a shock head of black hair, and a very dogged look. Eric secretly thought that he a very nice-looking specimen of Roslyn School. However, he sate by him, and glanced at the Caesar which the boy shoved about a quarter of an inch in his direction. But Barker didn’t seem inclined to make any further advances, and presently Eric asked in a whisper—
“What’s the lesson?”
The boy glanced at him, but took no further notice.
Eric repeated, “I say, what’s the lesson?”
Instead of answering, Barker stared at him, and grunted—
“What’s your name?”
“Eric—I mean Williams.”
“Then why don’t you say what you mean?” Eric moved his foot impatiently at this ungracious reception; but as he seemed to have no redress, he pulled the Caesar nearer towards him.
“Drop that; ’tisn’t yours.”
Mr. Gordon heard a whisper, and glanced that way. “Silence!” he said, and Barker pretended to be deep in his work, while Eric, resigning himself to his fate, looked about him.
He had plenty to occupy his attention in the faces round him. He furtively examined Mr. Gordon, as he bent over his high desk, writing, but couldn’t make out the physiognomy. There had been something reserved and imperious in the master’s manner, yet he thought he should not dislike him on the whole. With the countenances of his future school-fellows he was not altogether pleased, but there were one or two which thoroughly attracted him. One boy, whose side face was turned towards him as he sat on the bench in front, took his fancy particularly, so, tired of doing nothing, he plucked up courage, and leaning forward, whispered, “Do lend me your Caesar for a few minutes.” The boy at once handed it to him with a pleasant smile, and as the lesson was marked, Eric had time to hurry over a few sentences, when Mr. Gordon’s sonorous voice exclaimed—
“Fourth-form, come up!”
Some twenty of the boys went up, and stood in a large semicircle round the desk. Eric of course was placed last, and the lesson commenced.
“Russell, begin,” said the master; and immediately the boy who had handed Eric his Caesar began reading a few sentences, and construed them very creditably, only losing a place or two. He had a frank open face, bright intelligent fearless eyes, and a very taking voice and manner. Eric listened admiringly, and felt sure he should like him.
Barker was put on next. He bungled through the Latin in a grating, irresolute sort of way, with several false quantities, for each of which the next boy took him up. Then he began to construe;—a frightful confusion of nominatives without verbs, accusatives translated as ablatives, and adverbs turned into prepositions, ensued, and after a hopeless flounder, during which Mr. Gordon left him entirely to himself, Barker came to a full stop; his catastrophe was so ludicrous, that Eric could not help joining in the general titter. Barker scowled.
“As usual, Barker,” said the master, with a curl of the lip. “Hold out your hand!”
Barker did so, looking sullen defiance, and the cane immediately descended on his open palm. Six similar cuts followed, during which the form looked on, not without terror; and Barker, squeezing his hands tight together, went back to his seat.
“Williams, translate the piece in which Barker has just failed.”
Eric did as he was bid, and got through it pretty well. He had now quite recovered his ordinary bearing, and spoke out clearly and without nervousness. He afterwards won several places by answering questions, and at the end of the lesson was marked about half-way up the form. The boys’ numbers were then taken down in the weekly register, and they went back to their seats.
On his desk Eric found a torn bit of paper, on which was clumsily scrawled, “I’ll teach you to grin when I’m turned, you young brute.”
The paper seemed to fascinate his eyes. He stared at it fixedly, and augured ominously of Barker’s intentions, since that worthy obviously alluded to his having smiled in form, and chose to interpret it as an intentional provocation. He felt that he was in for it, and that Barker meant to pick a quarrel with him. This puzzled and annoyed him, and he felt very sad to have found an enemy already.
While he was looking at the paper the great school-clock struck twelve; and the captain of the form getting up, threw open the folding doors of the schoolroom.
“You may go,” said Mr. Gordon; and leaving his seat, disappeared by a door at the farther end of the room.
Instantly there was a rush for caps, and the boys poured out in a confused and noisy stream, while at the same moment the other schoolrooms disgorged their inmates. Eric naturally went out among the last; but just as he was going to take his cap, Barker seized it, and flung it with a whoop to the end of the passage, where it was trampled on by a number of the boys as they ran out.
Eric, gulping down his fury with a great effort, turned to his opponent, and said coolly, “Is that what you always do to new fellows?”
“Yes, you bumptious young owl, it is, and that too;” and a tolerably smart slap on the face followed—leaving a red mark on a cheek already aflame with anger and indignation—“should you like a little more?”
He was hurt and offended, but was too proud to cry. “What’s that for?” he said, with flashing eyes.
“For your conceit in laughing at me when I was caned.”
Eric stamped. “I did nothing of the kind, and you know it as well as I do.”
“What? I’m a liar, am I? Oh, we shall take this kind of thing out of you, you young cub; take that;” and a heavier blow followed.
“You brutal cowardly bully,” shouted Eric; and in another moment he would have sprung upon him. It was lucky for him that he did not, for Barker was three years older than he, and very powerful. Such an attack would have been most unfortunate for him in every way. But at this instant some boys hearing the quarrel ran up, and Russell among them.
“Hallo, Barker,” said one; “what’s up?”
“Why, I’m teaching this new fry to be less bumptious, that’s all.”
“Shame!” said Russell, as he saw the mark on Eric’s cheek; “what a fellow you are, Barker. Why couldn’t you let him alone for the first day at any rate?”
“What’s that to you? I’ll kick you too if you say much.”
“Cavé! cavé!” whispered half a dozen voices, and instantly the knot of boys dispersed in every direction, as Mr. Gordon was seen approaching. He had caught a glimpse of the scene without understanding it, and seeing the new boy’s red and angry face, he only said, as he passed by, “What, Williams! fighting already? Take care.”
This was the cruellest cut of all. “So,” thought Eric, “a nice beginning! it seems both boys and masters are against me,” and very disconsolately he walked to pick up his cap.
The boys were all dispersed on the playground at different games, and as he went home he was stopped perpetually, and had to answer the usual questions, “What’s your name? Are you a boarder or a day scholar? What form are you in?” Eric expected all this, and it therefore did not annoy him. Under any other circumstances, he would have answered cheerfully and frankly enough; but now he felt miserable at his morning’s rencontre, and his answers were short and sheepish, his only desire being to get away as soon as possible. It was an additional vexation to feel sure that his manner did not make a favourable impression.
Before he had got out of the playground, Russell ran up to him. “I’m afraid you won’t like this, or think much of us, Williams,” he said. “But never mind. It’ll only last a day or two, and the fellows are not so bad as they seem; except that Barker. I’m sorry you’ve come across him, but it can’t be helped.”
It was the first kind word he