CHAPTER EIGHT.
A QUARREL AND A CRICKET MATCH.
The first number of the _Dominican_ had undoubtedly caused a sensation;and it would have created far more sensation but for the fact that theAlphabet Match was to be played on the following day. But even thiscounter-attraction could not wholly divert the mind of Saint Dominic'sfrom this new literary marvel; and a skirmish took place on the veryafternoon of its appearance.
Pembury and his friends had quite expected that the Sixth would attempta high-handed blow at their paper, and they were not disappointed. Forno sooner had Loman and his peers stalked away from the scene of theirindignation, and found themselves in the retirement of their own room,than they fell to talking in terms the reverse of pleasant about theevent of the morning. The least important of their number was speciallywroth.
"There's a great row out in the passage to-day," said Raleigh, who wasblissfully ignorant of the whole matter; "why can't some of you monitorskeep a little better order? The Doctor will be wanting to know whatit's all about!"
"All very well," said Raikes, one of the monitors; "but if the Fifthwill stick their tomfoolery out in the passage, there's sure to be arow."
"What tomfoolery? Some of you are for ever grumbling at the Fifth."
"And so would you if you saw the complimentary remarks they make aboutyou in this precious newspaper of theirs."
"Oh, the _Dominican_? I must have a look at it by and by; but meanwhilesomething had better be done to stop that row, or we shall catch itourselves."
And so saying, the captain left these injured youths to their owncounsels, which it is to be feared were moved more by dislike for the_Dominican_ than by a burning desire for the good order of the school.
However, they must do something; and there would be nothing inconsistentwith their dignity in demanding the withdrawal of the obnoxiousbroadside on account of the noise it caused. This would be a safe move,and might be checkmate. Loman was deputed to wait upon the Fifth withthe demand of the monitors, and lost no time in carrying out thiswelcome task. Class was just over, and the Fifth were just about toclear out of their room when Loman entered. It was not often that aSixth Form fellow penetrated into their camp, and had they not guessedhis mission they might have resented the intrusion.
"Oh, you fellows," began Loman, feeling not quite so confident now as hehad felt five minutes ago, "we can't have that thing of yours hangingout in the passage like that. It makes a crowd--too much row. Whose isit?"
"Not mine," said Wraysford, laughing; "ask Bully--perhaps it's his."
"Not a bit of it," said Bullinger; "it's yours, isn't it, Simon?"
"Only part," said the poet of the "Love-Ballad", "and I presented thatto the paper."
"Suppose it was mine?" said Oliver, with a drawl.
"Then," said Loman, losing his temper, "all I can say is, the sooner youclear it away the better."
"Oh! all right; only it's not mine."
"Look here," said Loman, "I'm not going to fool about with you. You maythink it all very funny, but I'll report it to the Doctor, and thenyou'll look foolish."
"How nice! So pleasant it will be to look for once like what you lookalways," observed Pembury, gnawing the top of his crutch.
At that moment there was a loud shout of laughter in the passageoutside, confirming the monitor's complaint. Wraysford walked hastilyto the door.
"The next time there's a row like that outside our door," called he tothe group outside, "we'll--what do you mean by it, you youngblackguard?"
So saying, he caught Master Bramble, who happened to be the nearestoffender within reach, by the collar of his coat, and lugged him bodilyinto the class-room.
"There, now! Do you know this gentleman? He's a monitor. Have a goodlook at him. He's been complaining of the row you are making, and quiterightly. Take that, and tell all the little Pigs outside that if theydon't hold their noise they will find themselves, every man jack ofthem, _mentioned by name_ in the next number!"
So saying, with a gentle cuff he handed the ill-starred Master Brambleout again to his fellows, and from that time there was scarcely a soundaudible from the passage.
"Good-bye," said Pembury, kissing his hand to Loman, who all this timehad been standing in the middle of the room, in a white heat, andperplexed what to do or say next.
