No More Learning

Hey? '

'You will soon. Hey? ' repeated the man with the wooden leg. I afterwards
found that he generally acted, with his strong voice, as Mr. Creakle's
interpreter to the boys.

I was very much frightened, and said, I hoped so, if he pleased. I felt,
all this while, as if my ear were blazing; he pinched it so hard.

'I'll tell you what I am,' whispered Mr. Creakle, letting it go at last,
with a screw at parting that brought the water into my eyes. 'I'm a
Tartar. '

'A Tartar,' said the man with the wooden leg.

'When I say I'll do a thing, I do it,' said Mr. Creakle; 'and when I say
I will have a thing done, I will have it done. '

'--Will have a thing done, I will have it done,' repeated the man with
the wooden leg.

'I am a determined character,' said Mr. Creakle. 'That's what I am. I
do my duty. That's what I do. My flesh and blood'--he looked at Mrs.
Creakle as he said this--'when it rises against me, is not my flesh
and blood. I discard it. Has that fellow'--to the man with the wooden
leg--'been here again? '

'No,' was the answer.

'No,' said Mr. Creakle. 'He knows better. He knows me. Let him keep
away. I say let him keep away,' said Mr. Creakle, striking his hand upon
the table, and looking at Mrs. Creakle, 'for he knows me. Now you have
begun to know me too, my young friend, and you may go. Take him away. '

I was very glad to be ordered away, for Mrs. and Miss Creakle were both
wiping their eyes, and I felt as uncomfortable for them as I did for
myself. But I had a petition on my mind which concerned me so nearly,
that I couldn't help saying, though I wondered at my own courage:

'If you please, sir--'

Mr. Creakle whispered, 'Hah! What's this? ' and bent his eyes upon me, as
if he would have burnt me up with them.

'If you please, sir,' I faltered, 'if I might be allowed (I am very
sorry indeed, sir, for what I did) to take this writing off, before the
boys come back--'

Whether Mr. Creakle was in earnest, or whether he only did it to
frighten me, I don't know, but he made a burst out of his chair, before
which I precipitately retreated, without waiting for the escort of the
man with the wooden leg, and never once stopped until I reached my own
bedroom, where, finding I was not pursued, I went to bed, as it was
time, and lay quaking, for a couple of hours.

Next morning Mr. Sharp came back. Mr. Sharp was the first master, and
superior to Mr. Mell. Mr. Mell took his meals with the boys, but
Mr. Sharp dined and supped at Mr. Creakle's table. He was a limp,
delicate-looking gentleman, I thought, with a good deal of nose, and a
way of carrying his head on one side, as if it were a little too heavy
for him. His hair was very smooth and wavy; but I was informed by the
very first boy who came back that it was a wig (a second-hand one HE
said), and that Mr. Sharp went out every Saturday afternoon to get it
curled.

It was no other than Tommy Traddles who gave me this piece of
intelligence. He was the first boy who returned. He introduced himself
by informing me that I should find his name on the right-hand corner of
the gate, over the top-bolt; upon that I said, 'Traddles? ' to which he
replied, 'The same,' and then he asked me for a full account of myself
and family.

It was a happy circumstance for me that Traddles came back first. He
enjoyed my placard so much, that he saved me from the embarrassment of
either disclosure or concealment, by presenting me to every other boy
who came back, great or small, immediately on his arrival, in this form
of introduction, 'Look here! Here's a game! ' Happily, too, the greater
part of the boys came back low-spirited, and were not so boisterous at
my expense as I had expected. Some of them certainly did dance about me
like wild Indians, and the greater part could not resist the temptation
of pretending that I was a dog, and patting and soothing me, lest I
should bite, and saying, 'Lie down, sir! ' and calling me Towzer. This
was naturally confusing, among so many strangers, and cost me some
tears, but on the whole it was much better than I had anticipated.

