficult, for
he was such a queer fellow there was no knowing where to have him.
However, Pembury's wit helped him over the difficulty as usual.
He was hobbling down the passage one morning when he suddenly
encountered Oliver and Wraysford, arm-in-arm, approaching him. If at
any time in his life Pembury did feel uncomfortable and awkward he felt
it now. If he let Oliver go by this time without making it up somehow,
the chance might never come again; but how to set about it, that was the
difficulty, and every half-second brought the two nearer. Twenty
different ideas flashed through his mind. He was not the sort of fellow
to go to any one and eat humble-pie straight off. That was far too tame
a proceeding. No, there was only one way he could think of, and he
would chance that.
"Noll, old man," said he, in the old familiar tones, "you've got a spare
arm. May I take it?"
Oliver stopped short and looked at him for an instant in astonishment.
Next moment, with a hearty "Rather!" he slipped his arm into that of the
happy Pembury, and the three went on their way rejoicing, a sight and a
moral for all Saint Dominic's.
That was the whole of Anthony Pembury's making up. As for Bullinger, he
wrote his man a letter, worded in beautiful English, in the most elegant
handwriting and punctuated to a nicety, setting forth his contrition,
and his hope that Greenfield would henceforth reckon him among his
friends--"Yours very sincerely, H. Bullinger." This literary effort he
carefully dispatched by a Guinea-pig to its destination, and awaited a
reply with the utmost impatience. The reply was laconic, but highly
satisfactory. It was a verbal one, given by Oliver himself in class
that afternoon, who volunteered the information to the delighted
Bullinger that it was a "jolly day."
It was indeed a jolly day to that contrite youth. He never believed it
would all be got over so easily. He had dreaded all sorts of scenes and
lectures and humiliations, but here he was, by a single word, passed
back straight into friendship, and no questions asked.
The sight of Oliver surrounded by these three friends, of whom it would
have been hard to say which was the happiest, made a deep impression on
the rest of the Fifth, and certainly did not tend to make them feel more
comfortable as to what they ought to do in a similar direction.
"It's all very well," said Ricketts, when the question was being
canvassed for the hundredth time among his immediate friends. "I dare
say they are all right, but it makes it jolly uncomfortable for us."
"They oughtn't to have given in in this way without letting the rest of
us know first," said Braddy. "Just see what a corner it puts us in."
"All I can say is," said Tom Senior, "I'll be better satisfied when I
know who _did_ collar that paper if Greenfield didn't."
"Oh, but," said Simon, seeing a chance, "I can assure you I saw him when
he took it. I was going--"
"Shut up, you great booby!" cried Ricketts; "who asked _you_ anything
about it?"
Simon modestly retired hereupon, and Braddy took up the talk.
"Yes, who did take the paper? that's it. Greenfield must have done it.
Why, he as good as admitted it last term."
"Well, then, it's very queer those fellows making up to him," said
Ricketts. "It's no use our trying to send the fellow to Coventry when
the others don't back us up."
"Wraysford always was daft about Greenfield," said Tom Senior, "but I am
astonished at Pembury and Bullinger."
"All I can say is," said Braddy, "Greenfield will have to ask me before
I have anything to do with him."
"And do you know," said Ricketts, "I heard to-day he is down to play in
the match against the County."
"Is he?" exclaimed Braddy in excitement; "very well, then. _I_ shall
not play if he does. That's all about that."
Ricketts laughed.
"Awfully sorry, old man, but you're not in the fifteen this time."
Braddy's face was a picture at this moment--he turned red and blue and
white in his astonishment.
"What!" he exclaimed, as soon as he could find words. "I'm not in the
team!"
"You'll see the list on the notice board; you'd better go and look."
Off went the wretched Braddy to be convinced of his fate.
"You're in the team, Ricketts, I see," said Tom Senior. "Shall _you_
play if Greenfield does?"
"Don't know," said Ricketts. "A fellow doesn't get a chance to play
against the County every day. It's precious awkward."
"So it is; that's just where we began, too," said Tom, philosophically.
And, as a matter of fact, whenever these young gentlemen of the Fifth
started the subject of Greenfield senior among themselves, they always
found themselves in the end at the identical place from which they had
set out.
Nor were they the only boys at Saint Dominic's in this dilemma. The
Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles were equally taken aback by the new aspect of
affairs. These young gentlemen had looked upon Oliver's "row" with his
class as a peculiar mercy designed specially for their benefit. They
had hardly known such a happy time as that during which the row had
lasted. Did they want a pretext for a battle? Greenfield senior was a
glorious bone of contention. Did they want an object for an indignation
meeting? What better object could they have than Greenfield senior?
