Eric, or Little by Little Part 32

Eric awoke with a bad headache, and a sense of shame and sickness. When he got up he felt most wretched; and while washing he thought to himself, "Ah! that I could thus wash away the memory of last night!" Of course, after what had occurred, Eric and Montagu were no longer on speaking terms, and miserable as poor Eric felt when he saw how his blow had bruised and disfigured his friend's face, he made no advances. He longed, indeed, from his inmost heart, to be reconciled to him; but feeling that he had done grievous wrong, he dreaded a repulse, and his pride would not suffer him to run the risk. So he pretended to feel no regret, and, supported by his late boon companions, represented the matter as occurring in the defence of Wildney, whom Montagu was bullying.

Montagu, too, was very miserable; but he felt that, although ready to forgive Eric, he could not, in common self-respect, take the first step to a reconciliation; indeed, he rightly thought that it was not for Eric's good that he should do so.

"You and Williams appear never to speak to each other now," said Mr Rose. "I am sorry for it, Monty; I think you are the only boy who has any influence over him."

"I fear you are mistaken, sir, in that. Little Wildney has much more."

"Wildney?" asked Mr Rose, in sorrowful surprise. "Wildney more influence than _you_?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, that our poor Edwin had lived!"

So, with a sigh, Walter Rose and Harry Montagu buried their friendship for Eric until happier days.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SIX.

ERIC AND MONTAGU.

And constancy lives in realms above; And life is th.o.r.n.y; and youth is vain; And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.

Each spoke words of high disdain, And insult to his heart's best brother.

_Coleridge's Christabel_.

Wright had not forgotten Montagu's advice, and had endeavoured to get the names of boys who weren't afraid to scout publicly the disgrace of cheating in form. But he could only get one name promised him--the name of Vernon Williams; and feeling how little could be gained by using it, he determined to spare Vernon the trial, and speak, if he spoke at all, on his own responsibility.

As usual, the cribbing at the next weekly examination was well-nigh universal, and when Mr Gordon went out to fetch something he had forgotten, merely saying, "I trust to your honour not to abuse my absence," books and papers were immediately pulled out with the coolest and most unblushing indifference.

This was the time for Wright to deliver his conscience; he had counted the cost, and, rightly or wrongly, considering it to be his duty, he had decided that speak he would. He well knew that his interference would be attributed to jealousy, meanness, sneaking, and every kind of wrong motive, since he was himself one of the greatest sufferers from the prevalent dishonesty; but still he had come to the conclusion that he _ought_ not to draw back, and therefore he bravely determined that he would make his protest, whatever happened.

So, very nervously, he rose and said, "I want to tell you all that I think this cheating very wrong and blackguardly. I don't mind losing by it myself; but if Vernon Williams loses the prize in the lower-fourth, and any one gets it by copying, I've made up my mind to tell Gordon."

His voice trembled a little at first, but he spoke fast, and acquired firmness as he went on. Absolute astonishment and curiosity had held the boys silent with amazement, but by the end of this sentence they had recovered themselves, and a perfect burst of derision and indignation followed.

"Let's see if _that'll_ cut short his oration," said Wildney, throwing a book at his head, which was instantly followed by others from all quarters.

"My word! we've had nothing but lectures lately," said Booking. "Horrid little Owenite saint."

"Saint!--sneak, you mean. I'll teach him," growled Pietrie, and jumping up, he belaboured Wright's head with the Latin Grammar out of which he had just been cribbing.

The whole room was in confusion and hubbub, during which Wright sat stock-still, quietly enduring without bowing to the storm.

Only one boy sympathised with him, but he did so deeply--poor little penitent Vernon. He felt his position hard because Wright had alluded so prominently to him, and he knew how much he must be misconstrued but he had his brother's spirit, and would not shrink. Amid the tumult he got up in his seat, and they heard his pleasant childish voice saying boldly, "I hope Wright won't tell; but he's the best fellow in the room, and cribbing _is_ a shame, as he says."

What notice would have been taken of this speech is doubtful, for at the critical moment Mr Gordon reappeared, and the whispered cave caused instantaneous quiet.

Poor Wright awaited with some dread the end of school; and many an angry kick and blow he got, though he disarmed malice by the spirit and heroism with which he endured them. The news of his impudence spread like wildfire, and not five boys in the school approved of what he had done, while most of them were furious at his ill-judged threat of informing Mr Gordon. There was a general agreement to thrash him after roll-call that afternoon.

Eric had lately taken a violent dislike to Wright, though he had been fond of him in better days. He used to denounce him as a disagreeable and pragmatical little m.u.f.f, and was as loud as any of them in condemning his announced determination to "sneak." Had he known that Wright had acted under Montagu's well-meant, though rather mistaken advice, he might have abstained from having anything more to do with the matter, but now he promised to kick Wright himself after the four o'clock bell.

