r?
Get yourself out of the meeting, you sneak!"

"Get yourself out!" retorted Paul.

The usual lively scene ensued, at the end of which the door suddenly
opened, and a boy entered.

"Look sharp," he cried: "it's half over by now. They were--"

But what the end of his sentence was to be, history recordeth not. With
a simultaneous yell the youngsters rushed headlong from the room, down
the passages, out at the door, across the quadrangle, and into the
gymnasium. Alas! it was empty. Only the gaunt parallel bars, and idle
swings, and melancholy vaulting-horse.

With a yelp of anger the pack cried back, and made once more for the
school-house. At the door they met Stephen.

"Where's the fight, young Greenfield?" shouted Bramble.

"Nowhere," replied Stephen.

"What! not coming off?" shrieked the youngsters.

"No," laconically answered Stephen.

"Has your brother funked it again?" demanded Bramble, in his usual
conciliatory way.

"He never funked, you young cad!" retorted the young brother.

"Yes, he did, didn't he, Padger? That time, you know, last term. But I
say, Greenfield junior, why ever's the fight not coming off?"

"Loman won't fight, that's why," said Stephen; and then, having had
quite enough of catechising, turned on his heel and left the indignant
youngsters to continue their rush back to the Fourth Junior, there to
spend an hour or so in denouncing the caddishness of everybody and to
make up by their own conflicts for the shortcomings of others.

Oliver meanwhile had settled down as best he could once more to work,
and tried to forget all about the afternoon's adventures. But for a
long time they haunted him and disturbed him. Gradually, however, he
found himself cooling down under the influence of Greek accents and
Roman history.

"After all," said he to Wraysford, "if the fellow is a coward why need I
bother? Only I should have rather liked to thrash him for what he did
to Stee."

"Never mind--thrash him over the Nightingale instead."

The mention of the Nightingale, however, did not serve to heighten
Oliver's spirits at all.

He turned dejectedly to his books, but soon gave up further study.

"You can go on if you like," said he to Wraysford. "I can't. It's no
use. I think I shall go to bed."

"What! It's not quite nine yet."

"Is that all it is? Never mind; good-night, old man. I'm glad it will
all be over on Monday."

Before Oliver went to bed he had a talk with St