I was not considered as being formally received into the school,
however, until J. Steerforth arrived. Before this boy, who was
reputed to be a great scholar, and was very good-looking, and at least
half-a-dozen years my senior, I was carried as before a magistrate. He
inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the particulars of my
punishment, and was pleased to express his opinion that it was 'a jolly
shame'; for which I became bound to him ever afterwards.

'What money have you got, Copperfield? ' he said, walking aside with
me when he had disposed of my affair in these terms. I told him seven
shillings.

'You had better give it to me to take care of,' he said. 'At least, you
can if you like. You needn't if you don't like. '

I hastened to comply with his friendly suggestion, and opening
Peggotty's purse, turned it upside down into his hand.

'Do you want to spend anything now? ' he asked me.

'No thank you,' I replied.

'You can, if you like, you know,' said Steerforth. 'Say the word. '

'No, thank you, sir,' I repeated.

'Perhaps you'd like to spend a couple of shillings or so, in a bottle of
currant wine by and by, up in the bedroom? ' said Steerforth. 'You belong
to my bedroom, I find. '

It certainly had not occurred to me before, but I said, Yes, I should
like that.

'Very good,' said Steerforth. 'You'll be glad to spend another shilling
or so, in almond cakes, I dare say? '

I said, Yes, I should like that, too.

'And another shilling or so in biscuits, and another in fruit, eh? ' said
Steerforth. 'I say, young Copperfield, you're going it! '

I smiled because he smiled, but I was a little troubled in my mind, too.

'Well! ' said Steerforth. 'We must make it stretch as far as we can;
that's all. I'll do the best in my power for you. I can go out when I
like, and I'll smuggle the prog in. ' With these words he put the money
in his pocket, and kindly told me not to make myself uneasy; he would
take care it should be all right. He was as good as his word, if that
were all right which I had a secret misgiving was nearly all wrong--for
I feared it was a waste of my mother's two half-crowns--though I had
preserved the piece of paper they were wrapped in: which was a precious
saving. When we went upstairs to bed, he produced the whole seven
shillings' worth, and laid it out on my bed in the moonlight, saying:

'There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you've got. '

I couldn't think of doing the honours of the feast, at my time of life,
while he was by; my hand shook at the very thought of it. I begged him
to do me the favour of presiding; and my request being seconded by the
other boys who were in that room, he acceded to it, and sat upon my
pillow, handing round the viands--with perfect fairness, I must say--and
dispensing the currant wine in a little glass without a foot, which was
his own property. As to me, I sat on his left hand, and the rest were
grouped about us, on the nearest beds and on the floor.

How well I recollect our sitting there, talking in whispers; or their
talking, and my respectfully listening, I ought rather to say; the
moonlight falling a little way into the room, through the window,
painting a pale window on the floor, and the greater part of us in
shadow, except when Steerforth dipped a match into a phosphorus-box,
when he wanted to look for anything on the board, and shed a blue glare
over us that was gone directly! A certain mysterious feeling, consequent
on the darkness, the secrecy of the revel, and the whisper in which
everything was said, steals over me again, and I listen to all they tell
me with a vague feeling of solemnity and awe, which makes me glad that
they are all so near, and frightens me (though I feign to laugh) when
Traddles pretends to see a ghost in the corner.

I heard all kinds of things about the school and all belonging to it.
I heard that Mr. Creakle had not preferred his claim to being a Tartar
without reason; that he was the sternest and most severe of masters;
that he laid about him, right and left, every day of his life, charging
in among the boys like a trooper, and slashing away, unmercifully. That
he knew nothing himself, but the art of slashing, being more ignorant
(J. Steerforth said) than the lowest boy in the school; that he had
been, a good many years ago, a small hop-dealer in the Borough, and had
taken to the schooling business after being bankrupt in hops, and making
away with Mrs. Creakle's money. With a good deal more of that sort,
which I wondered how they knew.

