I
One awakened suddenly in those days. Sleep was not followed by the
haze which trails behind more mature slumbers. One's eyes opened wide
and bright, and brains and legs became instantly active. If by a
chance the boy lying next to you was still asleep, it was the thing to
hit him with a pillow. Even among boys, however, there are certain
morose creatures who are ill-tempered in the morning, and these, on
being struck with a pillow, become malignantly active, and desire to
fight with fists instead of pillows.
Bull was such a boy. He was densely packed with pugnacity. He lived
for ever on the extreme slope of a fight, down which he slid at a word,
a nod, a wink, into strenuous and bloodthirsty warfare. He was never
seen without a black eye, a bruised lip, or something wrong with his
ear. He had the most miscellaneous collection of hurts that one could
imagine, and he was always prepared to exhibit his latest injury in
exchange for a piece of toffee. If this method of barter was not
relished, he would hit the proprietor of the toffee and confiscate the
goods to his own use.
His knowledge of who had sweets was uncanny. He had an extra sense in
that direction, which was a trouble to all smaller boys. No matter how
cunningly one concealed a sticky treasure, just when one was secretly
enjoying it he came leaping out of space with the most offensive
friendliness crinkling all over his face, and his desire to participate
in the confection was advanced without any preliminary courtesies--
"What have you got? Show! Give us a bit. Can't you give a fellow a
bit?"