Did they want an excuse generally for laziness, disobedience, and
tumult? Greenfield senior served for this too. Indeed, the name of the
Fifth Form Martyr had passed into a household word among the lower
school, either of glory or reproach, and round it the small fry rallied,
as round an old flag of battle.
But now, both friend and foe were aghast. To the Guinea-pigs half the
charm of their position had been that they were Greenfield senior's sole
champions in all Saint Dominic's. While every one else avoided him,
they stuck to him, week-days and Sundays. Now, however, they
discovered, with something like consternation, that they no longer had
the field to themselves.
The sight of Greenfield senior walking down the passage one day,
arm-in-arm with Wraysford, and the next day with one arm in Wraysford's
and the other in Pembury's, and the day after between Pembury and
Bullinger, with Wraysford and Stephen in the rear, struck bewilderment
and bitter jealousy to their hearts.
They had come out into the passage to cheer, but they went away silently
and sadly, feeling that their very occupation was departed.
Bramble, always quick to see a chance, took advantage as usual of this
panic.
"Hullo, I say, Guinea-pigs, you can shut up shop now, you know. We're
going to let off Greenfield senior this time, ain't we, Padger? Jolly
fellow, Greenfield senior."
This was abominable! To have their hero and idol thus calmly taken out
of their hands and appropriated by a set of sneaking Tadpoles was more
than human patience could endure!
"Bah! A lot he'll care for _your_ letting him off!" exclaimed Paul, in
dire contempt. "He wouldn't touch you with a shovel."
"Oh, yes, he would, though, wouldn't he, Padger? And what do you think,
Guinea-pigs? _we're going to get Greenfield senior to take the chair at
one of our meetings_!"
Bramble came out with the last triumphant announcement with a positive
shout, which made the hearts of his adversaries turn cold. In vain they
laughed the idea to scorn; in vain they argued that if for the last six
months he had never said a word even to the Guinea-pigs, he would hardly
now come and take up with the Tadpoles. Bramble and Padger insisted on
their story.
"Now, you fellows," concluded Bramble, at the end of another oration;
"those who say three cheers for Greenfield senior hold up--"
The infuriated Paul here hurled the cap of a brother Guinea-pig, who was
standing near him, full at the face of the speaker, who thereupon,
altering the current of his observations, descended from his form and
"went for" his opponent.
From that day a keener war raged round the head of Greenfield senior
than ever. Not of attack and defence of his character, but of rivalry
as to whom should be accounted his foremost champions.
It was at this critical period in the history of Saint Dominic's that a
new number of the _Dominican_ came out. Pembury had been compelled to
write it nearly all himself, for, in the present state of divided
feeling in the Fifth, he found it harder than ever to get contributions.
Even those of his own way of thinking, Oliver, Wraysford, and Bullinger,
begged to be let off, and, indeed, the two former ingeniously pleaded
that, as they were now really Sixth Form fellows (though remaining in
their old class till the Doctor came home), they had no right to have a
hand in the Fifth Form magazine. And their conscientious scruples on
this ground were so strong that no persuasions of Anthony's could shake
them. So the unlucky editor had finally, as on a previous occasion, to
retire into private life for a season, and get the whole thing out
himself, with only the aid of a few inches of "Sonits" from Simon.
But "what man has done man can do," and this time the editor's efforts
were crowned with no less success than on the former occasion.
The _Dominican_ certainly did not seem to have lost its novelty, to
judge by the crowd which once more assembled outside the classic portals
of the Fifth, to peruse the contents of the now familiar big oak frame.
"School News" was the first item of Tony's bill of fare.
After announcing in appropriate terms the Doctor's illness, and
"universal hope of seeing him back in all his former vigour" (one or two
boys whistled low as they read this, and thought the editor might at
least have been content to "speak for himself"), Anthony went on to
announce the various school events which had happened since the
publication of the last number. Christmas prize-day of course came in
for a good share of the description, and contained a touch-off for
everybody.
"The Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles," said the _Dominican_, "looked quite
unearthly in their cleanliness. It was commonly reported that one or
two of them had washed their faces twice in one week. But this is
hardly credible. It is, however, a fact that Bramble was shut up in his
study for half an hour with his grandmother and a basin of hot water,
and that the conclusion come to from the yells and shrieks which
proceeded from the torture-chamber that evening, and the appearance of
the dear child next day, is that he undoubtedly underwent one scrubbing
this term."
Bramble's face turned so purple at the reading of this that it was
impossible to say whether or not any traces of the scouring still
remained. He favoured Paul, who stood in front of him, with a furious
kick, which that young gentleman, always punctual in his obligations,
promptly repaid, and the two combatants somehow managed to miss a good
deal of what immediately followed.