"You aren't going to live here, are you?" asked Bullinger.
"Any one got a toffee-drop?" drily inquired Oliver. To his surprise,and to the surprise of every one, Loman wheeled round towards the lastspeaker, and without a word struck him a blow on the mouth with hishand.
He saw he had made a mistake, and looked ashamed the moment the deed wasdone. All eyes turned to Oliver, whose face was crimson with a suddenflush of pain and anger. He sprang to his feet, and Braddy, the bully,was already beginning to gloat over the prospect of a fight, when, toevery one's amazement, Oliver coolly put his hands back into hispockets, and walking up to Loman said, quietly, "Hadn't you better go?"
Loman stared at him in astonishment. He had at least expected to beknocked down, and this, behaviour was quite incomprehensible.
He turned on his heel and quitted the room without a word; and somehowor other from that time the Fifth heard no more protests from themonitors on the subject of the _Dominican_.
But Oliver's conduct, much as it had astonished the person chieflyconcerned, had astonished the Fifth still more. For the first time inthe history of their class, as far as they could recollect, a blowstruck had not been returned, and they could not tell what to make ofit.
The blow had been a cowardly one, and certainly unmerited, and by allschoolboy tradition one fairly demanding a return. Could it be possibletheir man was lacking in courage? The idea was a shock to most present,who, although Oliver was never very popular among them, as has beensaid, had never before suspected his pluck. In fact, it was an awkwardmoment for all, and it was quite a relief when Simon broke silence byasking Oliver, "Why didn't you knock him down, I say?"
"Because I did not choose, if you want to know," replied Oliver,shortly.
"Oh! I beg your pardon," replied Simon, rather taken aback by thisbrusque answer.
This was not satisfactory. Had the offender been a Guinea-pig, onecould have understood the thing; but when it was a Sixth Form fellow--agood match in every respect, as well as a rival--the Fifth were offendedat their man for drawing back as he had done.
"I suppose you _will_ fight him?" said Ricketts, in a voice whichimplied that there was no doubt about it.
"Do you?" replied Oliver, briefly.
The boy's manner was certainly not winsome, and, when once put out, itwas evident he took no trouble to conceal the fact. He refused toanswer any further questions on the subject, and presently quitted theroom, leaving more than half his class-fellows convinced that, afterall, he _was_ a coward.
An angry discussion followed his departure.
"He ought to be made to fight, whether he likes or not," said Braddy thebully.
"Some one ought to pay Loman out," suggested Ricketts, "if Greenfielddoesn't."
"A nice name we shall get, all of us," said Bullinger, "when it getsabroad all over the school."
"It's a shame, because one fellow funks, for the whole Form to bedisgraced; that's what I say," said some one else.
There were, however, two boys who did not join in this general cry ofindignation against Oliver, and they were Wraysford and Pembury. Thelatter was always whimsical in his opinions, and no one was surprised tosee him come out on the wrong side. As for Wraysford, he always backedhis friend up, whether others thought him right or wrong. These twoscouted the idea of Oliver being a coward; the one with his usual weaponof ridicule, the other with all the warmth of friendship.
"Who calls him a coward?" exclaimed Wraysford, glaring at the lastspeaker.
Wraysford was not a coward, and looked so ready to avenge his friend byhard knocks, that the boy who had insinuated that Greenfield was afraidwithdrew his
charge as mildly as he could. "I only meant, it looks asif he didn't like to fight," he said.
"And what business of yours is it what it looks like?" demandedWraysford.
"Come, old man," said Pembury; "don't eat him up! I fancy Greenfieldmight screw up courage to pull _his_ nose, whoever else he lets off, eh?It's my private opinion, though, Oliver knew what he was about."
"Of course he did," sneered Braddy; "he knew jolly well what he wasabout."
"Dear me! Is that you, Mr Braddy? I had not noticed you here, or Ishould not have ventured to speak on a matter having to do with pluckand heroism. I'm glad you agree with me, though, although I didn't sayhe knew _jolly_ well what he was about. That is an expression of yourown."
