Loman looked up at the Doctor for a moment and answered, "Yes."_The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's: A School Story

"Did you lend him your Juvenal at any time?"

"Not that I remember."

"Do you suppose he put the paper in the book?"

"I couldn't say; but I don't see who else could."

"That will do, Loman; you can go. Kindly leave the paper and the

Juvenal with me."

Loman turned to go, but the Doctor stopped him with one more question.

"You know, I suppose, that the questions which you actually had set for

the Nightingale examination were quite different from those on the

paper?"

"Yes," said Loman. "I mean--that is," he added, stammering, and taking

up the paper in question. "I see by this paper they were quite

different."

"Yes; you can go now, Loman."

There was something so solemn and hard in the head master's voice as he

dismissed the boy that Loman felt very uncomfortable as he slowly

departed to his own study.

_He_, at any rate, was in no humour for enjoying the big football match

which was just beginning.

And it must be confessed the event of the morning had had the effect of

disconcerting a good many more than himself. Stansfield had quite hard

work going round among his troops and rousing them once more to the

proper pitch of enthusiasm.

"What--whatever does it matter," he said, "if the fellow did take it?

_You_ didn't take it, Winter, or you, Wren; and what on earth's the use

of getting down in the mouth, and perhaps losing the match, because of

it? We're always having our football spoiled by something or other," he

added with a groan. "I'll tell you what it is, let's only lick these

fellows this afternoon, and then I'll howl and groan and do anything you

like, for a week."

There was no resisting such a generous offer. The fellows made up their

minds to forget everything else that afternoon but the County, and so to

play that the County should have some difficulty in soon forgetting

them.

"Fire away, you fellows, and peel!" cried Stansfield, as Oliver and

Wraysford sauntered past.

They fired away. But while dressing they exchanged a few words on the

forbidden subject.

"Did you ever expect it would be brought home to Loman like this, Noll?"

asked Wray.

"No, I didn't. And yet in a way--"

"Eh? What do you say?"

"Why, Wray, you remember me saying that evening, after I left the study,

the only fellow I met in the passage besides Simon was Loman?"

"Yes; so you did."

"He was going towards the Doctor's study," said Oliver.

"Hum! I remember now you said so."

"And yet," continued Oliver, plunging into his jersey--"and yet I can't

see how, if he did take the paper, he didn't do better in the exam. He

came out so very low."

"Yes, that's queer, unless he took a fit of repentance all of a sudden,

and didn't look at it."

"Then it's queer he didn't destroy it, instead of sticking it in his

Juvenal."

"Well, I suppose the Doctor will clear it up, now he's on the scent."

"I suppose so," said Oliver; "but, I say, old man," he added, "of course

there's no need for us to say anything about it to anybody. The poor

beggar doesn't want _our_ help to get him into trouble."

"No, indeed. I'd be as glad, quite, if it were found to be another

wrong scent, after all," said Wraysford. "The fellow's in a bad enough

way as it is."

"Are you nearly ready, you two?" thundered Stansfield at the door.

"Just ready!" they exclaimed; and in another minute they, too, had

dismissed from their minds everything but Saint Dominic's versus County,

as they trotted off to join the rest of their comrades on the field of

battle.

And, indeed, for the next two hours there was no opportunity, even, had

they desired it, for any one to think of anything but this momentous

struggle.

For three years running the County had beaten the schoolboys, each time

worse than before, until at last the latter had got to be afraid the

others would begin to think them foemen not worthy of their steel. This

year they hardly dared hope a better fate than before, for the enemy

were down in force. Yet the boys had determined to die hard, and at

least give their adversaries all the trouble they could before their

goal should fall; and of this they were all the more sanguine, because

their team was the very best the school could muster, and not a man

among them but knew his business, and could be depended on to do it too.

Bad luck! Of course, just when it's not wanted there's a breeze got up,

blowing right down the field, and in the very teeth of the schoolboys,

who have lost the toss, and have to play from the oak-tree end for the

first half of the game!

"It's always the way," growls Ricketts. "They'll simply eat us up while

they've got the chance, you see!"