I heard that the man with the wooden leg, whose name was Tungay, was an
obstinate barbarian who had formerly assisted in the hop business, but
had come into the scholastic line with Mr. Creakle, in consequence,
as was supposed among the boys, of his having broken his leg in Mr.
Creakle's service, and having done a deal of dishonest work for him,
and knowing his secrets. I heard that with the single exception of Mr.
Creakle, Tungay considered the whole establishment, masters and boys,
as his natural enemies, and that the only delight of his life was to be
sour and malicious. I heard that Mr. Creakle had a son, who had not been
Tungay's friend, and who, assisting in the school, had once held some
remonstrance with his father on an occasion when its discipline was very
cruelly exercised, and was supposed, besides, to have protested against
his father's usage of his mother. I heard that Mr. Creakle had turned
him out of doors, in consequence; and that Mrs. and Miss Creakle had
been in a sad way, ever since.

But the greatest wonder that I heard of Mr. Creakle was, there being one
boy in the school on whom he never ventured to lay a hand, and that
boy being J. Steerforth. Steerforth himself confirmed this when it was
stated, and said that he should like to begin to see him do it. On being
asked by a mild boy (not me) how he would proceed if he did begin to see
him do it, he dipped a match into his phosphorus-box on purpose to shed
a glare over his reply, and said he would commence by knocking him down
with a blow on the forehead from the seven-and-sixpenny ink-bottle
that was always on the mantelpiece. We sat in the dark for some time,
breathless.

I heard that Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both supposed to be wretchedly
paid; and that when there was hot and cold meat for dinner at Mr.
Creakle's table, Mr. Sharp was always expected to say he preferred cold;
which was again corroborated by J. Steerforth, the only parlour-boarder.
I heard that Mr. Sharp's wig didn't fit him; and that he needn't be so
'bounceable'--somebody else said 'bumptious'--about it, because his own
red hair was very plainly to be seen behind.

I heard that one boy, who was a coal-merchant's son, came as a set-off
against the coal-bill, and was called, on that account, 'Exchange or
Barter'--a name selected from the arithmetic book as expressing this
arrangement. I heard that the table beer was a robbery of parents, and
the pudding an imposition. I heard that Miss Creakle was regarded by the
school in general as being in love with Steerforth; and I am sure, as I
sat in the dark, thinking of his nice voice, and his fine face, and his
easy manner, and his curling hair, I thought it very likely. I heard
that Mr. Mell was not a bad sort of fellow, but hadn't a sixpence to
bless himself with; and that there was no doubt that old Mrs. Mell, his
mother, was as poor as job. I thought of my breakfast then, and what had
sounded like 'My Charley! ' but I was, I am glad to remember, as mute as
a mouse about it.

The hearing of all this, and a good deal more, outlasted the banquet
some time. The greater part of the guests had gone to bed as soon as the
eating and drinking were over; and we, who had remained whispering and
listening half-undressed, at last betook ourselves to bed, too.

'Good night, young Copperfield,' said Steerforth. 'I'll take care of
you. ' 'You're very kind,' I gratefully returned. 'I am very much obliged
to you. '

'You haven't got a sister, have you? ' said Steerforth, yawning.

'No,' I answered.

'That's a pity,' said Steerforth. 'If you had had one, I should think
she would have been a pretty, timid, little, bright-eyed sort of girl. I
should have liked to know her. Good night, young Copperfield. '

'Good night, sir,' I replied.

I thought of him very much after I went to bed, and raised myself,
I recollect, to look at him where he lay in the moonlight, with his
handsome face turned up, and his head reclining easily on his arm. He
was a person of great power in my eyes; that was, of course, the reason
of my mind running on him. No veiled future dimly glanced upon him in
the moonbeams. There was no shadowy picture of his footsteps, in the
garden that I dreamed of walking in all night.



CHAPTER 7. MY 'FIRST HALF' AT SALEM HOUSE


School began in earnest next day. A profound impression was made
upon me, I remember, by the roar of voices in the schoolroom suddenly
becoming hushed as death when Mr. Creakle entered after breakfast, and
stood in the doorway looking round upon us like a giant in a story-book
surveying his captives.

