The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's: A School Story

by Talbot Baines Reed

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  A LOWER SCHOOL FESTIVAL.

  "I tell you what, Wray," said Oliver one evening about a week after thematch, "I heartily wish this term was over."

  "Why, that's just what I heard your young brother say. He is going tolearn the bicycle, he says, in the holidays."

  "Oh, it's not the holidays I want," said Oliver. "But somehow thingshave gone all wrong. I've been off my luck completely this term."

  "Off your luck!--You great discontented, ungrateful bear. Haven't yougot the English prize? Aren't you in the School Eleven? and didn't youmake top score in the match with the Sixth last Saturday? Whatever doyou mean by `off your luck'?"

  "Oh, it's not that, you know," said Oliver, pulling a quill pen to bits."What I mean is--oh, bother!--a fellow can't explain it."

  "So it seems," laughed Wraysford; "but I wish a fellow could, for I'venot a notion what you're driving at."

  "Well, I mean I'm not doing much good. There's that young brother ofmine, for instance. What good have I been to him? There have I let himgo and do just what he likes, and not looked after him a bit ever sincehe came here."

  "And I wager he's got on all the better for not being tied up to yourapron strings. He's a fine honest little chap, is young Greenfield."

  "Oh, I dare say; but somehow I don't seem to know as much of him now asI used to do before he came here."

  "That's Loman's fault, I bet you anything," exclaimed Wraysford. "I'msure he won't do the kid any good. But Rastle was saying only yesterdayhow well Stephen was getting on in class."

  "Was he? It's little thanks to me if he is," said Oliver, gloomily.

  "And what else have you got to grumble about?" asked his friend.

  "Why, you know how I'm out with the Fifth over that affair with Loman.They all set me down as a coward, and I'm not that."

  "Of course you aren't," warmly replied the other. "But, Noll, you toldme a little while ago you didn't care a snap what they thought."

  "No more I do, in a way. But it's very uncomfortable."

  "Why don't you tell them straight out why you didn't let out at Loman?They are sure to respect your motive."

  "Yes, and set me down as posing as a martyr or a saint! No! I'd soonerpass as a coward than set up as a saint when I'm not one. Why, Wray, ifyou'll believe me, I've been a worse Christian since I began to try tobe one, than I ever was before. I'm for ever losing my temper, and--"

  "Shut up that tune, now," interposed Wraysford, hurriedly. "If you arebeginning at that again, I'll go. As if you didn't know you were thebest fellow in the school!"

  "I'm not the best, _or_ anything like," said Oliver, warmly; "I hateyour saying so--I wish almost I had never told you anything about it."

  "Well, I don't know," said Wraysford, walking to the window and lookingout. "Ever since you told me of it, I've been trying myself in a mildway to go straight. But it's desperate hard work."

  "Desperate hard work even if you try in more than a mild way," saidOliver.

  Both were silent for a little, and then Oliver, hurriedly changing thesubject, said, "And then, to proceed with my growl, I'm certain to comea howler over the Nightingale."

  Wraysford turned from the window with a laugh.

  "I suppose you expect me to sympathise with you about that, eh? Thebigger the howler the better for me! I only wish you were a trueprophet, Noll, in that particular."

  "Why, of course you'll beat me--and if you don't Loman will. I hearhe's grinding away like nuts."

  "Is he, though?" said Wraysford.

  "Yes, and he's going to get a `coach' in the holidays too."

  "More likely a dog-cart. Anyhow, I dare say he will run us close. Buthe's such a shifty fellow, there's no knowing whether he will stay out."

  Just at that moment a terrific row came up from below.

  "Whatever's up down there?"

  "Only the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles. By the way," said Wraysford,"they've got a grand `supper,' as they call it, on to-night to celebratetheir cricket match. Suppose we go and see the fun?"

  "All right!" said Oliver. "Who won the match?"

  "Why, what a question! Do you suppose a match between Guinea-pigs andTadpoles _ever_ came to an end? They had a free fight at the end of thefirst innings. The Tadpole umpire gave one of his own men `not out'when he hit his wicket, and they made a personal question of it, andfell out. Your young brother, I hear, greatly distinguished himself inthe argument."

  "Well, it doesn't seem to interfere with their spirits now, to judge ofthe row they are making. Just listen!"

  By this time they had reached the door of the Fourth Junior room, whenceproceeded a noise such as one often hears in a certain populardepartment of the Zoological Gardens. Amid the tumult and hubbub thetwo friends had not much difficulty in slipping in unobserved andseating themselves comfortably in an obscure corner of the festiveapartment, behind a pyramid of piled-up chairs and forms.

  The Junior "cricket feast" was an institution in Saint Dominic's, andwas an occasion when any one who had nerves to be excruciated orear-drums to be broken took care to keep out of the way. In place ofthe usual desks and forms, a long table ran down the room, round whichsome fifty or sixty urchins sat, regaling themselves with what was leftof a vast spread of plum-cake, buns, and ginger-beer. How thesebanquets were provided was always a mystery to outsiders. Some said alevy of threepence a head was made; others, that every boy was bound inhonour to contribute something eatable to the feast; and others averredthat every boy had to bring his own bag and bottle, and no more. Bethat as it might, the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles at present assembledlooked uncommonly tight about the jackets after it all, and not one hadthe appearance of actual starvation written on his lineaments.

