Louis soon made himself a universal favorite among his school-fellows;
and, though he was pronounced by some to be a "softy," and by
others honored by the equally comprehensive and euphonious titles
of "spooney" and "muff," there were few who were not won by his gentle
good-nature, and the uniform good temper, and even playfulness, with
which he bore the immoderate quizzing that fell to his lot, as a new
boarder arrived in the middle of the half-year. If there were an errand
to be run among the seniors, it was, "Louis Mortimer, will you get me
this or that?" if a dunce wanted helping, Louis was sure to be applied
to, with the certainty in both cases that the requests would be complied
with, though they might, as was too often the case, interfere with his
duties; but Louis had not courage to say _no_.
In proportion, however, as our hero grew in the good graces of his
school-fellows, he fell out of those of his masters, for lessons were
brought only half-learned, and exercises only half-written, or blotted
and scrawled so as to be nearly unintelligible; and after he had been
a fortnight at school, he seemed much more likely to descend to a lower
class than to mount a step in his own. Day after day saw Louis kept in
the school-room during play-hours, to learn lessons which ought to have
been done the night before, or to write out some long imposition as a
punishment for some neglected duty that had given place to the desire
of assisting another.
Louis always seemed in a hurry, and never did any thing well. His mind
was unsettled, and, like every thing else belonging to him at present,
in a state of undesirable confusion.
There was one resource which Louis had which would have set all to
rights, but his weakness of disposition often prevented him from taking
advantage of even the short intervals for prayer allowed by the rules
of the school, and he was often urged at night into telling stories
till he dropped asleep, and hurried down by the morning bell, before
he could summon up courage to brave the remarks of his school-fellows
as to his being so very _religious_, &c., and sometimes did not feel
sorry that there was some cause to prevent these solemn and precious
duties. I need not say he was not happy. He enjoyed nothing thoroughly;
he felt he was not steadily in earnest. Every day he came with a
beating heart to his class, never certain that he could get through
a single lesson.
One morning he was endeavoring to stammer through a few lines of some
Greek play, and at last paused, unable to proceed.
"Well, sir," said his master quietly,--"as usual, I suppose--I shall
give you only a few days' longer trial, and then, if you cannot do
better, you must go down."
"Who is that, Mr. Danby?" said a voice behind Louis, that startled him,
and turning his blanched face round, he saw Dr. Wilkinson standing near.
"Who is that, Mr. Danby?" he repeated, in a deep stern voice.
"Louis Mortimer, sir," replied Mr. Danby. "Either he is totally unfit
for this class, or he is very idle; I can make nothing of him."
Dr. Wilkinson fixed his eyes searchingly on Louis, and replied, in a
tone of much displeasure:
"If you have the same fault to find the next two days, send him into a
lower class. It is the most disgraceful idleness, Louis."
Louis' heart swelled with sorrow and shame as the doctor walked away.
He stood with downcast eyes and quivering lids, hardly able to restrain
his tears, until the class was dismissed, and he was desired to stay in
and learn his unsaid lesson.
Reginald followed his brother into the study, where Louis took his books
to learn more quietly than he could do in the school-room.
"My dear Louis," he said, "you must try; the doctor will be so displeased
if you go into a lower class; and just think what a disgrace it will be."
"I know," said Louis, wiping his eyes: "I can't tell how it is, every
thing seems to go wrong with me--I am not at all happy, and I am sure
I wish to please everybody."
"A great deal too much, dear Louis," said Reginald. "You are always
teaching everybody else, and you know you have scarcely any time
for yourself. You must tell them you _won't_ do it; I can't be always
at your elbow; I've quarrelled more with the boys than ever I did,
since you came, on your account."
"Oh dear! I am sorry I came," sighed Louis, "I do so long to be a little
quiet. Reginald, dear, I am so sorry I should give you any trouble. Oh,
I have lost all my happy thoughts, and I know every thing is sure to
go wrong."
Louis remained sadly silent for a few minutes, and then, raising his
tearful eyes to his brother, who was sitting with his chin on his hands,
watching him, he begged him to leave him, declaring he should not learn
any thing while Reginald was with him.
Thus urged, Reginald took his departure, though, with his customary
unselfish affection, he would rather have stayed and helped him.
When he was gone, Louis began slowly to turn over the leaves of his
Lexicon, in order to prepare his lesson. He had not been long thus
employed, when he was interrupted by the irruption of the greatest
dunce in the school, introduced to the reader in the former chapter
as Churchill, _alias_ Oars, a youth of fifteen, who had constant
recourse to Louis for information. He now laid his dog's-eared
Eutropius before Louis, and opened his business with his usual
"Come now, tell us, Louis--help us a bit, Louis."
"Indeed, Harry, it is impossible," said Louis sorrowfully. "I have all
my own to do, and if I do not get done before dinner I shall go into the
third class--no one helps me, you know."
"It won't take you a minute," said Churchill.
"It does take much more. You know I was an hour last night writing your
theme; and, Churchill, I do not think it is right."