Tungay stood at Mr. Creakle's elbow. He had no occasion, I thought,
to cry out 'Silence! ' so ferociously, for the boys were all struck
speechless and motionless.

Mr. Creakle was seen to speak, and Tungay was heard, to this effect.

'Now, boys, this is a new half. Take care what you're about, in this new
half. Come fresh up to the lessons, I advise you, for I come fresh up
to the punishment. I won't flinch. It will be of no use your rubbing
yourselves; you won't rub the marks out that I shall give you. Now get
to work, every boy! '

When this dreadful exordium was over, and Tungay had stumped out again,
Mr. Creakle came to where I sat, and told me that if I were famous for
biting, he was famous for biting, too. He then showed me the cane, and
asked me what I thought of THAT, for a tooth? Was it a sharp tooth, hey?
Was it a double tooth, hey? Had it a deep prong, hey? Did it bite, hey?
Did it bite? At every question he gave me a fleshy cut with it that made
me writhe; so I was very soon made free of Salem House (as Steerforth
said), and was very soon in tears also.

Not that I mean to say these were special marks of distinction,
which only I received. On the contrary, a large majority of the boys
(especially the smaller ones) were visited with similar instances
of notice, as Mr. Creakle made the round of the schoolroom. Half the
establishment was writhing and crying, before the day's work began; and
how much of it had writhed and cried before the day's work was over, I
am really afraid to recollect, lest I should seem to exaggerate.

I should think there never can have been a man who enjoyed his
profession more than Mr. Creakle did. He had a delight in cutting at
the boys, which was like the satisfaction of a craving appetite. I am
confident that he couldn't resist a chubby boy, especially; that there
was a fascination in such a subject, which made him restless in his
mind, until he had scored and marked him for the day. I was chubby
myself, and ought to know. I am sure when I think of the fellow now, my
blood rises against him with the disinterested indignation I should
feel if I could have known all about him without having ever been in his
power; but it rises hotly, because I know him to have been an incapable
brute, who had no more right to be possessed of the great trust he held,
than to be Lord High Admiral, or Commander-in-Chief--in either of
which capacities it is probable that he would have done infinitely less
mischief.

Miserable little propitiators of a remorseless Idol, how abject we were
to him!
What a launch in life I think it now, on looking back, to be so
mean and servile to a man of such parts and pretensions!

Here I sit at the desk again, watching his eye--humbly watching his eye,
as he rules a ciphering-book for another victim whose hands have just
been flattened by that identical ruler, and who is trying to wipe the
sting out with a pocket-handkerchief. I have plenty to do. I don't watch
his eye in idleness, but because I am morbidly attracted to it, in a
dread desire to know what he will do next, and whether it will be my
turn to suffer, or somebody else's. A lane of small boys beyond me, with
the same interest in his eye, watch it too. I think he knows it,
though he pretends he don't. He makes dreadful mouths as he rules the
ciphering-book; and now he throws his eye sideways down our lane, and we
all droop over our books and tremble. A moment afterwards we are again
eyeing him. An unhappy culprit, found guilty of imperfect exercise,
approaches at his command. The culprit falters excuses, and professes a
determination to do better tomorrow. Mr. Creakle cuts a joke before he
beats him, and we laugh at it,--miserable little dogs, we laugh, with
our visages as white as ashes, and our hearts sinking into our boots.

Here I sit at the desk again, on a drowsy summer afternoon. A buzz and
hum go up around me, as if the boys were so many bluebottles. A cloggy
sensation of the lukewarm fat of meat is upon me (we dined an hour or
two ago), and my head is as heavy as so much lead. I would give the
world to go to sleep. I sit with my eye on Mr. Creakle, blinking at him
like a young owl; when sleep overpowers me for a minute, he still looms
through my slumber, ruling those ciphering-books, until he softly comes
behind me and wakes me to plainer perception of him, with a red ridge
across my back.

