Now among those who were present to witness the famous "rush-up" of
Greenfield senior and Wraysford, which ended in the fall of the County
goal, was one boy who showed very little enthusiasm over the
achievement, or very little delight at the glory which the school
thereby derived.
Loman, who, unable to sit in his study, and not knowing what else to do,
had wandered almost instinctively to the meadow, found himself on this
particular afternoon one of the most miserable boys in Saint Dominic's.
Two years ago, when he first entered the school, he was popular with his
fellows and voted an acquisition on the cricket-ground and
football-field whenever the youth of Saint Dominic's strove in emulation
against their rivals. He could remember a time when fellows strolled
arm-in-arm with him down to the matches; when the small boys looked
quite meek in his presence, and the masters gave a friendly nod in
answer to his salutes. That was when he was quite new at Saint
Dominic's; but how changed now! This afternoon, for instance, as he
stood looking on, he had the cheerful knowledge that not a boy in all
that assembly cared two straws about him. Why wasn't _he_ playing in
the match? Why did the fellows, as they came near him, look straight in
front of them, or go round to avoid him? Why did the Guinea-pigs and
Tadpoles strut about and crack their vulgar jokes right under his very
nose, as if he was nobody? Alas, Loman! something's been wrong with you
for the last year or thereabouts; and if we don't all know the cause, we
can see the effect. For it is a fact, you _are_ nobody in the eyes of
Saint Dominic's at the present time.
However, he was destined to become a somebody pretty soon; and, indeed,
as soon as the football match was over, and the supper after it was
disposed of, and the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles (who, you know, had
selected this same afternoon _for their_ great football match) had
ceased their rows in slumber, every one's mind, at least the mind of
every one in the two head forms, turned naturally to the strange and
mysterious event of the morning. What various conclusions they came to
it is not for me to set down here. They probably came to as good a
conclusion as the reader has done, and waited impatiently to have the
whole thing cleared up.
And it looked as if the Doctor were about to do this next morning, for
he summoned together the Fifth and Sixth, and thus solemnly addressed
them:--
"Before we begin the lesson for the day, boys, I wish to refer to an
incident that happened here yesterday morning, which must be fresh in
your memories. I mean the accidental discovery of the lost examination
paper for the Nightingale Scholarship. I hope you will not draw hasty
conclusions from what then occurred. The boy in whose book the paper
was found is present here, and has assured me on his honour he never saw
the paper before, and is quite ignorant how it came into his book. That
is so, Loman?"
"Yes, sir," replied Loman.
"When a boy makes a statement to me on his honour, I accept it as such,"
said the Doctor, very gravely, and looking hard at the boy. "I accept
it as such--"
Loman sat motionless with his eyes on the desk before him.
"But," went on the Doctor, turning again to the boys, "before I dismiss
the subject I must do justice to one among you who I find, much to my
pain, has been an object of suspicion in connection with this same lost
paper. Greenfield senior, I have no hesitation in saying, is perfectly
clear of any such imputation as that you put upon him. I may say in his
presence I believe him to be incapable of a fraudulent and mean act; and
further than that, you boys will be interested to hear that the
questions which he answered so brilliantly in that examination were not
the questions which appeared on the lost paper at all, but an entirely
new set, which for my own satisfaction I drew up on the morning of
examination itself."
This announcement _did_ interest every one--the Fifth particularly, who
felt their own humiliation now fourfold as they looked at Oliver, and
thought of what their conduct to him had been.
It interested Oliver and Wraysford as much as any one, but for a
different reason. Supposing Loman had taken the paper--this was the
reflection which darted through both their minds--supposing Loman _had_
taken the paper and worked up the answers from it, might not the sudden
change of questions described by the Doctor account for the low place he
had taken in the exam?
Altogether the Doctor's speech left things (except as concerned Oliver)
not much more satisfactory than before. The natural impulse of
everybody was to suspect Loman. But, then, six months ago the natural
impulse had been equally as strong to suspect Oliver, and--well, that
had somehow turned out a bad "spec," and so might this.
So Saint Dominic's really didn't know what to think, and settled down to
the work of the term in an uneasy frame of mind, wishing something would
turn up, to end the wretched affair of the lost paper definitely one way
or another.