After describing the other incidents of prize-day, the _Dominican_ went
on as follows:
"But the event of the day was the presentation of the Nightingale
Scholarship, which will be sufficiently fresh in our readers' memories
to need no comment here, save this one word--that the only Dominican who
behaved himself like a gentleman during that remarkable scene was the
winner of the scholarship himself!"
This was coming round with a vengeance! The Fifth had half expected it,
and now they felt more uncomfortable than ever.
Nor did the succeeding paragraphs leave them much chance of recovery.
"The Waterston Exhibition, our readers will be glad to hear, has been
won--and won brilliantly--by Oliver Greenfield, now of the Sixth. No
fellow in Saint Dominic's deserves the honour better."
Then, as if his penitence were not yet complete, Pembury went on boldly
farther on:
"Speaking of Greenfield senior, it is time some of us who have been
doing him injustice for a whole term did what little we could to make
amends now. So here goes. Take notice, all of you, that we, the
undersigned, are heartily ashamed of our conduct to Greenfield senior,
and desire all Saint Dominic's to know it. Signed, A. Pembury, H.
Wraysford, T. Bullinger."
The effect of this manifesto was curious. Pembury himself had been
unable to prophesy how it would be taken. The boys in front of the
board, as they heard it read out, couldn't tell exactly whether to laugh
or be serious over the paragraph. Most, however, did the latter, and
hurried on to the next sentence:
"The following are also ashamed of themselves, but don't like to say so.
The _Dominican_ means to give them a leg up:--Tom Senior, G. Ricketts,
R. Braddy, and the rest of the Fifth, except Simon, who never was or
could be ashamed of himself while he lived to write such pathetic,
soul-stirring lines as the following `Sonits:'"
[It was a great relief to one or two who stood by that Pembury had thus
cunningly gone on from grave to gay, and left no pause after the very
awkward paragraph about the Fifth.]
Sonit A.
To the _Dominican_.
I cannot write as I would like all in a noisy room
There's such a noise of mortal boys who sometimes go and come
Oh I will to the woods away all in the lonely shade
Where I no more of being disturbed need not to be afraid.
Sonit B.
To Dr Senior.
Dear Doctor I am very grieved to hear that you are not well
Oh cruel fate and yet methinks one cannot always tell
Things are so catching nowadays I wonder if I ever
Shall like unto the Doctor be by catching a low fever.
Sonit C.
To O-- G--.
Oh Greenfield melancholy wite hear me once before I go
'Tis sad to see the blossoms all in autumn time fall low
Canst thou recall that night in September when in the passage fair
I met you all so unexpectedly and you didn't seem to care
Oh may my hair turn white and me become a soreing lark
Before the memory of that day shines out in life's last spark.
[Wite, possibly wight.]
This was beautiful. Saint Dominic's was beginning to appreciate poetry
at last! Simon was positively delirious with triumph when, after the
burst of laughter (he called it applause) which greeted the reading of
this gem, some one cried out--
"Oh, I say! read that last one again, some one!" And then, amid
redoubled hilarity, the whole effusion was encored.
The poet promptly sought out his enthusiastic admirer.
"Oh! I say," said he, "would you like a copy of it?"
"Eh--oh, rather!" was the reply.
"Very good. You won't mind if I put a few more verses in, will you?
Pembury had to cut some out."
"My dear fellow, I shan't be happy unless I get at least twenty pages."
So off went the delighted Simon to work at this self-imposed task, and
caring little about the rest of the _Dominican_.
But some of that was worth reading, too. Tony's leading article, for
instance, was an important document. It was headed "Gone Up," and
began, "Alas! our occupation's gone! No longer will the _Dominican_ be
able to bring its sledge-hammer down on high places and walk into the
Sixth. For two of our men, O Fifth!--Greenfield and Wraysford--have
joined the classic ranks of those who eat toffee in the top form, and
play `odds and evens' under the highest desks of Saint Dominic's. We
must be careful now, or we shall catch it. And yet we ought to
congratulate the Sixth! At last they have got intelligence and high
principle, and two good men behind a scrimmage among them; and more are
coming! There's some hope for the Sixth yet, and we would not grudge
even our two best men for such a good object as regenerating the top
form of Saint Dominic's," and so on--not very flattering to the Sixth,
or very comfortable for its two newest members, who, however, had
prudently retired from the scene long ago, as soon as the first
references to Oliver had been read out.
Then came "Notes from Coventry, continued," which were very brief.
"Since our last, the population of Coventry has undergone a change. The
former inhabitant has walked out with flying colours, and the place is
empty. Who wants to go?"