"You mean that jolly fearless-looking little fellow, with the great
black eyes, who came at the beginning of the quarter? No, I don't know
him."
"Well he's a very nice little fellow; a regular devil."
"Humph!" said Eric, laughing, "I shall bring out a new
Duncan-dictionary, in which _Kerkokepovuchos_ equals `very nice little
fellow.'"
"Pooh!" said Duncan; "you know well enough what I mean; I mean he's not
one of your white-faced, lily-hearted new boys, but has lots of fun in
him."
"Well, what of him?"
"Have you any objection to my asking him to sit in the study when he
likes?"
"Not the least in the world."
"Very well, I'll go and fetch him now. But wouldn't you like to ask
your brother Vernon to come in too, whenever he's inclined?"
"No," said Eric, "I don't care. He does come every now and then."
Duncan went to fetch Wildney, and while he was gone, Eric was thinking
_why_ he didn't give Vernon the free run of his study. He would not
admit to himself the true reason, which was, that he had too much ground
to fear that his example would do his brother no good.
Eric soon learned to like Wildney, who was a very bright, engaging,
spirited boy, with a dash of pleasant impudence about him which took
Eric's fancy. He had been one of the most mischievous of the lower
fellows, but, although clever, did little or nothing in school, and was
in the worst repute with the masters. Until he was "taken up" by Eric,
he had been a regular little hero among his compeers, because he was
game for any kind of mischief, and, in the new tone of popular morality,
his fearless disregard of rules made him the object of general
admiration. From this time, however, he was much in the studies, and
unhappily carried with him to those upper regions the temptation to
worse and more injurious follies than had yet penetrated there.
It was an ill day for General Wildney when he sent his idolised little
son to Roslyn; it was an ill day for Eric when Duncan first asked the
child to frequent their study.
It was past nine at night, and the lower-school had gone to bed, but
there was Wildney quietly sitting by the study are, while Duncan was
doing some Arnold's verses for him to be shown up next day.
"Bother these verses," said Duncan, "I shall have a whiff. Do you mind,
Eric?"
"No; not at all."
"Give me a weed too," said Wildney.
"What! young 'un--you don't mean to say you smoke?" asked Eric, in
surprise.
"Don't I, though? let me show you. Why, a whole lot of us went and
smoked two or three pipes by Riverbend only yesterday."
"Phew!" said Eric; "then I suppose I must smoke too to keep you in
countenance," and he took a cigar. It was the first time he had touched
one since the day at the Stack. The remembrance made him gloomy and
silent. "Tempora mutantur," thought he, "nos et mutamur in illis."
"Why, how glum you are," said Wildney, patting him on the head.
"Oh no!" said Eric, shaking off unpleasant memories. "Look," he
continued, pointing out of the window to change the subject, "what a
glorious night it is! Nothing but stars, stars, stars."
"Yes," said Duncan, yawning, "this smoking makes one very thirsty. I
wish I'd some beer."
"Well, why shouldn't we get some?" said Wildney; "it would be very
jolly."
"Get some! What! at this time of night?"
"Yes; I'll go now, if you like, to Ellan, and be back before ten."
"Nonsense," said Eric; "it ain't worth while."
"I believe you think I'm afraid," said Wildney, laughing, and looking at
Eric with his dark eyes; "and what's more, I believe _you're_ afraid."
"Little whippersnapper!" said Eric, colouring, "as if I was afraid to do
anything you dare do. I'll go with you at once, if you like."
"What are you thinking of?" asked Duncan; "I don't care twopence about
the beer, and I hope you won't go."
"But I will, though," said Eric, a little nettled that Wildney, of all
people, should think him wanting in pluck.
"But how will you get out?"
"Oh, _I'll_ show you a dodge there," said Wildney. "Come along. Have
you a dark lantern?"
"No, but I'll get Llewellyn's."
"Come along, then."
So the little boy of twelve took the initiative, and, carrying the dark
lantern, initiated the two study-boys of sixteen into a secret which had
long been known to the lower part of the school.
