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