As for the Fifth, Pembury’s advice prevailed with them. There were a few who were still disposed to take their revenge on Oliver in a more marked manner than by merely cutting him; but a dread of the tongue of the editor of the Dominican, as well as a conviction of the uselessness of such procedure, constrained them to give way and fall in with the general resolution.
One boy only was intractable. That was Simon. It was not in the poet’s nature to agree to cut anybody. When the class dispersed he took it into his gifted head to march direct to Oliver’s study. Oliver was there, writing a letter.
“Oh, I say, you know,” began Simon, nervously, but smiling most affably, “all the fellows are going to cut you, you know, Greenfield. About that paper, you know, the time I met you coming out of the Doctor’s study. But I won’t cut you, you know. We’ll hush it all up, you know, Greenfield; upon my word we will. But the fellows think—”
“That will do!” said Oliver, angrily.
“Oh, but you know, Greenfield—”
“Look here, if you don’t get out of my study,” said Oliver, rising to his feet, “I’ll—”
Before he could finish his sentence the poet, who after all was one of the best-intentioned jackasses in Saint Dominic’s, had vanished.