"No they won't," says Stansfield, bound to take a cheerful view of

things. "We're strong in backs. It's not like last match, when

Greenfield wasn't playing, and Loman was there to make such a mess of

it."

"Well, it's a comfort, that, anyhow."

"Of course it is," says the captain. "What you fellows have got to do

is to keep the ball in close, and nurse it along all the while, or else

run--but you'd better let the quarter-backs do that."

This sage advice is not thrown away on the worthies who lead the van for

Saint Dominic's, and an opportunity for putting it into practice occurs

the moment the game begins. For the School has to kick-off, and to

kick-off against that wind is a hopeless business. Stansfield does not

attempt anything like a big kick, but just drives the ball hard and low

on to the legs of the County forwards, sending his own men close after

it, so that a scrimmage is formed almost at the very spot where the ball

grounds.

"Now, School, sit on it! Do you hear?" calls out the captain; and

certainly it looks as if that unhappy ball were never destined to see

the light again. The enemy's forwards cannot get it out from among the

feet of the School forwards, try all they will, until, by sheer weight,

they simply force it through. And then, when it does go through, there

is young Forrester of the Fourth ready for it, and next moment it is

back in its old place in the middle of the "mush." In due time, out it

comes again--this time on Wren's side--and once again, after a short

run, there it is again, on almost the identical spot of earth where it

has undergone its last two poundings.

"Played up, Dominies!" cries out Stansfield, cheerily. "Stick to it

now!"

Stick to it they do, with the wind fresh on their faces, and the County

fellows charging and plunging and shoving like fury upon them.

Ah! there goes the ball, out at the County end for a wonder. The

spectators cheer loudly for the schoolboys. Little they know! It had

much better have stayed there among their feet than roll out into the

open. The County quarter-back has it in his hands in a twinkling, and

in another twinkling he has lifted it with a drop-kick high into the

air, all along the wind, which carries it, amid cheers and shouts, right

up to the boundary of the School goal.

So much for cutting through the scrimmage!

Wraysford, the Dominican "back," is ready for it when it drops, and,

without touching-down, runs out with it. He is a cautious fellow, is

Wraysford, and does not often try this game. But the ball has far

outstripped the enemy's forwards, and so he has a pretty open field.

But not for long. In a _few_ seconds the County is upon him, and he and

the ball are no longer visible. Then follow a lot more scrimmages, with

similar results. It is awfully slow for the spectators, but Stansfield

rejoices over it, and the County men chafe.

"Can't you let it out there? Play looser, and let it through," says

their captain.

Loose it is.

"That's better!" says the County captain, as presently the ball comes

out with a bound full into the quarter-back's hands, who holds it, and,

to the horror of the boys, makes his mark before he can be collared.

The scrimmage has been near up to the Dominican goal--within a kick--and

now, as the schoolboys look round first at the goal and then at the

County man with the ball, the distance looks painfully small. And even

if it were greater, this wind would do the business.

The County man takes plenty of room back from his mark, up to which the

School forwards stand ready for one desperate rush the moment the ball

touches the ground. Alas, it is no go! They have a knowing hand and a

quick foot to deal with. Before they can cover the few yards which

divide them, the ball is dropped beautifully, and flies, straight as an

arrow, over the cross-bar, amid the tremendous cheers of the County men

and their friends.

"Never mind!" says Stansfield, as his men walk out once more to the

fray, "they shan't get another before half-time!"

Won't they? Such is the perversity of that creature people call Luck,

and such is the hatred it has for anything like a boast, that two

minutes--only two minutes--after the words are out of the captain's

mouth another Dominican goal has fallen.

For Stansfield in kicking off gets his foot too much under the ball,

which consequently rises against the wind and presents an easy catch to

any one who comes out to take it. A County forward sees his chance.

Rushing up, he catches the ball, and instantaneously, so it seems,

drop-kicks it, a tremendous kick clean over the School goal, before even

the players have all taken up their places after the last catastrophe.

This is dreadful! worse than ever! Never in their worst days had such a

thing happened. For once in a way Stansfield's hopefulness deserts him,

and he feels the School is in for an out-and-out hiding.

The captain would like extremely to blow some one up, if he only knew

whom. It is so aggravating sometimes to have no one to blow-up.

