CHAPTER VI

ERIC AND MONTAGU

"And constancy lives in realms above;
  And life is thorny; 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 endeavored to get the names of boys who wern'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 honor 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 Brooking. "Horrid little Owenite saint."

"Saint!--sneak, you mean. I'll teach him," growled Pietrie, and jumping up, he belabored 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 cavè 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 muff, 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 color 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 cock of the school."

Eric quite misunderstood Montagu's proceedings; 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! another dictation lesson!"

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 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 he 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 Brooking 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 school-days; and it was also but seldom that two boys so strong, active, and prominent, took this method of settling their differences.

The fight began, and at first the popular favor 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 vigor and effect. It was anything but a noble 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," etc., 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, his said in a voice which, though low, could be heard amid all the uproar, "Oh 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 favorite.

"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 muff," said Graham; "you'll have to acknowledge yourself thrashed in a minute."

"That I'll never do," he said, once more firing up.

Just as the third round began, Duncan came striding in, for Owen, who had left the room, told him what was going on. He had always been a leading fellow, and quite recently his influence had several times been exerted in the right direction, and he was very much looked up to by all the boys alike, good or bad. He determined, for the credit of the sixth, that the fight should not go on, and bursting into the ring, with his strong shoulders he hurled on each side the boys who stood in his way, and struck down the lifted arms of the fighters.

"You shan't fight," he said, doggedly, thrusting himself between them; "so there's an end of it. If you do, you'll both have to fight me first."

"Shame!" said several of the boys, and the cry was caught up by Bull and others.

"Shame, is it?" said Duncan, and his lip curled with scorn. "There's only one way to argue with, you fellows. Bull, if you, or any other boy, repeat that word, I'll thrash him. Here, Monty, come away from this disgraceful scene."

"I'm sick enough of it," said Montagu, "and am ready to stop if Williams is,--provided no one touches Wright."

"I'm sick of it too," said Eric sullenly.

"Then you two shall shake hands," said Duncan.

For one instant--an instant which he regretted till the end of his life--Montagu drew himself up and hesitated. He had been deeply wronged, deeply provoked, and no one could blame him for the momentary feeling: but Eric had observed the gesture, and his passionate pride took the alarm. "It's come to this, then," he thought; "Montagu doesn't think me good enough to be shaken hands with."

"Pish!" he said aloud, in a tone of sarcasm; "it may be an awful honor to shake hands with such an immaculate person as Montagu, but I'm not proud on the subject;" and he turned away.

Montagu's hesitation was but momentary, and without a particle of anger or indignation he sorrowfully held out his hand. It was too late; that moment had done the mischief, and it was now Eric's turn coldly to withdraw.

"You don't think me worthy of your friendship, and what's the good of grasping hands if we don't do it with cordial hearts?"

Montagu's lip trembled, but he said nothing, and quietly putting on his coat, waved back the throng of boys with a proud sweep of his arm, and left the room with Duncan.

"Come along, Wright," he said.

"Nay, leave him," said Eric with a touch of remorse. "Much as you think me beneath you, I have honor enough to see that no one hurts him."

The group of boys gradually dispersed, but one or two remained with Eric, although he was excessively wearied by their observations.

"You didn't fight half like yourself," said Wildney.

"Can't you tell why? I had the wrong side to fight for." And getting up abruptly, he left the room, to be alone in his study, and bathe his swollen and aching face.

In a few minutes Vernon joined him, and at the mere sight of him Eric burst into tears of shame. That evening with Vernon in the study, after the dinner at the Jolly Herring, had revived all his really warm affection for his little brother; and as he could no longer conceal the line he took in the school, they had been often together since then; and Eric's moral obliquity was not so great as to prevent him from feeling deep joy at the change for the better in Vernon's character.

"Verny, Verny," he said, as the boy came up and affectionately took his hand, "it was you who lost me that fight."

"Oh, but, Eric, you were fighting with Montagu."

"Don't you remember the days, Eric," he continued, "when we were home-boarders, and how kind Monty used to be to me even then, and how mother liked him, and thought him quite your truest friend, except poor Russell?"

"I do, indeed. I didn't think then that it would come to this."

"I've always been so sorry," said Vernon, "that I joined the fellows in playing him tricks. I can't think how I came to do it, except that I've done such lots of bad things here. But he's forgiven and forgotten that long ago, and is very kind to me now."

It was true; but Eric didn't know that half the kindness which Montagu showed to his brother was shown solely for his sake.

"Do you know, I've thought of a plan for making you two friends again? I've written to Aunt Trevor to ask him to Fairholm with us next holidays."

"Oh, have you? Good Verny! Yes; there we might be friends. Perhaps there," he added, half to himself, "I might be more like what I was in better days."

"But it's a long time to look forward to. Easter hasn't come yet," said Vernon.

So the two young boys proposed; but God had disposed it otherwise.