How different it was, too, to be hailed by half a dozen voices from the top of the omnibus at the station and told to hop up beside them! And how jolly to ride in triumph up Bridge Street, exchanging shouts with familiar passengers on the way, or uttering defiant war-whoops at the day boys!
And how jolly to tumble in at Sharpe’s door once more, and slap one another on the back, and crowd up into the old familiar faggery, and hear all the old chaff and slang, interspersed with stories of the holidays, and second-hand Christmas jokes!
And how jolly to hear the organ again in the chapel, and the prayers, with friends all round you; and finally, when the day was over, tuck up again in the little cubicle, and hear your chum’s voice across the partition droning more and more sleepily, till finally you and it dropped off together!
One of the last to arrive during the day was Tempest, who had run from the station, and came in flushed with exercise, but grave and tight about the lips. The ovation he received from the Philosophers scarcely drew a smile from him, and when he reached his own study he slammed the door ominously and cheerlessly behind him. We none of us liked it.
“What’s it to be?” said Coxhead. “Is he to be cock of the house this term, or has he chucked it up?”
That was the question which was agitating us all. Till the form orders were posted to-morrow no one could tell. Crofter, we knew, had been doing all he knew to get ahead, and considering the slack way in which Tempest had let things go all last term, it seemed very much as if he might succeed.
If he did, our duty would be a difficult one. Crofter had a claim on us for having saved Tempest from being expelled, and we could hardly refuse to own him should he come out cock of the house. On the other hand. Tempest was the man of our heart, and our tender imagination failed to picture him in any secondary position in Sharpe’s,—secondary to Crofter, above all other things.
The day closed with one curious incident.
Langrish came to me after supper in a state of wrathful perturbation.
“Look here, young Sarah,” said he, “are you Tempest’s fag or not? That’s all about it.”