"Why?"
"Because, Eric," said Duncan, with more seriousness than was usual with him, "I can't help thinking things have gone too far lately."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, I'm no saint myself, Heaven knows; but I do think that the fellows are worse now than I have ever known them--far worse. Your friend Brigson reigns supreme out of the studies; he has laid down a law that no work is to be done down stairs ever under any pretence, and it's only by getting into one of the studies that good little chaps like Wright can get on at all. Even in the class-rooms there's so much row and confusion that the mere thought of work is ridiculous."
"Well, there's no great harm in a little noise, if that's all."
"But it isn't all. The talk of nearly the whole school is getting most blackguardly; shamelessly so. Only yesterday Wildney was chatting with Vernon up here (you were out, or Vernon would not have been here) while I was reading; they didn't seem to mind me, and I'm sure you'd have been vexed to the heart if you'd heard how they talked to each other. At last I couldn't stand it any longer, and bouncing up, I boxed both their ears smartly, and kicked them down stairs."
As Eric said nothing, Duncan continued, "And I wish it ended in talk, but----"
"But I believe you're turning Owenite. Why, bless me, we're only schoolboys; it'll be lots of time to turn saint some other day."
Eric was talking at random, and in the spirit of opposition. "You don't want to make the whole school such a muffish set as the rosebuds, do you?"
There was something of assumed bravado in Eric's whole manner which jarred on Duncan exceedingly. "Do as you like," he said, curtly, and went into another study.