“It’s a shame, because one fellow funks, for the whole Form to be disgraced; that’s what I say,” said some one else.
There were, however, two boys who did not join in this general cry of indignation against Oliver, and they were Wraysford and Pembury. The latter was always whimsical in his opinions, and no one was surprised to see him come out on the wrong side. As for Wraysford, he always backed his friend up, whether others thought him right or wrong. These two scouted the idea of Oliver being a coward; the one with his usual weapon of ridicule, the other with all the warmth of friendship.
“Who calls him a coward?” exclaimed Wraysford, glaring at the last speaker.
Wraysford was not a coward, and looked so ready to avenge his friend by hard knocks, that the boy who had insinuated that Greenfield was afraid withdrew his charge as mildly as he could. “I only meant, it looks as if he didn’t like to fight,” he said.
“And what business of yours is it what it looks like?” demanded Wraysford.
“Come, old man,” said Pembury; “don’t eat him up! I fancy Greenfield might screw up courage to pull his nose, whoever else he lets off, eh? It’s my private opinion, though, Oliver knew what he was about.”
“Of course he did,” sneered Braddy; “he knew jolly well what he was about.”
“Dear me! Is that you, Mr Braddy? I had not noticed you here, or I should not have ventured to speak on a matter having to do with pluck and heroism. I’m glad you agree with me, though, although I didn’t say he knew jolly well what he was about. That is an expression of your own.”
Braddy, who as usual felt and looked extinguished when Pembury made fun of him, retired sulkily, and the editor of the Dominican thereupon turned his attack on another quarter. And so the dispute went on, neither party being convinced, and all satisfied only on one point—that a cloud had arisen to mar the hitherto peaceful horizon of Fifth Form existence.
The cricket match of the following day, however, served to divert the thoughts of all parties for a time.