The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's Part 50

Stansfield, antic.i.p.ating this, is ready himself at half-back, and it will go hard with him indeed if he does not collar his man. Alas! just as the Landfielder comes to close quarters, and the Saint Dominic's captain grips him round the waist, the ball flies neatly back into the hands of another of the enemy, who, amid the shouts of his own men and the crowd, makes off with it like fury, with a clear field before him, and only Wraysford between him and the Dominican goal.

"Look-out behind there!"

No need of such a caution to a "back" like Wraysford. He is looking out, and has been looking out ever since the match began.

But if he had the eyes of an Argus, and the legs of an Atlas, he could not prevent that goal. For the Landfield man has no notion of coming to close quarters; he is their crack drop-kick, and would be an a.s.s indeed if he did not employ his talent with such a chance as this. He only runs a short way. Then he slackens pace. Wraysford rushes forward in front, the pursuing host rush on behind, but every one sees how it will be. The fellow takes a deliberate drop-kick at the goal, and up flies the ball as true as a rocket, clean over the posts, as certain a goal as Saint Dominic's ever lost! It was no use crying over spilt milk, and for the rest of the game Stansfield relaxed no efforts to stay the tide of defeat. And he succeeded too, for though the ball remained dangerously near the school goal, and once or twice slipped behind, the enemy were unable to make any addition to their score before "Time" was called.

When the match was over, Loman tried his best to slip away un.o.bserved by his respectable town acquaintances; but they were far too polite to allow him.

"Well," cried Mr Cripps, coolly joining the boy as he walked with the other players back to the school--"well, you _do_ do it, you do. Bless me! I call that proper sport, I do. What do you put on the game, bobs or sovereigns, eh? Never mind, I and my pals we wanted a dander, so we thought we'd look you up, eh? You know Tommy Granger here? I heard him saying as we came along he wondered what you'd stand to drink after it all."

All Loman could do was to stand still as soon as this talk began, and trust his schoolfellows would walk on, and so miss all Mr Cripps's disgusting familiarities.

"I say," whispered he, in an agitated voice, "for goodness' sake go away, Cripps! I shall get into an awful row if you don't."

"Oh, all serene, my young bantam," replied Cripps, aloud, and still in the hearing of not a few of the boys. "I'll go if you want it so particular as all that. _I_ can tear myself away. Only mind you come and give us a look up soon, young gentleman, for I and my pals ain't seen you for a good while now, and was afraid something was up. Ta! ta!

Good-day, young gentlemen all. By-bye, my young Nightingales."

Loman's feelings can be more easily imagined than expressed when Cripps, saying these words, held out his hand familiarly to be shaken. The boy did shake it, as one would shake hands with a wolf, and then, utterly ashamed and disgraced, he made his way among his wondering schoolfellows up to the school.

Was this his luck, after all? A monitor known to be the companion and familiar friend of the disreputable cad at the c.o.c.kchafer! The boy who, if not liked, had yet pa.s.sed among most of his schoolfellows as a steady, well-conducted fellow, now suddenly shown up before the whole school like this!

Loman went his way to his study, feeling that the mask was pretty nearly off his face at last, and that Saint Dominic's knew him almost as he really was. Yet did they know all?

As Loman pa.s.sed Greenfield's study he stopped and peeped in at the door.

The owner was sitting in his armchair, with his feet upon the mantelpiece, laughing over a volume of _Pickwick_ till the tears came.

And yet the crime Oliver was suspected of was theft and lying? Was it not strange--must it not have struck Loman as strange, in all his misery, that any one under such a cloud as Greenfield could think of laughing, while _he_, under a cloud surely no greater, felt the most miserable boy alive!

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A QUEER PRIZE-DAY.

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 cla.s.s 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 cla.s.s-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 cla.s.ses; 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 n.o.ble 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 cus.h.i.+ons, 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 antimaca.s.sar. 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 pa.s.sed, Oliver recovered his old unconcern, and Stephen relapsed once more into his att.i.tude 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.ble 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 n.o.bleman 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 hoa.r.s.e, 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.