Of course the report of the new state of affairs soon penetrated down to
the lower school, and the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles at any rate were not
slow in making up _their_ minds on the burning question.
They turned out in a body and hooted Loman up and down the passages with
as much, if not more, glee than some of them had lately hooted Oliver.
"Yah, boo! Who stole the exam paper?--there! old Loman." Such were the
cries which presently became familiar in the school, until one day Mr
Rastle dropped down on some twenty of the "howlers," and set them each
twelve propositions of Euclid to learn by heart, and two hours a-piece
in the detention-room, there to meditate over their evil ways.
The quiet of the lower school during the next week was something
delicious.
The tyrannical proceeding on the part of Mr Rastle provoked bitter
indignation, of course, in the breasts of the culprits. Why weren't
they to be allowed to express their feelings? And if Rastle did want to
"pot" them, why should he give them Euclid to learn, when he knew
perfectly well Euclid was the very thing not one of them _could_ learn
by heart? And if he did want to detain them, why _ever_ should he fix
on the identical week in which the grand "Vocal, Instrumental, and
Dramatic Entertainment" of the Fourth Junior was due to come off.
It was an abominable piece of spite, that was a fact; and Mr Rastle was
solemnly condemned one evening in the dormitory to be blown up with
dynamite at the first convenient opportunity. Meanwhile, come what
would, the "Vocal, Instrumental, and Dramatic Entertainment" _should_
come off, if it cost every man Jack of the "entertainers" his head.
Stephen, who by this time was a person of authority in his class, was
appointed president of the "V. I. and D. Society." The manner of his
election to this honourable office had been peculiar, but emphatic. He
had been proposed by Paul and seconded by himself in a short but elegant
speech, in which he asserted he would only serve if his appointment was
unanimous. It _was_ unanimous, for directly after this magnanimous
statement he and Paul and a few others proceeded summarily to eject
Bramble, Padger, and others who showed signs of opposition; and then,
locking the door, proceeded to an immediate vote, which, amid loud
Guinea-pig cheers, was declared to be unanimous, one contumacious
Tadpole, who had escaped notice, having his hands held down by his sides
during the ceremony. As soon as the doors were open, Bramble, who had
meanwhile collected a large muster of adherents, rushed in, and, turning
out all the Guinea-pigs, had himself elected treasurer, and Padger
honorary secretary. These exciting appointments having been made, the
meeting was "thrown open," a programme was drawn up, and the
preparations were in a very forward state when the sad interruption
occasioned by Mr Rastle's brutal conduct took place. But if Mr Rastle
thought he was going to extinguish the "Vocal, Instrumental, and
Dramatic Entertainment" he was woefully mistaken.
As soon as ever, by superhuman exertions, Bramble and a few others of
the "potted" ones had struggled through their Euclid, and served their
term of detention, an evening was fixed upon for the great event to come
off.
Immediately a question arose. Should the public be admitted?
"Rather!" exclaimed Bramble, the treasurer, "five bob each."
"Masters half price," suggested Padger.
"Greenfield senior free!" shouted the loyal Paul.
"Bah! do you think Greenfield senior would come to hear you spout, you
young muff!" roared the amiable Bramble.
"I know what he would come for," retorted Paul, "and I'd come with him
too. Guess!"
"Shan't guess. Shall I, Padger?"
"May as well," suggested Padger.
"He'd come," cried Paul, not waiting for the Tadpole to guess--"he'd
come a mile to see you hung. So would I--there!"
It was some time before the meeting got back to the subject of admitting
the public. But it was finally agreed that, though the public were not
to be invited, the door should be left open, and any one ("presenting
his card," young Bilbury suggested) might come in, with the exception of
Loman, Mr Rastle, Tom Braddy, and the school cat.
For the next few days the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles were busy, learning
their parts, practising their songs, arranging all the details of their
dramatic performance, and so on; and Mr Rastle had to "pot" one or two
more of them, and detain one or two others, before he could get anything
like the ordinary work of the class done. All this the young vocal,
instrumental, and dramatic enthusiasts bore patiently, devoting so many
extra ounces of dynamite to Mr Rastle's promised blow-up for each
offence.
At last the festival day arrived. Stephen, on whom, somehow, all the
work had devolved, while the talking and discussion of knotty points had
fallen on his two brother officers, looked quite pale and anxious on the
eventful morning.
