Eric, or, Little by Little | Page 7

a strange room full of strange people, and especially when you enter it from a darker passage. Eric felt dazzled, and not seeing the regular route to the master's desk, went towards it between two of the benches. As these were at no great distance from each other, he stumbled against several legs on his way, and felt pretty sure that they were put out on purpose to trip him, especially by one boy, who, pretending to be much hurt, drew up his leg, and began rubbing it, ejaculating sotto voce, "awkward little fool."
In this very clumsy way he at last reached the desk, and presented his missive. The master's eye was on him, but all Eric had time to observe was, that he looked rather stern, and had in his hand a book which he seemed to be studying with the deepest interest. He glanced first at the note, and then looked full at the boy, as though determined to read his character at a glance.
"Williams, I suppose?"
"Yes, Sir," said Eric, very low, still painfully conscious that all the boys were looking at him, as well as the master.
"Very well, Williams, you are placed in the lowest form--the fourth. I hope you will work well. At present they are learning their Cesar. Go and sit next to that boy," pointing towards the lower end of the room; "he will show you the lesson, and let you look over his book. Barker, let Williams look over you!"
Eric went and sat down at the end of a bench by the boy indicated. He was a rough-looking fellow, with a shock head of black hair, and a very dogged look. Eric secretly thought that he wasn't a very nice-looking specimen of Roslyn school. However, he sate by him, and glanced at the Cesar which the boy shoved about a quarter of an inch in his direction. But Barker didn't seem inclined to make any further advances, and presently Eric asked in a whisper,
"What's the lesson?"
The boy glanced at him, but took no further notice.
Eric repeated, "I say, what's the lesson?"
Instead of answering, Barker stared at him, and grunted,
"What's your name?"
"Eric--I mean Williams."
"Then why don't you say what you mean?"
Eric moved his foot impatiently at this ungracious reception; but as he seemed to have no redress, he pulled the Cesar nearer towards him.
"Drop that; 't isn't yours."
Mr. Gordon heard a whisper, and glanced that way. "Silence!" he said, and Barker pretended to be deep in his work, while Eric, resigning himself to his fate, looked about him.
He had plenty to occupy his attention in the faces round him. He furtively examined Mr. Gordon, as he bent over his high desk, writing, but couldn't make our the physiognomy. There had been something reserved and imperious in the master's manner, yet he thought he should not dislike him on the whole. With the countenances of his future schoolfellows he was not altogether pleased, but there were one or two which thoroughly attracted him. One boy, whose side face was turned towards him as he sat on the bench in front, took his fancy particularly, so, tired of doing nothing, he plucked up courage, and leaning forward whispered, "Do lend me your Cesar for a few minutes." The boy at once handed it to him with a pleasant smile, and as the lesson was marked, Eric had time to hurry over a few sentences, when Mr. Gordon's sonorous voice exclaimed,
"Fourth form, come up!"
Some twenty of the boys went up, and stood in a large semicircle round the desk. Eric of course was placed last, and the lesson commenced.
"Russell, begin," said the master; and immediately the boy who had handed Eric his Caesar, began reading a few sentences, and construed them very creditably, only losing a place or two. He had a frank open face, bright intelligent fearless eyes, and a very taking voice and manner. Eric listened admiringly and felt sure he should like him.
Barker was put on next. He bungled through the Latin in a grating irresolute sort of a way, with several false quantities, for each of which the next boy took him up. Then he began to construe;--a frightful confusion of nominatives without verbs, accusatives translated as ablatives, and perfects turned into prepositions ensued, and after a hopeless flounder, during which Mr. Gordon left him entirely to himself, Barker came to a full stop; his catastrophe was so ludicrous, that Eric could not help joining in the general titter Barker scowled.
"As usual, Barker," said the master, with a curl of the lip. "Hold out your hand!"
Barker did so, looking sullen defiance, and the cane immediately descended on his open palm. Six similar cuts followed, during which the form looked on, not without terror; and Barker, squeezing his hands tight together, went back to