Four o'clock came; the names were called; the master left the room.

Wright, who perfectly knew what was threatened, stood there pale but fearless. His indifferent look was an additional annoyance to Eric, who walked up to him carelessly, and boxing his ears, though without hurting him, said contemptuously, "Conceited little sneak."

Montagu had been told of the intended kicking, and had determined even single-handed to prevent it. He did _not_, however, expect that Eric would have taken part in it, and was therefore unprepared. The colour rushed into his cheeks; he went up, took Wright quietly by the hand, and said with firm determination, "No one in the school shall touch Wright again."

"What? no one! just hark to that," said Graham; "I suppose he thinks himself c.o.c.k of the school."

Eric quite misunderstood Montagu's proceeding; he took it for a public challenge. All the Rowlandites were round, and to yield would have looked like cowardice. Above all, his evil genius Wildney was by, and said, "How very nice! I say, Eric, you and I will have to get _The Whole Duty of Man_ again."

A threatening circle had formed round Montagu, but his closed lips and flushing brow and dilated nostrils betrayed a spirit which made them waver, and his n.o.ble face glowed with a yet n.o.bler expression in the consciousness of an honourable cause, as he quietly repeated, "No one shall touch you, Wright."

"They _will_, though," said Eric instantly; "_I_ will, for one, and I should like to see you prevent me." And so saying he gave Wright another slight blow.

Montagu dropped Wright's hand, and said slowly, "Eric Williams, I have taken one unexpected blow from you without a word, and bear the marks of it yet. It is time to show that it was _not_ through cowardice that I did not return it. Will you fight?"

The answer was not prompt by any means, though every one in the school knew that Eric was not afraid. So sure was he of this, that, for the sake of "auld lang syne," he would probably have declined to fight with Montagu had it been left to his own impulses.

"I have been in the wrong, Montagu, more than once," he answered falteringly, "and we have been friends--"

But it was the object of many of the worst boys that the two should fight--not only that they might see the fun, but that Montagu's authority, which stood in their way, might be flung aside. So Booking whispered in an audible voice--

"Faith! he's showing the white feather."

"You're a liar!" flung in Eric; and turning to Montagu, he said, "There!

I'll fight you this moment."

Instantly they had stripped off their coats and prepared for action. A ring of excited boys crowded round them. Fellows of sixteen, like Montagu and Eric, rarely fight, because their battles have usually been decided in their earlier schooldays; and it was also but seldom that two boys so strong, active, and prominent (above all, so high in the school) took this method of settling their differences.

The fight began, and at first the popular favour was entirely on the side of Eric, while Montagu found few or none to back him. But he fought with a fire and courage which soon won applause; and as Eric, on the other hand, was random and spiritless, the cry was soon pretty fairly divided between them.

After a sharp round they paused for breath, and Owen, who had been a silent and disgusted spectator of such a combat between boys of such high standing, said with much feeling--

"This is not a very creditable affair, Montagu."

"It is necessary," was Montagu's laconic reply. Among other boys who had left the room before the fracas had taken place was Vernon Williams, who shrank away to avoid the pain of seeing his new friend Wright bullied and tormented. But curiosity soon took him back, and he came in just as the second round began. At first he only saw a crowd of boys in the middle of the room, but jumping on a desk, he had a full view of what was going on.

There was a tremendous hubbub of voices, and Eric, now thoroughly roused by the remarks he overheard, and especially by Wildney's whisper that "he was letting himself be licked," was exerting himself with more vigour and effect. It was anything but a pleasant sight; the faces of the combatants were streaked with blood and sweat, and as the miserable gang of lower-school boys backed them on with eager shouts of--"Now Eric, now Eric." "Now Montagu, go it sixth-form," etcetera, both of them fought under a sense of deep disgrace, increased by the recollections which they shared in common.

All this Vernon marked in a moment, and, filled with pain and vexation, he said in a voice which, though low, could be heard amid all the uproar, "O Eric, Eric, fighting with Montagu!" There was reproach and sorrow in the tone, which touched more than one boy there, for Vernon, spite of the recent change in him, could not but continue a popular favourite.

"Shut up there, you little donkey," shouted one or two, looking back at him for a moment.

But Eric heard the words, and knew that it was his brother's voice. The thought rushed on him how degraded his whole position was, and how different it might have been. He felt that he was utterly in the wrong, and Montagu altogether in the right; and from that moment his blows once more grew feeble and ill-directed. When they again stopped to take rest, the general shout for Montagu showed that he was considered to have the best of it.

"I'm getting so tired of this," muttered Eric, during the pause.

"Why, you're fighting like a regular m.u.f.f," said Graham; "you'll have to acknowledge yourself thrashed in a minute."