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Updated: June 10, 2025
A few of the better sort, like Pembury and Bullinger, had the courage, at whatever cost, to act up to their convictions, and declared at once that they had been wrong, and were ashamed of it. The next step was to approach Oliver, and that was more difficult, for he was such a queer fellow there was no knowing where to have him. However, Pembury's wit helped him over the difficulty as usual.
"Yes, Oliver was always a plodding old blockhead!" drily observed Pembury, who seemed to enjoy the small boy's indignation whenever any one spoke disrespectfully of his big brother. "He's not a blockhead!" retorted Stephen, fiercely. "Go it! Come and kick my legs, young 'un; there's no one near but Loamy, and he can't hurt."
It was she who at last took decisions into her hands when he was too jaded to do anything but generalize weakly, and settled upon the house in Pembury Road which became their London home. She got him to visit Hunstanton again for half a week while she and Miriam, who was the practical genius of the family, moved in and made the new home presentable. At the best it was barely presentable.
Wraysford, of course, came out of the trial well, as he always did. "I declare, the Fifth could lick the Sixth this year, Tom," said Pembury to Tom Senior, as they sat together looking on. "I'm sure they could; I hope we challenge them." Just then a Sixth Form fellow strolled up to where the speakers were standing.
This time it was to Pembury. He knew before he went he had little enough to expect from the sharp-tongued editor of the Dominican, so he went hoping little. To his surprise, however, Pembury was kinder than usual. He told him plainly that he did suspect Oliver, and explained why, and advised Stephen, if he were wise, to say as little about Oliver as possible at present.
"I shouldn't till I was cock-sure of the fact," replied the cautious editor of the Dominican. "Do you mean to say you aren't sure?" said Wraysford. Pembury vouchsafed no answer, but whistled to himself. "All I can say is," said Bullinger, who was one of Wraysford's chums, "it looks uncommonly ugly, if what Simon says is true." "I don't believe a word that ass says."
He stood for a time on the kerb. He turned at last towards Park Lane and Hyde Park. He walked along thoughtfully, inattentively steering a course for his new home in Pembury Road, Notting Hill. At the outset of this new phase in Scrope's life that had followed the crisis of the confirmation service, everything had seemed very clear before him.
The Fifth scarcely dared hope he would stay in long enough for the nine runs required to be made, and looked on now almost pale with anxiety. "Now," said Pembury, near whom Loman, as well as our two Guinea-pigs, found themselves, "it all depends on Oliver, and I back Oliver to do it, don't you, Loamy?"
There was something out of the common about Pembury. With the body of a cripple he had the heart of a lion, and difficulties only made it more dauntless. Any one else would have thought twice, indeed, before undertaking the task he was now setting himself to do, and ninety-nine out of every hundred would have abandoned it before it was half done. But Tony was indomitable.
The offence after all was not a very terrible one, and Pembury got off with a mild reprimand on the evils of practical joking, at the end of which he found himself in his usual amiable frame of mind, and harbouring no malice against his innocent victim. "Greenfield," said he, when shortly afterwards he met Oliver, "I owe your young brother an apology." "What on earth for?"
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