Here I am in the playground, with my eye still fascinated by him, though
I can't see him. The window at a little distance from which I know he is
having his dinner, stands for him, and I eye that instead. If he shows
his face near it, mine assumes an imploring and submissive expression.
If he looks out through the glass, the boldest boy (Steerforth excepted)
stops in the middle of a shout or yell, and becomes contemplative. One
day, Traddles (the most unfortunate boy in the world) breaks that window
accidentally, with a ball. I shudder at this moment with the tremendous
sensation of seeing it done, and feeling that the ball has bounded on to
Mr. Creakle's sacred head.

Poor Traddles! In a tight sky-blue suit that made his arms and legs like
German sausages, or roly-poly puddings, he was the merriest and most
miserable of all the boys. He was always being caned--I think he was
caned every day that half-year, except one holiday Monday when he was
only ruler'd on both hands--and was always going to write to his uncle
about it, and never did. After laying his head on the desk for a little
while, he would cheer up, somehow, begin to laugh again, and draw
skeletons all over his slate, before his eyes were dry. I used at first
to wonder what comfort Traddles found in drawing skeletons; and for some
time looked upon him as a sort of hermit, who reminded himself by those
symbols of mortality that caning couldn't last for ever. But I believe
he only did it because they were easy, and didn't want any features.

He was very honourable, Traddles was, and held it as a solemn duty
in the boys to stand by one another. He suffered for this on several
occasions; and particularly once, when Steerforth laughed in church,
and the Beadle thought it was Traddles, and took him out. I see him now,
going away in custody, despised by the congregation. He never said
who was the real offender, though he smarted for it next day, and was
imprisoned so many hours that he came forth with a whole churchyard-full
of skeletons swarming all over his Latin Dictionary. But he had his
reward. Steerforth said there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles, and
we all felt that to be the highest praise. For my part, I could have
gone through a good deal (though I was much less brave than Traddles,
and nothing like so old) to have won such a recompense.

To see Steerforth walk to church before us, arm-in-arm with Miss
Creakle, was one of the great sights of my life. I didn't think Miss
Creakle equal to little Em'ly in point of beauty, and I didn't love
her (I didn't dare); but I thought her a young lady of extraordinary
attractions, and in point of gentility not to be surpassed. When
Steerforth, in white trousers, carried her parasol for her, I felt proud
to know him; and believed that she could not choose but adore him with
all her heart. Mr. Sharp and Mr. Mell were both notable personages in my
eyes; but Steerforth was to them what the sun was to two stars.

Steerforth continued his protection of me, and proved a very useful
friend; since nobody dared to annoy one whom he honoured with his
countenance. He couldn't--or at all events he didn't--defend me from Mr.
Creakle, who was very severe with me; but whenever I had been treated
worse than usual, he always told me that I wanted a little of his pluck,
and that he wouldn't have stood it himself; which I felt he intended
for encouragement, and considered to be very kind of him. There was one
advantage, and only one that I know of, in Mr. Creakle's severity. He
found my placard in his way when he came up or down behind the form on
which I sat, and wanted to make a cut at me in passing; for this reason
it was soon taken off, and I saw it no more.

An accidental circumstance cemented the intimacy between Steerforth
and me, in a manner that inspired me with great pride and satisfaction,
though it sometimes led to inconvenience. It happened on one occasion,
when he was doing me the honour of talking to me in the playground, that
I hazarded the observation that something or somebody--I forget what
now--was like something or somebody in Peregrine Pickle. He said nothing
at the time; but when I was going to bed at night, asked me if I had got
that book?

I told him no, and explained how it was that I had read it, and all
those other books of which I have made mention.

'And do you recollect them? ' Steerforth said.

'Oh yes,' I replied; I had a good memory, and I believed I recollected
them very well.

