Et motae ad Lunam trepidabis arundinis umbram. _Juvenal_ x. 21.
"How awfully dull it is, Charlie," said Eric, a few weeks before Easter,
as he sat with Wildney in his study one holiday afternoon.
"Yes; too late for football, too early for cricket." And Wildney
stretched himself and yawned.
"I suppose this is what they call ennui," said Eric again, after a
pause. "What's to be done, Sunbeam?"
"You _shan't_ call me that, Eric the fair-haired; you _shan't_ call me
that, so there's an end of it," said Wildney, hitting him on the arm.
"Hush, Charlie, don't call _me_ that either; it is a name that--never
mind; only don't--that's a good fellow."
"By the bye, Eric, I've just remembered to-morrow's my birthday, and
I've got a parcel coming this afternoon full of grub from home. Let's
go and see if it's come."
"Capital! We will."
So Eric and Wildney started off to the coach-office, where they found
the hamper, and ordered it to be brought at once to the school, and
carried up to Eric's study.
On opening it they found it rich in dainties, among which were a pair of
fowls and a large plum-cake.
"Hurrah!" said Wildney; "you were talking of nothing to do; I vote we
have a carouse to-morrow."
"Very well; only let's have it _before_ prayers, because we so nearly
got caught last time."
"Ay, and let it be in one of the classrooms, Eric; not up here, lest we
have another incursion of the `Rosebuds.' I shall have to cut
preparation, but that don't matter. It's Harley's night, and old Stupid
will never twig."
"Well, whom shall we ask?" said Eric.
"Old Llewellyn for one," said Wildney. "We haven't seen him for an age,
and he's getting too lazy even for a bit of fun."
"Good; and Graham?" suggested Eric. He and Wildney regarded their
possessions so much as common property, that he hadn't the least
delicacy in mentioning the boys whom he wanted to invite.
"Yes; Graham's a jolly bird; and Ball?"
"I've no objection; and Pietrie?"
"Well; and your brother Vernon?"
"No!" said Eric emphatically. "At any rate I won't lead _him_ into
mischief any more."
"Attlay, then; and what do you say to Booking?"
"No, again," said Eric; "he's a blackguard."
"I wonder you haven't mentioned Duncan," said Wildney.
"Duncan! why, my good fellow, you might as well ask Owen, or even old
Rose at once. Bless you, Charlie, he's a great deal too correct to come
now."
"Well; we've got six already, that's quite enough."
"Yes; but two fowls isn't enough for six hungry boys."
"No, it isn't," said Wildney. He thought a little, and then, clapping
his hands, danced about, and said, "Are you game for a _regular_ lark,
Eric?"
"Yes; anything to make it less dull. I declare. I've very nearly been
taking to work again to fill up the time."
Eric often talked now of work in this slighting way, partly as an excuse
for the low places in form, to which he was gradually sinking.
Everybody knew that had he properly exerted his abilities he was capable
of beating almost any boy; so, to quiet his conscience, he professed to
ridicule diligence as an unboyish piece of muffishness, and was never
slow to sneer at the "grinders," as he contemptuously called all those
who laid themselves out to win school distinctions.
"Ha, ha!" said Wildney, "that's rather good! No, Eric, it's too late
for you to turn `grinder' now. I might as well think of doing it myself
and I've never been higher than five from lag in my form yet."
"Haven't you? But what's the regular lark you hinted at?"
"First of all, I hope you won't think the _lark_ less larky because it's
connected with _pigeons_," said Wildney.
"Ridiculous little Sphinx! What do you mean?"
"Why, we'll go and seize the Gordonites' pigeons, and make another dish
of them."
"Seize the Gordonites' pigeons! Why, when do you mean?"
"To-night."