CHAPTER TWO.
A NEW BOY.
"Good-Bye, my boy; God bless you! and don't forget to tell thehousekeeper about airing your flannel vests."
With this final benediction ringing in his ears, the train which was tocarry Master Stephen Greenfield from London to Saint Dominic's steamedslowly out of the station, leaving his widowed mother to return lonelyand sorrowful to the home from which, before this day, her youngest sonhad never wandered far without her.
Stephen, if the truth must be told, was hardly as affected by theparting as his poor mother. Not that he was not sorry to leave home, orthat he did not love her he left behind; but with all the world beforehim, he was at present far too excited to think of anything rationally.Besides, that last remark about the flannel vests had greatly disturbedhim. The carriage was full of people, who must have heard it, and wouldbe sure to set him down as no end of a milksop and mollycoddle.
He blushed to the roots of his hair as he pulled up the window and satdown in his corner, feeling quite certain every one of hisfellow-travellers must be secretly smiling at his expense. He wishedhis mother would have whispered that last sentence. It wasn't fair tohim. In short, Stephen felt a trifle aggrieved; and, with a view tomanifesting his hardihood, and dispelling all false impressions causedby the maternal injunction, he let down the window and put his bare headout of it for about a quarter of an hour, until a speck of dust settledin his eye and drove him back to his seat.
It is decidedly awkward to get dust in your eye when you want to figureas a hero, for the eyes will water, and must be wiped, and that looksparticularly like weeping. Stephen refrained from using hishandkerchief as long as he could; but it was no use; he must wipe hiseye in the presence of his fellow-passengers. However, if he whistled atune while doing so, no one could suspect him of real tears; so hestruck up, "Glide along, my bonny boat," as cheerfully as he could, andmopped his smarting eye at the same time. Alas! the dust only gotfarther in, and the music, after half an hour's heroic perseverance,flagged altogether. It was no use trying to appear heroic any longer,so, what with pain and a dawning sense of loneliness and home-sickness,Stephen shed a _few_ real tears into his handkerchief, an indulgencewhich did him good in every way, for it not only relieved his droopingspirits, but washed that wretched piece of dust fairly out of itshiding-place.
This relief, with the aid of a bun and a bottle of ginger-beer at one ofthe stations, set him, so to speak, on his feet again, and he was ableto occupy the rest of his journey very pleasantly in drumming his heelson the floor, and imagining to himself all the marvellous exploits whichwere to mark his career at Saint Dominic's. He was to be a prodigy inhis new school from the very first; in a few terms he was to be captainof the cricket club, and meanwhile was to gain the favour of the Sixthby helping them regularly in their lessons, and fighting any one againstwhom a special champion should be requisite. He was, indeed, just beinginvited to dinner with the Doctor, who was about to consult himconcerning some points of school management, when the train suddenlypulled up at Maltby, and his brother Oliver's head looked in at thewindow with a "Hullo! here you are! Tumble out!"
Oliver and Stephen were Mrs Greenfield's only children. Their fatherhad died twelve years ago, when Stephen was a baby, and the two boys hadbeen left in charge of an uncle, who had carefully watched over theireducation, and persuaded his sister to allow her elder boy to go to apublic school. Mrs Greenfield had consented, with many tremblings, andOliver had, four years ago, been sent to Saint Dominic's, where he wasnow one of the head boys in the Fifth Form. Only a _few_ weeks beforethe opening of this story the boys' uncle had died, leaving in his willa provision for sending Stephen to the same school as his brother, orany other his mother might select. The poor widow, loth to give up herboy, yet fain to accept the offer held out, chose to send Stephen toSaint Dominic's too, and this was the reason of that young gentleman'spresent appearance on the stage at that centre of learning.
"I'll send up your traps by the carter; we can walk," said Oliver,taking his young brother into charge.
Stephen was only too glad, as it gave him time to breathe beforeplunging at once into the scene of his future exploits. "Is it far?" heasked.
"Only a mile," said Oliver; "come on. Hullo, Rick, where have you beento?"
This was addressed to Ricketts, whom they met just outside the station.