'Then I tell you what, young Copperfield,' said Steerforth, 'you
shall tell 'em to me. I can't get to sleep very early at night, and I
generally wake rather early in the morning. We'll go over 'em one after
another. We'll make some regular Arabian Nights of it. '

I felt extremely flattered by this arrangement, and we commenced
carrying it into execution that very evening. What ravages I committed
on my favourite authors in the course of my interpretation of them, I am
not in a condition to say, and should be very unwilling to know; but
I had a profound faith in them, and I had, to the best of my belief,
a simple, earnest manner of narrating what I did narrate; and these
qualities went a long way.

The drawback was, that I was often sleepy at night, or out of spirits
and indisposed to resume the story; and then it was rather hard work,
and it must be done; for to disappoint or to displease Steerforth was of
course out of the question. In the morning, too, when I felt weary, and
should have enjoyed another hour's repose very much, it was a tiresome
thing to be roused, like the Sultana Scheherazade, and forced into a
long story before the getting-up bell rang; but Steerforth was resolute;
and as he explained to me, in return, my sums and exercises, and
anything in my tasks that was too hard for me, I was no loser by the
transaction. Let me do myself justice, however. I was moved by no
interested or selfish motive, nor was I moved by fear of him. I admired
and loved him, and his approval was return enough. It was so precious to
me that I look back on these trifles, now, with an aching heart.

Steerforth was considerate, too; and showed his consideration, in
one particular instance, in an unflinching manner that was a little
tantalizing, I suspect, to poor Traddles and the rest. Peggotty's
promised letter--what a comfortable letter it was! --arrived before
'the half' was many weeks old; and with it a cake in a perfect nest
of oranges, and two bottles of cowslip wine. This treasure, as in duty
bound, I laid at the feet of Steerforth, and begged him to dispense.

'Now, I'll tell you what, young Copperfield,' said he: 'the wine shall
be kept to wet your whistle when you are story-telling. '

I blushed at the idea, and begged him, in my modesty, not to think of
it. But he said he had observed I was sometimes hoarse--a little roopy
was his exact expression--and it should be, every drop, devoted to the
purpose he had mentioned. Accordingly, it was locked up in his box, and
drawn off by himself in a phial, and administered to me through a
piece of quill in the cork, when I was supposed to be in want of a
restorative. Sometimes, to make it a more sovereign specific, he was so
kind as to squeeze orange juice into it, or to stir it up with ginger,
or dissolve a peppermint drop in it; and although I cannot assert that
the flavour was improved by these experiments, or that it was exactly
the compound one would have chosen for a stomachic, the last thing at
night and the first thing in the morning, I drank it gratefully and was
very sensible of his attention.

We seem, to me, to have been months over Peregrine, and months more over
the other stories. The institution never flagged for want of a story, I
am certain; and the wine lasted out almost as well as the matter. Poor
Traddles--I never think of that boy but with a strange disposition to
laugh, and with tears in my eyes--was a sort of chorus, in general;
and affected to be convulsed with mirth at the comic parts, and to be
overcome with fear when there was any passage of an alarming character
in the narrative. This rather put me out, very often. It was a great
jest of his, I recollect, to pretend that he couldn't keep his teeth
from chattering, whenever mention was made of an Alguazill in connexion
with the adventures of Gil Blas; and I remember that when Gil Blas met
the captain of the robbers in Madrid, this unlucky joker counterfeited
such an ague of terror, that he was overheard by Mr. Creakle, who
was prowling about the passage, and handsomely flogged for disorderly
conduct in the bedroom. Whatever I had within me that was romantic and
dreamy, was encouraged by so much story-telling in the dark; and in that
respect the pursuit may not have been very profitable to me. But the
being cherished as a kind of plaything in my room, and the consciousness
that this accomplishment of mine was bruited about among the boys, and
attracted a good deal of notice to me though I was the youngest there,
stimulated me to exertion. In a school carried on by sheer cruelty,
whether it is presided over by a dunce or not, there is not likely to
be much learnt. I believe our boys were, generally, as ignorant a set
as any schoolboys in existence; they were too much troubled and knocked
about to learn; they could no more do that to advantage, than any one
can do anything to advantage in a life of constant misfortune, torment,
and worry. But my little vanity, and Steerforth's help, urged me on
somehow; and without saving me from much, if anything, in the way of
punishment, made me, for the time I was there, an exception to the
general body, insomuch that I did steadily pick up some crumbs of
knowledge.