"Ibant obscuri dubia sub luce." He led them quietly down stairs, stole
with them noiselessly past the library door, and took them to a window
in the passage, where a pane was broken.
"Could you get through that?" he whispered to Eric, "if we broke away
the rest of the glass?"
"I don't know. But then, there's the bar outside."
"Oh, I'll manage that. But will you go and peep through the key-hole of
the library, and see who's there, Duncan?"
"No," said Duncan bluntly, "no key-holes for me."
"Hush! then _I_ will," and he glided away, while Eric, as quietly as he
could, broke away the glass until it was all removed.
"There's only old Stupid," whispered he, irreverently designating an
under-master named Harley, "and he's asleep before the fire. Now, then,
just lift me up, Eric, will you?"
Eric lifted him, and he removed the nails which fastened the end of the
bar. They looked secure enough, and were nails an inch long driven into
the mortar; but they had been successfully loosened, and only wanted a
little pull to bring them out. In one minute Wildney had unfastened and
pushed down one end of the bar. He then got through the broken pane and
dropped down outside. Eric followed with some little difficulty, for
the aperture would only just admit his passage; and Duncan, going back
to the study, anxiously awaited their return.
It was a bright moonlight night, and the autumn air was pleasant and
cool. But Eric's first thought, as he dropped on to the ground, was one
of shame that he should suffer his new friend, a mere child, so easily
to tempt him into disobedience and sin. He had hardly thought till then
of what their errand was to be, but now he couldn't help so strongly
disapproving of it, that he was half inclined to turn back. He did not,
however, dare to suggest this, lest Wildney should charge him with
cowardice, and betray it to the rest. Besides, the adventure had its
own excitement, the stars looked splendid, and the stolen waters were
sweet.
"I hope we shan't be seen crossing the playground," said Wildney. "My
eye, shouldn't we catch it!"
He was obviously beginning to be afraid; so Eric assumed an air of
nonchalance, and played the part of protector.
"Here, take my arm," he said; and as Wildney grasped it tight, instead
of feeling angry and ashamed at having been misled by one so much his
junior, Eric felt strongly drawn towards him by community of danger and
interest. Reaching Ellan, it suddenly struck him that he did not know
where they were going to buy the beer. He asked Wildney.
"Oh, I see you're not half up to snuff," said Wildney, whose courage had
risen; "I'll show you."
He led to a little low public-house, whence tipsy songs were booming,
and tapped at a side door three times. As they looked in they saw some
sailors boozing in a dirty taproom, and enveloped in tobacco smoke.
The side door was opened, and a cunning man held up a light to see who
they were.
"Hallo, Billy," said Wildney confidentially, "all serene; give us two
bottles of beer--on tick, you know."
"Yessir--d'reckly," said the man, with a hateful twinkle of the eyes.
"So you're out for a spree," he continued, winking in a knowing way.
"Won't you walk into the back parlour while I get them?" And he showed
them into a dingy horrid room behind the house, stale with smoke, and
begrimed with dust.
Eric was silent and disgusted, but Wildney seemed quite at home. The
man soon returned with the beer. "Wouldn't you like a glass of summat
now, young gen'leman?" he asked in an insinuating way.
"No, Billy! don't jabber--we must be off. Here, open the door."
"Stop, I'll pay," said Eric. "What's the damage?"
"Three shilling, sir," said the man. "Glad to see a new customer, sir."
He pocketed the money and showed them out, standing to look after them
with a malicious leer as they disappeared, and jerking his left thumb
over his shoulder.
"Faugh!" said Eric, taking a long breath as they got out again into the
moonlight, "what a poisonous place! Good gracious, Charlie, who
introduced you there?"
"Oh, I don't think much of going _there_," said Wildney carelessly; "we
go every week almost."
"We! who?"
"Oh, Brigson and a lot of us. We have a club there which we call `the
Anti-muffs,' and that's our smoking-room."
"And is that horrid beast the landlord?"
"Yes; he was an old school-servant, and there's no harm in him that I
know of."
