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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Everybody will think we are trying to shield him if we keep so quiet. Anyhow, here's my paper. You can put it in or not, which you like. I'm not going to write anything else." Pembury took the paper and put it in.
"Good-bye for the present, young gentleman, and come again soon." And so, at peace with all the world, and particularly with himself, Stephen strolled back to Saint Dominic's, whistling merrily. Pembury was not the fellow to give quarter in his own particular line of attack; and it must be confessed he had the proud satisfaction of making his unfortunate young victims smart.
I was sorry to see in the present number a good deal that might have been well omitted of that kind. Remember this, Pembury, I want all you boys, instead of separating off one set from another, and making divisions between class and class, to try to make common cause over the whole school, and unite all the boys in common cause for the good of Saint Dominic's.
But Anthony was too quick for him. Gently hooking him by the coat-collar with the end of a crutch, he brought him back. "What are you doing here?" "Nothing." "Yes, he is," shouted Stephen; "he's been trying to take, away Oliver's ink." "Silence, young gentleman, pray!" said Pembury, very grandly. Then, turning to the Tadpole, he added, "Oh, so you've been trying to bag some ink, have you?"
At the drive gate two boys are standing waiting for the omnibus. Wraysford and Pembury are upon them before they observe that these are Oliver and his brother. What is to be done? There is no escaping them they must pass; yet both of them, somehow, would at that moment they couldn't tell why have dropped into the earth. Oliver looks up as they approach. Now or never!
The gravity even of Pembury broke down at this, and the present conference of the Fifth ended without arriving at any nearer conclusion on the question which was perplexing it. Meanwhile, Oliver and Wraysford were in their study, talking over the event of the day. "I was certain how it would be, old boy," said Wraysford, genuinely delighted. "I wonder what the Fifth will say now?
He was out with you, wasn't he, all the afternoon?" "No," said Wraysford, not looking up, "he had a headache and stayed in." Pembury gave a low whistle of dismay. "I say, Wray," said he, presently, "it really does look bad, don't you think so yourself?" "I don't know what to think," said Wraysford, with a groan; "I'm quite bewildered."
"Well, you fellows," cried Pembury, as the two entered, "do you feel like winning?" "Not more than usual," said Oliver. "How do you feel?" "Oh, particularly cheerful, for I've nothing to do all day, I find. I'm not in for the Nightingale, or for the Mathematical Medal, or for the English Literature. Simon's in for that, you know, so there's no chance for any one."
"It looked like something more than rage," said Pembury, dismally, "something a good deal more." Wraysford said nothing, but fidgeted in his chair. A long silence followed, each busy with his own thoughts and both yearning for any sign of hope. "I don't see what good it could have done him if he did take the paper. He'd have no time to cram it up yesterday.
"And I envy his prospects in the Fifth still less," said Ricketts. "If you take my advice," said Pembury, "you'll leave him pretty much to himself. Greenfield is a sort of fellow it's not easy to score off; and some of you would only make fools of yourselves if you tried to do it." Wraysford had stood by during this conversation, torn by conflicting emotions.
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