The Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's: A School Story
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CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.
GOOD-BYE TO SAINT DOMINIC'S.
And now, reader, we are at the end of our story, and there only remainthe usual "last words" before we say good-bye.
Saint Dominic's flourishes still, and only last season beat the Countyby five wickets! The captain on that occasion was a fellow calledStephen Greenfield, who carried his bat for forty-eight in the firstinnings. He is a big fellow, is the captain, and has got a moustache.Though he is the oldest boy at Saint Dominic's, every one talks of himas "Greenfield junior." He is vastly popular, and fellows say therenever was such a good Sixth at the school since the days of his brother,Greenfield senior, five years ago. The captain is an object of specialawe among the youngsters of the Fourth Junior, who positively quake intheir shoes whenever his manly form appears in the upper corridor.
These youngsters, by the way, are still the liveliest section of SaintDominic's. The names Guinea-pig and Tadpole have died out, and leftbehind them only the Buttercups and Daisies, who, however, are as fiercerivals and as inky scamps as even their predecessors were. There is alout of a fellow in the Fourth Senior called Bramble, who is extremely"down" on these juveniles, always snubbing them, and, along with onePadger, a friend of his, plotting to get them into trouble. But somehowthey are not much afraid of Bramble, whereat Bramble is particularlyfurious, and summons Padger to a "meeting" about once a week in hisstudy, there to take counsel against these irreverent Buttercups andDaisies.
About the only other fellow the reader will recollect is Paul, now inthe Sixth, a steady-going sort of fellow, who, by the way, has just wonthe Nightingale Scholarship, greatly to the delight of his particularfriend the captain.
Last year the Fifth tried to revive an old institution of their Form, inthe shape of a newspaper entitled the _Dominican_, directed chieflyagainst the members of the Sixth. But somehow the undertaking did notcome off. The _Dominican_ was a very mild affair for one thing, andthere was nothing amusing about it for another thing, and there was agood deal offensive about it for another thing; and for another thing,the captain ordered it to be taken down off the wall on the first day ofits appearance, and announced that if he had any more of this nonsensehe would thrash one or two whose names he mentioned, and knock one ortwo others out of the first eleven.
The _Dominican_ has not appeared since.
The big cricket match against the County I spoke of just now was afamous event for more reasons than one. The chief reason, of course,was the glorious victory of the old school; but another reason, almostas notable, was the strange muster of old boys who turned up to witnessthe exploits of the "youngsters."
There was Tom Braddy, for instance, smoking a big cigar the size of apencil-case, looking the picture of a snob. And with him avacant-looking young man with a great crop of whiskers on his puffycheeks. His name was Simon. The great idea of these two worthiesseemed to be to do the grand before their posterity. They wereconvinced in their own minds that in this they were completelysuccessful, but no one else saw it.
Boys took a good deal more interest in a lame gentleman present, who wascracking jokes with everybody, and hobbling about from one old crony toanother in a manner that was perfectly frisky. Every one seemed to likeMr Pembury, and not a _few_ to be afraid of him. Perhaps that wasbecause he was the editor of a well-known paper of the day, and everyone likes to be on good terms with an editor.
Then there were a batch of fellows whose names we need hardly enumerate,who had run over from Oxford, or Cambridge, or London for the day, andwho got into clusters between the innings and talked and laughed a greatdeal over old times, when "Bully did this," and "Rick did that," and soon. A nice lot of fellows they looked on the whole, and one or two, sopeople said, were doing well.
But among these _the_ lions of the day were two friends who strolledabout arm-in-arm, and appeared far more at home in Saint Dominic's eventhan the boys themselves. One of them was the big brother of thecaptain--a terrible fellow by all accounts. He rowed in the boat of his'Varsity the last year he was at Cambridge, and since then he has beencalled to the bar, and no one knows what else! People say OliverGreenfield is a rising man; if so, we may hear of him again. At anyrate in the eyes of the admiring youngsters of Saint Dominic's he was agreat man already.
So was his friend Wraysford, a fellow of his college, and a "coach" forindustrious undergraduates. He does not look like a tutor, certainly,to judge by his jovial face and the capers he persisted in cutting withsome of his old comrades of years ago. But he is one, and SaintDominic's Junior eyed him askance shyly, and thought him rather morelearned and formidable a person than the old Doctor himself.
No one enjoyed themselves on that day more than these two, who prowledabout and visited every nook and cranny of the old place--studies,passages, class-rooms, Fourth Junior and all.
The match is over, the jubilations of victory have subsided, and one byone the visitors depart. Among the last to leave are Oliver andWraysford; they have stayed to dine with the Doctor, and when at lastthey do turn their backs on the old school it is getting late.
Stephen accompanies them down to the station. On the way they pass thewell-known Cockchafer. The old board is still there, but a new name isupon it.
"Hullo! what's become of Cripps?" asked Wraysford.
"Oh! he's gone," said Stephen. "Didn't you know?"
"No! When was that?"
"The very time you and Noll went up to Cambridge. The magistrates tookaway his licence for allowing gambling to go on at his house. He stuckon at the lock-house for some time, and then disappeared suddenly. Theysaid he was wanted for some bit of swindling or other. Anyhow, he'sgone."
"And a very good riddance too," says Oliver.
"So it is," replies Stephen. "By the way, Noll, what's the last news ofLoman?"
"Oh, I meant to tell you. He's coming home; I had a letter from him aweek or two ago. He says the four or five years' farming and knockingabout in Australia have pulled him together quite; you know how ill hewas when he went out?"
"So he was," says Wraysford.
"He's coming home to be near his father and mother. He's been readinglaw, he says, out in the backwoods, and means to go into his father'soffice."
"I'm glad he's coming home," says Wraysford. "Poor fellow! I wonderwhen he'll come to this old place again."
A silence follows, and Oliver says, "When he does, I tell you what: wemust all make up a jolly party and come down together and help himthrough with it."
"Well, old man!" said Stephen, taking his brother's arm, "if it hadn'tbeen for you, he--"
"Hullo, I say! there's the train coming!" breaks out Oliver. "Lookalive, you fellows, or we shall be late!"
THE END.