Chapter XI.
THE NEW SCHOOLFELLOW.
"Father," said Tom one evening near the end of the holidays, "UncleGlegg says Lawyer Wakem is going to send his son to Mr. Stelling. Youwon't like me to go to school with Wakem's son, will you, father?"
"It's no matter for that, my boy," said Mr. Tulliver; "don't you learnanything bad of him, that's all. The lad's a poor deformed creatur.It's a sign Wakem thinks high o' Mr. Stelling, as he sends his son tohim, and Wakem knows meal from bran, lawyer and rascal though he is."
It was a cold, wet January day on which Tom went back to school. If hehad not carried in his pocket a parcel of sugar-candy, there would havebeen no ray of pleasure to enliven the gloom.
"Well, Tulliver, we're glad to see you again," said Mr. Stellingheartily, on his arrival. "Take off your wrappings and come into thestudy till dinner. You'll find a bright fire there, and a newcompanion."
Tom felt in an uncomfortable flutter as he took off his woollencomforter and other wrappings. He had seen Philip Wakem at St. Ogg's,but had always turned his eyes away from him as quickly as possible,for he knew that for several reasons his father hated the Wakem familywith all his heart.
"Here is a new companion for you to shake hands with, Tulliver," saidMr. Stelling on entering the study--"Master Philip Wakem. You alreadyknow something of each other, I imagine, for you are neighbours athome."
Tom looked confused, while Philip rose and glanced at him timidly. Tomdid not like to go up and put out his hand, and he was not prepared tosay, "How do you do?" on so short a notice.
Mr. Stelling wisely turned away, and closed the door behind him. Heknew that boys' shyness only wears off in the absence of their elders.
Philip was at once too proud and too timid to walk towards Tom. Hethought, or rather felt, that Tom did not like to look at him. So theyremained without shaking hands or even speaking, while Tom went to thefire and warmed himself, every now and then casting glances at Philip,who seemed to be drawing absently first one object and then another ona piece of paper he had before him. What was he drawing? wondered Tom,after a spell of silence. He was quite warm now, and wanted somethingnew to be going forward. Suddenly he walked across the hearth, andlooked over Philip's paper.
"Why, that's a donkey with panniers, and a spaniel, and partridges inthe corn!" he exclaimed. "Oh, my buttons! I wish I could draw likethat. I'm to learn drawing this half. I wonder if I shall learn tomake dogs and donkeys!"
"Oh, you can do them without learning," said Philip; "I never learneddrawing."
"Never learned?" said Tom, in amazement. "Why, when I make dogs andhorses, and those things, the heads and the legs won't come right,though I can see how they ought to be very well. I can make houses,and all sorts of chimneys--chimneys going all down the wall, andwindows in the roof, and all that. But I dare say I could do dogs andhorses if I was to try more," he added.
"Oh yes," said Philip, "it's very easy. You've only to look well atthings, and draw them over and over again. What you do wrong once, youcan alter the next time."
"But haven't you been taught anything?" said Tom.
"Yes," said Philip, smiling; "I've been taught Latin, and Greek, andmathematics, and writing, and such things."
"Oh, but, I say, you don't like Latin, though, do you?" said Tom.
"Pretty well; I don't care much about it," said Philip. "But I've donewith the grammar," he added. "I don't learn that any more."
"Then you won't have the same lessons as I shall?" said Tom, with asense of disappointment.
"No; but I dare say I can help you. I shall be very glad to help youif I can."
Tom did not say "Thank you," for he was quite absorbed in the thoughtthat Wakem's son did not seem so spiteful a fellow as might have beenexpected.
"I say," he said presently, "do you love your father?"
"Yes," said Philip, colouring deeply; "don't you love yours?"
"Oh yes; I only wanted to know," said Tom, rather ashamed of himself,now he saw Philip colouring and looking uncomfortable.
"Shall you learn drawing now?" he said, by way of changing the subject.
"No," said Philip. "My father wishes me to give all my time to otherthings now."
"What! Latin, and Euclid, and those things?" said Tom.
"Yes," said Philip, who had left off using his pencil, and was restinghis head on one hand, while Tom was leaning forward on both elbows, andlooking at the dog and the donkey.
"And you don't mind that?" said Tom, with strong curiosity.
"No; I like to know what everybody else knows. I can study what I likeby-and-by."
"I can't think why anybody should learn Latin," said Tom. "It's nogood."
"It's part of the education of a gentleman," said Philip. "Allgentlemen learn the same things."
"What! do you think Sir John Crake, the master of the harriers, knowsLatin?" said Tom.
"He learnt it when he was a boy, of course," said Philip. "But I daresay he's forgotten it."
"Oh, well, I can do that, then," said Tom readily.
"Oh, I don't mind Latin," said Philip, unable to choke a laugh; "I canremember things easily. And there are some lessons I'm very fond of.I'm very fond of Greek history, and everything about the Greeks. Ishould like to have been a Greek and fought the Persians, and then havecome home and written tragedies, or else have been listened to byeverybody for my wisdom, like Socrates, and have died a grand death."
"Why, were the Greeks great fighters?" said Tom, who saw a vista inthis direction. "Is there anything like David, and Goliath, and Samsonin the Greek history? Those are the only bits I like in the history ofthe Jews."
"Oh, there are very fine stories of that sort about the Greeks--aboutthe heroes of early times who killed the wild beasts, as Samson did.And in the _Odyssey_ (that's a beautiful poem) there's a more wonderfulgiant than Goliath--Polypheme, who had only one eye in the middle ofhis forehead; and Ulysses, a little fellow, but very wise and cunning,got a red-hot pine tree and stuck it into this one eye, and made himroar like a thousand bulls."
"Oh, what fun!" said Tom, jumping away from the table, and stampingfirst with one leg and then the other. "I say, can you tell me allabout those stories? because I shan't learn Greek, you know. ShallI?" he added, pausing in his stamping with a sudden alarm, lest thecontrary might be possible. "Does every gentleman learn Greek? WillMr. Stelling make me begin with it, do you think?"
"No, I should think not--very likely not," said Philip. "But you mayread those stories without knowing Greek. I've got them in English."
"Oh, but I don't like reading; I'd sooner have you tell them me--butonly the fighting ones, you know. My sister Maggie is always wantingto tell me stories, but they're stupid things. Girls' stories alwaysare. Can you tell a good many fighting stories?"
"Oh yes," said Philip--"lots of them, besides the Greek stories. I cantell you about Richard Coeur-de-Lion and Saladin, and about WilliamWallace, and Robert Bruce, and James Douglas. I know no end."
"You're older than I am, aren't you?" said Tom.
"Why, how old are you? I'm fifteen."
"I'm only going in fourteen," said Tom. "But I thrashed all thefellows at Jacobs'--that's where I was before I came here. And I beat'em all at bandy and climbing. And I wish Mr. Stelling would let us gofishing. I could show you how to fish. You could fish, couldn't you?It's only standing, and sitting still, you know."
Philip winced under this allusion to his unfitness for active sports,and he answered almost crossly,--
"I can't bear fishing. I think people look like fools sitting watchinga line hour after hour, or else throwing and throwing, and catchingnothing."
"Ah, but you wouldn't say they looked like fools when they landed a bigpike, I can tell you," said Tom. Wakem's son, it was plain, had hisdisagreeable points, and must be kept in due check.