In this I was much assisted by Mr. Mell, who had a liking for me that
I am grateful to remember. It always gave me pain to observe that
Steerforth treated him with systematic disparagement, and seldom lost
an occasion of wounding his feelings, or inducing others to do so.
This troubled me the more for a long time, because I had soon told
Steerforth, from whom I could no more keep such a secret, than I could
keep a cake or any other tangible possession, about the two old women
Mr. Mell had taken me to see; and I was always afraid that Steerforth
would let it out, and twit him with it.

We little thought, any one of us, I dare say, when I ate my breakfast
that first morning, and went to sleep under the shadow of the peacock's
feathers to the sound of the flute, what consequences would come of the
introduction into those alms-houses of my insignificant person. But the
visit had its unforeseen consequences; and of a serious sort, too, in
their way.

One day when Mr. Creakle kept the house from indisposition, which
naturally diffused a lively joy through the school, there was a good
deal of noise in the course of the morning's work. The great relief and
satisfaction experienced by the boys made them difficult to manage; and
though the dreaded Tungay brought his wooden leg in twice or thrice, and
took notes of the principal offenders' names, no great impression was
made by it, as they were pretty sure of getting into trouble tomorrow,
do what they would, and thought it wise, no doubt, to enjoy themselves
today.

It was, properly, a half-holiday; being Saturday. But as the noise in
the playground would have disturbed Mr. Creakle, and the weather was
not favourable for going out walking, we were ordered into school in the
afternoon, and set some lighter tasks than usual, which were made for
the occasion. It was the day of the week on which Mr. Sharp went out to
get his wig curled; so Mr. Mell, who always did the drudgery, whatever
it was, kept school by himself. If I could associate the idea of a bull
or a bear with anyone so mild as Mr. Mell, I should think of him, in
connexion with that afternoon when the uproar was at its height, as of
one of those animals, baited by a thousand dogs. I recall him bending
his aching head, supported on his bony hand, over the book on his desk,
and wretchedly endeavouring to get on with his tiresome work, amidst an
uproar that might have made the Speaker of the House of Commons giddy.
Boys started in and out of their places, playing at puss in the corner
with other boys; there were laughing boys, singing boys, talking boys,
dancing boys, howling boys; boys shuffled with their feet, boys whirled
about him, grinning, making faces, mimicking him behind his back and
before his eyes; mimicking his poverty, his boots, his coat, his mother,
everything belonging to him that they should have had consideration for.

'Silence! ' cried Mr. Mell, suddenly rising up, and striking his desk
with the book. 'What does this mean! It's impossible to bear it. It's
maddening. How can you do it to me, boys? '

It was my book that he struck his desk with; and as I stood beside him,
following his eye as it glanced round the room, I saw the boys all stop,
some suddenly surprised, some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps.

Steerforth's place was at the bottom of the school, at the opposite end
of the long room. He was lounging with his back against the wall, and
his hands in his pockets, and looked at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up
as if he were whistling, when Mr. Mell looked at him.

'Silence, Mr. Steerforth! ' said Mr. Mell.

'Silence yourself,' said Steerforth, turning red. 'Whom are you talking
to? '

'Sit down,' said Mr. Mell.

'Sit down yourself,' said Steerforth, 'and mind your business. '

There was a titter, and some applause; but Mr. Mell was so white, that
silence immediately succeeded; and one boy, who had darted out behind
him to imitate his mother again, changed his mind, and pretended to want
a pen mended.

