"My dear fellow, that's the very thing we mustn't do. Don't you see, you old duffer you, that if we shut up shop and retire into private life, everybody will be thinking we daren't hold up our heads? I mean to hold up my head, for one," added Tony, proudly, "if there were a thousand Greenfields in the class; and I mean to make you hold up yours too, old man. It'll be time enough to do the hang-dog business when we all turn knaves; but till we do, we've as good a right to be known at Saint Dominic's as anybody else. So none of your humbug, Rick. We'll get out an extra good _Dominican_, and let the fellows see we're alive and kicking." This speech had the required effect. It not only won over Ricketts, but most of the other leading spirits of the Fifth, who had been similarly holding back. Tony was not the fellow to let an advantage go by. Having once got his men into a becoming frame of mind, he kept them well in hand and worked them up into something like the old enthusiasm on the subject of the _Dominican_. Every one was determined the present number should be an out-and-out good one, and laboured and racked his brains accordingly. But somehow or other the fellows had never found it so hard, first to get inspirations, and then to put them down on paper, as they did at present. Every one thought he had something very fine and very clever to say if he could only find expression for it. The amount of brain-cudgelling that went on over this _Dominican_ was simply awful. Wraysford gave it up in disgust. Ricketts, Bullinger, Tom Senior, and others stumbled through their tasks, and could only turn out lame productions at the best. Even Pembury's lucubrations lacked a good deal of their wonted dash and spirit. The cloud which was hanging over the Fifth seemed to have overshadowed its genius for a while. Still Pembury kept his men at it and gave them no peace till their productions, such as they were, were safe in his hands. One boy only was equal to the emergency; that I need hardly say was Simon. He was indeed more eloquent than ever. He offered Pembury a poem of forty verses, entitled, "An Elegy on the Wick of a Candle that had just been blown out," to begin with, and volunteered to supplement this contribution with one or two smaller pieces, such as, "My Little Lark," or "An Adventure outside the Dormitory Door," or "Mind Mewsings." Pembury prudently accepted all, and said he would insert what he thought fit, an assurance which delighted Simon, who immediately sat down and wrote some more "pieces," in case at the last moment there might be room for them too. But, in spite even of these valuable contributions, the _Dominican_ fell flat. There were a few good things in it here and there, but it was far below its ordinary form; and not a few of the writers repented sorely that ever they had put pen to paper to help produce it.