"Oh, it's not that, you know," said Oliver, pulling a quill pen to bits. "What I mean is--oh, bother!--a fellow can't explain it." "So it seems," laughed Wraysford; "but I wish a fellow could, for I've not a notion what you're driving at." "Well, I mean I'm not doing much good. There's that young brother of mine, for instance. What good have I been to him? There have I let him go and do just what he likes, and not looked after him a bit ever since he came here." "And I wager he's got on all the better for not being tied up to your apron strings. He's a fine honest little chap, is young Greenfield." "Oh, I dare say; but somehow I don't seem to know as much of him now as I used to do before he came here." "That's Loman's fault, I bet you anything," exclaimed Wraysford. "I'm sure he won't do the kid any good. But Rastle was saying only yesterday how well Stephen was getting on in class." "Was he? It's little thanks to me if he is," said Oliver, gloomily. "And what else have you got to grumble about?" asked his friend. "Why, you know how I'm out with the Fifth over that affair with Loman. They all set me down as a coward, and I'm not that." "Of course you aren't," warmly replied the other. "But, Noll, you told me a little while ago you didn't care a snap what they thought." "No more I do, in a way. But it's very uncomfortable." "Why don't you tell them straight out why you didn't let out at Loman? They are sure to respect your motive." "Yes, and set me down as posing as a martyr or a saint! No! I'd sooner pass as a coward than set up as a saint when I'm not one. Why, Wray, if you'll believe me, I've been a worse Christian since I began to try to be one, than I ever was before. I'm for ever losing my temper, and--" "Shut up that tune, now," interposed Wraysford, hurriedly. "If you are beginning at that again, I'll go. As if you didn't know you were the best fellow in the school!" "I'm not the best, _or_ anything like," said Oliver, warmly; "I hate your saying so--I wish almost I had never told you anything about it." "Well, I don't know," said Wraysford, walking to the window and looking out. "Ever since you told me of it, I've been trying myself in a mild way to go straight. But it's desperate hard work." "Desperate hard work even if you try in more than a mild way," said Oliver. Both were silent for a little, and then Oliver, hurriedly changing the subject, said, "And then, to proceed with my growl, I'm certain to come a howler over the Nightingale." Wraysford turned from the window with a laugh. "I suppose you expect me to sympathise with you about that, eh? The bigger the howler the better for me! I only wish you were a true prophet, Noll, in that particular." "Why, of course you'll beat me--and if you don't Loman will. I hear he's grinding away like nuts." "Is he, though?" said Wraysford. "Yes, and he's going to get a `coach' in the holidays too."