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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 class-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 Cockchafer. 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
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