Oliver in a peculiarly
knowing tone, "wasn't it funny, that about the Doctor losing the paper?
Just the very time I met you coming out of his study, you know, on
Saturday evening. But of course I won't say anything. Only wasn't it
funny?"

What had come over Oliver, that he suddenly turned crimson, and without
a single word struck the speaker angrily with his open hand on the
forehead?

Was he mad? or could it possibly be that--

Before the assembled Fifth could recover from their astonishment or
conjecture as to the motive for this sudden exhibition of feeling, he
turned abruptly to the door and quitted the room.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

A TURN OF THE TIDE.

An earthquake could hardly have produced a greater shock than Oliver's
strange conduct produced on the Fifth Form at Saint Dominic's. For a
moment or two they remained almost stupefied with astonishment, and then
rose a sudden clamour of tongues on every hand.

"What can he mean?" exclaimed one.

"Mean! It's easy enough to see what he means," said another, "the
hypocrite!"

"I should never have thought Greenfield senior went in for that sort of
thing!"

"Went in for what sort of thing?" cried Wraysford, with pale face and in
a perfect tremble.

"Why--cheating!" replied the other.

"You're a liar to say so!" shouted Wraysford, walking rapidly up to the
speaker.

The other boys, however, intervened, and held the indignant Wraysford
back.

"I tell you you're a liar to say so!" again he exclaimed. "He's not a
cheat, I tell you; he never cheated. You're a pack of liars, all of
you!"

"I say, draw it mild, Wray, you know," interposed Pembury. "You needn't
include me in your compliments."

Wraysford glared at him a moment and then coloured slightly.

"_You_ don't call Oliver a cheat?" he said, inquiringly.

"I shouldn't till I was cock-sure of the fact," replied the cautious
editor of the _Dominican_.

"Do you mean to say you aren't sure?" said Wraysford.

Pembury vouchsafed no answer, but whistled to himself.

"All I can say is," said Bullinger, who was one of Wraysford's chums,
"it looks uncommonly ugly, if what Simon says is true."

"I don't believe a word that ass says."

"Oh, but," began Simon, with a most aggravating cheerfulness, "I assure
you I'm not telling a lie, Wraysford. I'm sorry I said anything about
it. I never thought there would be a row about it. I promise I'll not
mention it to anybody."

"You blockhead!