Ernest Bracebridge | Page 4

induced to continue still longer when he
found that Lemon did not seem inclined to vie with him.
While the exercises I have described were going forward, the Doctor
made his appearance at the door of the yard, accompanied by a boy
who looked curiously round at what was taking place. After waiting a

minute or so, the Doctor led him on through the grounds.
"I wonder who that chap is!" observed Tommy Bouldon. "He looks a
regular-built sawney."
"Oh, don't you know? He's the new fellow," answered Bobby Dawson.
"I heard something about him from Sandon, who lives in the same
county, ten or a dozen miles from his father's house. The families
visit,--that is to say, the elders go and stay at each other's houses,--but
Sandon has never met this fellow himself, so he could only tell me
what he had heard. One thing he knows for certain, that he has never
been at school before, so he must be a regular muff, don't you see. His
father is a sort of philosopher--brings up his children unlike anybody
else; makes them learn all about insects and flowers, and birds and
beasts, and astronomy, and teaches them to do all sorts of things
besides, but nothing that is of any use in the world that I know of. Now
I'll wager young Hopeful has never played football or cricket in his life,
and couldn't if he was to try. Those sort of fellows, in my opinion, are
only fit to keep tame rabbits and silkworms."
Master Bobby did not exactly define to what sort of character he
alluded; and it is possible he might have been mistaken as to his
opinion of the new boy.
"Well, I agree with you," observed Tommy Bouldon, drawing himself
up to his full height of three feet seven inches, and looking very
consequential. "I hate those home-bred, missy, milk-and-water chaps. It
is a pity they should ever come to school at all. They are more fit to be
turned into nursery-maids, and to look after their little brothers and
sisters."
This sally of wit drew forth a shout of laughter from Bobby Dawson,
who forthwith settled in his mind that he would precious soon take the
shine out of the new boy.
"But, I say, what is the fellow's name?" asked Tommy.
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" answered Bobby. "It's Bracebridge; his

Christian name is--let me see, I heard it, I know it's one of your fancy
romantic mamma's pet-boy names--just what young ladies put in little
children's story-books. Oh, I have it now--Ernest--Ernest Bracebridge."
"I don't see that that is so very much out of the way either," observed
Bouldon; "I've known two or three Ernests who were not bad sorts of
fellows. There was Ernest Hyde, who was a capital cricketer, and
Ernest Eastgate, who was one of the best runners I ever met; still from
what you tell me, I fully expect that this Ernest Bracebridge will turn
out no great shakes."
While the lads were speaking, the subject of their remarks returned to
the playground. An unprejudiced person would certainly not have
designated him as a muff. He was an active, well-built boy, of between
twelve and thirteen years old. He had light-brown hair, curling slightly,
with a fair complexion and a good colour. His mouth showed a good
deal of firmness, and he had clear honest eyes, with no little amount of
humour in them. He was dressed in a dark-blue jacket, white trousers,
and a cloth cap. Dawson and Bouldon eyed him narrowly. What they
thought of him, after a nearer scrutiny, they did not say. He stood at a
little distance from the gymnasium, watching with very evident interest
the exercises of the boys. He had, it seemed, when he first came in with
the Doctor, been attracted with what he had seen, and had come back
again as soon as he was at liberty. He drew nearer and nearer as he
gained more and more confidence, till he got close up to where Dawson
and Bouldon were swinging lazily on some cross-bars. Blackall was at
that moment playing off some of his most difficult feats, such as I have
already described.
"I say, young fellow, can you do anything like that?" said Tommy,
addressing Ernest, and pointing at Blackall. "Dawson here swears there
isn't another fellow in England who can come up to him."
"I beg your pardon, did you speak to me?" asked Ernest, looking at
Tommy as if he considered the question had not been put in the most
civil way.
"Yes, of course, young one, I did. There's no one behind you, is there?"

answered Tommy. "What's more, too, I expect an answer."
"Perhaps I might, with a little practice," answered the new boy
carelessly.