Braddy, who as usual felt and looked extinguished when Pembury made funof him, retired sulkily, and the editor of the _Dominican_ thereuponturned his attack on another quarter. And so the dispute went on,neither party being convinced, and all satisfied only on one point--thata cloud had arisen to mar the hitherto peaceful horizon of Fifth Formexistence.
The cricket match of the following day, however, served to divert thethoughts of all parties for a time.
As it was only the prelude to a much more important match shortly tofollow, I shall not attempt to describe it fully here, as the readerwill probably be far more interested in the incidents of Sixth versusSchool Match when it comes off.
The Alphabet Match was, to tell the truth, not nearly as interesting anaffair as it promised to be, for from the very first the N's to Z's hadthe best of it. Stephen, who with a company of fellow-Tadpoles andGuinea-pigs was perched on the palings, looking on, felt his heart sinkwithin him as first one and then another of his brother's side losttheir wickets without runs. For once he and Bramble were in sympathy,and he and Paul were at difference. The row these small boys kicked up,by the way, was one of the most notable features of the whole match.Every one of them yelled for his own side. There had, indeed, been aquestion whether every Guinea-pig, whatever his private initial, oughtnot to yell for the G's, and every Tadpole for the T's; but it waseventually decided that each should yell "on his own hook," and theeffect was certainly far more diverting.
The first four men of the A to M went out for two runs between them, andStephen and Bramble sat in gloomy despair. The next man in knocked downhis wicket before he had played a single ball. It was frightful, andthe jeers of the Z's were hateful to hear.
But Stephen brightened as he perceived that the next batsman was hisbrother. "Now they'll pick up!" said he.
"No they won't! Greenfield senior skies his balls too much for mytaste," cheeringly replied the small Bramble.
But Stephen was right. For the first time that afternoon the A's made astand. Oliver's partner at the wickets was Callonby, of the Sixth, asteady, plodding player, who hardly ever hit out, and got all his runs(if he got any) from the slips. This afternoon he hardly scored at all,but kept his wicket carefully while Oliver did the hitting.
Things were looking up. The telegraph went up from 2 to 20. Wraysford,who had hitherto been bowling with Ricketts against his friend, gave upthe ball to Raikes, and the field generally woke up to the importance ofgetting rid of this daring player.
Stephen's throat was too hoarse to roar any more, so he resigned thatduty to Bramble, and looked on in delighted silence. The score creptup, till suddenly Callonby tipped a ball into cover-slip's hand and wascaught, to the great delight of the Z's, who guessed that, once aseparation had been effected, the survivor would soon be disposed of.
The next man in was Loman. He was better as a bowler than a batsman;but he followed Callonby's tactics and played a steady block, leavingthe boy he had struck yesterday to do the hitting.
Oliver was certainly playing in fine form, and for a moment hisclass-fellows forgot their resentment against him in applauding hisplay. The score was at 35, and the new coalition promised to be asformidable as the last, when Oliver cut a ball past point.
"Run! no! yes, run!" he shouted. Loman started, then hesitated, thenstarted again--but it was too late. Before he could get across, theball was up and he was run out. He was furious, and it certainly washard lines for him, although there would have been time enough for therun had he not pulled up in the middle. Forgetful of all the rules ofcricket, he turned round to Oliver and shouted, "You are a fool!" as heleft the wicket.
Stephen luckily was too much engrossed in watching the telegraph to hearor notice this remark; which, however, was not lost on the Fifthgenerally, who experienced a return of their former discontent when theyobserved that Oliver (though he must have heard it) took not theslightest notice of the offensive expression.
The match passed off without further incident. The Z's won in the endby two wickets, after a closer match than it had promised to be atfirst, and Stephen was comforted for the reverse by feeling sure thathis brother at any rate had played his best, and would certainly get hisplace in the School Eleven.