"Oh! to Sherren's about my togs. I wanted them for the match to-morrow,you know. I've told him if he doesn't send them up in time we'll allget our things made in London, so I guess he'll hurry himself for once.Oh, look here! did you get a paper with the result of the Americanmatch? Bother! Here, you kid, what's your name, cut back to thestation and get a daily. Look sharp! Bring it to me in my room. Comeon, Greenfield."
Master Stephen looked so astonished at this cool request from a totalstranger that both the elder boys laughed.
"This is my young brother, Rick, just come--"
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Mr Ricketts, blushing, "I'll go--"
"No, I'll go," said Stephen, darting off, and expending a penny of hisown to get this magnifico of the Fifth his paper.
This little incident served to break the ice for the new boy, who felthighly honoured when Ricketts said he was "much obliged to him."
"By the way," said Oliver, suddenly, "I ought to get my togs up too.Bother that Sherren! I say, Rick, see my young brother up to theschool, will you? while I cut back; he can wait in my study."
Stephen felt very desolate to be left thus alone the moment after hisarrival, and it did not add to his pleasure to observe that Ricketts byno means appeared to look upon the task of seeing him to Saint Dominic'sas a privilege. They walked on in silence for about half a mile, andthen encountered several groups of boys strolling out along the road.Ricketts stopped to talk to several of them, and was very nearly goingoff with one of the party, when he suddenly remembered his charge. Itwas rather humiliating this, for Stephen; and already his triumphalentry into Saint Dominic's was beginning to be shorn of some of itsglory. No one noticed him; and the only one that paid him the leastattention appeared to look upon him as a nuisance.
"Here, Tony," suddenly shouted Ricketts to Pembury, who was joggingalong on his crutches a little way ahead, towards the school; "do youmind showing this kid the way up? I have to go back with Wren. There'sa good fellow."
"Well, that's cool," replied Master Pembury; "I'm not a kid-conductor!Come on, youngster; I suppose you haven't got a name, have you?"
"Yes, Stephen Greenfield."
"Oh, brother of our dear friend Oliver; I hope you'll turn out a betterboy than him, he's a shocking character."
Stephen looked concerned. "I'm sure he doesn't mean to do what'swrong," began he, apologetically.
"That's just it, my boy. If he doesn't mean to do it, why on earth doeshe do it? I shall be sorry if he's expelled, very sorry. But come on;don't mind if I walk too fast," added he, hobbling along by Stephen'sside.
Stephen did not know what to think. If Ricketts had not addressed hiscompanion as "Tony" he would have fancied he was one of the masters, hespoke with such an air of condescension. Stephen felt veryuncomfortable, too, to hear what had been told him about Oliver. If hehad not been told, he could not have believed his brother was anythingbut perfection.
"I'm lame, you see," said Pembury, presently. "You are quite sure yousee? Look at my left leg."
"I see," said Stephen, blushing; "I--I hope it doesn't hurt."
"Only when I wash my face. But never mind that Vulcan was lame too, butthen he never washed. You know who Vulcan was, of course?"
"No, I don't think so," faltered Stephen, beginning to feel very uneasyand ignorant.
"Not know Vulcan! My eye! where have you been brought up? Then ofcourse you don't know anything about the Tenth Fiji War? No? I thoughtnot. Dreadful! We shall have to see what you do know. Come on."
Stephen entered Saint Dominic's thoroughly crestfallen, and fullyconvinc
ed he was the most ignorant boy that ever entered a publicschool. The crowds of boys in the playground frightened him, and eventhe little boys inspired him with awe. _They_, at any rate, had heardof Vulcan, and knew about the Tenth Fiji War!
"Here," said Anthony, "is your brother's study. Sit here till hereturns, and make the most of your time, for you'll have to put yourbest foot foremost to-morrow in the Doctor's examination."
So saying, he left abruptly, and the poor lad found himself alone, inabout as miserable a frame of mind as a new boy would wish to be in.
He looked about the study; there were some shelves with books on them.There was a little bed let into the wall on one side; there was aneasy-chair, and what professed to be a sofa; and there was a pile ofmiscellanies, consisting of bats and boots and collars and papers,heaped up in the corner, which appeared to be the most abundantlyfurnished portion of the little room. Stephen sat there, very dismal,and wishing himself home again once more, when the door suddenly openedand a small boy of his own age appeared.
