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Updated: June 15, 2025
This announcement did interest every one the Fifth particularly, who felt their own humiliation now fourfold as they looked at Oliver, and thought of what their conduct to him had been. It interested Oliver and Wraysford as much as any one, but for a different reason.
That handsome, jovial-looking boy of sixteen who is sitting there astride of a chair, in the middle of the floor, biting the end of a quill pen, is the redoubtable Horace Wraysford, the gentleman, it will be remembered, who is in want of a fag. Wraysford is one of the best "all-round men" in the Fifth, or indeed in the school.
"There is no railway or coach from Grandham," suggested Mr Rastle; "he would have to walk back most likely." "And in this rain!" said the Doctor. "Perhaps," said Wraysford, "he may have heard something." It was a cheery suggestion. If it could but be true! "He would have telegraphed," said Mr Loman.
At least he would make one more effort. So he quickened his pace. Oliver turned and saw him coming. But he did not wait. He walked on slowly as before, apparently indifferent to the approach of anybody. This was a damper certainly to Wraysford. At least Oliver might have guessed why his friend was coming after him. It was desperately hard to know how to begin a conversation.
The tremendous noise which had brought Oliver and Wraysford on to the scene had indeed been but the applause which followed the chairman's opening song a musical effort which was imperatively encored by a large and enthusiastic audience.
And yet Wraysford felt quite sick as he called to mind the unflagging manner in which Oliver had worked at his paper that morning, covering sheet upon sheet with his answers, and scarcely drawing in until time was up. It didn't look like losing, this. He threw himself back in his chair in sheer misery. "I would sooner have done the thing myself," groaned he to himself, "than Oliver."
As if you didn't know you were the best fellow in the school!" "I'm not the best, or anything like," said Oliver, warmly; "I hate your 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 looking out. "Ever since you told me of it, I've been trying myself in a mild way to go straight. But it's desperate hard work."
"Well, I know I met Greenfield senior coming out of the Doctor's study on Saturday evening, about five minutes past nine. I'm positive of that," said Simon. "And I suppose he had the paper in his hand?" sneered Wraysford, looking very miserable. "No; I expect he'd put it in his pocket, you know, at least, that is, I would have."
It was unsatisfactory to Loman, who, after the football match, discovered that what little popularity or influence he ever had was finally gone. It was unsatisfactory to Wraysford, who, not knowing whether to be ashamed of himself or wroth with his old friend, settled down to be miserable for the rest of the term.
In vain he struggled and raged; he was a tight prisoner, at the mercy of his captors. It was all he could do to stand on his one foot, clinging wildly to the handle of the door. In this dignified attitude Wraysford presently found his friend, and in such a state of passion and fury as he had never before seen him.
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