"I suppose it's another prank of the Fifth. By the way, do you see how one of them has altered this debating society notice?" "Upon my word," said Raleigh reading it, and smiling in spite of himself, "they are getting far too impudent. I must send a monitor to complain of this." And so the two grandees walked on. Later in the evening Greenfield and Wraysford sat together in the study of the former. "Well, I see the Nightingale is vacant at last. Of course you are going in, old man?" said Wraysford. "Yes, I suppose so; and you?" asked the other. "Oh, yes. I'll have a shot, and do my best." "I don't mean to let you have it, though," said Greenfield, "for the money would be valuable to me if I ever go up to Oxford." "Just the reason I want to get it," said Wraysford, laughing. "By the way, when is your young brother coming?" "This week, I expect." "I wonder if he'll fag for me?" asked Wraysford, mindful of his destitute condition. Greenfield laughed. "You'd better ask the captain about that. I can't answer for him. But I must be off now. Good-night." And an hour after that Saint Dominic's was as still and silent as, during the day, it had been bustling and noisy. CHAPTER TWO. A NEW BOY. "Good-Bye, my boy; God bless you! and don't forget to tell the housekeeper about airing your flannel vests." With this final benediction ringing in his ears, the train which was to carry Master Stephen Greenfield from London to Saint Dominic's steamed slowly out of the station, leaving his widowed mother to return lonely and sorrowful to the home from which, before this day, her youngest son had never wandered far without her. Stephen, if the truth must be told, was hardly as affected by the parting as his poor mother. Not that he was not sorry to leave home, or that he did not love her he left behind; but with all the world before him, he was at present far too excited to think of anything rationally. Besides, that last remark about the flannel vests had greatly disturbed him. The carriage was full of people, who must have heard it, and would be sure to set him down as no end of a milksop and mollycoddle. He blushed to the roots of his hair as he pulled up the window and sat down in his corner, feeling quite certain every one of his fellow-travellers must be secretly smiling at his expense. He wished his mother would have whispered that last sentence. It wasn't fair to him. In short, Stephen felt a trifle aggrieved; and, with a view to manifesting his hardihood, and dispelling all false impressions caused by the maternal injunction, he let down the window and put his bare head out of it for about a quarter of an hour, until a speck of dust settled in his eye and drove him back to his seat.