When I rose next morning, and proceeded to take my turn at the
washstand, and array my person in the travel-stained garments of the
previous day, it seemed ages since I had parted with Brownstroke and
entered the gloomy precincts of Stonebridge House.
Everything and everybody around me was gloomy. Even Flanagan seemed not
yet to have got up the steam; and as for the other boys--they skulked
morosely through the process of dressing, and hardly uttered a word. It
was a beautiful day outside; the sun was lighting up the fields, and the
birds were singing merrily in the trees; but somehow or other the good
cheer didn't seem to penetrate inside the walls of Stonebridge House.
I tried to get up a conversation with Flanagan, but he looked half-
frightened and half guilty as I did so.
"I say," said I, "couldn't we open the window and let some fresh air
in?"
(Mrs Hudson had always been strong on fresh air.)
"Look-out, I say," said Flanagan, in a frightened whisper; "you'll get
us all in a row!"
"In a row?" I replied. "Who with?"
"Why, old Hen; but shut up, do you hear?" and here he dipped his face in
the basin, and so effectually ended the talk.
This was quite a revelation to me. Get in a row with Miss Henniker for
speaking to one of my schoolfellows in the dormitory! A lively prospect
and no mistake.
Presently a bell rang, and we all wended our way down stairs into the
parlour where I had yesterday enjoyed my _tete-a-tete_ with Miss
Henniker. Here we found that lady standing majestically in the middle
of the room, like a general about to review a regiment.
"Show nails!" she ejaculated, as soon as all were assembled.
This mysterious mandate was the signal for each boy passing before her,
exhibiting, as he did so, his hands.
As I was last in the procession I had time to watch the effect of this
proceeding. "Showing nails," as I afterwards found out, was a very old-
established rule at Stonebridge House, and one under which every
generation of "backward and troublesome boys" who resided there had
groaned. If any boy's hands or nails were, in the opinion of Miss
Henniker, unclean or untidy, he received a bad mark, and was at once
dismissed to the dormitory to remedy the defect.
One or two in front of me suffered thus, and a glance down at my own
extremities made me a little doubtful as to my fate. I did what I could
with them privately, but their appearance was not much improved.
At last I stood for inspection before the dreadful Henniker.
"Your hands are dirty, Batchelor. A bad mark. Go and wash them."
The bad mark, whatever it might mean, appeared to me very unjust. Had I
known the rule, it would have been different, but how was I to know,
when no one had told me?
"Please, ma'am, I didn't--"
"Two bad marks for talking!" was my only reply, and off I slunk, feeling
rather crushed, to the dormitory.