"Hullo! What do you want?" demanded this hero.
"I'm waiting for my brother."
"Who's your brother?"
"Oliver Greenfield."
"Oh, all right! you can get his tea as well as I can; you'll find allthe things in the cupboard there. And look here, tell him Bullingerwants to know if he can lend him some jam--about half a pint, tell him."
Poor Stephen! even the small boys ordered him about, and regarded him asnobody. He would fain have inquired of this young gentleman somethingabout Vulcan, and have had the advantage of his experience in thepreparation of his brother's tea; but the youth seemed pressed for time,and vanished.
As well as he could, Stephen extricated the paraphernalia of hisbrother's tea-table from the cupboard, and set it out in order on thetable, making the tea as well as profound inexperience of the mysteryand a kettle full of lukewarm water would permit. Then he sat andwaited.
Before Oliver arrived, four visitors broke in upon Stephen's vigil. Thefirst came "to borrow" some tea, and helped himself coolly to twoteaspoonfuls out of Oliver's canister. Stephen stood by aghast andspeechless.
"Tell him I'll _owe_ it him," calmly remarked the young gentleman, as hedeparted with his booty, whistling a cheerful ditty.
Then a fag came in and took a spoon, and after him another fag, with amug, into which he poured half of the contents of Oliver's milk-jug; andfinally a big fellow rushed in in a desperate hurry and snatched up achair and made off with it.
Stephen wondered the roof of Saint Dominic's did not fall in upon theseshameless marauders, and was just contemplating putting the stores allback again into the cupboard to prevent further piracy, when the welcomesound of Oliver's voice in the passage put an end to further suspense.
"Well, here you are," said Oliver, entering with a friend. "Wray, thisis my young brother, just turned up."
"How are you?" said Wraysford, in a voice which won over Stephen atonce; "I heard you were coming. Have you--"
"Oh!" suddenly ejaculated Oliver, lifting up the lid of his teapot. "Ifthat young wretch Paul hasn't been and made my tea with coal-dust andcold water! I'd like to scrag him! And--upon my word--oh, this is toomuch!--just look, Wray, how he's laid the table out! Those Guinea-pigsare beyond all patience. Where _is_ the beggar?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Stephen, starting up, very red in the face, as hisbrother went to the door; "it wasn't him. I made the tea. The boy toldme to, and I didn't know the way. I had to guess."
Oliver and Wraysford both burst out laughing.
"A pretty good guess, too, youngster," said Wraysford. "When you comeand fag for me I'll give you a few lessons to begin with."
"Oh! by the way, Wray," said Oliver, "that's all knocked on the head.Loman makes out the captain promised him the first new boy that came.I'm awfully sorry."
"Just like Loman's cheek. I believe he did it on purpose to spite me oryou. I say, Greenfield, I'd kick-up a row about it if I were you."
"What's the use, if the captain says so?" answered Oliver. "Besides,Loman's a monitor, bad luck to him!"
"Loman's a fellow I don't take a great fancy to," said Wraysford. "Iwouldn't care for a young brother of mine to fag to him."
"You are prejudiced, old man," said Oliver. "But I wish all the sameStephen was to fag for you. It's a pity, but it can't be helped."
"I'll speak to the captain, anyhow," growled Wraysford, sitting down tohis tea.
All this was not very pleasant for Stephen, who gathered that he wasdestined to serve a not very desirable personage in the capacity of fag,instead of, as he would have liked, his brother's friend Wraysford.
However, he did justice to the tea, bad as it was, and the sardinesOliver had brought from Maltby. He was relieved, too, to find that hisbrother was not greatly exasperated on hearing of the various raidswhich had been made on his provisions, or greatly disconcerted at MrBullinger's modest request for half a pint of jam.
Then, as the talk fell upon home, and cricket, and other cheerfultopics, the small boy gradually forgot his troubles, even down to theFiji War, and finished up his first evening at Saint Dominic's in a gooddeal more cheerful frame of mind than that in which he had begun it.
The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's: A School Story Page 3