"Well, young 'un," said Oliver, "I suppose Wray and I are to be allowed
to come and see the fun to-night."
"Yes," said Stephen, with considerable misgivings about the "fun."
"All serene; we'll be there, won't we, Wray? Not the first Guinea-pig
kick-up we've been witness to, either."
"Do you think Pembury will come?" asked Stephen, nervously.
"Oh, rather. He'll have to report it in the next _Dominican_. I'll see
he comes."
"Oh, I think he needn't mind," said Stephen, with a queer shyness; "I
could write out a report for him."
"Oh, I dare say; a nice report that would be. No, Tony must be there.
He wouldn't miss it for a five-pound note."
Stephen retired to report these rather alarming prospects of an audience
to his comrades.
"Talking of five-pound notes," said Wraysford, after he had gone, "does
Loman ever mean to pay up that 8 pounds?"
"I don't know; it doesn't look like it," said Oliver. "The fact is, he
came to me yesterday to borrow another pound for something or another.
He said Cripps had been up to the school and tried to make out that
there was another owing, and had threatened, unless he got it, at once
to speak to the head master."
"Did you lend it him?" said Wraysford. "It's a regular swindle."
"I hadn't got it to lend. I told him I was sure the fellow was a thief,
and advised him to tell the Doctor."
"What did he say?"
"Oh, he got in an awful state, and said he would get into no end of a
row, and wouldn't for the world have the Doctor know a word of it."
"I don't like it at all," said Wraysford. "Don't you have more to do
than you can help with that business, Noll, old man."
"But the poor beggar seems regularly at his wits' end."
"Never mind; you'll do him and yourself no good by lending him money."
"Well, I haven't done so, for a very good reason, as I tell you. But
I'm sorry for him. I do believe he can't see that he's being fleeced.
He made me promise not to utter a word of it to the Doctor, so I really
don't know how to help him."
"It's my impression he's good reason to be afraid of the Doctor just
now," said Wraysford. "That Nightingale business has yet to be cleared
up."
The two friends pursued this disagreeable topic no farther, but agreed,
for all Loman wasn't a nice boy, and for all they had neither of them
much cause to love him, they would see the next day if they could not do
something to help him in his difficulty. Meanwhile they gave themselves
over to the pure and refined enjoyment of the "Vocal, Instrumental, and
Dramatic Entertainment."
At seven that evening, after tea, the Fourth Junior room became a centre
of attraction to all Saint Dominic's. Fellows from the Sixth and Fifth,
always ready for novelty in the way of amusement, looked in to see the
sport. The Fourth Senior grandly condescended to witness the vulgar
exploits of their juniors, and the other classes were most of them
represented by one or more spectators.
The programme had been carefully got up. Stephen took the chair
solemnly at the appointed hour, and with a great deal of stammering
announced that the proceedings were now about to commence, and then sat
down. An awful pause ensued. At first it was borne with interest, then
with impatience; then, when Stephen began to whisper to Paul, and Paul
began to signal to Bramble, and Bramble gesticulated in dumb show at
Padger, and all four whispered together, and finally looked very gravely
in an opposite direction to the audience, then they began to be amused.
"Oh," said Stephen, very red, turning round abruptly after this awkward
pause had continued for a minute or two--"oh, that was wrong; he doesn't
begin, and the other fellow's away. Look here, Bramble, do your thing
now."
"No, I can't," whispered Bramble in an audible voice. "I've forgotten
the first line."
"Something about a kid asleep," suggested Padger, also audibly.
"Oh, yes," said Bramble, starting up and blushing very red as he began.
"`Lines on Seeing my Wife and Two Children Asleep'--Hood."
This modest announcement of his subject was overwhelming in itself, and
was greeted with such yells of laughter that the poor elocutionist found
it utterly impossible to go on. He tried once or twice, but never got
beyond the first half line.
"And has the earth--" and here he stuck, but in answer to the cheers
began again, looking round for Padger to help.
"And has the earth--(Go it, Padger, give a fellow a leg up, can't you?)"
"I can't find the place," said Padger, very hot and flurried, and
whipping over the pages of a book with his moist thumb.
