I was too angry to answer, but the rest burst into a loud laugh, and I punched one fellow's head, but Collins wouldn't let us have a fair stand-up fight, and so I walked away, leaving them to settle about the cribs as they liked; but Tom came to me afterwards, and said that the fellows had agreed to use no more cribs for a fortnight, but after that I must do as the rest did, or they would send me to Coventry.
February 20th.—Mrs. Chandos is still here nursing Frank. I go into his room to see him every day for a few minutes; but there isn't time for anything now except on half-holidays, for it is grind, grind, grind all day long, and the worst of it is we get impositions, and the masters are cross because all the construing is done so badly. I wonder who invented cribs. It's an easy way of getting over the lessons at first, but a fellow is nicely floored if he has to do without them for a bit, as we have just now. I fancy, too, that Swain suspects what is going on, and is watching to catch some of us, for we have heard nothing since the day of the row—not a word more about my being sent to the governor.
I wish it wasn't so hard to do everything on the square. Chandos says I find it hard because I made a bad beginning when I came here, and the longer I go on without altering this the harder it will be to alter. He gave me quite a lecture about this last night—about everything in my life depending upon the sort of beginning I make now. I laughed, and told him he ought to be a parson, and I should expect to see him preaching at some street corner if they wouldn't give him a gown and pulpit; but though I laughed I cannot help thinking he may be right after all. I suppose these lessons they give us to learn will be useful in some way, and when I leave school I shall be supposed to know all about them, as Swain thinks I know all about the construing in my exercise-book, and it may be more awkward by-and-by not to know it than it is now. I'll try to think of this. Dear old Chandos, I like to tease him a bit about his lectures, and yet I like him to talk to me as he does.
I can understand now how it is he is so grave and quiet. He is the eldest son, and his mother talks to him as though he was Frank's father. What a pity it is he cannot have his wish and be a doctor. It's cruel, I think, that people can't have their own way about things like this. I couldn't give up going to sea, as Chandos has given up his wish.
March 4th.—The fortnight is up, and cribs are coming in fashion again, but everybody is very careful, for Swain is still on the look-out, I can see. Last night I had a talk with Chandos about it, and he says if I am firm the boys will not send me to Coventry, as they threaten. Jackson and a few others may bully me a bit, but the school will not be led by them.
To tell the truth, I am not so much afraid of Jackson and that lot as of the endless grind I shall have to do to keep on the square and do without cribs. I wish I'd never begun with them, and it wouldn't be so hard now, but once begun, it seems almost impossible to leave them off.
I said something of this to Chandos, and he said if I asked God's help I should not find things so difficult; but I don't see how praying can help me with my lessons or make them any easier, but still I mean to keep on.
March 12th.—The fellows are awfully rusty because I won't use cribs. Yesterday Tom came to talk to me about it—the first time he has spoken for a week, for most of the fellows have kept their word, and sent me to Coventry for it.
"Now look here, Charley, the fellows have sent me to speak to you once more—mind, it's the last time—and if you ain't reasonable now you won't have another chance."
"If it is about cribs you can hold your tongue, for I've made up my mind long ago," I said.