  The animal part of the feast, however, was now over, and theintellectual was beginning. The tremendous noise which had broughtOliver and Wraysford on to the scene had indeed been but the applausewhich followed the chairman's opening song--a musical effort which wasimperatively encored by a large and enthusiastic audience.

  The chairman, by the way, was no other than our friend Bramble, who byreason of seniority--he had been two years in the Fourth Junior, andshowed no signs of rising higher all his life--claimed to preside on allsuch occasions. He sat up at the top end in stately glory, higher thanthe rest by the thickness of a Liddell and Scott, which was placed onhis chair to lift him up to the required elevation, blushingly receivingthe applause with which his song was greeted, and modestly volunteeringto sing it again if the fellows liked.

  The fellows did like. Mr Bramble mounted once more on to the seat ofhis chair, and saying, "Look-out for the chorus!" began one of thetime-honoured Dominican cricket songs. It consisted of about twelveverses altogether, but three will be quite enough for the reader.

  "There was a little lad, (Well bowled!) And a little bat he had; (Well bowled!) He skipped up to the wicket, And thought he'd play some cricket, But he didn't, for he was-- Well bowled!

  "He thought he'd make a score (So bold), And lead-off with a four (So bold); So he walked out to a twister, But somehow sort of missed her, And she bailed him, for he was Too bold.

  "Now all ye little boys (So bold), Who like to make a noise (So bold), Take warning by young Walker, Keep your bat down to a yorker, Or, don't you see? you'll be-- Well bowled!"

  The virtue of the pathetic ballad was in the chorus, which was usuallynot sung, but spoken, and so presented a noble opportunity for varietyof tone and expression, which was greedily seized upon by the riotousyoung gentlemen into whose mouths it was entrusted. By the time the sadadventures of Master Walker had been rehearsed in all their twelveverses, the meeting was so hoarse that to the two elder boys it seemedas if the proceedings must necessarily come abruptly to a close for wantof voice.

  But no! If the meeting was for the moment incapable of song, speech wasyet possible and behold there arose Master Paul in his place to proposea toast.

>   Now Master Paul was a Guinea-pig, and accounted a mighty man in histribe. Any one might have supposed that the purpose for which he hadnow risen was to propose in complimentary terms the health of hisgallant opponents the Tadpoles. This, however, was far from hisintention. His modesty had another theme. "Ladies and gentlemen," hebegan. There were no ladies present, but that didn't matter.Tremendous cheers greeted this opening. "You all know me; I am one ofyourselves." Paul had borrowed this expression from the speech of aRadical orator, which had appeared recently in the papers. Every oneknew it was borrowed, for he had asked about twenty of his friendsduring the last week whether that wouldn't be "a showy lead-off for hiscricket feast jaw?"

  The quotation was, however, now greeted as vociferously as if it hadbeen strictly original, and shouts of "So you are!"

  "Bravo, Paul!" for a while drowned the orator's voice. When silence wasrestored his eloquence took a new and unexpected departure. "JemmyWelch, I'll punch your head when we get outside, see if I don't!" JemmyWelch was a Guinea-pig who had just made a particularly good shot at thespeaker's nose with a piece of plum-cake. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, Ishall not detain you with a speech (loud cheers from all, and `Jollygood job!' from Bramble). I shall go on speaking just as long as Ichoose, Bramble, so now! (Cheers.) I've as much right to speak as youhave. (Applause.) You're only a stuck-up duffer. (Terrific cheers,and a fight down at the end of the table.) I beg to drink the health ofthe Guinea-pigs. (Loud Guinea-pig cheers.) We licked the old Tadpolesin the match. (`No you didn't!' `That's a cram!' and groans from theTadpoles.) I say we did! Your umpire was a cheat--they always are! Webeat you hollow, didn't we, Stee Greenfield?"

  "Yes, rather!" shouted Stephen, snatching a piece of cake away from aTadpole and shying it to a Guinea-pig.

  "That's eight matches we've won," proceeded Paul; "and--all right,Spicer! I saw you do it this time! See if I don't pay you for it!"whereat the speaker hurriedly quitted his seat and, amid howls andyells, proceeded to "pay out" Spicer.

  Meanwhile Stephen heard his name suddenly called upon for a song, aninvitation he promptly obeyed. But as the clamour was at the timedeafening, and the attention of the audience was wholly monopolised bythe commercial transactions taking place between Paul and Spicer, theeffect of the performance was somewhat lost. Oliver certainly did seehis young brother mount up on the table, turn very red in the face, openhis mouth and shut it, smile in one part, look sorrowful in another, andwave his hand above his head in another. But that was the onlyintimation he had of a musical performance proceeding. Words and tunewere utterly inaudible by any one except the singer himself--even if_he_ heard them.