'If you think, Steerforth,' said Mr. Mell, 'that I am not acquainted
with the power you can establish over any mind here'--he laid his hand,
without considering what he did (as I supposed), upon my head--'or that
I have not observed you, within a few minutes, urging your juniors on to
every sort of outrage against me, you are mistaken. '

'I don't give myself the trouble of thinking at all about you,' said
Steerforth, coolly; 'so I'm not mistaken, as it happens. '

'And when you make use of your position of favouritism here, sir,'
pursued Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling very much, 'to insult a
gentleman--'

'A what? --where is he? ' said Steerforth.

Here somebody cried out, 'Shame, J. Steerforth! Too bad! ' It was
Traddles; whom Mr. Mell instantly discomfited by bidding him hold his
tongue. --'To insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and who
never gave you the least offence, and the many reasons for not insulting
whom you are old enough and wise enough to understand,' said Mr. Mell,
with his lips trembling more and more, 'you commit a mean and base
action. You can sit down or stand up as you please, sir. Copperfield, go
on. '

'Young Copperfield,' said Steerforth, coming forward up the room,
'stop a bit. I tell you what, Mr. Mell, once for all. When you take the
liberty of calling me mean or base, or anything of that sort, you are
an impudent beggar. You are always a beggar, you know; but when you do
that, you are an impudent beggar. '

I am not clear whether he was going to strike Mr. Mell, or Mr. Mell was
going to strike him, or there was any such intention on either side.
I saw a rigidity come upon the whole school as if they had been turned
into stone, and found Mr. Creakle in the midst of us, with Tungay at his
side, and Mrs. and Miss Creakle looking in at the door as if they were
frightened. Mr. Mell, with his elbows on his desk and his face in his
hands, sat, for some moments, quite still.

'Mr. Mell,' said Mr. Creakle, shaking him by the arm; and his whisper
was so audible now, that Tungay felt it unnecessary to repeat his words;
'you have not forgotten yourself, I hope? '

'No, sir, no,' returned the Master, showing his face, and shaking his
head, and rubbing his hands in great agitation. 'No, sir. No. I have
remembered myself, I--no, Mr. Creakle, I have not forgotten myself, I--I
have remembered myself, sir. I--I--could wish you had remembered me a
little sooner, Mr. Creakle. It--it--would have been more kind, sir, more
just, sir. It would have saved me something, sir. '

Mr. Creakle, looking hard at Mr. Mell, put his hand on Tungay's
shoulder, and got his feet upon the form close by, and sat upon the
desk. After still looking hard at Mr. Mell from his throne, as he
shook his head, and rubbed his hands, and remained in the same state of
agitation, Mr. Creakle turned to Steerforth, and said:

'Now, sir, as he don't condescend to tell me, what is this? '

Steerforth evaded the question for a little while; looking in scorn and
anger on his opponent, and remaining silent. I could not help thinking
even in that interval, I remember, what a noble fellow he was in
appearance, and how homely and plain Mr. Mell looked opposed to him.

'What did he mean by talking about favourites, then? ' said Steerforth at
length.

'Favourites? ' repeated Mr. Creakle, with the veins in his forehead
swelling quickly. 'Who talked about favourites? '

'He did,' said Steerforth.

'And pray, what did you mean by that, sir? ' demanded Mr. Creakle,
turning angrily on his assistant.

'I meant, Mr. Creakle,' he returned in a low voice, 'as I said; that
no pupil had a right to avail himself of his position of favouritism to
degrade me. '

'To degrade YOU? ' said Mr. Creakle. 'My stars! But give me leave to ask
you, Mr. What's-your-name'; and here Mr. Creakle folded his arms, cane
and all, upon his chest, and made such a knot of his brows that his
little eyes were hardly visible below them; 'whether, when you talk
about favourites, you showed proper respect to me?