第 14 页

‘There has been no opportunity.’

I thought Mr. Creakle was disappointed. I thought Mrs. and Miss Creakle

(at whom I now glanced for the first time, and who were, both, thin and

quiet) were not disappointed.

‘Come here, sir!’ said Mr. Creakle, beckoning to me.

‘Come here!’ said the man with the wooden leg, repeating the gesture.

‘I have the happiness of knowing your father-in-law,’ whispered Mr.

Creakle, taking me by the ear; ‘and a worthy man he is, and a man of

a strong character. He knows me, and I know him. Do YOU know me? Hey?’

said Mr. Creakle, pinching my ear with ferocious playfulness.

‘Not yet, sir,’ I said, flinching with the pain.

‘Not yet? Hey?’ repeated Mr. Creakle. ‘But you will soon. 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.