Nothing relieves the feelings so, does it?

However, Stansfield has to bottle up his feelings, and, behold! once

more he and his men are in battle array.

This time it's steady all again, and the ball is kept well out of sight.

It can't even slip out behind now, as before; for the School

quarter-backs are up to that dodge, and ready to pounce upon it before

it can be lifted or sent flying. Indeed, the only chance the wretched

ball has of seeing daylight is--

Hullo! half-time!

The announcement falls on joyful ears among the Dominicans. They have

worked hard and patiently against heavy odds; and they feel they really

deserve this respite.

Now, at last, if the wind wouldn't change for them, they have changed

over to the wind, which blows no longer in their faces, but gratefully

on to their backs.

The kick-off is a positive luxury under such circumstances; Stansfield

needn't be afraid of skying the ball now, and he isn't. It shoots up

with a prodigious swoop and soars right away to touch-line, so that the

County's "back" is the first of their men to go into action. He brings

the ball back deftly and prettily, slipping in and out among his own

men, who get beside him as a sort of bodyguard, ready at any moment to

carry on the ball. It is ludicrous to see Ricketts and Winter and

Callonby flounder about after him. The fellow is like an eel. One

moment you have him, the next he's away; now you're sure of him, now

he's out of all reach. Ah! Stansfield's got him at last! No he

hasn't; but Winter has--No, Winter has lost him; and--just look--he's

past all the School forwards, no one can say how.

Young Forrester tackles him gamely--but young Forrester is no hand at

eel-catching; in fact, the eel catches Forrester, and leaves him

gracefully on his back. Past the quarter-backs! The man has a charmed

life!

Ah! Greenfield has got him at last. Yes, Mr Eel, you may wriggle as

hard as you like, but you'd hardly find your way out of that grip

without leave!

Altogether this is a fine run, and makes the School see that even with

the wind they are not going to have it all their own way. However, they

warm up wonderfully after this.

Steady is still the word (what grand play we should get if it were

always the word at football, you schoolboys! You may kick and run and

scrimmage splendidly, but you are not steady--but this is digression).

Steady is still the word, and _every_ minute Saint Dominic's pulls

better together. The forwards work like one man, and, lighter weight

though they are, command the scrimmages by reason of their good

"packing."

Wren and young Forrester, the quarter-backs, are "dead on" the ball the

moment it peeps out from the scrimmage; and behind them at half-back

Oliver and Bullinger are not missing a chance. If they did, Wraysford

is behind them, a prince of "backs."

Oh, for a chance to put this fine machinery into motion! Time is

flying, and the umpire is already fidgeting with his watch. Oh, for one

chance! And while we speak here it comes. A County man has just darted

up along the touch-line half the length of the field. Wren goes out to

meet him, and behind Wren--too close behind--advances Oliver. The

County man thinks twice before delivering himself up into the clutches

of one of these heroes, and ends his run with a kick, which, Oliver

being not in his place, Wraysford runs forward to take. Now Wraysford

has hardly had a run this afternoon. He means to have one now! And he

does have one. He takes the ball flying, gives one hurried look round,

and then makes right for the thick of the fray. Who backs him up?

Greenfield for one, and all the rest of Saint Dominic's for the other.

"Stick close!" he says to Oliver, as he flies past. Oliver wants no

bidding. He follows his man like a shadow. In and out among the

forwards, and round about past the quarter-backs; and when at last

Wraysford is borne down by a combined force of half and

three-quarter-backs, Greenfield is there to take the ball on.

"Look-out there!" cries the County captain, "mark that man." The County

does mark that man, and they have the painful task of marking him pass

one half-back and floor another before he is arrested.

"I'm here!" cries Wraysford's voice at that moment; and next instant the

ball is again hurrying on towards the County goal in Wraysford's arms,

Greenfield once more being in close attendance.

And now the County backs come into action, and the first of them collars

Wraysford. But it is Oliver who collars the ball, and amid the shouts,

and howls, and cheers of players and spectators rushes it still onward.

The second "back" is the County's only remaining hope, nor surely will

he fail. He rushes at Oliver. Oliver rushes at him. Wraysford, once