But Eric only "phewed" again two or three times, and thought of Montagu.
Suddenly Wildney clutched him by the arm, and pulled him into the deep
shadow of a porch, whispering in a low tone, "Look!"
Under a lamp-post directly opposite them, stood Mr Rose. He had heard
voices and footsteps a moment before, and, puzzled at their sudden
cessation in the noiseless street, he was looking round.
"We must run for it," whispered Wildney hastily, as Mr Rose approached
the porch; and the two boys took to their heels, and scampered away as
hard as they could, Eric helping on Wildney by taking his hand, and
neither of them looking behind. They heard Mr Rose following them at
first, but soon distanced him, and reached a place where two roads met,
either of which would lead to the school.
"We won't go by the road; I know a short cut by the fields. What fun!"
said Wildney, laughing.
"What an audacious little monkey you are; you know all sorts of dodges,"
said Eric.
They had no time to talk, but with a speed winged by fear got to the
school, sprang on the buttress beneath the window, effected their
entrance, and vanished after replacing the bar--Eric to his study, and
Wildney to his dormitory.
"Here's a go!" said the latter, as they ran up stairs. "I've smashed
one of the beer bottles in getting through the window, and my trousers
are deluged with the stuff."
They had hardly separated when Mr Rose's step was heard on the stairs.
He was just returning from a dinner-party, when the sight of two boys
and the sound of their voices startled him in the street, and their
sudden disappearance made him sure that they were Roslyn boys,
particularly when they began to run. He strongly suspected that he
recognised Wildney as one of them, and therefore made straight for his
dormitory, which he entered, just as that worthy had thrust the
beer-stained trousers under his bed. Mr Rose walked up quietly to his
bedside, and observed that he was not asleep, and that he still had half
his clothes on. He was going away when he saw a little bit of the
trousers protruding under the mattress, and giving a pull, out they came
wringing wet with the streams of beer. He could not tell at first what
this imported, but a fragment of the bottle fell out of the pocket with
a crash on the floor, and he then discovered. Taking no notice of
Wildney's pretended sleep, he said quietly, "Come to me before breakfast
to-morrow, Wildney," and went down stairs.
Eric came in soon after, and found the little fellow vainly attempting
to appear indifferent as he related to his admiring auditors the night's
adventure; being evidently rather proud of the "Eric and I," which he
introduced every now and then into his story.
"Has he twigged you?"
"Yes."
"And me?"
"I don't know; we shall see to-morrow."
"I hope not," said Eric; "I'm sorry for you, Charlie."
"Can't be cured, must be endured," said Wildney.
"Well, good-night! and don't lose heart."
Eric went back to Duncan in the study, and they finished the other
bottle of beer between them, though without much enjoyment, because they
were full of surmises as to the extent of the discovery, and the nature
of the punishment.
Eric went in to tell Montagu of their escapade.
He listened very coldly, and said, "Well, Eric, it would serve you right
to be caught. What business have you to be going out at night at the
invitation of contemptible small fry, like this little Wildney?"
"I beg you won't speak of any friend of mine in those terms," said Eric,
drawing up haughtily.
"I hope you don't call a bad little boy like Wildney, who'd be no credit
to any one, _your_ friend, Eric?"
"Yes, I do though. He's one of the pluckiest, finest, most promising
fellows in the lower-school."
"How I begin to hate that word plucky," said Montagu; "it's made the
excuse here for everything that's wrong, base, and unmanly. It seems to
me it's infinitely more `plucky' just now to do your duty and not be
ashamed of it."
"You've certainly required _that_ kind of pluck to bear you up lately,
Monty," said Owen, looking up from his books.
"Pluck!" said Montagu scornfully; "you seem to me to think it consists
in lowering yourself down to the level of that odious Brigson, and
joining hand and glove with the dregs of the school."
"Dregs of the school! Upon my word, you're cool, to speak of any of my
associates in that way," said Eric, now thoroughly angry.