"Oh stuff! who's been putting that nonsense into your head?" replied
Churchill. "It's all right and good, and like your own self, you're
such a good-natured fellow."
"And a very foolish one, sometimes," said Louis. "Can't you get somebody
else to show you?"
"Goodness gracious!" cried Churchill, "who do you think would do it
now? and no one does it so well as you. Come, I say--come now--that's
a good fellow,--now do."
"But how is it that you want to learn your lesson now," asked Louis?
"Won't the evening do?"
"No; Dr. Wilkinson has given me leave to go out with my uncle this
afternoon, if I learn this and say it to old Norton before I go; and
I am sure I shan't get it done if you don't help me."
"I cannot," said poor Louis.
"Now I know you're too good-natured to let me lose this afternoon's fun.
Come, you might have told me half."
And against his better judgment, Louis spent half an hour in hearing
this idle youth a lesson, which, with a little extra trouble he might
easily have mastered himself in three quarters of an hour.
"Thank you, Louis, you're a capital fellow; I know it now, don't I?"
"I think so," replied Louis; "and now you must not talk to me."
"What are you doing?" said Churchill, looking at his book; "oh,
'Kenrick's Greek Exercises.' If I can't tell you, I can help you
to something that will. Here's a key." As he spoke, he took down
the identical book taken from Harrison on the day of Louis' arrival,
and threw it on the table before him.
"Is that a key?" asked Louis, opening the book; "put it back, Harry,
I cannot use it."
"Why not?"
"It would not be right. Oh no! I will not, Churchill; put it up."
"How precise you are!" said Churchill; "it's quite a common thing for
those who can get them--Thompson and Harcourt always use one."
"Thompson ought to be ashamed of himself," cried Louis, "to be trying
for a prize, and use a key."
"Well, so he ought, but you won't get a prize if you begin now, and
try till breaking-up day; so you hurt nobody, and get yourself out of
a scrape. Don't be a donkey, Louis."
When Churchill left him alone Louis looked at the title-page, and
felt for an instant strongly tempted to avail himself of the assistance
of the book; but something checked him, and he laid his arms suddenly
on the table, and buried his face on them. A heavy hand laid on his
shoulder roused him from this attitude; and looking up, with his eyes
full of tears, he found Hamilton and Trevannion standing beside him.
"What's the matter, Louis?" said the former.
"I have so much to do;--I--I've been very careless and idle,"
stammered Louis.
"I can readily believe that," said Hamilton.
"A candid confession, at any rate," remarked Trevannion.
"And do you imagine that your brains will be edified by coming in
contact with these books?" asked Hamilton. "What have you to do?"
"I have this exercise to re-write, and my Greek to
learn,--and--and--twenty lines of Homer to write out.
I can't do all now--I shall have to stay in this afternoon."
"I should think that more than probable," said Trevannion.
"What have we here?" said Hamilton, taking up the key. "Hey! what!
Louis! Is this the way you are going to cheat your masters?"
"Pray don't think it?" said Louis, eagerly.
"If you use keys, I have done with you."
"Indeed I did not,--I never do,--I wasn't going. One of the boys left it
here. I am sure I did not mean to do so," cried Louis in great confusion.
"Put it back," said Hamilton, gravely, "and then I will go over your
lessons with you, and see if I can make you understand them better."
"Thank you, thank you,--how kind you are!" said poor Louis, who hastily
put the dangerous book away, and then sat down.
Hamilton smiled, and remarked, "It is but fair that one should be
assisted who loses his character in playing knight errant for all
those who need, or fancy they need, his good services: but, Louis,
you are very wrong to give up so much of your time to others; your
time does not belong to yourself; your father did not send you here
to assist Dr. Wilkinson--or, rather, I should say, to save a set of
idle boys the trouble of doing their own work. There is a vast
difference between weakness and good-nature; but now to business."
Trevannion withdrew with a book to the window, and Hamilton sat down by
Louis, and took great pains to make him give his mind to his business;
and so thoroughly did he succeed with his docile pupil, that, although
he had come in rather late, all, with the exception of the imposition,
was ready for Mr. Danby by the time the dinner-bell rang.
Louis overwhelmed Hamilton with the expression of his gratitude, and
again and again laid his little hand on that of his self-instituted
tutor. Hamilton did not withdraw his hand, though he never returned
the pressure, nor made any reply to Louis' thanks, further than an
abrupt admonition from time to time to "mind what he was about,"
and to "go on."
Several inquiries were made at the open window after Louis, but all were
answered by Trevannion, and our hero was left undisturbed to his studies.
That evening Louis had the satisfaction of being seated near his friend
Hamilton, who, with a good-natured air of authority, kept him steadily
at work until his business was properly concluded. Unhappily for Louis,
Hamilton was not unfrequently with the doctor in the evenings, or he
might generally have relied on his protection and assistance: however,
for the next two or three days, Louis steadily resisted all allurements
to leave his own lesson until learned; and, in consequence, was able to
report to Hamilton the desirable circumstance of his having gained two
places in his class.