"Not fight!" exclaimed Oliver. "Why ever not?" "I suppose because he's a coward. He says because he doesn't choose." "But he _must_ fight, Wray. We must make him!" "You can't. I called him a coward, and that wouldn't make him. You'll have to give it up this time, Noll." But Oliver wouldn't hear of giving it up so easily. He got up and rushed to Loman's study himself. But it was locked. He knocked, no one answered. He called through the keyhole, but there was no reply. Evidently Loman did not intend to fight, and Oliver returned crestfallen and disappointed to his study. "It's no go," he said, in answer to his friend's inquiry. "Oh, well, never mind," said Wraysford. "Even if you could have fought, I dare say it wouldn't have done much good, for he's such a sullen beggar there would have been no making it up afterwards. If I were you I wouldn't bother any more about it. I'll let all the fellows know he refused to fight you!" "What's the use of that?" said Oliver. "Why tell them anything about it?" But tell them or not tell them, the fellows knew already. It had oozed out very soon that a fight was coming off, and instantly the whole school was in excitement. For, however little some of them cared about the personal quarrel between Oliver and Loman, a fight between Fifth and Sixth was too great an event to be passed by unheeded. The Fifth were delighted. They knew their man could beat Loman any day of the week, and however much they had once doubted his courage, now it was known he was the challenger every misgiving on that score was done away with. "I tell you," said Ricketts to a small knot of his class-fellows, "he could finish him up easily in one round." "Yes," chimed in another knowing one, "Loman's got such a wretched knack of keeping up his left elbow, that he's not a chance. A child could get in under his guard, I tell you; and as for wind, he's no more wind than an old paper bag!" "I wish myself it was a closer thing, as long as our man won," said Tom Senior, with a tinge of melancholy in his voice. "It will be such a miserably hollow affair I'm afraid." "I'm sorry it's not Wren, or Callonby, or one of them," said another of these amiable warriors; "there'd be some pleasure in chawing them up." At this moment up came Pembury, with a very long face. "It's no fight after all, you fellows," said he. "Loman funks it!" "What! he won't fight!" almost shrieked the rest. "It must be wrong." "Oh, all right, if it's wrong," snarled Pembury. "I tell you there's no fight; you can believe it or not as you like," and off he hobbled, in unusual ill-humour. This was a sad blow to the Fifth. They saw no comfort anywhere. They flocked to Oliver's study, but he was not there, and Wraysford's door was locked. The news, however, was confirmed by other reporters, and in great grief and profound melancholy the Fifth swallowed their tea, and wondered if any set of fellows were so unlucky as they.