"And has the earth--(Look in the index, you lout! Oh, won't I give it
to you afterwards!)" once more began the wretched Bramble. He got no
farther. Even had he remembered the words his voice could never have
risen above the laughter, which continued as long as he remained on his
feet.
He retired at length in dudgeon, and Stephen called on Paul for a song.
This went off better, only everybody stamped the time with his feet, so
that the singer could neither be heard for the row nor seen for the
dust. After that followed another "reading." This time the subject was
a humorous one--"Ben Battle," by T. Hood. Every one, by the way, chose
Hood. It was the only poetry-book to be had in the Fourth Junior. The
reading progressed satisfactorily for the first two lines--indeed, until
a joke occurred, and here the reader was so overcome with the humour of
the thing that he broke into a laugh, and every time he tried to begin
the next line he laughed before he could get it out, until at last it
got to be quite as monotonous as watching the hyena at the Zoological
Gardens. Finally he did get through the line, but in a voice so weak,
wavering by reason of his efforts not to laugh, that the effect was more
ludicrous than ever. He could get no farther, however. For the
recollection of the joke that had passed, and the anticipation of the
one that was coming, fairly doubled him up, and he let the book drop out
of his hands in the middle of one of his convulsions.
The next performance was an "instrumental" one, which bade fair to be a
great success. Four of the boys had learned to whistle "Home, Sweet
Home" in parts, and were now about to ravish the audience with this
time-honoured melody. They stood meekly side by side in a straight line
facing the audience, waiting for the leader to begin, and screwing their
mouths up into the proper shape. Just as the signal was given, and each
had taken a long breath and was in the act of letting out, some lout in
the audience laughed! The result may be imagined. The first note,
which was to have been so beautiful, sounded just like the letting off
of steam from four leaky safety-valves, and no effort could recover the
melody. The more they tried the more they laughed. The more they
laughed the more the audience roared. There they stood, with faces of
mingled agony and mirth, frantically trying to get the sound out; but it
never came, and they finally had to retire, leaving the audience to
imagine what the effect of "Home, Sweet Home" might have been had they
only got at it.
However, as the "dramatic" performance came next, the audience were
comforted. The modest subject chosen was _Hamlet_.
Stephen, who was combining the duties of master of the ceremonies with
those of president, rose and said to the company, "All turn round, and
don't look till I tell you."
Of course every one pretended to turn round, and of course everybody
looked as hard as he could. And they saw Bramble hop up on a chair and
lower the gas, to represent night. And they saw Paul and Padger stick
up two or three forms on end, to represent a castle. And they saw two
other boys walk majestically on to the platform in ulsters and billycock
hats, and their trousers turned up, and sticks in their hands to
represent soldiers.
"Now you can turn round," cried Stephen.
They did turn round, just at the very moment when Bramble, attempting to
lower the gas still further, turned it right out. The effect was
remarkable. No one and nothing was visible, but out of the black
darkness came the following singular dialogue:--
"_Who's there_?"
"Have you got a lucifer about you, any of you?"
"_Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself_."
"Don't be a fool (in agitated accents); you're shoving me off the
platform."
"Why don't you light up?"
"_Long live the king_."
"Ah, here's one. What's become of the chair?"
Next moment, amid great applause, the gas was re-lit, and the thrilling
tragedy proceeded.
It went on all right till the ghost enters, and here another calamity
occurred. Padger was acting ghost, dressed up in a long sheet, and with
flour on his face. Being rather late in coming on, he did so at a very
unghostlike pace, and in the hurry tripped up on the bottom of his
sheet, falling flop on the platform, which, being none of the cleanest,
left an impression of dust on his face and garment, which greatly added
to the horror of his appearance. He recovered the perpendicular with
the help of two soldiers and a few friends, and was about to proceed
with his part, when the door suddenly opened and Mr Rastle appeared.
He had evidently not come to see the show--indeed he hardly seemed aware
that a show was going on. His face was grave, and his voice agitated,
as he said--
"Has any one here seen Loman?"
No one had seen him since breakfast that morning.
"Is Greenfield senior here?"
"Yes, sir," answered Oliver.
"Will you come with me to the Doctor at once, please?"
Oliver was out in the passage in a moment, and hurrying with the master
to Dr Senior's study.
"I'm afraid," said Mr Rastle, as they went--"I'm afraid something has
happened to Loman!"