  This was getting monotonous, and the two visitors were thinking ofwithdrawing, when the door suddenly opened, and a dead silenceprevailed. The new-comer was the dirtiest and most ferocious-looking ofall the boys in the lower school, who rushed into the room breathless,and in what would have been a white heat had his face been clean enoughto show it. "What do you think?" he gasped, catching hold of the backof a chair for support; "Tony Pembury's kept me all this while brushinghis clothes! I told him it was cricket feast, but he didn't care! Whatdo you think of that? Of course, you've finished all the grub; I knewyou would!"

  This last plaintive wail of disappointment was drowned in the clamour ofexecration which greeted the boy's announcement. Lesser feuds wereinstantly forgotten in presence of this great insult. The most sacredtraditions of Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles were being trampled upon by thetyrants of the upper school! Not even on cricket feast night was a fagto be let off fagging!

  It was enough! The last straw breaks the camel's back, and the youngDominicans had now reached the point of desperation.

  It was long before silence enough could be restored, and then theredoubtable Spicer yelled out, "Let's strike!"

  The cry was taken up with yells of enthusiasm--"Strike! No morefagging!"

  "Any boy who fags after this," screamed Bramble, "will be cut dead!Those who promise hold up your hands--mind, it's a promise!"

  There was no mistaking the temper of the meeting, every hand in the roomwas held up.

  "Mind now, no giving in!" cried Paul. "Let's stick all together.Greenfield senior shall _kill_ me before I do anything more for him!"

  "Poor fellow!" whispered Oliver, laughing; "what a lot of martyrdomshe'll have to put up with!"

  "And Pembury shall kill me," squealed the last comer, who had comfortedhimself with several crusts of plum-cakes and the dregs of about a dozenbottles of ginger-beer. And every one protested their willingness todie in the good cause.

  At this stage Oliver and Wraysford withdrew unobserved. "I'm afraidwe've been eavesdropping," said Oliver. "Anyhow, I don't mean to takeadvantage of what I've heard."

  "What a young ruffian your brother is!" said Wraysford; "he lookedtremendously in earnest!"

  "Yes, he always is. You'll find he'll keep his word far better thanmost of them."

  "If he does, I'm afraid Loman will make it unpleasant for him," saidWraysford.

  "Very likely."

  "Then you'll have to interfere."

  "Why, what a bloodthirsty chap you are, Wray! You are longing for me toquarrel with Loman. I'll wait till young Stephen asks me to."

  "Do you think he will? He's a proud little chap."

  Oliver laughed. "It'll serve him right if he does get a lesson. Didever you see such a lot of young cannibals as those youngsters? Are youcoming to have supper with me?"

  The nine o'clock bell soon rang, and, as usual, Oliver went to his doorand shouted for Paul.

  No Paul came.

  He shouted again and again, but the fag did not appear. "They meanbusiness," he said. "What shall I do? Paul!"

  This time there came a reply down the passage--"Shan't come!"

  "Ho, he!" said Oliver; "this is serious; they are sticking to theirstrike with a vengeance! I suppose I must go and look for my fag, eh,Wray? Discipline must be maintained."

  So saying, Oliver stepped out into the passage and strolled off in thedirection from which the rebel's voice had proceeded. The passages wereempty; only in the Fourth Junior room was there a sound of clamour.

  Oliver went to the door; it was shut. He pushed; it was fortified. Hekicked on it; a defiant howl greeted him from the inside. He calledaloud on his fag; another "Shan't come!" was his only answer.

  It was getting past a joke, and Oliver's temper was, as we have seen notof the longest. He kicked again, angrily, and ordered Paul to appear.

  The same answer was given, accompanied with the same yell, and Oliver'stemper went faster than ever. He forgot he was making himselfridiculous; he forgot he was only affording a triumph to those whom hedesired to punish; he forgot the good resolutions which had held himback on a former occasion, and, giving way to sudden rage, kickeddesperately at the door once more.

  This time his forcible appeal had some effect. The lower panel of thedoor gave way before the blow and crashed inwards, leaving a breachlarge enough to admit a football.

  It was an unlucky piece of success for Oliver, for next moment he felthis foot grabbed by half a dozen small hands within and held firmly,rendering him unable to stir from his ridiculous position. In vain hestruggled and raged; he was a tight prisoner, at the mercy of hiscaptors.

  It was all he could do to stand on his one foot, clinging wildly to thehandle of the door. In this dignified attitude Wraysford presentlyfound his friend, and in such a state of passion and fury as he hadnever before seen him.

  To rap the array of inky knuckles inside with a ruler, and so disengagethe captive foot, was the work of a minute. Oliver stood for a momentfacing the door and trembling with anger, but Wraysford, taking himgently by the arm, said, "Come along, old boy!"

  There was something in his voice and look which brought a sudden flushinto the pale face of the angry Oliver. Without a word, he turned fromthe door and accompanied his friend back to the study. There were nolong talks, no lectu
res, no remorseful confessions that evening. Thetwo talked perhaps less than usual, and when they did it was aboutordinary school topics.

  No reference was made either then or for a long while afterwards to theevents of the evening. And yet Oliver and Wraysford, somehow, seemedmore than ever drawn together, and to understand one another betterafter this than had ever been the case before.