"Associates!" retorted Montagu hotly; "pretty associates! How do you
expect anything good to go on, when fellows high in the school like you
have such dealings with the refined honourable Brigson, and the
exemplary intellectual Wildney?"
"You're a couple of confounded muffs!" shouted Eric, banging the door
and flinging into his own study again without further reply.
"Haven't you been a little hard on him, considering the row he's in?"
asked Owen.
Montagu's head was resting on his hand as he bent over the table.
"Perhaps I have, indeed. But who could help it, Owen, in the present
state of things? Yes, you're right," he said, after a pause; "_this_
wasn't the time to speak. I'll go and talk to him again. But how
utterly changed he is!"
He found Eric on the stairs going down to bed with an affectation of
noise and gaiety. He ran after him, and said--
"Forgive me my passion and sarcasm, Williams. You know I am apt to
express myself strongly." He could not trust himself to say more, but
held out his hand.
Eric got red, and hesitated for a moment.
"Come, Eric, it isn't _wholly_ my fault, is it, that we are not so warm
to each other as we were when--"
"O Monty, Monty!" said Eric, softened by the allusion; and he warmly
grasped his friend's proffered hand.
"O Eric!"
The two shook hands in silence, and as they left each other they felt
that while things continued thus their friendship could not last. It
was a sad thought for both.
Next morning Wildney received a severe flogging, but gained great
reputation by not betraying his companion, and refusing to drop the
least hint as to their means of getting out, or their purpose in
visiting Ellan. So the secret of the bar remained undiscovered, and
when any boy wanted to get out at night--(unhappily the trick now became
common enough)--he had only to break a pane of glass in that particular
window, which, as it was in the passage, often remained unmended and
undiscovered for weeks.
After the flogging, Mr Rose said shortly to Eric, "I want to speak to
you."
The boy's heart misgave him as they entered the familiar library.
"I think I suspect who was Wildney's companion."
Eric was silent.
"I have no proof, and shall not therefore act on vague suspicion; but
the boy whom I _do_ suspect is one whose course lately has given me the
deepest pain; one who has violated all the early promise he gave; one
who seems to be going farther and farther astray, and sacrificing all
moral principle to the ghost of a fleeting and most despicable
popularity--to the approval of those whom he cannot himself approve."
Eric still silent.
"Whatever you do _yourself_ Williams,"--(it was the first time for two
years that Mr Rose had called him "Williams," and he winced a
little)--"whatever you do _yourself_ Williams, rests with _you_; but
remember it is a ten-thousandfold heavier and more accursed crime to set
stumbling-blocks in the way of others, and abuse your influence to cause
any of Christ's little ones to perish."
"I wasn't the tempter, however," thought Eric, still silent;--it was the
silence of pride and unwilling conviction.
"Well, you seem hardened, and give no sign. Believe me, Williams, I
grieve for you, and that bitterly. My interest in you is no less warm,
though my affection for you cannot be the same. You may go."
"Another friend alienated, and oh, how true a one! He has not asked me
to see him once this term," thought Eric sadly; but a shout of pleasure
greeted him directly he joined the football in the playground, and half
consoled, he hoped Mr Rose had heard it, and understood that it was
meant for the boy whom he had just been rebuking. "Well, after all," he
thought, "I have _some_ friends still."
Yes, friends, such as they were! Except Duncan, hardly one boy whom he
really respected ever walked with him now. Even little Wright, one of
the very few lower boys who had risen superior to Brigson's temptations,
seemed to keep clear of him as much as he could: and in absolute
vacuity, he was obliged to associate with fellows like Attlay, and
Graham, and Llewellyn, and Ball.
Even with Ball! All Eric's repugnance for this boy seemed to have
evaporated; they were often together, and, to all appearance, were sworn
friends.
Eric did not shrink now from such conversation as was pursued unchecked
in his presence by nearly every one; nay, worse, it had lost its horror,
and he was neither afraid nor ashamed to join in it himself. This
plague-spot had fretted more deeply than any other into the heart of the
school morality, and the least boys seemed the greatest proficients in
unbaring, without a blush, its hideous ugliness.