But their rage was as nothing to that of the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles. These amiable young animals had of course sniffed the battle from afar very early in the evening, and, as usual, rushed into all sorts of extremes of enthusiasm on the subject. A fight! A fight between Fifth and Sixth! A fight between Greenfield senior and a monitor! Oh, it was too good to be true, a perfect luxury; something to be grateful for, and no mistake! Of course a meeting was forthwith assembled to gloat over the auspicious event. Bramble vehemently expressed his conviction that the Sixth Form man would eat up his opponent, and went the length of offering to cut off his own head and Padger's if it turned out otherwise. Paul and his friends, on the other hand, as vehemently backed the Fifth fellow. "When's it to come off, I say?" demanded Bramble. "To-night, I should say, or first thing in the morning." "Sure to be to-night. My eye! won't Greenfield senior look black and blue after it!" "No, he won't," cried Paul. "Turn him out!" shouted Bramble. "No one wants you here; do we, Padger? Get yourself out of the meeting, you sneak!" "Get yourself out!" retorted Paul. The usual lively scene ensued, at the end of which the door suddenly opened, and a boy entered. "Look sharp," he cried: "it's half over by now. They were--" But what the end of his sentence was to be, history recordeth not. With a simultaneous yell the youngsters rushed headlong from the room, down the passages, out at the door, across the quadrangle, and into the gymnasium. Alas! it was empty. Only the gaunt parallel bars, and idle swings, and melancholy vaulting-horse. With a yelp of anger the pack cried back, and made once more for the school-house. At the door they met Stephen. "Where's the fight, young Greenfield?" shouted Bramble. "Nowhere," replied Stephen. "What! not coming off?" shrieked the youngsters. "No," laconically answered Stephen. "Has your brother funked it again?" demanded Bramble, in his usual conciliatory way. "He never funked, you young cad!" retorted the young brother. "Yes, he did, didn't he, Padger? That time, you know, last term. But I say, Greenfield junior, why ever's the fight not coming off?" "Loman won't fight, that's why," said Stephen; and then, having had quite enough of catechising, turned on his heel and left the indignant youngsters to continue their rush back to the Fourth Junior, there to spend an hour or so in denouncing the caddishness of everybody and to make up by their own conflicts for the shortcomings of others. Oliver meanwhile had settled down as best he could once more to work, and tried to forget all about the afternoon's adventures. But for a long time they haunted him and disturbed him. Gradually, however, he found himself cooling down under the influence of Greek accents and Roman history.