Things after a little seemed to quiet down once more. The exiled rioters, after a long and disheartening search, found rest for the soles of their feet in Tom Senior"s study, which, though not nearly so convenient, afforded them asylum during their pugilistic encounters.
The studious ones settled down once more to their work, and the near approach of the examinations presently absorbed all their attention.
The struggle for the Nightingale Scholarship naturally was regarded with the most intense interest--not because it was the most important examination of the year: it was not. Not because it was worth 50 pounds a year for three years. That to most of the school was a minor consideration. It was as nothing to the fact that of the three candidates for the scholarship one was a Sixth Form boy and two Fifth.
If only one of the latter could come out first, the Fifth and their partisans, all the school over, felt that the insult of the past month would be wiped out, and the glory of the Form avenged for ever. And it must be confessed that the Sixth, however much they professed to ignore the rivalry of their juniors, were equally anxious for their own man, and of late Loman had been working hard. He had worked, so it was reported, during the holidays, and now, ever since term had begun, he had remained more or less secluded in his study, or else, with a book under his arm, had taken walks outside.
Of course, the Sixth Form boy would win! Who ever heard of a Fifth boy beating a Sixth? And yet, in Oliver and Wraysford, the Fifth, every one admitted, had two strong men. They would at least make a hard fight for the prize. The Sixth only hoped they would not run their man _too_ close, and so make the glory of his certain victory at all doubtful.
Loman was not a favourite even with his own cla.s.s-fellows, but they could forgive anything now, provided he made sure of the Nightingale.
"He"ll be all right!" said Callonby to Wren one day, when the two happened to hit on the topic of the hour; "he"s a great deal steadier than he was last term."
"I wish he"d read indoors, then, and not be everlastingly trotting out with his books."
"Oh! I don"t know; it"s much jollier reading out of doors, if you can do it."
"As long as he _does_ read. Well, it will be a regular sell if he comes to grief; the Fifth will be intolerable."
"They"re not far short of that now. Hullo!" This exclamation was provoked by the sight of Loman in the playground under their window. He was returning from one of his studious rambles, with his book under his arm, slowly making for the school.
There was nothing in this to astonish the two boys as they looked down.
What did astonish them was that he was walking unsteadily, with a queer, stupid look on his face, utterly unlike anything his schoolfellows had ever seen there before. They watched him cross the playground and enter the school-house. Then Wren said, gravely, "It"s all up with the Nightingale, at that rate."
"Looks like it," said the other, and walked away. Loman was returning from one of his now frequent visits to the c.o.c.kchafer.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
A CRISIS.
The eventful day, which at the beginning of the term had seemed an age away, slowly but surely drew near.
This was Sat.u.r.day. On Monday the examination would be over, and in a week the compet.i.tors would know their fates!
Some of my readers may know the queer sensation one sometimes gets at the approach of a long-looked-for and hardly-worked-for examination.
For a week or so you have quietly been counting up what you _do_ know.
Now there breaks upon you an awful picture of what you do _not_ know, and with it the absolute conviction that what you do not know is exactly what you ought to know, and what you do know is no use at all. It is too late to do anything. You cannot get up in a day what it would take you a fortnight to go through. And it is not much good, now you are sure it is useless, to go over again what you have done. You begin to feel a sort of despair, which becomes, as the hours close in, positively reckless. What do you care if you do miss? What"s the use of bothering any more about it? It cannot be helped; why make yourself miserable?
Only, you would give worlds to have the thing all over. Such at least were the sensations which stirred in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of Oliver Greenfield and Horace Wraysford as they sat somewhat dejectedly over their books in Oliver"s study that Sat.u.r.day afternoon.
They had both worked hard since the holidays, generally together, neither concealing from the other what he had read or what he intended to read. Very bad rivals were these two, for though each was intent on winning the scholarship, each felt he would not break his heart if the other beat him, and that, as every one knows, is a most unheard-of piece of toleration. Now, however, each felt he had had enough of it. Oliver in particular was very despondent. He slammed up his books suddenly, and said, "I give it up; it"s not a bit of use going on!"
Wraysford pushed back his chair slowly, and said, not very cheeringly, "Upon my word I think you"re right, Noll."
"I"ve a good mind," said Oliver, looking very morose, "to scratch, and leave you and Loman to fight it out."
"Don"t be a jacka.s.s, Noll," replied Wraysford, half laughing. "That _would_ be a sensible thing to do!"
"All very well for you to laugh," said Oliver, his brow clouding. "You know you are well up and are going to win."
"I"m no better up than you are," said the other.
"You know you"re going to win," repeated Oliver.
"I only wish I did," said Wraysford, with a sigh.
"Why," pursued Oliver, evidently bent on a melancholy tack, "I a.s.sure you, Wray, I"ve forgotten half even of what I did know. I was going over some of those brutal Roman History dates in bed last night, for instance, and I positively couldn"t remember one. Then I tried the map of Greece, but I was still worse there; I couldn"t remember where one single place was except Athens and Corinth, and I"m sure I used to be pretty well up in that."
"I expect you were half asleep at the time," suggested his friend.
"No, I wasn"t; I couldn"t sleep a wink. I say, Wray, _wouldn"t_ it be jolly if we only knew now what the questions are going to be on Monday?"
"Why don"t you go and ask the Doctor?" said Wraysford, laughing; "he"d be delighted to tell you."
"What a humbug you are, Wray! I say, suppose we shut up work now and have a turn on the river. I"m certain it will do us more good than cracking our skulls here."
"Just what I had been thinking. I"m game, and it can"t make much difference."
"I suppose Loman is grinding up to the last?"
"I suppose so; I was almost in hopes he wouldn"t keep it up."
"Never mind, it will all be over on Monday; that"s a comfort! Come along, old man. Suppose we get young Stee to c.o.x us up to the lock and back."
Hue and cry was forthwith made for Stephen, but he was not to be found.
He was out, Paul said; at the post, or somewhere.
"Oh, all right; you can come and c.o.x us yourself, youngster," said Wraysford.
"c.o.x you!" exclaimed Paul; "why, ain"t the Nightingale exam coming on, then, on Monday?"
"Of course it is!"
"And you two going out to row! I say, the Sixth will win it if you don"t look-out!" said Paul, in a very concerned voice.
It was quite a revelation to the two boys to discover how great was the interest taken by outsiders in the coming event. Paul was in a great state of alarm, and was actually inclined to refuse to aid and abet what he imagined to be a wicked waste of precious opportunity, until, putting his head into Loman"s study, he found that the Sixth Form fellow was also not at work.
When Oliver and Wraysford appeared in boating flannels in the playground they created as much sensation as if they had been ghosts.
"You don"t mean to say you"re going out, you fellows?" exclaimed Ricketts, one of the idle ones of the Fifth.
"Yes, I do," said Wraysford.
"But the Nightingale, I say?"
"That"s not till Monday."
"I know; but aren"t you grinding for it? I say, don"t let them beat you! Hadn"t you better work instead of going out?"